#yandere spain

[yantalia545]

Can we get a part two for your motherly s/o? Except this time with the nations that have/had kid colonies. And the dynamic they have is a teamwork between a romantic yandere (Britain, France, Spain) and a platonic yandere(America, Canada, Romano).

They met when the chibi got lost and she helped them get back to their caretakers. But the chibi got attached to her so she decided to visit them when she has time. But as years go by both father and son are getting uncomfortably clingy towards her, her motherly nature filled in the absence left by the father and her concerned and nurturing nature for the adults made some days easier for them that they can't help but fall in love with her. It reached to the point where they really believed that she is their mother/wife and scared away anyone who dare tried to take her away from them. Even when the chibi grew up and is independent, he still supports his former caretaker.

"She's my/his wife, she just doesn't know it yet"

This one made my head spin @~@. So many ways to go about this.

May need to make a husband vs husband post after this. What do you guys think?

England:

England is a bit of a hardhead and a little hard to get along with at first, but he'll come along and appreciate your efforts eventually.

For a little while, when you first started coming around with America, he was a little jealous of you. England has never taken care of anyone before, but you seem to be able to do it with ease. He most likely will throw you out the first handful of times you come around just because he won't admit that he doesn't exactly know what he's doing and needs help. Only after America throws constant tantrums for you to come back will England finally put his ego to the side and call you back.

England is used to others being cocky and even very passive-aggressive around him, so when you first walked in the door and you gave him a long hug, he was very caught off guard. He even treated you horribly. Why are earth are you wing so kind to him?

America on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier to finally see you around again. He had someone else who would play with him. If you can keep up with him too, all the better.

Fairly quickly after that whole endeavor, America grew close to you. England was a very busy man and had lots of things that needed his constant attention. It was nice to have you around to fill in when England couldn’t be around. Not to mention, you were a little more easy-going than him too. America just felt more at ease when you were around. England wasn’t yelling at him as much. You made England softer and kinder towards him.

It was nice. To England, it was almost like you were married. Like a family. That world never failed to flutter England; family. You guys were a family. A real family. Finally, just like he’s always wanted. Unlike his nasty brothers that were always so rude to him. He had you; the glue to it all.

As America become older and started fights over independence, things began to grow tense. England was terrified of the feeling that his perfect family was beginning to fall apart. What was worse, you supported it. You tired to argue that America was grown now but England was too stubborn to let his family go.

England fought tooth and nail to preserver his family, but in the end, America still managed to get away from him and gain his freedom. That’s when things took a turn for the worse for you.

You betrayed him. You supported America leaving and because of your help, America managed to break away from him and gain his independence. You may be America’s mother, but you’re still his wife. You’re supposed to support him above all others.

You will be punished for this and England will be very snappy but also clingy to you for a while. Don’t hold it against him though, it was all your fault for breaking apart his family.

At one point, America will try to step in between the two of you out of concern. England has shown some dark sides of hisself thought out their time in war and was afraid for you safety. Knowing England for many years himself, America just knows that England is up to some terrible things when it involves you. Especially when he’s well aware of England’s affections for you.

The two will most likely fight often over you. Bickering in meetings especially.

“Why isn’t (y/n) allowed to come meetings anymore!?”

“Has anyone else been able to contact (y/n) yet?! Or is she just yours!”

These are all true, you haven’t been present in meetings in years and anytime someone tried to contact you, England will throw a fit and forbid you from responding to them. They’ll poison your mind and take you away from him. England’s already lost his brothers and son, he won’t lose his wife too.

The dynamic between these two is serious competition. Your son, America, will do anything he can to protect you while your husband, England, will do whatever it takes to keep what’s left of his family with him.

France:

France already had a good handle on being a good parent. Not to mention that Canada is a much easier child to handle than America is. However, France is still over the fence at the thought of you wanting to join his family.

With you around, his family is complete just like France has always wanted. Countries can produce children like regular humans can, so this was the best next thing. He, like England, has been dreaming for this moment. A family to call their own.

France will often brag about how wonderful his family is now that you're here. Especially to England just to rub in his face. France just couldn't be happier with you here. No one is going to take this euphoric feeling away from him.

You thought he was just being funny, but to France, he was serious. Ever since...you know who, he's dreamed of having a wife and a family to call his own, as I've mentioned before.

You'd go along with the joke, thinking that he was just being France. That was until France began to invest in your relationship.

It started off small and you ignored or played into them for Canada. Holding Canada's hand together, singing the little nation to sleep. Even cooking together was all things that you were doing for Canada's sake, not his. You didn't mind if they helped France out too . You wanted to lighten his burden as a caretaker. That was until things started to get a little too uncomfortable for you.

France had tried to kiss you on his way out the door. Luckily, he only managed to kiss your cheek when you turned away from him. You didn't wish to alarm Canada as you knew he was a nervous nelly, so you knew you'd have a discussion with France when Canada was asleep tonight.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. You should have just run. Called England up to watch Canada and ran that day, because when France came home that night, it would be already too late.

He was having a secret meeting with your bosses today. Well, it wasn't intended to be a dirty secret. It was meant to be a surpise. France had decided a long time ago that he was going to marry you. Today was the day he'd finally put it all into place.

With a smile on his face and the most beautiful ring he could find, France practically skipped home that day. Excited to ask you the big question. France was a little worried about you avoiding his kiss that morning, but he pushed it to the side as just morning brain. If just a kiss can get you so nervous just wait until he tells you the big news.

When you rejected his proposal, he was shocked. What do you mean you don't love him? Isn't that why you lived here? To join his family?

No. No. No. No. NO! He won't have it. You do love him! France knows you do. You're just nervous and confused but don't worry, France will be a good fiance and husband and take care of you every step of the way. It's not like you can really say no when your boss already signed the papers.

Canada will be confused as he suddenly sees you less and less. Where did you go? What does France mean by needing to "heal" you? Are you sick? While France has his hands full with conditioning you he won't have a lot of time to spend with Canada. Being that he doesn't receive attention from others, this will impact Canada greatly. He'll start to cling to you more when you are allowed out. Unknowingly pushing the idea that your defiance is only hurting the family.

Spain:

Little Romano is quite the handful, so when you came around to offer your help Spain was more than happy to accept. If only Romano would behave himself and not catcall you.

