#yandere marionette

[mayaree-darling]

mastermind

from aree: The Harbinger Trailer has consumed me yall are getting a brainrot. (I made this when the trailer first came out and have never posted it so here it is).

tw for yandere content

Yandere!Harbingers with a "darling" who is the right hand of the Tsaritsa herself. Not a Harbinger, but nonetheless important because they're the main strategist of the Fatui. I can just imagine the pain for the Harbingers because although darling is within arms reach, they're not allowed to make a move lest they anger their ruler.

Childe who first sees you akin to a younger sibling amongst the Fatui - you're no underling, on par with a Harbinger in importance if not more, protected almost as much as the Archon Herself - it would be hard not to be protective of you. And yet as you fix his wounds after another fight he started, telling him off in place of Her Majesty, giving him tips on how he could've fought better in whispers in between, his growing need for your attention consumes him. When he kisses your cheek (as thanks, he says) in front of the other Harbingers he's already looking forward to you treating the injuries they're sure to beat into him.

Scaramouche who grins when the Harbingers bristle as you walk side by side in the halls of Zapolyarny Palace - he says you should consider it an honor to walk with him, and it inflates his ego when you reply with a small nod and a smaller smile. Behind the others' backs, he follows you like a lost child, always walking behind you, gripping on to the back of your clothes like you might slip away if he's not careful. He's obsessed with the way you look at him and ask him questions about his creation. He fails to see that the adoration you hold for him is as hollow as he is.

Signora wonders if you know when she is at her lowest, that would certainly explain things, wouldn't it? She thinks she has lost her mind when she sees glimpses of her lost love when turning corners too quickly, haunting her when she lets her guard down but then you're in front of her, greeting her with a soft smile that feels all too familiar and she realizes she has gone mad in other ways (she welcomes that newfound madness like the lover that it is, finally coming home).

Pantalone who believes that one of life's greatest pleasures is to own what others cannot - to collect the rare, the exquisite and the hard to obtain - and to have you, a person of great mind and ranking, be dangled right infront of him on a piece of gold thread held by the Tsaritsa, who was he to resist the urge to make you his? (after all, he deserves only the best) The longer he does not have you, the more your worth rises in his eyes.

Dottore who initially wants to pick apart your brain (quite literally) but his interest shifts and doubles when he reaches an epiphany that what he truly lacked from the Akademiya was someone who shared his intellect, a genius to match his own. Maybe you don't share his affinity for biology, but he loves the way your conversations keeps him on his toes (if you weren't a being close to perfection for him before, then you certainly are now.)

Arlecchino who watches as you care for the children in the orphanage, checking in on them even long after they've joined the ranks of the Fatui and compares it to the frigid ways of the other Harbingers. For the first time since being a part of this cold nation, she is envious of the warmth you give (why must you have so much love to share?) She thinks that should the day come she turns her back on this frigid country, she would surely take your hearth with her.

Marionette who finds herself being drawn to the way you move around a room and hold yourself up in front of people, marveling at the intricacies of each part of your body and the way they make up the being that is you (you could trip and fall and she'd still sigh in awe). Her fascination turns you from muse to future subject. Surely such a specimen must be preserved, right? Not to mention, there would be no greater honor than to turn the Tsaritsa's best into a perfect unchanging doll.

Damselette who usually goes quiet when you're in the same room as her, always eager to hear you talk, almost hissing when a Harbinger tries to speak over you. She finds your voice is the one in her head who speaks reason to her when she gets a bit out of control (Does she listen? No, but your voice is always ever so lovely). Wouldn't it be so nice if you're the lone voice she hears always, the same way you're already always in her thoughts?

Capitano who is thankful his mask covers the fond look he gets when you turn to him - not with fear like the lower ranking Fatui or haughty like the Harbingers - but as an equal, leveling him with a gaze that leaves him fooling himself that it means something more. He's less thankful for his mask when someone calls your attention away from him and he can't control the glare he sends their way (maybe if they saw the way he looked at them, they'd finally be put in their place).

Pulcinella is quick to put you in a pedestal - you are someone to be respected and someone to be kept at a distance. And yet as he watches the Harbingers fall deeper and deeper into obsession, he takes it upon himself to protect the Tsaritsa's favorite and the Fatui's brain from whatever his co workers are plotting. As he spends more time with you (making sure the others do not occupy all of your time), the pedestal he keeps you on crumbles until all he sees is another child to keep under his wing. He fails to see he has only fallen into a different hole as the rest.

Strategist!Darling who may pretend to be oblivious to the Harbingers' feelings but is actually letting it all happen to make sure they all stay under the Tsaritsa's rule one way to another.

Does Pierro know what you're doing? Maybe. It's not like he is blind to how the Harbingers act around you, subtle as they try to be. If you spend enough time with him, you might be able to tell that he enjoys watching you play the part of a fool, dancing around the others and making them dance for you, too. He might even step in once he thinks the other Harbingers are stepping out of line, but it all depends on what he gets out of sticking into your business.

I also like the dynamic where although the Harbingers cannot make a move to claim what is "their's", darling is just as trapped. Although they always sometimes want to leave, they know as much as anyone that the Tsaritsa is the only thing standing between them and the others. The moment they try to leave the Tsaritsa's side or they lose her favor, it's all fair game for the Harbingers.

Everyone is stuck in a stalemate until someone makes a misstep.

✨ Masterlist ✨ 

Taglist: 💛@anime-allover  💛@faeriessky  💛 @prksolon 💛 @dai-tsukki-desu 💛 @wonpielle

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[marabow]

A ROSE AMONG THORNS (circus ocs x fem reader series)

Chapter II: The Circus (25/03/2025)

CW: slight misogyny, just creepiness overall by a certain SOMEONE 

MASTERLIST

<<Chapter I, Chapter III>>

 

        Curiosity- was what (NAME) felt at that moment, as the handbell rang from the well trained polar bear cub’s paws. The girl slowed her pace as the cub gave an adorable growl, probably signifying that they were getting closer to the place the tickets came from. It was deep in the woods, yet the gloomy dark atmosphere from earlier died down, instead being replaced by rays of sunlight shining from behind the leaves of trees,  as little daisies were growing from each one of her steps, creating a trail of flowers behind her.

        She was in awe, almost giggly, as the atmosphere turned from grey and plain, to colourful and quirky. There were Colourful balloons, with ribbons attached to them, like butlers greeting guests at ball events, and even flakes of colour sprawled around the ground, sticking to her black shoes, decorating her mary janes’ soles with confetti.

        The polar bear went out of the forest, out of her sight, and (NAME) couldn’t hear the bell anymore. In front of her, where the polar bear went through, was a bush of flowers with a very powerful pink colour, most likely begonias from what (NAME) thought. She used her hands to push the flowers further from her face, opening to an entrance of light.

        In front of the light was colorful sign, creating a shadow to loom over the girl’s features, with the words “Strangemageddon” written in big bold letters. Looking to her right, there was another sign with the words “Willkommen, Benvenuti, Bienvenue, Bienvenido, Welcome!”, reminding her of those signs you’d see at toy stores, with those colourful symbols and beautiful pastels.

        But behind the signs was something only fairytales could describe. On the evergreen grass of the clearing were amusement park rides, from ferris wheels to rollercoasters, complimented by tents and buildings of various colours, giving a cozy magical small-town charm to it. But, the gem of this place was the giant red and white striped tent  in the middle of everything.

        Rubbing her eyes in skepticism that her brain was inventing everything, she took one more peek, only to discover that this place was indeed a dreamland come true.

        “Woah...” She whispered under her breath, unable to speak from the grandiosity before her.

        “There... you are!” Behind her, (NAME) heard Clément’s voice breathing heavily from how much he ran, looking at the ground while propping his whole body on an oak tree to catch his breath. Once his chartreuse eyes looked up, past her, he saw the mysterious land that was in front of them. “Where...are we?”

        “I’m not sure...” (NAME) was hypnotized, under the spell of various children’s voices all singing in a choir deep within the far distance of this place, almost calling to her.

        “I don’t believe this is what it seems...” Clément said in skepticism.

        “Why not?” (NAME) asked “I mean... what could hurt for a little exploring?”

        Clément was still very skeptical, but (NAME) was right. It wasn’t like it was a trap, and even if it was, what could they want from two youngsters they didn’t even know.

        Before they could take another step, the feeling of wind blowing their backs very powerfully pushed them inside the small world that was created behind the fences.

        There was no turning back now. They weren’t stuck per se, but their eyes were glued on the magical elements of this land. From the  vibrant terraced houses, each coming in different sizes, with different shops inside, from bakeries, toy stores to even barber shops, this looked more like a small town rather than a magical circus as the girl with the maroon mark on her face mentioned. ‘She might be here.’ (NAME) thought, looking around for the sign of a girl with a unique stain around her eye.

        “...Let’s get back... I’m sure Elijah will make an earful if I’m missing for much more-” Clément almost lost his balance as something collided with his body...or someone actually. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

        He looked down to see a young girl looking at him apologetically, with her hazel eyes. She couldn’t have been older than thirteen, even if her sui generis white coils was a huge contrast to her rich and youthful umber skin.

        She blurted a quick “sorry, sir” before running off to the giant tent in the distance, the gem of this whole place. Speaking about gem, something fell out of her satchel, a necklace with some sort of flower shape. (NAME) picked it up, looking closely at it, as the petals kept moving the same way a clock would around the middle part of the flower shaped necklace.

        “What a strange girl. Have you ever seen someone so young yet so old at the same time?” Clément asked, before looking at the necklace. “Huh, what a peculiar pendant... Should we go after her to give it back?”

