#yandere overlord x reader

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! If it's not too much trouble, can I request more yandere overlord, but different from Flower of Nazarick and Madame Butterfly?

Like, Reader was one of 41 members of the guild and was a close friend to Ainz (maybe like a childhood friend?). But unlike Ainz who got summoned to the New world, reader died and was reincarnated, but as a human (though they still have most of their abilities and skills for yggdrasil).

Reader hears rumors about a nation of monsters that sound an awful like Nazarick and decides to see if they truly are the same.

They run into Ainz dressed as Momon by accident and immediately recognizes Nabe as one of the six pleiades battle maid and accidentally calls her by her actual name.

A Friend Reborn | Yandere Overlord

“Nabaral! It’s you!” 

Momon and the battle maid are on high alert

While it isn’t a huge deal that her real name is heard it’s alarming that someone even knew that

Ainz mentally begs Nabaral not to draw her sword on this random human running full-force

“Nabie! Oh stars it’s good to see a familiar face.”

“M-m-my Supreme Being!!?!” 

She’s not crying, you are

She will happily let you hug her as she basks in the pressure from your power

When you finally do look away from her after checking over her heavily blushing form

“So who is this gentleman?”

He quickly excuses himself from the public eye dragging you and a wobbly lovestruck Nabarel away 

Finally alone he picks you up

Now he remembers

It’s you!

Sweet and squishy you

He hugs you tightly but not too tight

“Uh, nice to meet you too stranger.”

He poofs off his helmet and opens his skeletal mouth in a mock smile

“Momon!?” 

“(Y/n)!”

He doesn’t care that he’s using your real name either

He finally found someone

And perfectly its you

Since he’s woken up here he’s desperately been searching for his friends you

The only motivation for conquering the world with the forces of Nazarick

He’ll find that you can still do most of the things your player character used to do

But you hunger, you thirst, and you adorably get sleepy when you occasionally use your higher-level powers

And he just can’t let you leave now

Even if you promise you enjoy a farmers life

He waits for you to retire

Lifting your light and vulnerable body with his hands 

He immediately transports you to Nazarick

Tucking you in his bedroom before calling all the guardians to his side

He tells them the good news first

That another player has been found 

The entirety of Nazarick shakes with euphoria, desperately wanting to celebrate

But Ainz delivers the bad news too

That you are now human

Cursed with the lowest form of being in their hierarchy with 

your wisdom and power trapped inside such a fragile form

So depending on how Ainz screws up informing the guardians two lines of thought can be had

One: is that since you are human you need their protection more than ever and your safety and well being take precedence over everything

Or Two: That the disease of humanity has afflicted you and that they must do everything they can to cure it without injuring such a weak body

The second makes it harder for the guardians to respect you 

But both demand your safety 

Both demand your comfort

And both demand the interest of the guardians and workers of Nazarick who have been dying to adore you

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

[michaela-o]

( sound on <33 )

I love reading dark fan-fiction about humans being abused and used by evil Cybertronians to whatever purpose they seem fit to put them into. Might be kinda weird but inspired me to do this so :3

Also im sorry for dissapearing for a while but i recently got a job and im trying to enjoy life😌❤️ but i still browse tumblr everyday i just dont have many things to post❤️ but if anyone ever needs me im always here🥹❤️

[a-998h]

Steely Secrets

Reader's POV

Well, it's been about a week since Sir Pentious got his character development. Charlie is bouncing off the walls with energy. She, with the help of Vaggie, Razzle, and Dazzle, is putting up a banner to commemorate Sir Pentious's first full week and agreement to stay at the hotel. I really wanted to say something about how the guy has full redeemed himself, but I also don't want to hurt Charlie's feels. Thankful, Vaggie lows Charlie's expectations for me.

"Um... Pentious was just trying to take over the city with his werid steampunk bullshit a few days ago," Vaggie tells Charlie.

Charlie tries to calm Vaggie down, saying she hasn't seen him do any of that at the hotel. I'll give Charlie that, this Sir Pentious guy hasn't tried to destroy us or the hotel. Just as that thought leave my head, Sir Pentious slithers in, with a steampunk cannon/excessively large machine gun with some egg bois riding on top over it. Vaggie demands to know what Sir Pentious is up to, while I'm starting to reconsider my stance on the guy.

"Oh, hello purple female," Sir Pentious greets with a tip of his sentient.

He goes on about how he invent something called the "Skin Flyer 11,000" and how he's looking forward to shooting everyone else, that isn't Charlie, in the hotel. Ok, this guy is a major league cuckoo clock and I should probably keep as much distance from him as possible.

"What? Why?" Charlie asks in concern, once she's fully off that ladder.

I step behind Vaggie cause I'm now genuinely concerned this guy might shoot someone. The three of us here his reasoning for the new steampunk weapon.

"Everyone is being too nice. Obviously, it must be a lie. I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when? How? I must be prepared!"

I facepalm so hard it probably left a mark on my skull. I get this is Hell, and it makes being that paranoid in a place where the biggest threat is a "strawberry pimp" as Angel likes to call him, who could probably kill us all. But, Alastor keeps his distance from Sir Pentious and no one else has done anything to make him this high strung.

Before anyone of us can say anything, Sir Pentious grows excited, saying that the new parts for this Skin Flyer 11,000 thing have just arrived. Following his gaze, I see two women walk in, one has fluffy looking white hair, black horns, and red and white eyes, is pushing a cart that has crates piled on top of it. When Sir Pentious walks over to the pair, the woman dressed like a scientist, with the strange eyes as the one pushing the cart, hands him a clipboard and pen.

"Thank you for your business. Enjoy your Carmine purchase," scientist lady says and her and her delivery partner go to leave.