What is he to do about that boy. :')

To Spain's surprise, he does see Romano settling down at some point during your visit. Romano just can't act tough forever. Not when you're pampering him like no other. Spain almost couldn't believe it when he saw Romano curled up against your side while you slowly pat his head. Careful not to touch his precious curl. Your voice was so beautiful as you sang a soft tune from your homeland. Romano was blissfully listening with a soft smile; Nealy asleep.

That day, you looked so heavenly in Spain's eyes. Like a goddess who tamed a wild beast. He almost couldn't believe that this wouldn't last forever. You would have to go home eventually as you were only a visitor.

If only there was a way you three could stay like this forever.

After that, Spain made sure to invite you over all the time. With the help of a fussy Romano who just wouldn't calm down until he saw you again, you spend an enormous amount of time at Spain's house. Much to their delight.

Whenever you were around, Spain could delve into his fantasy about being a happy family and Romano could have something that his stupid younger brother can never take away from him.

Despite Romano's hard exterior, he really is just a scared little child who was hurt by the abandonment of Rome and the overshadowing of his preppier brother, Italy. All he ever wanted was to feel seen and wanted. You were perfect.

You never once compared him to Italy or picked on him. You were always so calm and gentle but knew just how to put him back in his place. (You are quite terrifying when tempered). For that, Romano holds a lot of respect for you that carries on into his adulthood. He most definitely sees you like a mom. His mom. Not his brothers; Just his.

Spain is more than happy to use Romano's perspective of you to his advantage. If Romano sees you as his mom, then that must mean that you're also his wife. The three of you are a little, happy family.

Being a loving country, it doesn't really take Spain too long to propose to you. He was just so certain that you were dying to say yes. When you mention that you only see Spain as a friend and that you were only looking to help with Romano it shatters him. What do you mean you don't love him? Isn't that why you come around so often?

Spain takes your rejection very harshly. His mind just won't stop spinning with all these nagging questions and insecurities. Could you be seeing someone else? Taking care of another person's child?

This won't hold well for you. Spain most likely will be taken over by his rolling thoughts and lock you in his basement until you reconsider. He doesn't want to scare Romano, so he'll tell him lies about you and that this is all normal between couples. Romano will be too young to understand that what Spain is doing is really wrong. Besides, he does want you you stay with him too. Romano can't risk losing his mom.

[yanxidarlings]

Aaaaaa i did not expect you to reply so soon! Love your perspective, especially the part about spain playing favourites and choosing the most catholic and most resource heavy 😭😭.. i feel like most people never really talk about former colonies and their colonisers... bc theres no way india would be that happy and pleasant with england😭😭.... anyways rant over im really into ur latin america hcs... especially mexico... 😇😇

anonymous asked:

Sorry if im spamming you but i also just had a thought... since mexico would be very similar to spain, would he be equally as delusional... or worse? I think he would start thinking hes in some telenova or hes a cowboy or something ( north america try not to be delusional challenge)(impossible)

i saw the ask and my brain went ding ding that is extremely rare round of applause for anon please do keep spamming i'm on a roll here

oo! i feel like spain is in an interesting position among colonisers and their former colonies; i'm pretty sure, or at least headcanon, that he found pretty much all of his former colonies as chibi's, kind of like china, so they probably don't have as many memories of their native cultures that were stripped from them. that's why they might not bare as intense hatred for spain as someone like vietnam would hold for france.

but there's definately alot of resentment. i think this is especially prominent for peru, who i have often seen characterised as quite in touch with his parent, Inca's, culture and history, and probably wonders what his life might have looked like if he had been allowed to grow up out of spain's iron grip.

i headcanon that latin america, spain's portion of it at least, try to make spain feel as excluded and alienated from what antonio perceives as his 'legacy' in the america's, it's a way to subtly let out some of their repressed resentment towards him.

and on india — you're definately right! i think england and india have a much more snarky? relationship. india is nearly as old as china and was trying to finesse his way through europe's colonial era only to get stuck with this entitled asshole with a superiority complex, that's gotta breed some strong resentment. india is alot like china in the way that he just tolerates those he dislikes for the sake of politics - he's not getting chummy with england unless there's something in it for him.

back to latin american colonisation — i've always characterised mexico as being one of the former spanish colonies that drinks the 'big brother spain' kool-aid. he's not so delusional about colonisation as he is not wanting to recognise how much of a monster spain really was. i can't imagine josé likes to hear or talk about the aztec empire's slaughter at spain's hands; it tears him apart that he lost his actual parent to the only parental figure he knows.

and this definately bleeds into his yandere psyche. mexico doesn't like to confront the reality that any love his darling has for him is manufactured; stockholm syndrome at best, entirely faked at worst. he doesn't like to think of himself as being manipulative or wrong because the implications of that truth are just too much for him to handle.

this is definately where he differs most strikingly from spain; fundamentally, spain isn't able to see the reality of his actions and how wrong they are or how much he's messed up his darling in the process of 'pursuing' them. it's all just a grand romance, his darling is the one with the issues.

josé is definately the type to play into whatever fantasy will best charm his darling, and try to glamourise the relationship "we would make good characters for a telenovela, cariño! we would have so many fans". he likes to compare his actions to others to justify them as well "spain had his own key for your room back in the day" and make intruding on their life seem so normal.

not to mention, piggybacking off my last post, latin america would be a cesspool of yandere's validating each others behaviours. they all picked it up from spain at somepoint, maybe even from each other, so no one bat's an eye when mexico goes on another obsession fueled rant; some countries he's closer to might even offer to help.

the fandom likes to hype up russia and belarus as scary but at least people recognise them as dangerous. latin america is equally as dangerous if not more, imagine being stuck between one, two, or more of them? at least in europe you can pit yandere's against each other, spain raised his colonies as siblings and despite their conflicts they are capable of mass cooperation.

[darkwaltz-blog]

hey! do you think you could do some Yandere Spain smut hcs please? ❤️

YANDERE! SPAIN SMUT HEADCANONS.

Warning. +18 content; non-consensual relationships; mentions of abuse; manipulation.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo [Spain]

— COURTSHIP PROCESS:

Antonio is just an obsessive guy who would do anything for his S/O; His main goal is to please her and do everything in his power to fulfill her every whim. This is probably why he caught the attention of his beloved, perhaps she thought that Antonio's behavior was like that of any other person in love who seeks to attract attention and be kind (without having any idea that this simple "infatuation" was not typical of a sane person).