        “Of course we should! We’re civilised people after all!” (NAME) said, taking the boy’s hand and walking towards the tent. What (NAME) noticed was that there were a lot of children around... much more than adults... all dressed normally or very strangely. Like kids in chitons and jewellery, which (NAME) knew only the ancient civilisations wore. Was there some sort of carnival? Where were their parents?

        There were some older people, but they looked more youthful than the adults that surround (NAME) every day, with bright grins on their faces, complimenting their wrinkles and making them look so friendly.

        “It’s becoming queerer, and queerer here...” Clément muttered, just enough for the girl to hear, as they finally got to the tent, at the main entrance. As they peeked inside, there were a lot of children, young ladies and gentlemen alike to them and even those older smiling people they’ve seen earlier... yet no sign of the white hair girl, and neither of the girl with the mark on her face.

        Before they could play detective more, somebody began pushing them gently from behind towards the benches "Please, madam and sir, take a seat. You're stealing the attention from the stars of the show." the deep gloomy feminine voice of the person from behind them said. They were both very embarrassed, (NAME) was embarrassed for getting scolded, meanwhile Clément was embarrassed for being obedient like a mutt instead of being stubborn, as he didn’t want (NAME) to think of him lowly, so they sat down on the benches, next to three small mousy brown haired triplet boys, around 7 years old most likely, in navy blue sailor suits, talking to each other, before looking at the two in awe.

        “Woah, you’re so pretty miss, like a fairy godmother!”

        “You look like a Prince Charming, sir!”

        “You remind me of our mamman and papa!”

        “Really? Why, we thank you, boys!” (NAME) smiled at their sweetness, but Clément just smirked for a bit before looking back at the show.         

       “I’m Jack!” The boy who complimented Clément said confidently, before his much shyer brother who complimented (NAME) introduced himself “I’m Pierre...” “But we call him Pilou, m’lady!”, “And I’m Vittorio.” The third boy said, his voice very calm and soothing, unlike his energetic brother or his other more coy brother.

        (NAME) couldn’t help but laugh at the little boy’s confidence, finding the kids adorable.

        “Where are your parents, little ones?” She asked, noticing has there was nobody near them other than people around her and Clem’s ages.

        “Parents? They’re on the other side, the one thats opposite of Strangemaggedon!” Little Vittorio said, which left (NAME) confused. This kid must’ve been so wise beyond his years that she couldn’t understand a thing from him... either that or he was babbling childish nonsense. Yet, she decided to try to ask. Key word: tried.

        “Where-” “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and gals and gender nonconforming pals! Step right up, step right up, see amazing human oddities, freaks of nature. Be warned, people with heart conditions, children, women - we will accept no responsibility for fainting, reoccurring nightmares, or death!" The place became dark, the spotlight coming to a well dressed ringmaster, fully red, from his tailcoat to even his hair being an unnatural red, a hair colour (NAME) has never seen. Yes, she did know redheads like Olga for example, but her hair was a ginger colour, meanwhile this man had completely red hair. “With that in mind, welcome to The Circus Of Strangemaggedon! The greatest show ever heard of in entire overworld and underworld!”

        The children began clapping, not caring too much for what (NAME) was going to say, but (NAME) wasn’t too disappointed, knowing anything could steal the attention of children. She began clapping too, as well as the rest of the crowd. Only Clément remained sat on his seat, playing with his fingers.

        “This moment will live forever, tonight!” As the ringmaster said that, a bunch of spectacular colours began appearing in the vision of everybody: acrobats jumping high in the air, plenty of wild animals that haven’t been seen before in (NAME)’s life, and people in multicoloured clothing. There were even people juggling objects on fire ‘How do their hands not burn? They aren't even wearing gloves or anything to protect their skin!’. It truly was magical to (NAME), as if she was seeing dragons and mermaids from fairytales, except that these were real people.

        The opening act finally finished, the carnies gathered inside the ring, around the ringmaster, who still had the light reflecting on him, showing his dominion over everyone. (NAME) noticed something strange about the carnies. Not only did they have unique appearances, but they looked... very young... around her age mostly, but there were some who looked slightly older, and some looked younger, which was very odd in the girl’s eyes.

        “Thank you, thank you!" The ringmaster tipped his top hat at the audience. "Now, as I can observe you hungry pooches are waiting for the fun part, but we're trying to spice things up a bit today. I mean, seeing the same carnies do the same things every single time, must be getting quite boring for the viewer, wouldn't you agree?" The crowd responded with either yes or no, but the people mostly responded with "yes". "Well then, tonight we'll be having a star! But not just anybody, somebody who happens to be very lucky!"

        The assemblage went silent as the man closed his eyes and began pointing his cane randomly.

"Ene mene miste,

Es rappelt in der Kiste

Ene Mene Mu

und dran bist Du!"

        At each word, the man pointed randomly and inconsistently at the audience, and at the fifteenth word, the word "Du", was pointed towards (NAME), Clem, and a few people who were sitting near them like the triplets, yet the spotlight lit between the girl and the boy before it started slowly moving above (NAME). "Oh wow, what luck I truly have..." She mentally cursed myself for sitting here, meanwhile, Clem was laughing his socks off at her luck. “Fantastic job, miss lucky charm!” He laughed. The ringmaster opened his eyes and said "You, the mademoiselle with the black hat! Step right up, don't be shy!"

        (NAME) gave the boy her hat, as to not ruin it in some way while there, as god knows what act she’ll have to do. “I’m holding my fingers crossed for you!” He smiled at her mischievously “Oh, please, don’t act like I’ll get killed!” She giggled.

        “Good luck, miss!” The triplets smiled at her, saying in unison their simple yet encouraging words. She smiled sweetly at them, and then walked down to the ring, holding the end of her skirt between her fingers as to not make it dirty. Once she got past the fence, the ringmaster smiled at her, showing his golden tooth while at it. (NAME) did a small curtsy, feeling rather shy before the man. "Everybody give a warm welcome to our star of the show for tonight... what's your name?" The man asked, to which  (NAME) gulped. She never really liked her actual name, always making people call her nicknames, literally anything that wasn’t her name. But... she wasn’t going to stay here forever, right? Might as well use a fake name.

        “My name is Fanny, sir!” She smiled, before he laughed “Don’t think you can fool me, little lady! I specifically sent you an invitation and your little boy toy pal right there. You remember the tickets, right, (NAME)?”

        She was surprised, but decided to play along “Aw, you caught me!” She laughed. “Yes, my name is...(NAME)...” She felt like she had something bitter in her mouth when she used the name in this context, but whatever, moving on.

        "Ah, you almost caught me there, (NAME)! How are you feeling being the star for tonight?" The man shook her hand energetically, which made the girl feel a little dizzy from how fast he was shaking her much smaller hand. "Good, well, bring them there!" (NAME) finally regained her thoughts as she heard the last part being enunciated towards somebody who was behind her apparently. ‘Take me where?!’ She wondered. Before she could utter anything, (NAME) felt two gloved hands on my shoulders as she was guided towards a round wall.

        The girl felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins for the confusion of what could happen to her, as the person who held her was preparing her for the act, putting her hands above her head. (NAME) couldn’t see their features too well, as the light from behind the person was hitting her eyes to the point she couldn’t even squint her eyes from how much it hurt, and the silhouette was dark, the only thing the girl managed to see was that the person had the physique of a tall woman with s lot of beautiful curves, and long curly hair to compliment it, making (NAME) imagine her to an image similar to Venus in Botticelli’s paintings from how blessed this person looked just by their silhouette.

        “Good luck” the silhouette spoke to (NAME) as they finally left the girl at the hands of the person she shares an act with. Yet another silhouette, this time looking like a man, a young man by the looks of it, with much medium straight hair, that ended a bit more spikier than she’d seen on other people.

"Now, everybody get prepared for the first act of tonight, the art of impalement." The girl’s eyes widened even more. She thought she was going to die at that moment.

        (NAME) kept trying to stay as still as a boulder while the silhouette kept making false throwing gestures towards her as if they were calculating the correct direction to throw the daggers. She almost flinched as the first dagger was thrown near her waist, and then another near her hair, and then a few more, until the daggers created an outline of her. The whole crowd applauded, herself included, even if she felt like her soul was leaving her body from the fear she felt. Before she could ask the showman if she could just walk back to her seat, the same silhouette from earlier took her backstage, leaving Clément alone.

“You did amazing, girly!” A bubbly deep feminine voice, as (NAME) finally saw her facial features. She had soft expressive cattle like light blueish eyes, almost violet if you looked at them in more detail, very pale albino skin which was painted with a bit of faceprint to make her features pop out, complimented by her white curls, and most importantly, a very friendly and warm smile.

(NAME) couldn’t help but blush bashfully, as she found this girl very beautiful, so beautiful in fact that she felt like a total dolt in comparison. “Why...grazie, miss!”

        As they got backstage, a much taller and slightly muscular man approached her, which (NAME) noticed had this flamboyant air to him, with his soft features, like his rounder amber eyes and soft smile painted with a red heart over his lips, which were in perfect harmony with his aquiline nose and slightly elongated face, complimented as well by a side slicked hairdo of the same colour as regular toffee. He looked curiously at the strange girl that came backstage, but nonetheless smiled at her, showing that he had a slight tooth gap between his teeth. “Myrtle, is this the girl that took Cici’s place at Perry’s act?”