As the pass by, I see them both stare at me, with the scientist lady writing something down in a notebook. It feels werid being stared at by these two strangers. But, as quickly as they started to stare, they continued on their way. That unnerved me a bit, but that gets pushed aside as I see Vaggie tearing into Sir Pentious about something.

"Carmine, as in Carmilla Carmine? you are buying parts from an overlord?" Vaggie asks, sounding very annoyed.

Sir Pentious responds by saying that this Carmilla lady is the top weapons dealer in Hell. I sit there like an idiot because, I didn't know Hell had overlord or what that even means. I look at Vaggie, and she looks at me.

"Hey, Vaggie, what's an overlod?" I ask her.

Vaggie pauses for a moment, almost as if searching for the right words to explain something complex to a small child.

"Um... Overlords are powerful demons that control parts of the city here in Pride, with Alastor being a very powerful one," she explains.

My brain freezes. This whole time I thought Alastor was some werid demon guy, which he is, but he's one of the most powerful demons in hotel, behind Charlie. I'm back to square one in trust because I'm now scared that Alastor might annihilate me just for giving him a werid look!

Vaggie goes onto explain to Sir Pentious that we are not trying to kill him, and that "people are being nice because they want you to feel welcome". Sir Pentious ducks behind his invention and watches as Husk and Angel flip him off and Niffty gives that ever creepy smile and sinister little giggle as she's dusting the pool table.

"I have my doubts," he says, still ducked behind his invention.

Vaggie tells him that yes, we're trying to be nice to him and that he has to trust us. He responds with a "but I don't". Charlie says that trust can be the theme of today's summer camp like activities, and Vaggie agrees but say ground rules must be set. The new ground rules for Sir Pentious are

No more building weapons

No more plotting against the other hotel guests

And 3. No more egg bois

I was kind of upset at that last one, cause I find the egg bois adorably dumb. As Vaggie says the last rule, the two messing around with something akin to a laser pointer pushes a button which leads to a burn hole in the ceiling/second floor. Vaggie scold Sir Pentious, while he is on the ground holding the egg bois close and begging to keep them.

"Do you want to stay are redeem yourself?" Vaggie asks him

"Yes?" He answers, a clear uncertainty in his voice.

Vaggie says that means he'll have to get rid of the egg bois. Sir Pentious sighs, and in a very dramatic fashion, tells the egg bois to go. They salute him and follow his order and follow Vaggie. As soon as Vaggie and eggs are out of the room, Sir Pentious and his hat start balling. Me and Charlie give him awkward yet comforting pats on the back.

Alastor's POV

The other residents have been as rambunctious and annoying as ever this morning. I've prepared a delightful breakfast of venison of myself. I had thougth about inviting mon petit ange to breakfast with me, but from the looks of it they don't appear to enjoy venison. Well, once I have them they'll have to get used to the taste, or maybe I'll have to breakout mama's old cookbook to satisfy their youthful appetite. Well, I can't dwell on what could have been, instead I should focus on what has happened. I have barley started my breakfast when Vaggatha shouts my name from the hallway.

"Do you mind, I'm was in the middle of breakfast?" I ask her.

She explains how the egg creatures of Sir Pentious's are being a nuisance, and how she wants me to get rid of them. My smile grows as I think about all the ways I could dispose of the pest, but Vaggatha ruins that be saying I must "humanely" dispose of the egg creatures. I "joke" about how humanely is not as much fun, but tell her I'd be able to take care of it on my outing today. She gives me her "approval" and I walk out of the door with the egg creatures in tow.

Reader's POV

Everyone, but Alastor and the egg bois, in the parlor of the hotel. Charlie takes center stage, and explains to us what's going to happen today. Charlie thanks us all for coming, like we have much of a choice.

"It's been brought to our attention that there may be a little... tension in the hotel," Charlie says as Vaggie walks behind her.

"Tension that can be counterproductive to what we're trying to do here," Vaggie says as she snatches a small ray gun Sir Pentious had aimed at Niffty, who he had grabbed with his tail.

As Vaggie walks back next to Charlie, Charlie says that she thinks we could benefit from... trust exercises. This is said as both her and Vaggie jump into the air in from of a stage, but only Charlie lands on her feet. Charlie pulls Vaggie up and restates that we'll be doing trust exercises.

"So, what's with the whole, uhhh... This?" Husk says, gesturing the stage.

Husk says something about not putting on a show for us, I don't blame him, and Angel saying he will but that he only takes cash up front and it has to be after my bedtime. Angel then points at Sir Pentious, saying that he can't afford him. Sir Pentious and his 19th century values are disgusted by the idea, and Vaggie cuts in so we can start the activity. Charlie passes on the leadership role to Vaggie, who after some nervousness, goes into military mode.

"All right, we are starting with trust falls." Vaggie says in a drill Sargent voice.

While getting in Husk's face, she explains how we'll share something valuable with the group, then fall backwards and hope that everyone else will catch us. This does not sound like fun in any form, but I don't have a good way of escaping this. It starts off with Charlie, being sentimental as always, then Angel who says something as Charlie covers my ears with her hands. After Husk drops Angel on the floor, Sir Pentious gets on stage and with a dramatic flourish, says that he can't live without his eggs and tells us not to catch him. We all do, cause not catching him would defeat the whole purpose, and I hear a slightly muttered "damn it". Now, it's my turn, walking on to the stage I take a deep breath.

"I... I never met my mother," I tell the group.

A silence is heard as I close my eyes and fall backwards. Thae silence is broken by the grunts on the group catching me. I get put down, and Charlie gives me a tight hug.

"You poor little rose, that must've been awful," she says.

I tell her I'm over it, mostly so she doesn't kill me again with a hug of death, but she shushed me, saying it's ok for me to express my true feelings. I stand there, being squashed and confused before Charlie let's go and Niffty walks on stage. I'm kind of worried about what she'll be willing to share, who knows she might admit to murder.