Antonio can be smarter than he appears, from the beginning he does a thorough search for the type of things that are stimulating for his partner and, from there, he will create dream scenarios for his S/O. He doesn't really mind impersonating someone else to get his partner's attention.

Antonio is aware of how conventionally attractive he is, so he would start wearing clothes that show off his physical attributes. It would be a new habit for him to wear tight pants that show off his shapely buttocks, wear shirts that reveal part of his chest and arm muscles, and then sneak up on his S/O so she can get a better look at his body.

In the end, if none of this works out, and his partner doesn't willingly reach out to him, he's bound to do nastier things. In reality, Antonio is a double face and he knows very well how to get rid of the bad things he does and never suffer the consequences. He wouldn't feel guilty about getting his S/O drunk and waking up the next day pretending to be a victim with excuses like: “I was drunk too, you know me very well, I would never dare to harm in any way”.

he already did something wrong once and nothing happened to him, so he can keep doing it. After all, he is a good and innocent guy in everyone's eyes, no one would ever suspect that he is capable of cruel acts.

— GENERAL TAGS:

In case S/O falls for Antonio's charms at first, he will still wear his good boy mask, and his beloved will probably never find out about the terrible things the boy is capable of just having her.

S/O can have Antonio at her feet if she wants it that way. This guy kisses the floor where his beloved walks, he is completely hers, and she can do whatever she wants with him. Submissive or dominant, that doesn't matter! He can be what his beloved wants him to be.

Antonio is terribly ruthless when he wants to be. He could not have his beloved in a good way, so he will have her in a bad way.

[midnightlee25]

Yandere Reactions: having a darling that’s having more than one baby (Spain/Antonio Fernandez Carriedo)

Twins (2): 

He does hope that they will be a boy and a boy just so they can have one of each but that isn't to say he would hate it if they were the same gender.  

   Triplets (3): 

Even better, yes, he understands it will mean more work but it will be great practice for later on. He will find a way to hold all three all at once.  

   Quadruples (4): 

Still isn't so bad to handle or so he believes. He may have to find a bigger home and another pair of hands (Romano.) but he knows that he has enough time to get everything ready for four little ones. 

   Quintuplets (5): 

Just a bit stressed having five all at once but he is still very excited about having so many children with his darling. definitely having Romano help him with this many all at once. 

   Sextuplets (6): 

He…is happy just starting to wonder how he's going to handle so many at once. Did he want a big family with his darling? Yes. Did he get that? Yes. is he going to get as many helping hands as he can get? definitely. (Is he going to want more? .... maybe.) 

[shini--chan]

Hey! Just want to start this off by saying that your blog is amazing! So a couple of years ago I had this medical emergency that caused a cist on my ovary to rupture, the symptoms were similar to appendicitis with high fever, dry heaving and rapid dehydration. How would America, England, Germany and Spain react to their s/o falling so ill, that they would need immediate medical attention? Especially if they let it get to a point where s/o passes out due to the stress and pain.

Sheesh, I hope you had a good recovery and are doing well at the moment. Also – Thank you ;P

Yandere Hetalia – Plaster on a gunshot wound

America

Alfred would be very lassie-faire towards the whole situation. If questioned, then he would simply responded that he was seen his sh!t and that what would be happening at the moment is tame in comparison to stuff that he already expertised. He would provide first-aid himself – determined to have as few people involved as possible because he would want to be seen as your hero. Other people preforming heroism would only scratch at his ego.

However it would quickly turn out that it would be best not to trust Alfred in medical emergencies, especially when it concerns somebody that he is so heavily attached to. He would start fumbling, snapping at everybody around him, and it would take a lot of talking to make him back-off and let the professionals do their job.

There would be the danger that he would inflict permanent damage, or even jeopardise your life – that is how much he would want to be the one to save you. That is how much he would balk at the idea of letting anybody close to you.

England

Like his son, he would be prideful and want to do all the work himself. Unlike Alfred, Arthur would be pragmatic enough to let professional people step in. In Arthur’s case, he wouldn’t do things by halves – either he would take full responsibility for your care, or he would contact an acquaintance to tend to you.

You were breathing shallowly, skin light green. Arthur checked you in the rear mirror every couple of seconds, his brow furrowing in frustration. If anything, this whole situation annoyed him more than causing him to panic. In hindsight, he had been too callous in his punishment of you. He shouldn’t have deprived you of water for so long. Yet he also blamed you – this all could have been avoided if you hadn’t made him so irate by spitting into his tea.

Sighing, he fished his phone out of the side compartment and scrolled through his contact list. Staring at his phone while driving was mighty irresponsible, however, if anybody ever chided him on that, he would just snap back that he had been driving cars since they were invented, and if anybody knew how to drive while distracted, it would be him.

Finally finding the contact he need, he called, pressing the phone against his ear. While striving to be up-to-date with cutting edge technology, he still couldn’t really befriend the speaker system. Besides, he didn’t want to wake you up.

“Hello Mr Kirkland, what can I do for you?”

“Alberton! Now I would normally love to do some chit-chat with you before going to the meat of the issue but this is an emergency. I have a very dehydrated youngster on the backseat, passed out even.”

“Alright, I’ll prepare a room.”

“That’s a lad. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

The person, he would take you too would be a medical professional in Arthur’s trust, discreet so that the treatment wouldn't show up in any records, not the sort to ask any questions or to help you.

Germany

In your case, it would most likely due to an illness and accident, since Ludwig wouldn’t lay a hand on you. If anything, it would take a lot to provoke his wrath. That is of course, if we are talking about post-1945 Ludwig. The pre-1945 Ludwig would be a different story where we won’t go into further detail in this post.

Would be take care of you to the best of his ability before the incident, making sure you eat healthy and get a lot of exercise. If he wouldn’t have to take you to a hospital, then he would just call a house doctor and have you treated at his house. If that wouldn’t be the case, then he would drive you to a private hospital, and pay a handsome sum to have you treated and to ensure their silence.

This could be your chance to escape, and should the hospital staff not buy into his tall tales, they could even help you escape. Though Ludwig would be there as well, and if allowed, he would request to sleep in the same room as you.

Spain

His first reaction would be to have ten seconds of panic and then go to business. He would ring up one of his friends to bring a van with medical equipment and have you treated at his place. If the medical stuff wouldn’t fit into the living space, then you would be shoved into the van. Being immortal, he would know that his view of humans is skewed and that he would just end up doing something wrong if he would take the matter in his own hands.