        “Why, of course! Wasn’t she amazing on the stage, Dorian? Not flinching even  the slightest bit at the knives that were being thrown at her?” The albino girl giggled. (NAME) knew she was trying to seem encouraging, but the whole act scared the devil out of her, as the saying would go. Even so, she smiled sheepishly.

        “She took it like a professional, standing as still as a flower! Thank your brother that he didn’t pluck her petals! Even Sisi would’ve flinched by his speed of throwing!”  The toff in a yellow leotard laughed, patting the girl’s back in slow rhythms, as if he was either encouraging her, or as if she was amusing him somehow.

        Myrtle giggled too at the joke, just not as energetic at the brunette, even awkwardly if (NAME) caught it correctly. The voice of a little girl’s panting from panic caught their attention, cutting their laughter down: “Dorian, Myrtle, have you seen my pendant?!”

(NAME) knew who the girl was, the same white haired one who bumped into Clem earlier.

        “Sadly no, Norrie...” ; “I’m so sorry Elisnora, but we haven’t seen a pendant anywhere.” Both Myrtle and Dorian shook their heads, giving the girl no sense of hope that she’ll see her pendant again. But in every story there’ll be at least one saviour. (NAME) had the pendant, but it was in her satchel that was currently in Clément’s care.

        “Was it in the shape of a flower and made of bronze?” The girl with the blue bolero asked.

        The much younger girl looked shocked, but nodded, desperate to get her pendant back.

        “I know where it is-” “MYRTLE!” An agitating voice yelled from behind the young girl (NAME) was talking to  before she could finish her sentence. Elisnora and Dorian were pushed aside as the owner of the voice tried to argue with the albino haired girl. “One of you idiots had hidden my hat somewhere-” but, before the voice could become higher, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, it caught attention of the new girl, the guest of tonight.

(NAME) noticed the new figure to look a lot alike to the showman, both with the unnaturally red hair that most would think is a wig and bright green eyes, but this figure looked much younger than the showman, around the same age as Myrtle and Dorian, or probably a bit younger, but (NAME) guessed it was because he was a bit shorter than Myrtle.

        His face somehow became whiter, even with white facepaint on. “Wait, who’s she?” If (NAME) wasn’t that attentive to details, she wouldn’t have noticed his ears becoming a flushed red colour, almost as red as his hair.

        “This is (NAME), the star of tonight’s show!” Dorian smiled at the girl, before looking at, what (NAME) guessed, was the clown.

        “Star of tonight’s show? But I knew the first act was my act with Perry-” but then he realised what had happened. “Good morning sunshine. Mr Ringling had replaced you with a girl for tonight.” Dorian and Myrtle began laughing like two turkeys, as (NAME) realised that this was supposed to be this boy’s act. This must be the Cici Dorian was talking about earlier. She looked at him, a bit saddened in fear that he would feel offended, as for one moment he was flabbergasterd, but the clown just laughed a bit before, pulling the girl’s arms to hold her shoulders. “My, and such a pretty girl took my place? I feel ashamed!” He laughed, inspecting her face, and disrespecting her personal space to a high degree, as he kept putting his gloved hand on her face, as if he was trying to memorise every aspect of her with tactile senses, including her eye, where he put his thumb on her bottom lid, and his index on her top lid, streching the eye, as if he was an ophthalmologist. “Your eyes are so pretty. They are like mirrors from how I can see my reflection in them!”

        “Uhh, pardon?” (NAME) slapped his hand lightly, very much weirded out by his action, yet she still tried to be polite, as she thought that maybe this was normal for them? Cici’s exaggerated expression turned into one of shame as he realised he made the ‘pretty girl’ uncomfortable “Sorry for that, doll! But am I excited that you are joining us for at least tonight!”

        “Yeah... um... I need to help her find her pendant... I’ll skedaddle for a bit! Toodles!” (NAME) laughed awkwardly, as she signalled for the younger girl with white curls to follow her, which obeyed her, as the much younger girl showed her  a way to get back towards the seats without getting inside the ring.

While they were walking farther, they heard the conversation of the two male carnies. “You scared her, you donkey!” “Oh please, I’m just excited. I’m tired of only seeing the same faces all the time! And wasn’t she adorable?  She looked like a small doe!” “Cici-” “Stop calling me that.” “Ugh, Cecil, she just appeared today-” “so what? She deserves all the admiration she could get, you...” But their voices became from coherent to straight up gibberish as everything became quieter and more quieter.

        “Just ignore them... they think they own this place for being in the stage of being older than most children.” The young girl, Elisnora as (NAME) caught from the carnies’ conversation as her name being, whispered quietly, as if anyone could hear them

        “Oh...” Was all (NAME) could muster up, as she walked back towards where Clément was together with those triplets, engrossed by the show, as he didn’t even notice her. She put her hands on his shoulder, causing him to yelp. “Not funny... wait, you’re back?” His anger became to curiosity quite quickly, as (NAME) giggled. “In flesh and bones!”

        “...You know?” “Well, sorry mr knows-it-all-cause-my-uncle-owns-this-place!” Both Dorian and Cecil kept arguing, as a darker aura appeared in the backstage. “Oh Perry... hello...” Myrtle muttered, talking to the new figure, without even looking at it. Perry seemed angered as he threw a dagger towards one of the vanities. He seemed frustrated, as he put his hands over his long styled mauve tinted white hair. “What’s wrong this time, brother-” “Shut up!” He was angered. He hated the fact he almost miscalculated his act, almost causing one child to cry from how close his dagger was towards their neck. He was never distracted, but it was all caused by that stupid act, by HER!

He will get revenge soon enough, he was sure of it.

[dystopyx-blog]

Period + Depression combo driven TWST Playful Land Rambles

I think we all deserve to ramble to our heart's content in this time. So here's my election woes/ovulation driven comfort rambles. Maybe it will offer you some comfort as well ❤️

The Gino-Is-My-Son rambles:

Gino is my Itty bitty and he can do no wrong. Idc if he is actively doing wrong, he can do no wrong.

Joining the others to Playful LAND and immediately getting attached to the small beastman seemingly attached to Fellow's hip. Fellow trying to work his charm but ngl I'm basically ignoring him any and every time Gino smiles. Fellow offering to take me and my group for a personal tour, but I'm focused on seeing Gino smile. He is my boy, my son. Grim getting jealous when I tear off pieces of chicken to give to Gino instead of him.

The Floyd-Addiction-Strikes-Again rambles

Mostly sticking with Floyd while at Playful Land. Breaking off from the larger group to spend one on one time with Floyd. It's like a date. Feeding each other cotton candy. Floyd wants to try all the weird flavored snacks. Letting Floyd drag me around the park, going along with his every whim and fancy. Taking pictures of us whenever I can. He doesn't really care about the pictures, and it ends up mostly being candids of him having a good time or really blurry photos from trying to take a selfie of the two of us but he does something goofy last minute to mess it up, but I don't consider them ruined, cuz they're not. They have a Floyd Touch to them now, just makes them more special.

The Especially-Delusional rambles

The Floyd Leech of some of my yandere rambles who really wants children, even if they're not biologically his. Floyd, who sees how attached I've become to Gino, and just shrugs and goes along with it. Floyd standing by as I absolutely baby Gino. Fellow watching by, not even he is able to mask the confusion and slight horror he feels at the situation, meanwhile Floyd is playing along. Gino is also playing along, because he is Perfect Boy tm.

Even when in a cage, unable to move because of the puppetification process, still cooing over Gino and telling him I forgive him, even as I sass Fellow.

Floyd and I both, frozen in the cage, still acting like Gino's parents, Fellow regretting every major life decision that brought him to this point.

Really I just want a chance to coddle Gino, even though he could very well be older than the NRC boys??? How old is Gino???? Like they emphasize Fellow is a full on adult, but what about my boy Gino????