"Sometimes, I kill mother bugs in front of their children as a earning to others," she shares.

We all stand there scared, and when Niffty leaps off that stage no one catches her and she lands on her face. She laughs and cheers, repeatedly jumping and landing on the floor with her crazy laugh. Vaggie and Charlie walk off somewhere as the rest of us just watch Niffty jump off the stage over and over again with looks of concern and fear on our faces.

***

Alastor's POV

As I stop myself from crushing those egg creatures, while enjoying a reunion with Zestial, my thougth wander back to mon petit ange. The child still has some adjusting to do, and it is clear they don't know about the power they possess. If I can't get them under my wing, not only would that give Hell and new overlord, but it could get me closer to freeing myself. Though, the child is quite adorable despite being rebellious, but that is to be expected of a teenager. They'd make a wonderful overlord, under my wing of course.

Once the meeting begins, the girl who works with Vox kicks the door in and hijacks the meeting, revealing the head of an exorcist.

"Also, we've got photo evidence that there's an angel in Hell," she declares.

She uses her small picture box and shows an image of the hotel's exterior, and... mon petit ange. I have to contain my composure, but it's hard when I want to snap that woman's neck here and now. Rosie and Zestial look at me, they both seem to know I have some relation to this. As she prattles on, I sit there silently. I thought the angelic features were reflecting a relationship with religion, but being angelic in some aspect should have been my first guess. Well, now I have an excuse for when I pull mon petit ange under my wing, right where they belong.

*Respectless timeskip*

I send one of those little egg creatures to follow Carmilla and Zestial as they depart to another room. As I wait, I wonder what mon petit ange is doing. Maybe they were helping Niffty keep the hotel clean, maybe they were sleeping, or maybe they were having fun with Charlie? Now, I just have to wait for when the egg creature brings me useful information.

Reader's POV

I want to leave. Vaggie told us Angel had an idea for a bonding activity, and I feel like Arnold from the Magic School Bus hoping for a normal field trip. Looking around I see things my eyes should only see through a computer screen late at night. The whole place smells like cologne, latex, metal, and sweat. I try to keep my eyes on the floor using my wings as a barrier from everything happening around me. Vaggie has a tight grip on my shoulder, with Charlie covering my ears as best she can.

Husk is getting a massage, before Niffty makes things weirder, and Charlie keeps getting stared at. I just want to home. I look at Vaggie, her reassuring Charlie that she'll be able to handle the task of running to days activities. She turns her back in thought, and I go to reach out to her.

"I just need to teach them, the way I was taught," I hear hear say.

Im confused, because one minute were in a BDSM club, and the next we're in an active war zone part of the city. Looking over the edge, I see demon fighting each other and I hear a distant explosion. I look at Vaggie, wondering what the hell she went through to see this as a way to trust people.

She turns to us, saying that today we become men. I see Husk starting to sneak away as Vaggie picks up Sir Pentious and throws him off the roof and follow him.

"D-don't you even think about it!" I hear Angel beg before hearing him screams as Vaggie probly also throws him off the roof.

By then, I'm with Husk, on the ground and not thrown from a roof. After minutes of waiting, a tired Angel, Sir Pentious, and a sad looking Charlie walk by, Charlie telling us we're going home. I walk next to Charlie, trying to make her feel better.

*One Muiscal Number Later*

Sitting in the parlor with everyone else, we share the mayhem we experienced today. Seeing everyone laugh felt nice, and this felt like the evenings me and my dad shared. As the story sharing continues, we hear a door open. Looking over my shoulder, Alastor waves at me. I wave back, knowing how big he is on manners with me.

"Alastor, failed to get rid of the eggs I see?" Vaggie says.

"Well, the little monsters proved to be quite useful," Alastor tells her.

Vaggie tells him to give the egg bois back to Sir Pentious, who tears up at the news. Once Vaggie gives the go ahead, Sir Pentious runs and hugs his egg bois, before ordering them to clean his room this instant. As they walk away, Alastor takes a spot next to me.

"How was your day, petit ange?" He asks.

I tell him everything we did while he was gone, and then I ask him what he did all day. He pats my head, telling I shouldn't worry about his business. He continues on hiw way, using his staff to point at the clock, asking me if I had dinner. Shaking me head, Niffty runs into the kitchen and I smell something good. Just as soon as she ran into the kitchen, she runs back out with a plate of Chicken and Gravy, along with a side of green beans amandine. It all looks and smells delicious.

"Thank you, Niffty," I tell her.

"Of course, anything for my little Sparky," she says before running back to her seat.

The nickname confused me, but I was to hungry to care. As I eat, I feel Niffty's single beady eye staring at me the whole time. It's creepy, but everything about Niffty is so damn creepy. The moment I sat I'm full, Niffty runs over and takes the plate.

"Want any dessert, Sparky?" She asks.

Before I can answer, Alastor cuts in and tells her that I shouldn't have too much sugar. Niffty nods and runs off with the plates in hand. I glare at Alastor, pissed at him robbing me of sugar. He walks away, wishing us all a good night.

After Charlie makes me go to bed, I finally sleep calmly, no nightmares the hotel, no strange ladies, just a blissful mess of dreams.