During your recovery he would dote on you and also take the opportunity to illustrate this as a reason that you need him. Antonio would tell you stories of people that died alone and were eaten by their pets. And of people that died alone and were only discovered by the stench the emitted. What would you have done if it weren’t for him?

If the both of you weren’t living in the city already, then he would move to the city. That way, if something were to occur again, he would be close to help. Of course, that is only if you were to behave.

[crimson-kisses]

Hi hello good evening!! I have been lurking about for quite some time and i honestly love your writing!!

If it's not too much, could you give us a crumb of yandere romano?? 👀 some general headcanons or whatever you're in the mood for??

Have a lovely day!!

Piccolo regalo

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Lovino Vargas || Romano [Hetalia] x Fem!reader

Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, the like]

Author's notes: Lovino has definitely been in my mind lately, so have this little snippet I wrote up in a hurry. This was inspired by this piece by @yanderehetaliadrabbles 🌻🐝~~~♡

Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

The kitchen was infused with the enticing aroma of sizzling eggplant as you carefully fried the golden slices in a pan, observing as they reached the perfect balance of tenderness and crispiness.

On any other day, you would have joyfully taken a few bites, turned on the radio to sway to some tunes, and effortlessly navigated the kitchen to gather ingredients and clean up. However, today, sombre thoughts preoccupied your mind, leaving you focused solely on the task at hand.

A slight frown took on your lips as you adjusted the ribbon, holding back your hair. Yeah, you weren't really in the mood for swaying around and being carefree.

An almost alarming smell caught your attention as you instinctively set the fried eggplant slices aside on a plate lined with paper towels to drain. Slightly burnt but not too much to be concerned about.

Mistakes happen, and nothing is too perfect. It was the bitter truth, and one you accepted as you continued with the preparation of the dish.

Nothing is too perfect. Mistakes were human. You almost vividly recalled the countless times you'd watched your nonna prepare this beloved dish. She seemed to be so perfectly superior in her skills, but you remember her laughing about her own mistakes in her childhood when it was your time to take on the kitchen.

People weren't perfect, and no matter how superior or skilled they seemed, they were bound to slip up. That was being human. Humans weren't perfect, and neither were relationships.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you turned your attention to the tomato sauce, a crucial component that would add depth and richness to the dish. You tried not to think, think, and think. But you were always such a feisty smart ass for your own good.

Perhaps that extended to everything else as well. Ah, were you so blindsided by love that you couldn't see the signs any sooner? The cracks in your lover until it was too late? Maybe it was because he seemed so perfect. Someone who could love you despite the edges you had and cherish all your faults. He was too perfect to be human.

Trying to suppress the shaking of your hand, you sautéed onions and garlic in a seperate pot until translucent, then added canned tomatoes, letting the mixture simmer and thicken to perfection.

But he wasn't even human, and neither was he perfect. Nothing can be too perfect for everyone.

You tightened the apron around your waist, opening the curtains wider, allowing a strong beam of sunlight to flood the kitchen. The golden rays illuminated the room, casting a warm glow on the countertops and appliances. Outside, the gentle rustling of olive trees could be heard and seen, their branches heavy with ripe olives ready for harvest.

To Romano though, you were perfect. Too perfect maybe, your confident suave nature resonated well with him, balancing his fiery intense attitude. Mostly what pulled you both together though was pure passion for things you both loved. Both of you were so supportive and protective of each other, even embracing the faults.

With the eggplant fried and the tomato sauce ready, it was time to assemble the layers. You reached for a baking dish and spooned a layer of the tomato sauce onto the bottom, spreading it evenly to coat the surface.

You still loved him, despite all his issues, insecurities, and stubbornness. Your sly antics countered his flirty attempts, coolly challenging him and keeping him on his toes. The tango you initiated with him was a dance of passion and tension, French kisses after deep arguments were common, a way to your love amidst the conflicts. To you, he was perfect, but maybe that love still wasn't enough for him.

Next came a layer of the fried eggplant slices, their golden-brown hue a testament to their perfect crispiness. You sprinkled a generous amount of grated Parmesan cheese over the eggplant, the sharpness of the cheese promising to balance the sweetness of the tomatoes.

Your thoughts raced as you continued with the cooking. Memories of family gatherings, moments with your nonna, and times with friends seemed distant, almost as if they belonged to another lifetime. Ever since you were told, forced to stay in this secluded house in the Southern countryside, those memories felt even more remote.

The layering process continued, each addition of eggplant, tomato sauce, and cheese building upon the last, creating a beautiful and delicious mosaic of flavors and textures. You added the final layer of tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese to your favorite traditional dish.

The setting was undeniably idyllic, the kind that would make your mamma gush over its charm, and your zie would nod approvingly, pleased that you had finally settled down. Despite its beauty, you couldn't shake off the feeling of complete isolation, the sense of being disconnected from the world you once knew.

With the assembled dish in the oven, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of baked cheese and tomatoes. As you waited, your thoughts drifted once again to Lovino. He was the kind of man who would eat anything if you made it. Not that you would not threaten to poison his food if he didn't learn to appreciate what you cooked.

Nonetheless, you prepared some Caponata as a side dish knowing that's what Lovino preferred. Perhaps the sweet and sour taste resonated well with his personality.

You snorted in amusement. Asshole.

Setting the dining table, you poured some homemade Limoncello into a chilled glass. Placing it on a tray, you carefully set it on the dining table, beside the plated Caponata. Moments later, you retrieved the fragrant Melanzane alla Parmigiana from the oven, its baked cheese and tomato aroma filling the kitchen.

With oven mitts protecting your hands, you placed the hot dish on a trivet and proudly set it on the table, completing the meal for you and Lovino.

Placing your hands on your waist, you apprehensively glanced at the clock. He had said he would be coming home early today during the phone call, and judging by his tone, you assumed his mood was sour. Lately, this had become quite common, and it always made you tense when he seemed to be brimming with anger. The anticipation of his arrival weighed on you, adding an underlying tension to the otherwise peaceful atmosphere in the house.

There was a reason, you were trapped in the house he had bought for the both of you. Could you escape? Quite easily, but only physically for a short amount of time. Being a family woman, with close ties with other people, it put everything and everyone you loved at a dangerous risk.

You loved too deep, too passionately, too traditionally, and that love of yours kept you in shackles. That love which Lovino was possessive of. Lovino would easily find you, and he had already proved that your family and friends would pay the price if you stepped out of line. Heavily, and you couldn't bear that.