Whatever, I just want to coddle Gino, with Floyd humoring me and playing along with my nonsense.

~~~

Eyo I've had this one in the drafts for a bit. It is no longer election or Playful land, but know what it is?

.

[daydreambirb]

Remaining amount of toy animatronic with this cool artstyle or format. I REFUSE TO DO BALLOON BOY AND JJ maybe they can be together in the same picture if I do plan on drawing them :) I mostly don’t plan on drawing them until I’m done with the withereds(+mangles damaged form)

[dottoreandcapitanosimp]

IM BACK! And w a better writing! Pls send me ideias! The fandoms that i acept:

Animes/Games/Movies/Series:

Kimetsu no Yaiba, Boku no Hero, Naruto, Pokémon Sun and Moon, Disney, Marvel, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Kakegurui, Banana Fish, Nanatsu no Taizai, Death Note, Heathers, Scott Pilgrim, She-ra, Steven Universe, Miraculous, Danganronpa, Twisted Wonderland, Yandere Simulator, Project Isekai, Call of Duty, Five Nigth at Freddy's (NO ANIMATRONICS IN ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS), Genshin Impact, Bridgerton.

Manhwa's:

The Villainess is a Marionette, The Youngest Princess, Who Made Me a Princess, Death is the only ending for the Villainess, How to get my husband on my side, The Villainess reverses the hourglass, How to protect the female lead older brother, Father, i dont want this marrige, I Will fall with the emperor, The Princess Jewerely Box, Marry My Husband, I married The male lead dad, bewere of the Villainess.

I also write historical characters like the Tudors, Marie Antoinette, Queen Victoria and also period OCs! Oh, and i can do Greek gods to!

[yandereloveraw]

FNAF 1-2 AU

Vanilla: Chica

Xavier: Marrionette/Puppet

Archie: Foxy

Jasper: Bonnie [I apologize. I know that this is Pizzeria Simulator Bonnie, not original Bonnie. I just wanted a gif of him playing the guitar.]

All games as well as all characters belong to Scott Cawthon

All gifs belong to their creators

[thepolishlynx]

Sapphire Snowe: The Bear, The Beast & The Blizzard - She wants to disapp...

[yanderedrabbles]

Thinking about getting into an accident - nothing too bad, just a little fender bender. But you've had a long day, and you give the guy a lot more attitude than you should.

Snapping that this wouldn't have happened if he didn't brake check you. Asking if he can even afford insurance or if you're supposed to pay for this shit out of pocket. Snarling that your daddy is going to sue the living daylights out of him.

Thinking about the yandere mechanic just off his shift who's too fucking tired to deal with your bullshit. Prissy fucking thing, ain'tcha? Thinking you're so much better than him. Sneering at his truck and his clothes like honest work is the filthiest thing you've ever seen.

Yandere mechanic who's been on the end of his rope for a while now. Pay is shit, boss is shit, can't hold onto a girl for the life of him. All he wants is to go home and have a cold beer. But no. Some little bitch is yelling at him.

Yandere mechanic who's spent his entire life on the the wrong side of the tracks. Kind of guy who's had more than a few run ins with the cops. Who's probably served a year or two in corrections, and who's barely holding onto his parole.

Yandere mechanic who finds himself reaching for the tire iron peeking out of his toolbox without even realising it. God, girls like you are the fucking worst. Prancing around in your short skirts and high heels and turning your nose up at anything that bothers you. Daddy's money bitch that needs to be taught a lesson. Needs to brought down a few pegs. Needs to be fucking humbled.

Yandere mechanic who swings the tire iron right at your temple, and never mind that his mama told him to never hit a woman.

You fold like a fucking marionette, passed out as his feet in less than five seconds. Still breathing, not convulsing. Good. Didn't hit you too hard.

Yandere mechanic who shoves his tools off the backseat and tosses you into his truck. Not so fucking mouthy now, are you? Who rips a pack of zip ties open with his teeth and ties you up with the same casual efficiency he uses to change a tire.

Your skirt rides up a little when he hauls you onto his backseat, and he runs his palm down your thigh before he slams the door. God, you've got such nice skin. Bet you taste like sugar and vanilla.

Yandere mechanic who takes you home and then comes back to dump your Audi way out in the sticks. Anything coulda happened to you. And if he's smart about it, no one will ever catch on that he was involved in your sudden and tragic disappearance.

I'm especially thinking about what it must be like to wake up after he knocks you out.

Your head pounding, your eyes aching. Confused. Disoriented. Not sure where you are or why you can't move your hands.

Thinking about noticing him for the first time, sitting in an armchair a little ways from the bed, legs spread and a beer dripping condensation at his feet. The room dark, the only light coming from the moon and his cigarette.

A real blue collar bastard, still in his wife beater and work pants, stained black with grease.

Just watching you.

The tip of his cigarette glowing with each pull and giving you a second or two to see his face - the mean smirk, the too jaded eyes.

"Not so fucking mouthy now, are you?"

You scream.

No use. It's muffled by the gag. Some random scrap of cloth that tastes of motor oil and digs into your cheeks. You try and sit up, but he's got you trussed up good and proper.

He watches you try and get loose, watches you thrash and scream and cry. Until your hair is all over your face and clinging to the tears on your cheeks.

Thinking about the way he grinds out his cigarette. Thinking about that last bit of light going out and the way it's like a kick to the face.

Thinking of the way he finally stands, and you realise just how big he is compared to you. Not pretty boy gym rat muscles either. But the hard shit you build hauling machinery and parts all day.

Thinking of the way he walks towards you, boots so damn heavy on the floorboards. Already reaching for his belt buckle.

"Gonna take real good care of sweetheart. Just gotta fuck all that attitude out first."

[marabow]

A Rose Among Thorns

[OCS] Various Circus Characters x Fem Reader

ONGOING/REWRITING

"Rewriting as of 03/03/2025"

Summary:

The year was 1913. (Y/N) was an ordinary young lady... Well, as ordinary as it can come. She was secretly quite the mischievous lass, always getting into a ruckus one way or another, but always fleeing without getting in trouble. What happens when she gets an invitation from the circus that everybody thought it was just a bedtime story for children, and (Y/N) sees this as an opportunity to create new friends? Why must she not create some unforgettable memories first?...Well, as unforgettable as terrifying some memories can be.

Read on Quotev: Here

Read on Wattpad: Here

Ask questions/submit things related to this story: @cecilcabaret

Chapter I: The Tickets (published 03/03/2025) (LINK)

Chapter II: The Circus (published 25/03/2025) (LINK)

Chapter III: The Sun Of The Moon (published 09/05/2025)(LINK)

ORIGINAL STORY FROM EONS AGO CAN BE FOUND HERE (WARNING! It's very old and cringy AND I HATE IT)

[fixated-cookies]

im kinda thinkin about.... hypnosis and smilk.... smth abt the process specifically of taking over and invading your mind.. slowly giving into it even if youre resisting the effects its having on your mind, its inevitable that he'll win and you'll succumb to his control and influence over you... your mind may be foggy, but it's so perfectly empty and moldable now... what were you doing again? do you even care?

smth about being unable to look away from his eyes once he starts it; even if you look away, something will draw you back, and it gets stronger as it goes on... at first, you can physically turn away (though you'll get dragged back by some invisible force), but eventually you cant even rip your heard away from his gaze. smth about it being unable to be stopped by anyone other than himself once he starts it... no matter how far from you he is (as long as he's well... in sightline)

honestly you can like. think abt this in any context you want . i just.... really like the concept of hypnosis with him..... its captivating to me (hah) .... sorry for the essay in your inbox damn

Anon the reason why this was rotting in my askbox for so long was because I needed to give it justice hahaha, hypnosis is totally in character for someone like shadow milk cookie, and I love it.

WARNING- slight yandere, hypnosis

Hmm, I'm wondering how it would start, he would obviously make it a game, maybe a game of truth or dare, hm? Just a little bit of lollygagging to get rid of his boredom.

So, when he asked— “Truth or Dare?”—

You made the horrible mistake of choosing dare.

His grin widened, all teeth.“Ohhh, you’re feeling bold tonight! How delightful! Now, let’s see…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. You should have been nervous. You should have backed out. But you didn’t.

I dare you… to look into my eyes and not look away.”

Simple, right?

You almost laughed. Thats its? Thats all?

"Ah-ah, don’t look so relieved~! There’s a catch, of course. You must hold my gaze until I say you can look away. Break eye contact, and you lose."

You scoffed. What was he playing at? You weren’t afraid of a staring contest. Getting into position you held yourself steady as he looked overly excited.

For a while, it felt like a normal challenge. You stared, he stared, and time stretched between you both. But then… something changed. The air felt thicker. Your body heavier. You blinked once. It felt like it took longer than it should have to open your eyes again. You swallowed. Something felt off.

Your limbs felt distant like you weren’t quite inside your body anymore. You tried to look away—But your head wouldn’t move. "I...I-" "Tsk, tsk… You’re not trying to look away, are you? Ohh, but I can see that dazed look in your eyes already… how precious!" He started to scoot closer. Not fast. Not abrupt. No, he took his time, savoring the way your body twitched ever so slightly. How your breath caught, your fingers tightening into trembling fists against the floor. Your head refused to move. Your body felt so distant, like a marionette with cut strings, a doll that could only watch as its puppeteer inched nearer.

Your vision wavered, the edges blurring as if reality itself was losing focus. His eyes were all you could see. How could this happen? you were so sure he didn't have...any malicious...intent—huh...? What was going on...?—No, you hadn’t! You had to resist, you had to—"Mmm, that’s a good look on you… so unfocused, so lost…" He suddenly interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked, but the action felt slow, heavy, like your body was moving through water. You knew—somewhere, deep down—that this was wrong. That you should snap out of it. But… that was so difficult. Thinking was… so hard. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a quiet, dazed sigh.

Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, only for it to falter as your eyesight ripped away from him violently, a frustrated groan escaping you as you squeezed your eyes shut out of defiance. "Oh? You still have some fight left in you?" His voice slithered through the air, a mocking lilt woven into his amusement. How predictable. How pathetic. Impossibly close now, his presence, looming, suffocating—but when his hands cupped your cheeks, you knew there was no escape. His palms were cool, but his grip was unyielding.