[yandere-wishes]

I'm literally so obsessed with "Player Of Games" by Grimes!! Like EXCUSE ME!! The yandere vibes and dark romance is so tangible😍😍. The Knight is so HOT and grimes's outfit and vibes are everything!! IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS VIDEO!! I NEED TO WRITE ABOUT IT!!💜🩷💜🩷

[circeyoru]

I'M BACK!! SORTA

I WANNA KNOW IF THE READER (UNWANTED SOUL) WILL DO THE LITTLE DANCE OF WOTAKOI OR THE POKEMON DANCE (ITS SOO CUTE AND ITS GETTING IN MY HEAD IN REPEAT)

BTW LOVE THE NEW SERIES I CAN'T HELP BUT IMAGINE MORE OF IT NOW HUHU

- 💜

The ask for {Unwanted Soul} and referencing {Collection of Overlords}, check MASTERLIST for the work

Thanks for supporting the new series!

And welcome back.

For the Dance of Wotakoi: I see Reader/you watching the anime and wanted to try it out. You'll most likely get Alastor to do it with you as a partner. But you need to learn Alastor and help him with the hand gestures. He seriously doesn't mind since you'd be moving his fingers around to properly show him how it's done and all. Plus the dance is like a couple pairing, right? He's definitely in on it. TEACH HIM!!

For the Pokemon Dance: I see you doing it in private and Alastor happen upon it. He'll forget that he wasn't supposed to stare and clap his hands loudly while praising your cute moves, even asking for an encore! You, being embarrassed, shut the room door in his face and yell at him with a beat-red face. Alastor still praises you for rewarding him with such a sight. Yeah... Not helping him...

[the-blind-geisha]

If you want… (´･ω･`) could I make a request, and it’s no problem if you don’t want to!

Where a Human-Player!MC was playing the game one day & either as a friend or a special event was able to somehow run into Demiurge, Ulbert somehow took him to a special game event that allowed NPCs. Which somehow leads to Demi getting a crush on them and he somehow gets them stuck in the game permanently to be with him…?

A/N: Sorry this took an eternity for me to get to! I'd be happy to do that! ♥

The NPCs were very rarely ever allowed to journey with their Creators outside of Nazarick or being summoned into dungeons and raids. But once Yggdrasil introduced a new event that would even place NPCs for quests at heteromorphic and humanoid areas for a celebration, the guilds realized their own self-created NPCs could join as well.

There were very few events that allowed a cease fire between both sides, but this was one of those events.

It happened twice a year, and that was it.

Regardless... even as an NPC, Demiurge remembered her.

She was a human, but she was the one human in that world that he could recall ever flattering him and his Creator. In the past, he would have preferred to destroy any and everybody that didn't align with Nazarick, but she was spared his aggressive gaze.

“Oh, I guess your Creator isn't here today, is he, Demiurge?”

He couldn't answer back then. He was just code running with limited abilities in which he could say or do anything. Even his 'speech' was limited to hurt and triumphant noises. With her standing close to him, he merely shifted his head from side to side to show the code HeroHero implemented inside of him.

Walking up to him, she used the /embrace emote to hug his character. The devil responded in kind, as most NPCs could react to a few simple emotes players did around them.

“I won this, by the way.” She dug into her inventory to pull out a flame lily. It was a beautiful flower with petals that reached upwards like a roaring flame, a dazzling yellow and red with orange at the center. “I thought you might like it.”

With the trade offered, the NPC went through the actions it was allowed to do in accepting the trade with someone that was deemed a friend under his list.

“There you go. Maybe now you can feel a bit better, huh?”

With such an item bequeathed to him, Demiurge placed his hand on his chest and bowed.

She gave a funny look. “Huh.. didn't know you could do that without someone telling you to or someone bowing in return...?”

When she said such a thing, the generated NPC's mind began to race.

I did, didn't I...?

¿I ʇ,upᴉp 'pᴉp I

“Well, I better get going,” she insisted.

Using the /blowkiss emote, she watched as Demiurge responded by acting bashful. Though the reaction felt delayed almost... Maybe it was just her imagination. Could be lag.

“Bye! I'll see you next year!”

The eyes opened, crystals glistening off of the light about him. He looked to his hands and turned them over to look at his palms.

For once, the devil was able to move his hands without someone making an action command on his behalf. There was something that was ordering him to go back to being rigid, following a code that remained embedded in his core being. But he did everything to fight that.

I can't let this cease... I have to do something... Demiurge thought frantically, reaching back into his inventory to pull out the flame lily to clip it upon his chest.

Sadly, he was snapped back to an idle pose he was often forced within.

It would take some doing to fight this invisible string that had a hold on him. But no matter what, he would do it. He would see himself freed of whatever was controlling him without even his Creator being nearby.

As the years of the celebration continued, fewer and fewer people arrived to attend. The joys of the gaming world were slowly starting to dwindle till merely NPCs roamed the gaming world with a few player characters.

But that didn't stop the archdevil from attending.

Demiurge waited as he usually did, but this time, he was alone. None of the guild members of Ainz Ooal Gown was there to stand at his side.

Admittedly, he was anxious. What if she wouldn't come? He had sent an email to her, addressing it cryptically. Who would truly come into a video game world if an NPC sent you mail? After all his time of fiddling with the game world data, he knew she would think it a bot or someone trying to trick her.

He had to be vague, but write to her as though he were human.

“So few people here but they said to meet them...!” Her words trailed off when she noticed the only one at Muspelheim's gathering point for the festival. “D-Demiurge...? How in the world did you get here by yourself?!”

She came closer, keeping a curious eye about. She didn't wish to feel tricked by this.

Demiurge didn't have the voice box to speak properly. Instead he used an emote of /hi for greeting before sending a text for her to read.

𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒… 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝒹𝑒 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒, 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉.

“Who is writing this? It can't be you...” Her words trailed off, feeling a ping of uncertainty. “...can it?”

Demiurge opened the text box once more to type yet again.

𝐼𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓊𝓇𝑔𝑒. 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝑒... 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒?

This was getting a bit creepy. Never would she have imagined an NPC would become... real. There was always talks of 'ghosts in the machine' that could go rogue. Was this one of those moments?