After all, how could you escape the grasps of a man who had been here for centuries? He knew every nook and corner, had legal and illegal ties which would be fatal.

The door opens with a thud, causing you to rise on your toes in startlement. You see your lover stumble in, clearly heavily intoxicated. His unsteady gait and slurred speech confirm your suspicions. Soon after, the sound of a car starting up can be heard, gradually fading as it drives away from the house, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

You wished you were in that car, far away from this isolated place. Perhaps, you could ask Lovino to take you out, once he is stable enough of course.

Nonetheless, pulling up your dress slightly to hasten your steps, you briskly walk towards him in concern. Your hands instinctively reach out to steady the stumbling man as he gives you a lopsided smirk, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

Lovino places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to his intoxicated form. His shirt is disheveled, and you tug on it to help balance him properly, feeling the warmth of his breath and the weight of his body leaning against you.

Both of you stumble awkwardly after hastily closing the door. Before you can react further, Lovino pushes you up against the counter, causing your breath to hitch in surprise. You give him a level-headed stare, trying to convey your concern and irritation. However, he places a finger on your lips as you attempt to speak, effectively silencing you and adding to the tension between you two.

"Lovi, this—" your tone biting, you gesture sharply with your hands, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, "is enough. Dinner is ready, and you are beyond drunk." Your eyes dart around, searching his face for answers.

All you find is overflowing love and a sense of lust swimming around his eyes. "Where have you been? Didn't you have some work today?" You finish with a sigh, placing a hand on his arm, furrowing your brows in concern.

God, you cared for this man so deeply. How could you not? You doubted you could ever stop caring for him, but sometimes you just didn't know what to do with him.

A flinch escapes you when you feel his fingers trace your jawline, skimming through the strands of your hair. His touch lingers for a moment, a slight frown forming on his lips. You wondered what was he thinking of.

"What's the matter, darling? Didn't you miss me, huh?" he mumbles incoherently, the furrows between his brows deepening along with his frown.

His eyes narrow as he bends closer to your neck, taking in your scent slowly. His hands, initially tentative, find their place around your shoulders, gripping slightly as he breathes deeply for a moment. He seems to be seeking comfort, trying to find solace in your presence.

But you can't seem to give him that, something in you doesn't know where to even start. Your fingers start to grip his shoulders as you let out a shudder, your lips almost ghost over his, hesitant and unsure.

"Mio amore, you have no idea how much I wanted to be with you today," Lovino starts, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. He grimaces disdainfully as he recalls his day, "After such a long day with a room full of idiotic bastards."

You couldn't help but grow more concerned, but chose to remain silent about it. As Lovino, had never liked you defending them, even if it was fair enough, given his attitude. There was always some drama at his workplace, especially regarding his personal relationships.

Pausing for a moment, he takes a deep breath, his eyes softening as they meet yours. "All the time, I was thinking of you," he confesses, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

His hands, with an urgency you haven't felt in a while, snake around your waist with firm grip, drawing you irresistibly close to him. "Tesoro," he murmurs softly, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue, filled with affection. The weight of his desire is palpable, and you find yourself pressed tightly against his chest.

He breathes heavily, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips with an intensity that leaves you breathless. "Amore mio," he whispers against your lips, his voice husky with emotion. The world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this passionate moment.

A startled noise escapes you, surprised by the suddenness and strength of his grip. As he deepens the kiss, his arms tighten around you, lifting you slightly off your feet. "Bella," he murmurs, pulling you even closer, the intensity of his emotions leaving you breathless. You could taste the alcohol on his lips.

"Wait, dinner is--", you start to say, your voice trailing off as Lovino emits an annoyed grunt. He pulls back slightly, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours, covered in a haze.

His hands grip yours, which remain on his chest, bringing them to his lips. He messily pecks every inch of your delicate skin, affectionately raw.

"Dinner can wait, I cannot," he declares firmly, his voice laced with urgency and unmistakable desire. The atmosphere between you two thickens, the dim light casts soft shadows on his face, highlighting the longing in his eyes. His fingers gently trace your jawline, a silent plea for you to stay in this intimate moment just a little longer.

He had always been drawn to your argumentative nature; he liked his women confident, assertive, yet elegant and romantic. The intoxicating affection between you was often mixed with passionate disputes and petty fights. That was just how he liked it. He wanted to see you angry with him, and then to have you care for him, let him take care of you, picking up the pieces both of you had scarred and kiss it right.

But now. He didn't have the patience for that, he had always been selfish, possessive when it came to you. He needed your love, a reminder marked onto his skin.

He needed to feel your unwavering love, even with all his flaws, trusting that you wouldn't forsake him, like everyone else always had, just as he would never dream of leaving you behind. He sought to drown his insecurities in the depths of your love and trust. By loving you, he hoped to discover his worth and find a place of significance in your heart. He wanted to be everything you would ever need. To be enough.

And never be cast aside once again.

Lovino needed you. Right at this moment, dinner left at the table to be eaten later right after both of you have devoured each other and Lovino had forgotten the outside world.

Instead, curses erupted from his lips as a kick was aimed at his shin, causing him to stumble back from the force of your push. He hissed and gripped the place where you had hit him, rubbing it and breathing harshly through gritted teeth. You took the opportunity to slip past him, your steps hurried and uneven as you moved toward the staircase.

For a moment, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the anger in his eyes simmering just below the surface. But it didn’t take him long to regain his momentum. His gaze followed you, and his expression darkened as he saw you with your back pressed against the wall near the staircase, your eyes peering at him through your lashes—a look filled with defiance and a hint of fear.

It made his chest ache, a sharp pang that twisted deep within him. You weren't supposed to look at him like that. You were supposed to be different. His lady. His treasure. His will to live. And yet, here you were, pushing him away when he needed you most. His frustration grew, an unspoken plea in his eyes, silently begging you to come back, to understand.

For a moment, he went blank, his hazy stare fixed on your disheveled form. Your hair was tousled, a wild halo framing your flushed face, a blush creeping across your skin. Even in your attempt at a glare, there was something undeniably alluring about you—the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the fire in your eyes still burning. He found himself lost in the sight, his thoughts wandering back to the bar he had just left.

The memories were blurred, clouded by the haze of alcohol, but one thing was certain: he had been thinking of you the entire time. He thought of the faces around him, of meaningless conversations and laughter that left him hollow. None of it mattered, not when the only thing he wanted was to be here, with you, where every emotion, every moment felt real and raw.