"Really now, I thought you were smarter than this." His thumbs trailed lower, brushing over your lips with featherlight strokes. "Oh, my dear, sweet fool…" His voice dipped into a breathy murmur, mismatched eyes drinking in every flicker of your resolve. "...I wonder... how long will that last?"

His grip on your cheeks tightened—just enough for his thumbs to press against your skin, coaxing you, urging you—until your lashes fluttered. A sliver of light slipped through.

And the moment your gaze met his—

The air in your lungs vanished. And oh, how he grinned.

"Mmm… there it is."

His voice was nothing but a purr, smooth and saccharine as he drank in your struggle. His grip softened, shifting to cradle your face so delicately—as if he hadn’t just crushed your resistance in the palm of his hand.

"Much easier when you don’t fight, isn’t it?"

His thumbs stroked your cheeks, his tone mocking, indulgent—but there was something darker beneath it. "Go on, little puppet…" His breath ghosted over your lips as his mismatched eyes pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. "Be good for me, yeah?" He murmurs lowly Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours—slow, deliberate, consuming. A kiss meant to unravel, to claim. His fingers pressed gently into your skin, holding you there, grounding you— or perhaps, chaining you.

And when he finally pulled away, he didn’t need to command you to look at him this time.

Because you already were.

A single finger tapped lightly against your forehead as if to mock the emptiness settling in. His victory.

"See? Much better when you don’t think."

--

you guys, rate my hypnosis writing I need it!! These ideas are just sooo juicy.

[yandere-writer-momo]

This is so niche. But enjoy the insane tiny man!

Yandere DC Shorts:

My Darling Alice

Yandere Mad Hatter x Psychiatrist Fem Reader

TW: obsessive behavior, stalking, kidnapping, being held against one’s will, Mad Hatter is a creep, delusional behavior, very short horror, and mind control (mentioned at end)

“Alice!” Loud giggles spilled through chapped lips as rough hands grasped at her face. (Your name) winced as the dry skin scratched the soft skin of her cheeks. The fabric of Jervis’s fingerless gloves did nothing but make the surface wounds burn ever so slightly. A sadistic reminder that this was no dream… her patient had escaped Arkham and kidnapped her to be his Alice. “My darling Alice… I finally have you in my clutches. Oh it’s wonderful to finally have you in wonderland with me.”

(Your name) caught a glimpse of her reflection and had to gulp down the hole that threatened to erupt from her throat like lava. She was in a baby blue dress with a frilly white apron a top of it. She even had on multiple layers of tile skirts under to make the dress have more shape and crisp white stockings with black Mary Jane’s. Had Jervis changed her clothes?! How on earth did she land in this ridiculously accurate Alice in wonderland attire?

(Your name) was by no means Jervis Tetch’s type! So why… why her?

“Do you love your dress?” Jervis’s lips twisted into a crooked grin, his cheeks aflame in awe. “I personally tailored it to your sizes… it’s an exact replica of the one you made for my Alice doll in Arkham! Oh, my Alice… I’m so happy to have finally found you!”

(Your name) felt her heart sink. She had shown this loon kindness and he interpreted it as affection. This love starved man had set his sights on her and she could do nothing but play along. Unless she wanted to end up like the Alices before her.

“Jervis, I’m not-“ He bent down to kiss her cheeks. A shiver ran down her spine from how acrid the scent of his breath was.

“Nonsense. You’re perfect, my Alice.”

(Your name) felt a zap on her head and then her body was under his will like a marionette guided by its strings by a puppeteer.

“There we go… now be a proper Alice and come adore your Mad Hatter.”

[arilevenatz]

Ateez as dark entities

Pairing: ot8!Ateez x reader

Genre: Dark shit

Warnings: dark and twisted themes, yandere themes, damn I suck at writing warnings, please lmk what I can add here

Synopsis: Ateez as dark entities who are obsessed with you. How would that go? (I would be writing this in the third perspective)

Masterlist

Hongjoong: The Puppeteer

A sinister mastermind who controls people’s actions like marionettes, manipulating reality with strings of fate. His words weave deception, pulling the world into his chaotic play.

He saw her in a crowd, but unlike the others, she wasn’t swayed by his unseen strings. Her free will intrigued him, an anomaly in his perfectly controlled world. He watched her for days, testing how much influence he had over her actions. When he realized she resisted, his obsession grew. He needed to break her, to weave her into his masterpiece—his perfect marionette.

At first, she wouldn’t even realize she was being controlled. Hongjoong would make subtle changes—her thoughts, her actions, her choices—until everything she did led her straight back to him.

Her friends would start acting differently, nudging her toward him. Strangers would mention his name as if he was always meant to be in her life. It was a web of manipulation, and she was tangled in it before she even knew.

The moment she tried to break away, she’d feel it—the invisible strings tightening around her wrists. She’d find herself going back to him, no matter how much she resisted. Even when she thought she was making her own choices, they all led back to Hongjoong.

By the time she realized she had never truly been free, it was too late. She was already a puppet in his hands.

Hongjoong wouldn’t resort to mindless violence. No, his punishments would be calculated—surgical.

A single flick of his fingers, and her limbs would move without her consent, forced into painful contortions. She’d feel the strain in her muscles, the stretch of her tendons beyond what they were meant to endure. But he wouldn’t let her break. Not yet.

“I don’t like hurting you,” he’d say, watching as she trembled under his control. “But if you insist on disobeying, I will teach you.”

And just when she thought she’d collapse from the pain, he’d release her—only to hold her close, stroking her hair as she whimpered. “See? If you just behave, you won’t have to suffer.”

Seonghwa: The Phantom Monarch

A cursed ruler who lingers between life and death, draped in shadows and whispering forgotten prophecies. His touch brings both solace and despair, a ghostly presence haunting his own kingdom.

She entered the ruins of his long-forgotten kingdom, unaware of the ghostly presence watching her. When she touched his throne, a flicker of warmth pulsed through his cold existence for the first time in centuries. He had been a ruler without a queen, a soul without purpose. Now, he had one. If she could make him feel, then she belonged to him.

Seonghwa’s trap was patience. He didn’t chase—he lured. Whenever she left a place, she’d feel his presence lingering behind, just out of sight.

She’d hear his voice in the wind, see his reflection in darkened windows. He became an inescapable part of her world, an unseen force watching her every move.

Then, one night, the world would shift. She’d wake up in a place that looked like her home but wasn’t. The furniture was the same, the air smelled familiar, but the sky outside was an endless void. The door wouldn’t open, the windows showed nothing but darkness.

She’d turn—and there he’d be, standing in the doorway. “You wandered too far,” he’d say, tilting his head. “Now, you can never leave.”

Seonghwa wouldn’t strike her. He wouldn’t even touch her.

But he’d make her feel like she was dying.

He’d whisper a few words, and suddenly, the air would vanish from her lungs. No oxygen, no relief—just the slow, creeping suffocation of her own body betraying her. He’d watch her fall to her knees, eyes wide in terror, clutching at her throat as she silently begged for mercy.

Only when she was on the verge of unconsciousness would he allow her to breathe again. He’d catch her before she hit the floor, his voice a soothing lullaby.

“I hate doing this,” he’d murmur, wiping away the tears streaking her face. “But you need to understand. You are mine.”

Yunho: The Hollow Jester

A deceivingly cheerful trickster whose laughter hides an empty soul. He thrives on others’ misery, playing twisted games that always end in despair, his mask concealing a haunting void

She laughed. It was a sound so genuine, so full of life—something he lacked. He saw her in the reflection of a shattered mirror, a place where only twisted souls should exist. But she was untouched, pure. He had to change that. He wanted to see how long she could keep that smile once she stepped into his world of madness.

Yunho would make her question reality itself. It would start small—objects moving from where she left them, voices whispering from places they shouldn’t be.

She’d see glimpses of him in mirrors, but when she turned around, he wouldn’t be there. He wanted to break her mind before he claimed her.

Then, one day, she’d wake up in a world that wasn’t hers. The people around her would wear empty smiles, their laughter hollow and unsettling. No matter where she ran, she’d always end up back at the same place—a grand, eerie carnival with no exit.

And at the center of it all, sitting on his throne of illusions, was Yunho, grinning as he held out his hand. “Welcome home.”

Yunho would turn it into a game—a cruel, endless game.

She’d wake up in a room she didn’t recognize, doors stretching in every direction. “If you can find the real exit,” his voice would echo from nowhere, “I’ll let you go.”

Desperation would push her to run, to fling open door after door, but each one led somewhere worse—a room full of mirrors reflecting her worst fears, a hallway that stretched infinitely, a pit of darkness with no end. The sound of his laughter would follow her, amused and patient.

Finally, when she was broken, exhausted, curled in a corner with silent tears, he’d crouch beside her, brushing her hair back. “See?” he’d whisper. “You’re always safest when you stay with me.”

Yeosang: The Watcher in the Mirror

An entity that exists within reflections, observing silently and waiting for the right moment to step into reality. Those who meet his gaze feel their deepest fears manifest before them.

She looked into the mirror, and he looked back. Unlike the others, she didn’t turn away in fear. She stared, as if searching for something. That was the first time someone acknowledged his existence without terror. He had been watching her long before she noticed him, but now, she had seen him. And once you see the Watcher, he never lets you go.

Yeosang never had to chase her—she was the one who kept looking for him. Every time she passed a reflective surface, his eyes were there, watching.

She should have stopped looking, should have turned away. But she didn’t. Curiosity turned into obsession, and that was his trap.

One day, she’d reach out to touch the glass, and it wouldn’t be solid anymore. Instead of her reflection, it would be his hand reaching back. A single pull, and she’d fall through, tumbling into his world—a place made of endless reflections, where only he could find the way out. But there was no escape.

“You searched for me,” he’d whisper, his lips brushing against her ear. “Now, you’ll never stop seeing me.”

Yeosang would make her lose herself.

The first cut would be shallow—a single line down her palm, bleeding just enough to stain the floor. But the reflection in the mirror? It would be so much worse.