Before she could even hope to log out, something seemed to prevent her from doing so.

“What is happening...? How come the logout button is grayed out?”

Demiurge gave a curious frown of concern.

𝒪𝒽, 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓃'𝓉? 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝑜𝒹𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝒟𝑀 𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒?

“Oh, umm, that would be very nice of you.” It actually was, maybe she was overthinking it a bit. Maybe being alone for so long, she mistook his words as being weird. Just cool it, she thought to herself. He never was mean to you before. He was always very nice as an NPC.

Before she could even wait for a response, the screen went black. The connection to the game felt like it flat-lined.

Demiurge walked over towards her body, arms behind his back. Opening his mouth, he tried to form words for a moment.

“Mm.. the...re... There...” He knelt down, resting his hand on her back. “It's you and me now, my dear. Now we can be together in this world of paradise... forever.”

[overlordxreaderheadcannonask]

Yandere! Naberal X Male reader

Yandere! Naberal

For Jackfruit on Reddit.

At first, she hated you.An insect to her but…How were you so…hot then?An useless human couldn't be like this!Maybe…you weren't a human!Of course! You were a relative of a supreme being!And she couldn't lose another…One day you woke up tied up in a bed with her cuddling you.“Ah, Y/N sama. You are finally awake my beloved.”“You're already home. Have you yet forgotten how wonderful Nazarick is?”Eventually you got a little bit more freedom, after you promised never to leave Nazarick…again.She waited on you hand and foot, bringing you items from her adventures as Nabe.“I love you Y/N…please don't leave again.”

[ozzgin]

Omg bro yk whats been on my mind for do long?? A demon king trying to court a hero reader. Like the hero has already fought and defeated the king but somehow he comes back and he's desperately trying to get the hero to join him (in more ways than one). He wants the reader to be his spouse and leader of his army against the corrupt human race and the reader (now fallen from stardom due to the evil kings defeat) just wants him gone and to be left alone. Idk if this makes sense but I need to see SOMEONE write abt it before I lose my last marble.

-Doll

This is giving me Dragon Quest vibes, haha. Not a trope I'm too familiar with, but it sounds interesting nonetheless. I shall do my best! Sorry for the delay, I hope it's close to what you imagined. :)

Yandere! Demon King x Hero! Reader

As it goes with villains, they always find a way to return. This time, the Demon King has a different plan in mind. You were prepared for anything, from evil schemes to ancient conjured weapons...except for a wedding ring cordially placed before you. Do you say yes?

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, 🔥proposal (literally)

[Part 2]

You still remember everything so fondly. How you crawled out of that enormous crater, body battered and weak, as everyone watched in horror and held their breaths. Finally, you raised your fist victoriously. The Demon King had been, at last, defeated. The people cheered and cried and pulled you up under thundering waves of applause. Peace was no longer just a dream.

A sweet, innocent memory, even more so given its fleeting nature. The genuine smiles of gratitude quickly turned into crooked grins asking for favors. Before you knew it, you became some sort of political accessory to convince the masses. Posing for photos, shaking hands, being interviewed with bizarrely planned questions reeking of propaganda. You suddenly felt burdened, heavy, disappointed. This was not the kind of fame you envisioned for yourself.

Thus, you gradually vanished from the limelight, keeping your distance from everyone else and spending most days in solitude. Better than having to look into those unscrupulous, opportunistic eyes measuring up your worth. You had fulfilled your job and purpose.

This morning you're woken up by the sound of your belongings rattling in their shelves. The wooden frame of your bed is creaking, and you struggle to get up. An earthquake? A wave of nausea flushes over you. You recognize this feeling all too well, though you never expected to deal with it again. This is a disaster alright, yet the forces of nature have nothing to do with it.

You rush outside, swinging the door open and nearly tripping in your hurry to confirm your suspicions: the demonic creature is approaching your humble adobe with heavy steps, as the ground crumbles and shatters underneath. The Demon King himself, in flesh and blood. Although the blood splattering his armor is most likely not his. Same for the visceral remains threading his weapon. Regardless, your jaw tightens nervously, and you stand back, in a defensive pose. "You're a stubborn one", you say smugly, trying to maintain your composure. "Can't say I'm a fan of dying, that is correct." A ragged, monstrous voice erupts from the tall, armored figure.

"What brings you back?" You demand. The surroundings are too peaceful for him to have tampered with the city. Did he stop by to formally announce his destruction? "I have an offer that might interest you." The Dark Overlord has closed the distance between you, now looming above your much smaller body. You shiver. "I don't barter with Demons!" You conclude, turning around, prepared to leave. "Even when your precious people are on the line?" The horned beast warns with a grin. "If there's nothing better to do as a Ruler of Realms than killing petty humans..." You swiftly retort, going back into your house and slamming the door shut.

He stands for a moment, speechless. "Y-your Majesty? Should I take care of the humans, or (Y/N)?" Only now he notices his scaly butler, bowing to his side with claws resting over the weapon. The Demon King raises a hand, shooing the servant away. The annihilation of the human race can wait. There are more important matters to deal with presently. He'd expected your rejection, naturally, but not in such fashion. The indifference, the flat voice, the empty eyes devoid of emotion. Have the city dwellers tampered with his hero? He expected to see your fierce rage and in return he was met with a hollow shell.

Bright blue flames erupt from the openings of his armor, resulting in a menacing show of lights. He's known it for the longest time, of course. Humans are rotten to their very core. Vile, deceitful creatures that have slithered their way up, exuding undeserved arrogance. He's been trying to show you this very fact, yet you were blinded by naive faith. Your unwavering, honest heart that won him over has turned out to be your early demise. Not anymore. His vengefulness knows no bounds when it comes to traitors.