But there was more to it, always more. The familiar feeling of being lost crept in, like a dark shadow lurking in the corner of his mind. He felt empty, hollow, as if his own sense of self was slipping away. Insecurity crawled under his skin, a sickly sensation, and tension coiled around his veins like barbed wire, cutting deeper with every thought. Fear gripped him—a fear that seemed to grow stronger every day. Fear of losing himself, of losing you.

He was terrified, the idea of being abandoned haunting him like a specter. Today, Antonio had managed to piss him off more than usual. The bastard had somehow found out about your existence. His former mentor, acting as if he had the right to give advice. But all Lovino felt was cold anger simmering in his veins, a rage he could barely contain. No one should know about you. No one had the right. What if someone tried to steal you away? What if he lost you because he wasn’t good enough?

The thought tormented him. Antonio could easily sweep you away with his charm. Francis could woo you with his words, his elegance. Even Gilbert, with his reckless charm and sharp wit, could draw you away. The fear felt like a hand tightening around his throat, suffocating him with the sheer terror of losing you. You, his only solace, his anchor in a world that always seemed to be against him. Forgot him.

You were his rose, prickled with thorns but ever blooming and vibrant. No other person could ever compare to the way you made him feel. Unlike the others, you didn’t irritate him or make him feel small; you didn’t belittle him with words or make him feel unimportant, discardable. With you, he felt seen, understood, cherished.

You were the one who didn't mock his insecurities or laugh at his temper. Instead, you stood by him, firm but gentle, seeing past his rough edges to the man beneath. With you, he could breathe, truly breathe, without the constant fear of being judged or cast aside. Every smile you gave him was a balm to his soul, every touch a reassurance that he wasn't alone, that he was worth something more.

But now, those very thoughts—the ones that lifted him from his darkest moments—were twisting into knots of doubt and fear. The possibility of losing you was tearing at him, the mere idea of it ripping open old wounds that never seemed to heal. And that thought, the cold reality of it, terrified him more than anything else in the world.

Because he wasn’t—and never would be—enough. For anyone. He was filled with faults, weighed down by his mistakes, and always fell short. Never just enough, always the second choice. Always.

That gnawing fear haunted him, creeping into the corners of his mind like a shadow that wouldn't dissipate. It told him he wasn't worth loving, that he could never hold on to anything good, that even you—his precious rose—would eventually see through him and slip away. The fear clawed at his insides, twisting his heart with every breath he took.

His hands clenched into fists, his jaw set tight as he fought against the growing panic. He couldn't lose you, not when you were the only one who made him feel alive, who made the world seem a little less empty. Not when you were the only person who saw something in him worth saving.

“Lovino—” you began, your voice wavering as you pressed yourself further against the wall, your hands searching for something—anything—to steady your trembling form. His name escaped your lips like a fragile whisper.

He took a step forward, unsteady but determined. His gaze never wavered from you, eyes dark with frustration, longing, and something more—something deeper and more unsettling. His breath was ragged, the scent of alcohol lingering in the air as he closed the distance between you, each step causing your heartbeat to quicken, your chest tightening with fear and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"Don't... don't come any closer," you managed to choke out, but your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he continued, his stare locking you in place, making you feel both trapped and exposed.

He gives off an unsettling grin, mostly lopsided, as he inches even closer. "What's the matter, bella? Don’t I make you feel so good?" His voice is low and mocking, dripping with a twisted sort of affection. Sultry, enough to make you melt.

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the memories his words conjure, flashes of nights filled with soft murmurs and tangled sheets, moments when his touch was all-consuming and left you breathless. Lovino knew how to please his women. But now, that same touch feels different—possessive and heavy, like a storm cloud hanging overhead.

Fear still rests cold and lumpy in your stomach, winding tighter with each of his steps. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure, but the grin on his face only widens, sensing the effect he has on you. His eyes trail over your flushed skin, every flicker of emotion you can’t hide.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hand presses firmly beside your head, trapping you against the wall. His eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion like a predator stalking its prey. As you try to inch away, he matches your movement, trailing you step for step, making escape up the stairs impossible.

His other hand slowly moves to the hem of your dress near your neck, fingers brushing the fabric with an infuriating slowness, savouring each nervous gulp and the way your thighs shift uneasily He seems to drink in your reaction, his grin widening with every twitch and squirm. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, one that seems to say he understands you more than you understand yourself. Your expressions are open to him, revealing every thought, every emotion like a movie playing out just for his viewing.

Soon enough, you gasp as his hands curl around your thighs, lifting you slightly, pressing his body firmly between them. His lips trail along your neck, planting fervent kisses, each one more desperate than the last. Your head tilts back instinctively, exposing the soft skin to his hungry mouth. Soft, vulnerable moans escape your lips, betraying the conflicted feelings simmering within you, while your hands find his shoulders, gripping tightly as if to anchor yourself amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

"Tell me, mia cara," he murmurs, voice thick with need, his breath hot against your skin, "tell me how good I make you feel." His words are almost a growl, laced with a desperate need to settle down his hunger.

"Lovi— I can't ri—" you begin, but your words are abruptly cut off as a sharp cry escapes your lips. Lovino bites down on the exposed skin of your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to send a jolt through your body. A low groan rumbles from his chest as he pulls back slightly, his breaths heavy, and his hand creeps toward the neckline of your dress, fingers tracing along the fabric with a deliberate slowness. His face inches back, frustration evident in the furrow of his brows.

"Why… why aren't you wearing the dress I gave you, huh?" he mutters, his voice tinged with irritation, his eyes searching yours for an answer. His hand tightens its grip on your waist as he leans in to kiss you, but you turn your head to the side, denying him.

A flicker of hurt flashes across his face, quickly replaced by a deeper frown. "Che diavolo, why won't you look at me?" His voice trembles with a mix of anger and insecurity, his hands trembling slightly as they hover near your cheek, longing to pull you back in, to have you only for himself.

You can't.

You feel him pull away, only to grab your hands again, a rough grip as he drags you up the stairs, His grip tightens around your wrist, knuckles white, dragging you up the winding stairs, each step echoing like the drumbeat of your heart as you stumble, half-carried, half-pulled into the darkness of the bedroom.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a storm of conflicting emotions. You love him — desperately, hopelessly — but you can't.