In the glass, she’d see herself covered in wounds, skin marred by deep, jagged gashes. Her breath would hitch—was it real? She’d feel no pain, but the sight alone would break her, make her wonder if her body was even her own anymore.

“Which version of you do you think is real?” Yeosang would ask, voice soft, cruel. “The one standing here? Or the one who’s already been ruined?”

By the time he was done, she wouldn’t be sure if she was whole anymore.

San: The Wrathborn Beast

A relentless, cursed creature with uncontainable fury, lurking in the darkness and striking with unmatched ferocity. His hunger for vengeance keeps him shackled in eternal torment.

She was the first to step into his cage without trembling. His rage had driven everyone away, but she stood there, eyes locked with his, unafraid. He hated it at first—the way she didn’t cower. But then, he realized something. If she could stand before a monster without fear, then she was strong enough to endure him. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and she was the only one worthy of staying.

San knew she was drawn to him despite the danger. He let her think she had control, that she could leave whenever she wanted. But every time she walked away, something inside her ached. She craved the thrill, the way his presence sent a shiver down her spine.

That was his trap—making her believe she chose him when, in reality, he had chosen her from the start.

The day she finally tried to leave for good, he didn’t stop her. Instead, he let her feel the emptiness, the unbearable absence of him. And when she inevitably returned, desperate for the chaos only he could give, he was waiting.

“You walked into the lion’s den, little lamb,” he murmured, arms caging her in. “You should’ve known you’d never walk out.”

San wouldn’t hold back. He wouldn’t lie to himself about what he was doing.

When he was angry, when she had truly pushed him too far, his grip would be punishing. His fingers would dig into her skin hard enough to bruise, his voice low with fury.

“You want to run? Fine. Let’s see how far you can crawl.”

A single shove would send her to the floor, and he wouldn’t help her up. Instead, he’d watch as she struggled, as she realized how weak she was compared to him.

And when she finally gave up, when she curled up at his feet, he’d sigh—exhausted, but satisfied.

“Don’t make me do this again,” he’d whisper, pulling her into his arms despite her flinching. “I don’t like hurting you. But I won’t let you leave me either.”

Mingi: The Nightmare Poet

A being whose words shape reality, crafting dreams that turn into horrifying nightmares. His voice echoes in the minds of those who hear him, driving them to madness.

She dreamed of him before they ever met. His words had slipped into her mind, shaping her thoughts, her fears, her desires. He whispered stories in the dead of night, and she listened. When she finally saw him in the waking world, there was no shock—only recognition. She had belonged to him from the first nightmare, and now, he was here to claim her.

Mingi’s trap was set long before she ever met him. He had been in her dreams for weeks, whispering poetry laced with shadows, planting fears only he could soothe.

Every night, she dreamed of him. Every morning, she woke up with the lingering echo of his voice in her mind. She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. She was drawn to him, to the way his words made her feel like she belonged in his world of nightmares.

Then, one night, she wouldn’t wake up. She’d open her eyes to find herself in a realm made of her own fears, with Mingi standing at its center.

“You kept listening,” he’d say, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “And now, you’ll never wake up without me.”

Mingi’s cruelty would be subtle—a slow, creeping thing.

She’d wake up with her memories altered. One moment, she’d remember everything—the pain, the fear, the desperate attempt to run. The next? She’d remember nothing but warmth, love, the softest touch.

Which was real? Which was a lie?

She’d claw at her own skin, desperate to remember what was true. And Mingi would watch, amused, patient.

“You’re overthinking,” he’d coo, pulling her hands away so she couldn’t hurt herself further. “Just trust me. I’ll tell you what’s real.”

And by the time he was done, she wouldn’t even realize she had ever wanted to leave.

Wooyoung: The Siren of Shadows

A deadly seducer whose beauty and charm lure souls into eternal darkness. His whispers are irresistible, drawing victims into an abyss from which they can never escape.

She heard his voice first, a soft melody in the dark. It called to her, leading her deeper into the unknown. He watched her hesitate, but her curiosity won. When she finally laid eyes on him, she was already too far gone. He smiled. She had walked willingly into his grasp, and now, he would never let her leave.

Wooyoung’s voice was her downfall. It was everywhere—in the music she listened to, in the whispered words she thought were her own thoughts.

He sang her name in the wind, in the rustling of leaves, in the quiet hum of the night. The more she listened, the more she needed to hear him. That was his trap—addiction.

By the time she realized she was bound to his melody, she was already too deep. His voice was the only thing that felt real.

And when he finally stood before her, holding out his hand, she didn’t resist. “You’ve already fallen,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “Now, let me pull you under.”

Wooyoung wouldn’t need to use force. Love itself would become her prison.

He’d kiss her through the pain. His lips would trail over bruises he had left, his fingers tracing over the bite marks he had carved into her skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he’d whisper against her lips, voice trembling with emotion. “But you keep forcing me to.”

And the worst part? He’d be so gentle afterward. He’d hold her in his arms, press kisses to every wound, wipe away her tears with shaking hands. Guilty. Apologetic.

But he’d do it again. And again.

Until she stopped trying to fight it.

Jongho: The Titan of Ruin

A monstrous force of destruction, his strength shatters worlds. He is an unstoppable force, cursed to bring devastation wherever he treads, his very existence a harbinger of doom.

He found her in the aftermath of destruction—standing amidst ruin, untouched by the chaos he created. She should have run. She should have feared him. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached out, as if daring to touch the force that could crush her in an instant. He had never hesitated in destruction, but for the first time, he held back. If she was unafraid of his power, then she was the only one worthy of standing beside him.

Jongho didn’t need tricks or illusions—his trap was raw, undeniable power. He was a force of nature, and she was the only one who dared to stand before him.

He let her believe she could handle him, that she could walk away whenever she wished. He admired her stubbornness, but he knew the truth—she was already his.

When the time came, he didn’t give her a choice. The ground beneath her feet would shatter, the walls around her would crumble. There would be no escape, no safety. And when she turned to him, the only solid thing amidst the chaos, he’d hold out his hand.

“The world is too fragile for you,” he’d murmur. “Stay with me. I’ll make sure nothing ever takes you away.”

Jongho wouldn’t need tricks or illusions. He would simply remind her of who was stronger.

The moment he caught her, he’d pull her against his chest, his grip firm—unbreakable. “Are you done?” he’d ask, voice calm, but with an edge that sent shivers down her spine.

And when she refused to answer, when she still clung to the last scraps of defiance, he’d hold her tighter. Until she gasped for air, until she realized there was no winning against him.

Only then would he let go, letting her crumble to her knees. “Next time,” he’d murmur, crouching beside her, “I won’t be so gentle.”

But she knew there wouldn’t be a next time. Because now, whenever she even thought about running… she’d remember the feeling of his arms caging her in, and she’d know—

She’d never escape him.

[merakiui]

never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then— 

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

[lycheebloom]

delirium : yan. shadow milk cookie drabble

tw : yandere shadow milk cookie, extreme psychological manipulation, implied mind break, obsessive & possessive behavior

epilogue to..!

.𖦹 .° Peculiar.

.𖦹 .° That would be an accurate description of his feelings towards you.

.𖦹 .° An irrelevant cookie you were depicted as on the surface that many could not see past, yet he could not bear to lay a finger on you despite all the power he held. How strange, indeed!

.𖦹 .° As the Master of Deceit himself, should he not be better equipped in handling such situations? He frequently asked him this question as well. Alas, it seemed there were.. exceptions to his very perspective on cookiekind.

.𖦹 .° A phenomenon of a being, his deeply prized puppet—one could even argue you were his favorite.

.𖦹 .° Shadow Milk Cookie walked about in the void where an endless abyss laid, a shadowy labyrinth crafted by his own hand. In the abundance of eyes sprawled an indecipherable web of lies and trickery, entangling any unfortunate enough to step into it.

.𖦹 .° With a twirl of a wand, he tore forth a rift in the dark space—stepping in as the world twisted and turned to his will. As he stepped into the portal, his surroundings distorted until your intangent form pieced itself together bit by bit into a familiar shape he adored—carrying your features that he would wordlessly trace over on nameless nights.

.𖦹 .° Your weathered state was evident through your strained muscles, a posture slumped against velvet pillows, and your head cast down. You remained as motionless as a marionette with its strings cut, even as Shadow Milk Cookie stepped closer.

.𖦹 .° “(Name)!~” He cooed, excitement bouncing off of his voice. He lowered his head, reaching eye level with you—despite your gaze being cast down to the floor. A small frown replaced his expression upon your lack of response, the man tilting your chin up with his index finger.

.𖦹 .° “It’s not nice to ignore people, dear!” He smiled, tilting his head at an abnormal angle. “Much less your lover of all people, (Name) Cookie..!” He dramatically sighed, lowering his hand to place on your shoulder.

.𖦹 .° You no longer pulled away from his touch, nor did you resist his advances. You took in his sickeningly sweet proclamations and vows of adoration, his sugarcoated acts of bloodshed, amidst all other things he did in the name of his love for you. Wasn’t he such a thoughtful romantic? An obsessive maniac.

.𖦹 .° With time, affection withers intelligence, as it cracks open an opportunity for the yearning heart to abandon all lucidity.

.𖦹 .° Shadow Milk Cookie almost regretted breaking you down. Almost.

.𖦹 .° If it were not for the countless number of times he had already done this.

.𖦹 .° For what entertainment would there be in letting this small ordeal with you suffice? No, you were worth something much more than to be discarded like his many broken toys.

.𖦹 .° With a tug on a string, he’ll rebuild you. He’ll shatter your entire reality of life and death, the limits of logicity and grasp of vanity, molding your thoughts and being to his taste. He needs to be your everything, for him to possess your mind, body and very soul. He craved the essence that made up every sacred atom of yours—Oh if he could, he’d conjoin himself with you so that you won’t even dare to think of anything else.