The sudden spike in temperature alerts you. Was it your rudeness that angered the Demon? You don't care anymore. Whatever happens to the city is out of your hands. And yet...you're buckling the straps of your old suit made for battle. Sword in hand, you gaze at your reflection. What could the Beast want? The fortified city no longer holds the value of its olden days. Just like you've left your hero days behind. Without much contemplation, you run out and head for the main gates. The path is paved with ash and rubble and your grip on the weapon tightens. Regret immediately wells up in your chest, ready to burst out. Is it too late? The entrance is engulfed in fire, charred corpses toppling against the ruins of the walls.

You reach the town hall - or rather, what remains of it - and face the Demon King. Has he gotten stronger since your last encounter? You hold your breath as the horned monster turns towards you. "I've tried to tell you, again and again. Time after time." He sighs, defeated. "Between the two of us, I'd say you were the stubborn one all along." His voice is softer than what you would've expected from someone that had just massacred an entire settlement. There's not a single scratch or sign of struggle. Was he merely holding back during your last fight? One thing is certain: you're his final obstacle. You raise your sword, determined. Hot sweat trickles down your face as the flames surround you. "Well, at least you've convinced yourself now, I hope. There's nothing left for you here." The Demon King lowers himself, extending a fist towards you. A spell? Secret weapon? Your leg muscles contract in anticipation.

His fingers open and stretch out, slowly. In his palm, a barely noticeable ring. Given the ridiculous size difference, you assume this is better fitting for a human. You stare at it in confusion, discerning the wedding vows carved in the noble metal. "What's the meaning of this?" You mutter, glancing at the Beast now resting on one knee before you. "What? Is it not your human custom?" He looks away for a moment, clicking his tongue. "That useless butler. He told me- Forget it! You are to return with me to my Kingdom. As my spouse."

Of all the things you've prepared yourself for...Your brows furrow and your mouth hangs open in shock.

What is your answer? The Demon King will not leave empty-handed.

[nmakii]

Yan!Alastor with a sweet little doe reader that loves to stay close to them and is rather clingy? Cuddles are a must, light kisses on the chin, wanting to walk together with held hands, physical contact is basically their love language! 🥰 even going for his fluffy ears cause who wouldn’t?? I love your writing btw! It makes me happy whenever you have something new for us ❤️

SAY YOU’LL NEVER LEAVE ME!

— yandere!alastor x clingy!reader

— AGH!! this made me scream thank you sm i love you!!! violence warning! pure yandere fluff 😲

is in love with how clingy you are! you refuse to leave his side, and he didn’t even need to force you! alastor loves a submissive darling who’d do what he desires without asking

not to mention how innocent you are! how did such a sweet little doe such as yourself get into hell? st. peter must have been mistaken!

because of your pure nature, alastor would only want the best things for his darling! just promise him to be his forever, and the rest of hell will be in the palm of your hand.

alastor himself isn’t one for physical touch though. he doesn’t mind keeping you at his side nor does he mind the kisses, don’t get it wrong, he adores your kisses! touching his ears though may be harder to adjust to.

he hates the reminder that he is a prey animal, he himself enjoys being the predator. your gentle touch against his fluffy ears and antlers as he twitches under your touch makes him quite uncomfortable to the fact you’re touching his weakest and most sensitive spot.

eventually, he grows to accept the fact that to be yours, he must make some sort of sacrifice. and if it’s this, so be it…

although, because of your clingy behavior, it only raises his possessiveness. seeing you even talking to someone else would make his blood boil.

especially if it is someone alastor has conflict with; seeing you even be approached by lucifer or vox would make him jealous; his smile would grow strained, his murderous intent thick in the air, enough to cut with a knife.

against lucifer or fellow overlords, alastor wouldn’t act upon it. despite his huge ego, he knows better than to pick a fight with demons who are more powerful than him.

to those who are lesser than him… unfortunately, they’re not as lucky.

of course though, being the gentleman he is, he refuses to taint your soul with all the carnage and bloodshed he commits to keep you as his sweet doe.

‘LIVE ON AIR’ the neon sign in alastor’s broadcast station lit up as the speakers across pentagram city came to life. a man begging for his life, screaming as various noises were heard. one could only assume the radio demon was tearing his soul to pieces.

the sound of flesh being ripped apart was gruesome as the sinner’s bloodcurdling screams grew weaker. the sound of his corpse being hit against the walls of the station at least 40 times until alastor threw the body onto the floor.

when the man screamed no more, alastor’s voice was heard, sighing deeply, as if all his pent-up stress had just been released before joyful music started playing in the background. “good evening, sinners! take this broadcast as a reminder not to mess with what belongs to me! lest you’d like me to feast on your screams.” alastor warned before he laughed maniacally. and then he was gone once more.

after releasing all of his fury, he returned back to your shared bedroom, his cute little doe in pretty jammies he bought for you. so comfy in bed while hugging a plushie of a manically-cute red kitty, the antlers on its’ head resembling alastor’s. “alastor, what took so long?” you pouted as he began to retire in his nightwear, first taking off his bowtie.

“forgive me, my doe. there were many things to cover tonight on my radio broadcast…” he smiled, pinching your plump cheeks; so yummy and jiggly under his touch. “could i make it up to you tonight?” he smiled widely.

“ugh, then hurry up, please?!” you hit the sheets in frustration. “ahaha… just be patient, my darling.” he patted your head, getting into bed with you. turning off the lights before he wrapped his lanky arms around your waist, burying his face in your hair and leaving a trail of light kisses over your head.

the next time you’d see alastor’s broadcast station, a peculiar skeleton is pinned, adding a grotesque look to the hotel

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Can I request Demiurge, Sebas, and Albedo (Overlord) with a Supreme Being reader that's fallen asleep on their lap?