You can't keep on giving, not when he's already taken so much from you, threatening to consume your very soul with his burning need for love, for your love. How much more could you give? How much until you weren't enough for him anymore?

He yanks you into the bedroom, his movements hurried, almost frantic, as he begins to tug at the fabric of your dress. His eyes are wild, his lips twisted into a scowl. "You know... I never liked that damn cousin of yours," he mutters darkly, voice dripping with disdain. "The color doesn’t even suit your beauty."

You flinch at the venom in his tone, your glare meeting his. "It was given with love, Lovi," you retort, voice firmer than you feel. "He’s like a brother to me."

The word "brother" seems to pierce him like a knife. You see his expression darken, his jaw clenching tightly. You know he despises that word, especially after the disastrous encounter you had with his own brother, holding nothing but a deep-seated disdain for him. His grip tightens on the fabric of your dress, and you can feel the anger radiating from him, a hot, intense wave that seems to make the room feel smaller, the air heavier.

Lovino's breath is ragged as he looms over you, his hand curling around your waist possessively. "Don’t speak of him," he hisses, eyes narrowing into slits. "He won't love you like I do. No one does. And I won’t let anyone think they can even think of you that way."

Confusion grips you as Lovino's slurred words tumble out, his meaning obscured by the fog of alcohol. What is he talking about?The realization hits you suddenly — he’s drunk, and his mind is weaving together unrelated memories. it's clear he's thinking of his brother or that former mentor you've never even met.

He starts tugging at your dress, his movements frantic and almost clumsy. The fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling around your feet. A flash of panic surges through you — your heart pounds as you instinctively cross your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself. But Lovino’s hands are quick, his fingers hot against your skin as they grip your waist, yanking you back toward him.

“Non farlo,” he growls, voice taut with frustration. “Don’t. I’m just trying to love you... Why do you keep pulling away?” There’s a raw edge to his tone, a strain that makes you shiver. His grip tightens on your sides, and you feel trapped by his intensity, his overwhelming need.

You try to back away, but your knees give out, and you stumble to the floor. The carpet cushions your fall, but Lovino is already there, closing in with a feverish look in his eyes. His breath fans against your face, and you see the desperation — a wild, almost feral determination that makes your stomach clench in fear. His presence feels suffocating, his gaze locked onto you as if you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

"Mi sei mancata così tanto," he whispers, a slight tremor in his voice, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. "Every minute I'm away from you, I feel like I'm losing my mind." His hands move, fingers tracing the thin straps of your bra. You flinch, trying to twist away, but he catches your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Guardami,” he orders, his voice thick with emotion. “Look at me, amore mio. Why won’t you just let me love you? Why do you keep running away?” His lips are close, so close, and you can feel his breath against your skin, warm and insistent.

Your chest tightens with anxiety. You feel tears sting at the corners of your eyes, your mind a whirl of conflicted emotions. You should push him away, should scream or shove him back — but your body is frozen, caught in the intensity of his desire, the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes.

Lovino’s fingers are trembling, tugging at your bra with an urgency that feels like it might break you. “Why can’t you see that no one will love you like I do?” he mutters, his voice cracking. “Nessuno... not Antonio, not Francis. No one.”

He surges forward, capturing your lips with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs, his kiss rough and demanding. His body presses against yours, almost crushing, as if he’s trying to merge with you, to ensure you can never escape.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands bracing against his chest, and for a moment, all you feel is the racing of his heart against your palm, the heavy beat of it matching your own. His hands are everywhere, pulling at you, holding you close, and there's a desperate edge to his touch, a frantic, aching need that makes your head spin.

And beneath him, you feel the weight of his obsession, his unrelenting desire. You're left trembling, torn between the instinct to fight and the growing realization that nothing will make him let go.

Your back arches as his knee presses against your core, forcing a soft, broken whimper from your lips, "Lovi~" The sound slips out despite the creeping dread that tightens like a vice around your ribs. You feel his pleased hum vibrate against your skin, resonating deep in your bones.

His grip tightens on your neck, and he gasps, a low, needy growl, "Sì, say my name again, bella, please... Tell me how good I make you feel."

Tears spill down your cheeks, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric as if it could save you from the intensity of his gaze. You can’t meet his eyes — those dark, wild eyes where hunger and desperation mix, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every ragged breath. You remain silent, unwilling to feed the fever burning in his chest. His hands move, cupping your breasts with a possessive tenderness, as if holding the fragile pieces of your heart, ready to tear them from your chest and devour them, bit by agonizing bit, until he’s full — or until you’re emptied.

You would give and give and give... because even now, a twisted, agonizing love still clings to your heart, beating for him.

His fingers fumble with the buckle of his belt, urgency trembling in his movements as he presses himself further between your legs, trapping you beneath the weight of his need. "Oh, mia farfalla," he murmurs, a dark promise coating his words, "I’m going to make your wings flutter tonight."

He would take and take and take, driven by the insatiable hunger he couldn’t stifle, the self-loathing he couldn’t escape. His breath hitches, and his eyes bore into yours with a maddening obsession.

"No other man could ever be perfect for you. You are too perfect to belong to anyone else."

And maybe, just maybe, when your chest has been carved open, your ribs stretched to their breaking point, and your heart ruthlessly torn apart and devoured, when every piece of you has been laid bare and consumed, maybe then,

Perhaps, in that moment of ultimate surrender, you might finally be perfectly enough for your precious amore— your Lovino.

When you open your eyes with a flutter, it feels as if the events of last night were nothing more than a fleeting dream. Yet, the ache in your body betrays the truth. You find yourself dressed in a satin yellow nightgown, your hair brushed and your skin clean — all clearly the work of Lovino's careful hands.

Groggy and disoriented, you stumble down the stairs. The house may be vast, but thankfully, Lovino's impatience meant the bedroom was close to the main areas. He couldn’t wait for you to be within arm’s reach.

In the kitchen, you see Lovino meticulously reheating last night's dinner and adding a touch of his own culinary flair. His back is turned to you, but you sense his awareness in the subtle, deliberate movements of his hands.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice cuts through the silence, thick with an unexpected vulnerability that catches you off guard. You watch him for a moment, your fingers absently running through your hair, trying to steady yourself.

"No, amore mio," you whisper, your voice steady, but your chest tightens with each word. You see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the hesitation, and you know he can sense the lie—he always does. Yet, you keep repeating it, hoping maybe this time, it will be true.