.𖦹 .° Don’t deny him, don’t fight your fate. Resistance is futile, he’ll be easier on you if you accept the truth as it is!

.𖦹 .° For your bond with him transcended that of sanity itself.

.𖦹 .° So let him guide you, and everything will be alright. He’ll take care of you, his precious little star.

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 700+, 900+, 860+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Doflamingo, Caesar, Rosinante "Corazon".

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, yandere, obsession, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, not going to lie. You can sense my favoritism with my word count. First time writing for Caesar Clown. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Legs caging his head beneath you, you drew up your forearm to shield your eyes as the other reached down and braced your trembling hands against his chest. Grinding on his face, his smile grows wider the louder your cries of bliss fall from your lips. 

“I'm gonna-... Mmmgh-... I'm gonna cum again,” you sob, desperately writhing on top of his face in shame. He hooked his large arm over your thigh and braced your lower back over his mouth and held you firmly as he more desperately licked through your body. 

Huffing and panting, he continues driving his tongue between your wet folds and mouthing at your clit. Feeling your whole body tremble above him, he drew his unoccupied hand down to tug at his cock, giving you a show from your position looking down at him. 

His eyes grew black with lust as he watched the involuntary quake of your ass over his face, your voice mewling his name for the fourth time as he chased another desperate spasm of your walls clenching down and contracting in his mouth. 

“Plap, plap, plap.” His tongue greedily bullied your needy cunt, coating his lips, nose and chin in a slicked elixir of your nectar over his face as you desperately sobbed for him. Relentlessly chasing that high of watching you use his body to achieve ecstasy above him, he growled into your body, the vibrations within his mouth causing you to shriek. 

Latching onto your clit, he rolled his flattened tongue over the sensitive bud before mouthing at it in open and desperate kisses. Lapping at your juices, he felt his cock twitch in his hand from pistoning his shaft, squeezing his nob and thumbing over the pearlescent drop of his precum. 

“Can I cum? Can I cum?” you whined for him, gripping his chest and tensing your body above him to halt your eruption from over-encumbering your body in heated bliss, “Please? I'll be good. I'll be so good if you let me cum again?” He growled again into your body, moving both of his hands under your thighs and pinned you to his face by interlacing his fingers. 

As he felt your high approaching, he frantically nodded to give you permission to use his face to usher in the lightning sparks of pleasure over your body. You cried his name, dousing his face in a gush of sickened ecstasy as he hummed up into you. 

“I-I’m cumming,” you mewled, eyes rolling back and grinding down on his face. “I’m c-cumming.” You hummed your praises down at him as you stuttered over his name and sobbed your gratitude. 

Eyes rolling back into his head, he shot rope after rope of cum spattering up onto his torso as you squealed in joy at the display. 

“O-Oh, so much,” you whined down at him, body hands now pressed onto his chest as he slowed down his momentum rolling his tongue over you. “You came so much!” You exclaimed with a soft giggle. He hummed beneath you, softly kissing in open mouthed presses, romancing your pussy with his passionate oscillations. 

He whined against your lips, groaning into you as the aftershocks rush over him in wave after wave of chaotic lightning. Holding you firmly to him, he continued rolling his tongue between your folds like it was the only thing tethering himself to the earth. 

He savored the feeling of your body trapping him with your heat, the way you tasted cumming on his face and drowning him in your ecstasy, as he bucked up with each twitch of his cock spurting his untouched ropes over his stomach and chest.

“Mmm,” he hums into you, flicking his tongue over both his and your lips as he comes down from his high, immediately shocked to see nothing above him in his bed when he opens his eyes. He springs up in his bed, looking around the room for you but finding nothing in his room aside from his personal effects. 

Eyes wide and frantic, he scrambles in his bed and grabs at the bedsheets. Elevating his duvet and glancing down at his bare body, and grimacing at the sticky cum attaching his bedsheets to his quivering cock. 

Doflamingo

“Untouched?” He glared in betrayal at his twitching cock dancing proudly as it deflated, “Untouched?!” He circled his fist over his shaft and choked it within a firm grasp. Beginning to piston his oversensitive cock, he growled at himself. 

“You-...” he pictured the way your pretty little whimpers called his name, beckoning him closer to bliss with each pump of his cock, “...-You little tease.” 

His motions both picked up over his cock, his fist punching his pelvis and balls sucked into his abdomen, as he desperately chased his own release while frantically repicturing consuming yours. He pictured you whimpering above him, your legs shaking like a butterfly loosening the dew from its wings in the morning. 

His eyes rolled black as he continued pumping his shaft, picturing you above him as he did in his dreams before looking to his Den-Den mushi beside him. The sleeping snail snored gently beside his clock, prompting him to grimace at the time depicted beside it. 

“If I'm up and thinking of you,” he growled, reaching his unoccupied hand up to the shell and dialing your personal transponder code, “I'm gonna make you think of me.” As the chatter from the snail awoke, your sleepy tone called over to him from the mouth of the snail. 

“G-... Good morning, sir?” you mumbled to him, the subtle shift of your bed linens rustling caused Doflamingo to roll his hips to the sound, “Why are you calling me at…” you paused to yawn, Doflamingo picturing that cute little squeak you make as you reach the perfect stretch to rid yourself of sleep, “...Three in the morning?”

“Thinking of you,” Doflamingo purred sultrily into the snail's mouthpiece, “Dreaming of you.” You groaned at him, the rustling of the transponder informed him you were moving in your bed. 

“Okay, lord Doflamingo,” you murmured lazily into the mouthpiece, “Got a mission for me? Is that it? Dreaming of me fulfilling some brutal task for you well into the night?” He pictured you sitting up and waiting for him to give you orders, mouth watering as he pictured how eager you'd be to make his vision come alive. 

As the silence hung in the air between you, you offered him one final prompt to offer you a semblance of explanation. 

“Please, sir. Tell me how I can make your dreams come true?” you asked him boredly and sarcastically, “I’ve only just got back from the last mission, carried it out successfully if you were wondering.” He grinned and rolled onto his side and glared into the mouth of the snail.

“You're always so fucking good to me,” Doflamingo praised you, flicking his tongue across his lips, “You'd follow my orders until the day you die, won't you? My dark angel. My deadly assassin. My little muse.”

After a moment of silence, you offer him a disgruntled growl and he pictured you glaring at him through the snail, “What do you need me to do, sir? Can it wait?” He laughed his deep rumble into the mouthpiece before rolling onto his back. 

“You know what you can do, pretty thing?” he purred with a deep rumble into the speaker, “You can listen to me touch myself while I think about you sitting on my face.” His nonchalant attitude had silence falling from your end, prompting him to reconfirm his directions. 

“You hear me, pet?” he snickered at the snail, grasping and tugging at his cock while a sickening smirk split his face in a sinister grin, “Answer me when I give you orders.” A low growl emitted from the other end of the receiver. 

“I am not a concubine, sir,” you snarled your disdain for him into the receiver, prompting him to piston his cock harder in his fist, “Don't treat me like some whore in the night-.”

“-If you were a whore, I'd simply summon you here and ravage your tight little cunt with my cock until I hear you scream my name,” Doflamingo growled into the Den-Den, “Call what I'm asking you to do ‘a kindness’.” He sweetened his tone, purring and cooing at you as if his request was the simplest orders you could ever receive, “All I want you to do is listen to me fuck my fist while I picture you rolling your hips over my mouth.”

After a momentary silence and a sharp exhale of agitation, you growled back at him. 

“If I was rolling my hips over your mouth, you'd be silent and do as you're told,” your blunt response had Doflamingo involuntarily buck into his hand, gasping like a stallion at their first taste of a broodmare. 

“Oh, would I now?” he whispered in a husky tone, thumbing over his nob and groaning at the feeling, “What would I be told to do, mi amorcito? Tell me.” There was another pause of silence between you, Doflamingo waiting patiently to hear how you’d respond to his little taunt. 

“You really want to do this, Doflamingo?” Your harsh chastising broke him away from his harsh momentum of thrusting into his hand and had him stare at the receiver. He hissed out a soft “Yes,” in response, prompting your smirking laugh to rise from the mouthpiece. 

“Then invite me to your suite,” you suggested nonchalantly, “I'd be happy to bully you in person,” you paused, whispering into the receiver with a soft purr, “If you can take it.”

“Oh, I can take it.”

Caesar 

“Wha-...?!” he exclaims in shock, witnessing his cock twitch in betrayal. He sits in silence, staring down at himself in horror. Running his cool digits over the display of lust spurted on his skin and rolled it between his fingers with a grimace. 

“I didn’t-...” his sentence falls short as he looked around his cold room, his lips falling into a soft pout, “...You didn’t even fuck me in my dreams?” His pout deepened, his pointed nose sniffing back a soft sob. 

Rolling out of his bed, he stood tall and winced as he felt glubs of his spend roll down his torso and drop onto the floor. He downturned his smile, sweat pooling at his temple as he walked over to his desk and found a discarded lab coat. Rolling the material over his stomach, he tidied up his mess and sniffed a soft sob back.

“Even in my dreams, you elude me. You run from me,” he looks to a folded manila folder on his desk, opening the crease and looking at your file. The firm words beside your name printed in bold, his blood running cold at the sight. 

With the face of an angel, the softest smile painted on your canceled bounty, he ran his fingers over your printed skin and creased his brows into the center of his head. 

“Doflamingo’s favorite assassin,” he murmured, discarding the lab coat and sitting naked at his desk, “His pretty little pet,” his thumb brushed over your smile on the paper before drawing his palm over the page, “Someone that will never be mine, even if I beg.” 

He whimpered as he stared down at the page, his unoccupied hand circled his cock and squeezed it in his fist. Giving it a testing tug, he sifted through his collection of den-den images of you in the manilla folder. 