Falling Asleep on Their Laps | Yandere Overlord

As the Flower of Nazarick all the power you have, it has no limits as someone who doesn’t need the rules to thrive it also means you don’t have a real gauge for your energy. Considered more of a divine trainee of a Supreme Being all of Nazarick take it upon themselves to help you in whatever way they can. Especially since Ainz himself prioritizes you so does all of Nazarick and everyone in this world that is graced by your presence. So when you begin to drift to sleep they’ll gladly be your pillow after all what better purpose could they serve to you than the Flower of Nazarick:

Demiurge

“You can count on me, (Y/n).”

With a tail dangerously itching to wag 

he watches as your eyes get heavy and your speech slurs dribble into the soft breaths of a sleeping supreme being

Because of Ainz’s trust in him, he has been tasked with helping you hone your power 

Specifically holding back 

But since you’re so unfamiliar with combat and your limits you were bound to tire yourself out

What was supposed to be a break turns into a full-blown nap 

One that Demiurg will protect with his life 

He’s frankly going to behead whoever enters without it being a guardian or Ainz 

Even the Pleiades aren’t safe

Ainz forbid Yuri or Solution come to retrieve you gathering that you are sleepy by now 

They’ll either have to dodge or endure the force of Demiurge’s tail that meticulously strikes for their mere interruption

This is his time with you

Training or not

He resists the urge to caress your face but he’s not Albedo…

He can resist

“I devoted myself to your rest (Y/n)-sama. I couldn’t bear to disrupt your rejuvenation.”

Sebas Tian

“My Flower…please rest.”

Too many times does he see the unhardened heart you have in contrast to Ainz so it seems

So Innocent 

So untainted he sees why the world they’re in adores the very ground you hover over 

You’re perfect

And he honestly considers himself almost unworthy to have you rest on him

His legs may get tired or even be weighed down by the weight of your head but he would have never given this up

“I’m unworthy but I am your tool oh Flower of Nazarick. Rest easy.”

Albedo

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~ My supreme being is sleeping!~'

She refuses to disturb your slumber with words she might want to say 

But that doesn’t stop her other bodily functions

Her wings will flap excitedly 

Her face will be overtaken by her smile

And her body’s temperature will rise exponentially 

She’ll naturally try to use as much of her body as possibly 

Slowly sliding her now ungloved hands on your face

Your nose

Your lips 

This is just perfect!!!!

Her Ainz-sama doesn’t sleep so she never gets this opportunity

But with you, she can almost feel everything

If you’re not a light sleeper it's best to assume she’s exploring you and committing your measurements to memory

If she’s feeling particularly confident she might just take you to her bedroom

Or even better in Ainz’s unused room 

sniffing  your head as she imagines Ainz being with you both

“My Flower~! My (Y/n)~! Ah~! Your slumber is an immaculate gift for me to overindulge!”

[buryustogether]

yandere alastor x fem!reader hcs

sfw + nsfw below

i have this idea that, when you were both still human, alastor married you for a marriage of convenience (probably tax purposes). he's not one for love, but he does quite like to make things easier for himself, as well as a bit of reliable companionship from someone he can trust. he found it rather cute that you were head over heels in love with him.

he insists upon keeping you at his side almost 24/7. you accompany him everywhere; to his station while he's broadcasting, about town as he runs his errands, even to his overlord meetings, though you are forced to wait outside. he knows you won't up and disappear; even if you weren't such a good little pet, there isn't anywhere you could run that he couldn't find you.

the other overlords tease alastor about his little 'pet' he keeps on such a tight leash. he doesn't ever object to this title.

gives you dancing lessons and doesn't allow you to rest until you can copy his movements exactly. if you collapse from exhaustion before that, he'll coo and brush your hair out of the way, then haul you to your feet and start again from the beginning.

he won't have you doing much other than keeping your shared home clean and occasionally cooking a meal or two. you're his darling, he can't have you wearing yourself out taking care of him. he'll do most everything - he just wants you to sit there and look pretty for him.

won't allow you to leave the table until you finish the meals he makes for you.

loves to have you hanging on his arm. you're like a precious little trophy for him to show off - only his, and no one else's.

being alastor's beloved companion makes you a prime target for blackmail and kidnappers, but he doesn't want you to fret, dear - he has it covered. his shadows are on your trail in the extremely rare occasion he's not with you, and he's killed demons for less than even looking your way.

doesn't allow any kind of modern technology inside his home or upon your person, even if you died long after him. he considers cellphones to be the property of his enemies, and you wouldn't want him to catch you wearing the symbol of the v's, now, would you?

he picks out your outfits for each day, even has them custom made at the tailor's just for you. he knows best, darling, so don't fight him on this. he doesn't want you going out looking like some common harlot, not when you belong to the radio demon.

often takes out his frustrations of the day on you at night when you're alone in his bedroom. he bites and scratches and thrashes like a beast trapped in a snare, and he relishes in having you wear the marks when he's done.

his favorite position to have you in is plain old missionary; not only is it traditional, but he enjoys having complete control over you while he bucks up into your heat.

like most animal-based demons in hell, he enters a rut once a month and rarely emerges from his quarters; which means you don't, either. at least three times a day, and he only stops to give you rest and to whisper the filthiest things you've ever heard in your ear.

enjoys bondage to an extent, but only on you. he's not opposed to pretty little collars wrapped around your neck, either.

now, when you're in the mood and he's not, he's not totally cruel. while he won't fuck you when and wherever, he'll allow you to straddle his thigh and hump his leg like an animal while he continues whatever work he was doing before.

he may often be brutal, he knows aftercare is extremely important. he can't leave his darling bruised and broken for next time, can he? licks up any blood he may have drawn and ensures you drink when you're done, even if he has to hold your back against his chest and tip your chin up to force the water down your throat. he'll usually run you a bath and, surprisingly, will gently bathe you before dressing you in the finest bedroom silks in hell and putting you to bed.

he doesn't sleep much, but since meeting you, he's replaced many of his nighttime activities with sitting at the side of your bed and watching you sleep.

alastor doesn't love; but he knows he would tear hell apart at the seams if you were ever taken from him.

[michaela-o]

My ipad charger broke so this is all i could finish.

Anyways here's 2 versions of Overlord nobody asked for (๑ơ ᴗ ơ)✧*

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

-

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[animeshotsh]

Chains | Husk x SisOverlord!Reader / Yandere!Alastor x Reader |

Summary: Its been years since you saw your brother...

Warnings: Alastor its a warning himself | Yandere!Alastor | Overlord!Reader | Canon Violence | Grammar Mistakes |

No one expected the doors of the Hotel to burst Open that afternoon. Vaggie was the first to react, being ready to fight whever decided to attack that day (it was becoming something normal).

Charlie on her part was jumping towards the stranger, ready to shake hands and introduce herself.

"Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, im Charlie, whats your na-" Before Charlie could finish two voices sounded in the back.

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) MY DEAR!!"

Husk and Alastor voices echoed in the looby, the only response their got were a set of flashing sharp poker cards being directed at the radio Demon and Husk.

"ITS HAS BEEN 12 YEARS AND THATS ALL YOU GONNA SAY?" You screamed at both men.

Husk looked away, shame over his cat face. Long time ago you two used to rule. The brother and sister duo, the ones who could destroy everyone. That was till Husk destroyed himself, giving his soul to the radio Demon. Leaving you behind.

Alastor was amused by your anger. He knew you hated him, he was the one who took your brothers soul after all. And he never felt remorse because of it, he was almost happy he did it. It was the only way he got to see you, ever if you only showed him hate.

He would take whatever from you.

"Wait...are you Husk's gilfriend?" Charlie still not catching up asked, getting the most bizarre look from you.

"Hell no, im his sister" You responded making the princess blush and apologie too much. "Its fine, I know he does not talk a lot about me"

Charlie could hear the sadness in your voice. She took a moment to see you, and now she saw how similar Husk and you were. Cat face a pair of wings, the colors were different and so were your eyes, but there was something that just connected you two.

"This is (Y/N), The Casino Demon, you bet against her and you lose your Soul" Alastor explained appearing besides you. "She and Husk used to rule together"

"Yeah, well thats in the past now" You responded to Alastor both of you killing each other with your eyes.

The tension was broken by Husk, "why are you here?"

"Im here because you are here and because I want to redeem myself" You responded with your head high, not looking at the obvious smirk from Alastor or the questioning look from Husk.

Charlie quickly took your hand, guiding you towards a desk to check you in, she ramble about the hotel, the guests and things they did in here.

You kind of feel bad for her, you could see her passion but the only reason you were in here was because of Husk. Ever since Alastor took his soul it ended being a game of finding him. Alastor would make Husk's soul appear and since you two were connected as brother and sister you would fly there only to find him gone and a smirking Radio Demon.

But this time, his soul had been in one place for a long time. So you decided to use this chance to be by your brothers side.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Later that same night you went to the bar, Husk tried to ignore you, cleaning glasses but ended facing you. No one dared to speak first, silent tears fell from your eyes, slowly your hands reached his, his fluffy hair welcoming you.

"I have missed you so much" You said smiling at him. Husk felt his heart break, he knew how Alastor played with you using him. He had tried many times to make you hate him, but you never did. You also never fought Alastor knowing he would use Husk to get you.

"Lets have a drink for the old days"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

After many drinks you went back to your room. So many years apart...Husk and you had so much to catch on.

"You know you cant have him back"

The radio Demon appear behind you, you ignored him not wanting to fall for his games.

"Not without a deal at least"

"And what would that deal be?" You asked not looking back at the Demon.

In a flash he got closer to you, not touching you but you could feel his breath down your neck.

"Your soul for his, be mine for the eternity and free him" Hell, you could feel the psycho smile and listen the radio laughts.

"Goodnight Alastor"

You left him alone outside your room. Alastor smiled to himself, hands behind his back he started to walk to his own room.

"Just a bit more" he whispered his body turning to his full Demon form.

"Just a bit more to be mine"

[circeyoru]

Hello! I was wondering something about both of your series! (Which are absolutely wonderful btw!)

Unwantedsouls- How long did the reader work for lucifer? I don't remember it being said but if it was i'm sorry :)

Collection of overlords - Is the reader a form of Asexual or a form of it like alastor is cannonly? Im asking because i see a couple of interesting similarities between alastor and readers reaction to certain things.

(I absolutely love your writing and really hope you are well, :) . )

This is for {Unwanted Soul} and {Collection of Overlords}, check MASTERLIST for the work

Thank you for your words~!

Okay, a question for each of the series.

{Unwanted Soul} : How long did the reader work for lucifer?

I'd say long enough for Reader's/your power to develop to what you have in part 1 when you saved and healed Alastor. It's a good 8-10 years? Then you left and went to an apartment fully provided and arranged by Lucifer as a goodbye gift and thanks for your hard work over the years. There's like another 8-9 years until you found Alastor and then everything happens in the present timeline. There's a good while of you being in Hell already that you know what to expect.

{Collection of Overlords} : Is the reader a form of Asexual or a form of it like alastor is cannonly?

This has been answered here. To add on. I'm not sure what similarities you're implying. I designed Reader/you to be a more neutral character and that would somewhat be explained in the later parts. I already saw an ask that hit the nail way too hard because what they suggested was already in the works. I guess until I'm made aware of what those similarities are, I can't explain or answer this question.