Sucking his bottom lip into his teeth, he began to piston his shaft with his firm grip as he focussed on your picture. Your face held such an innocence for someone so deadly: standing beside Doflamingo at a gala, gazing up into the face of Sir Crocodile with a light smile. So pretty, so charming.

So out of his league, you wouldn’t spare him a single glance. 

He began to tug at himself harder, rolling his hips up into his hand as he stumbled upon his favorite three pictures. All so different and holding him hostage to how he could picture your face contorting in pleasure as he chased his high in his hand. 

The first was a simple image he had managed to snap as you sat across him at the table: in your simple Donquixote assigned uniform as you paid attention to every word relayed from Doflamingo. You had an air of confidence, your chin angled high and a soft purse of your lips.

“Hhah-...” he whined through his pants, feeling himself come closer to the edge as he pictured what it could be like to kiss those lips and feel your face against his. Shaking his head, he moved onto the second image in his collection.

The vengeance and wrath written on your face as it was covered in violent bloodlust, your weapon in your hand and standing victorious after landing your final blow. You looked like you would’ve ripped your enemies’ throat out with your teeth to win that fight, and he wanted to be the target of that feral gaze so desperately. 

“Nnnghh-...” he whimpered, his cock beginning to twitch, his balls sucking up into his stomach as he continued to stare down at his collection of pictures of you. His jaw fell slack, him finally finding the last picture of you: one he was sure you thought was destroyed for good. 

The picture was soft, well loved from the firm grip Caesar would hold it in regularly, peeling up at the corners and creased. Your face was flushed, your eyes wide and looking up with an almost adoring innocence, your hair pinned out of your face and dressed in an outfit intended for flamenco. 

Your skin was revealed in a lusting dip, the pink of the material dipping over your chest in a deep 'V' and cinching in the small of your waist and flaring at the hips. The amount of flesh revealed beneath the material held such contrast to the innocence of your eyes. 

“F-F-F-...” he huffed, sucking on his bottom lip and feeling himself spill over into his hand, spurting ropes of hot, sticky cum against the underside of his desk, “...Fuck.” He rocked his hips in time to the spurts, feeling his eyes begin to prick with the similar sting of tears each time he tainted your image in this way. 

Hot rolls of his glassy tears spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks into his quivering lips. Sobs escaped his mouth, sniffing back the heavier cries as he placed your image back into the manila folder and shut the crease closed. He placed his head over the cardboard exterior and his shoulders began to shake with sorrow. 

“No wonder you don’t like me,” he muffled between his whimpered sobs, “I’m fucking pathetic.” 

Rosinante “Corazon”

He sprung up from his bed and immediately stomped over to his bathroom with shock written on his face. He ran the shower, remaining unblinking and appalled at himself as he stepped beneath the pelting water. 

“Silence,” he whispered, clicking his fingers beneath the water and creating a rotund, soundproof barrier within the small cubicle and immediately balling his fist and slamming it against the damp ceramic. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled at himself, clenching his eyes shut and haunted by the image of your body using his face to grind and shake on his tongue, “C’mon, Rosinante. You’re a marine, you’re a spy, you’re a double agent, you’re the son of a celestial dragon, you’re-... you’re-...” he looked down at his cock, his shame washing away with the hot water and pooling at his feet before swirling in the drain.

“...-You’re in love?” he tilts his chin to the side as his heart hammers heavy within his chest, “In love with an assassin sworn to kill the likes of you without a second thought.” He huffs, lifting his head in the air and allowing the scorching liquid to hammer at his face. Shaking his hair, the drops cling to his golden locks and coat his forehead and eyes with the damp curls. 

He brings up his hands and cards them through his hair, staring up at the circular shower head and pouting. The drops do nothing to stifle the smoldering embers in his heart, the image behind his eyes are only of you and your smile. 

Drawing his mind back to your encounters of the past, he was touched that you had learnt to sign with your hands to speak and translate for him at meetings to save time and paper. Those signs he loved seeing you flutter at him to entertain him at social galas, the humor of your risque commentary you give him with simple gestures of your hands with a completely straight face. 

Your kindness in such a dark place had been refreshing, especially considering your title of Doflamingo’s favorite assassin led him to assume you were just as horrible as his brother was. He viewed your smile as a gift, your offer of a dance as a blessing, and the protection of your constant rapid dexterity to manage Doflamingo’s temper, and maintain your standing effortlessly, had him immediately targeting you for unintentional aid in his private cause. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, hanging his head and shifting the water to pummel at his neck and shoulderblades, “Shit,” he shook his head and thumped at the shower wall once more. His hand slipped on the condensation, sliding to the side and propelling his forehead to beat against the tiles with a slick ‘thud,’ prompting him to hiss out a curt: “Ouch!”

After showering, drying himself off, dressing and painting his signature smile over his cheeks, he began the soft trudge into town with his hat clasped firmly over his head. A embroidered card with his heart written within the contents, a bouquet of dark red el ceibo, large and soft pink roses, and several sprigs of yellow calafate, and the promise of potentially spending a night together, was propelling him to approach the training room you took.

Knocking twice on the doorframe beside the door, he witnessed you in your training garb pummeling into a hanging boxing bag with your hands bound in wraps, and your ankles strapped. Noticing the knock, you curled your head up at him and offered him a soft smile. 

“Corazon,” you halted the swinging of the bag by pressing your hands against the material, “Something the matter, sir?” He noticed your inquisition, your brows immediately furrowing in confusion the moment you looked at his hands. Gulping back his courage, he held out his gifts and darted his apprehensive, hazel eyes between yours.

“Cora…” you look to his hands and back to his face for further explanation, “What are you doing?” He triangulated his brows up, silently begging you to take the flowers and the card from his outstretched offering. You slowly reached your bound hands toward him and claimed the flowers and card from him without tearing your eyes from his. 

Placing the flowers and card on the bench where your bag was, you looked down to his hands and back up to his eyes before narrowing your pointed gaze up at him. Rosinante physically stuttered with his hands, thankful his Devil-Fruit silenced the soft whimper from fleeing into the air. You waited patiently for further information from the tall, silent Donquixote brother, folding your arms over your chest and pointing with your eyes down at his hands once more. 

Rosinante sighed, his hands moving in fluid gestures to depict his thoughts with his fingertips and palms, “I wanted to give you something nice, tell you how I feel about you, and ask if you’d allow me the opportunity to see where we go. If you’re receptive to my advances-.” Stepping towards him, you press your hands over his wrists to halt his flurry of rapid gestures.

“Why are you doing this, sir?” you hush your voice into a low whisper, darting your eyes between his and seeming to panic, “I-... We-...” you trail off, your hands gripping him painfully hard, “...Please don’t do this, Corazon.” 

His own eyes widened in panic, unsure as to why you’re gripping him so hard and seeming to reject him so harshly. Glancing down at your eyes, looking to your lip, your hard mask began to shift as he mirrored your expression. He kicked the door to the training room closed behind him, motioning the both of you out of sight of the den-den-snail in the corner of the room. He held his middle finger with his thumb: uttering a simple word, “Silence.”

Shock wrote itself on your face the moment he spoke and maneuvered you around the room with poised elegance and ease. He gulped back his nerves, uttering a simple few words: “Code: 0-1-7-4-6, Rosinante. Based at Headquarters under Fleet-Admiral Sengoku. Current rank: Marine Commander. Mission: find the ope-ope-no-mi, and stop my brother’s insanity from plaguing the masses. Four years serving under cover.” 

His lip quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, and hoped his assumption was correct. You gulped your own hesitation, clenching your jaw at his admittance before speaking your own. 

“Code: 3-0-1-3-7,” you whispered your name beneath your breath, hardening your resolve further with your brow creased firmly, “Based at sea under Vice-Admiral Garp. Current rank: Marine Captain. Mission: keep Doflamingo from gaining too much dominion over the other warlords, and maintain the status quo as his most trusted assassin. Seven years serving under cover.” 

Rosinante huffed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders physically dropping as if a weight had been lifted from its perch against him. Your lips twitched up in a soft smile, looking between his eyes and releasing his wrists from your grip. 

“You can talk,” you nod at him, huffing out a small agitated laugh, “This whole time, you’ve been making me talk for you by translating ‘sign’ for the others here, and you could talk the whole damn time.” 

“I didn’t make you do any of those things,” he reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning down towards you with a soft expression, “And I like hearing you talk for me. My words sound prettier spilling from your lips.” You laugh at him, shaking your head and reaching up your hands to his fingers once more. 

“What made you break?” you asked him, darting your eyes around his painted lips and his pointed blue markings beneath his left eye. He gave you a crooked smile, caressing your cheek gently before parroting back your sentiment with, “What made you?”

“I just-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath and straightened your shoulders, “...I couldn’t lie to you, Corazon. You always felt different, somehow. Special, even,” you laughed in a soft pant, “What gave me up?” He smiled, pressing his golden hair against your forehead and closing the distance. 

“You had that look in your eye,” he crooned down in his deep baritone, shooting tingles up your spine, “The one that I just knew you were like me,” he mirrored your laugh, wrapping his arms around your neck, “And I couldn’t lie to you, either.” 

You nod to him, looking at the flowers and card, and back up at him with a curious look on your face, “What made you do this now?” A warm blush grew over his face, prompting him to suck his lips into his teeth and snicker.

“In the spirit of remaining truthful with you,” he rubbed his nose gently with yours, “I have a confession to make about last night…”

[thepolishlynx]

Dawn of the Damned - You are the Damned [Ending 1]