You gaze out the window, observing how summer's golden warmth will soon yield to the crisp embrace of autumn. As the leaves fall and the world prepares for winter's silent stillness, the cycle of seasons will continue its eternal dance, ever turning, ever renewing.

Perfectly.

[hetalia-angel]

Hey, I love your work! May I please request some headcanons with yandere! England, France, Italy, Russia, Romano, and Spain with a super cuddly s/o? (I'm sorry if this has already been requested.)

Yandere headcanons with a cuddly s/o

England

England is a strict worrying yandere. He’s one of the more intense yanderes to live with. But with a s/o that’ll willing cuddle with him constantly his darling’s leash will become a lot longer.

Arthur sees cuddling with his s/o as a bonding activity. The more cuddling and skin to skin contact the better. He views the cuddling as sign of her trust and reliance on him.

Arthur has a bad habit of infantilizing his s/o. He’s still bitter about losing his precious colonies. He’ll be tucking in his s/o and cuddling her close every night and cutting out time of his day to read with her on his lap.

France

France is a delusional yandere. He truly believes that his darling loves him but is still in denial. So when his darling starts cuddling up with Francis immediately believes that his suspicions have been confirmed. And that she’s totally okay with being kidnapped by him.

Francis is the most romantic yandere ever and he loves to spend long hours on the hill tops with his darling in his arms. This cuddling will no doubt gain his trust. So if you’re his darling expect to go on picnics a few times a week at least and spend all of it in his arms.

Russia

Russia sees his darling’s affection as her accepting her new place as his s/o. Ivan loves cuddling and physical touch more than anyone else. So he’ll be clinging to his darling 24/7. Ivan will be hugging her in the kitchen, bathroom, and everywhere else.

Sleeping next to the Ivan in the same bed is difficult to say the least. He’s a big guy that takes up a lot of space. But he’s insistent on cuddling his darling all night long. His darling might be cuddly but she’s got to feel smothered by the Russian giant.

Romano

Lovino is like a cat in terms of his personality. His darling will cling onto him for hours at a time and he’ll do nothing but complain and tell her that she’s being annoying. But the second she lets go Lovino will be glaring and freaking out as to why she stopped holding onto him.

Lovino will always tease his darling for clinging onto him. He secretly loves it and his darling knows too. Lovino will never admit to loving her embrace.

Italy

Feliciano will no doubt match the energy of a cuddly darling. He’ll be cuddling up with her at every chance he gets. Feli will be so ecstatic every time his s/o hugs him every time.

Feliciano like Ivan is a bedtime cuddler. He might as well get a smaller bed since he doesn’t need that much space. Feliciano just cramps next to his darling is a small space anyways.

Spain

Antonio is also like a cat but in the exact opposite way of Romano. He’s calm and sleepy constantly. He’ll relax with his darling in his arms. Iron grip

Antonio will always humor his darling’s attempts of cuddling and hugging him. While he’s cooking for the two of them he’ll often be snuggly wrapped around her waist keeping her as close as possible to him.

[greycloudsinwinter]

Could I get yandere romantic young King henry the eighth headcanons from Spanish princess x gender neutral reader.

YANDERE KING HENRY VIII X READER

👑 you meet Henry when you were very young you were a child born from a servant.

👑your curiosity got the best of you when you saw henry alone studying. You started a conversation to which henry was happy to take part in.

👑but when news had got to his farther that henry was spending time with a low born . He made the guards swear that they wouldn’t let him near you.

👑henry was furious you were his first true friend and his farther had taken you away from him.

👑as henry matures he starts to forget about you but when he once again sees you tending to the garden. All the feelings come back crashing down on him.

👑he goes up too you starting a conversation to which you are happy to talk about. He begins to take you on walks around the garden even when you insist on doing your duties he dismisses it saying that he will get someone else to do your chores.

👑when news comes to him that his brother is dead the first person he goes to is you. He weeps in your lap granted him and his brother weren’t close but he still loved him.

👑at the coronation you are stood near him as comfort.

👑when Henry has too marry he is enraged that he can not marry you .

👑he hates his wife he doesn’t mean too she seems lovely however she was NOT you.

👑after three wives Henry comes to you begging you to marry him . You try to reason with him ‘what will the church think? Henry please understand this is your reputation on the line.’ He simply brushes a strand of hair out of your face ‘ I am the church. I am the one chosen by god to lead England!’ Then he leans down to your ear ‘ I will burn it all just for you .’ Your shaking at this point but you cannot deny him. So you simply agreed to the marriage.

👑he wants many children and by many I mean loads . Sons of course. If you can’t then he will take a mistress so that he can have a son and once she gives birth kills the women and declares you the child’s mother. Anyone disagrees with him are either burnt alive or hanged.

👑keeps you up in a tower only allowing you out every now and again to walk the gardens.

👑hates the way people talk to you or about you.

👑will do anything to gain power over you but if you ask something of him he becomes your servant.

👑he likes his hand to stay on you on your shoulder, lower back , arm , hand etc.

👑possessive and devoted yandere

Thank you for the request ❤️❤️

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

i really enjoyed your yandere allie’s being broken up with post! could you do one for a yandere 2p axis as well? thank you in advance :) sincerely, a yandere lover

(Y/N) stood in the doorway, a bursting duffle bag digging into her left shoulder while her hands tightly grasped the strap. Licking her lips, she murmured.

“I-I can’t do this anymore. We’re over.”

Japan: Kurai’s dull, garnet eyes slowly drifted from the paperwork on his dark, cherrywood desk to his Sakura blossom. He noticed the crystal tears that threatened to bubble over like an unspoken plea for mercy, terrified quivers that made her shake and tremble like a kitten left to die in the coldest December blizzard.

A shark-like smirk split his face as he cooed her pet name. “We have only three days until we are wed, do you really want to dishonor your family by calling it off?”

Trying to leave Kurai’s web is like trying to pull a live rat off a glue trap. He will manipulate you into staying by pulling at your sense of duty. It starts by mentioning all the people who will be disappointed should you two split. If you continue to insist that you are done. Then it will begin to get violent.

Kurai drags you with a bruising grip to a hidden white room, the door locking as he leaves you in isolation. For two weeks all you see is white, even the very food and dishes become that vile color.

At the lock’s click and hinge's squeak, you hoped in vain that Kurai had come to his senses. Finally letting you leave this hell. In reality, you saw red. A lot of red, of much so that he claimed it was to shine the honor that your ‘threat’ had tarnished.

Germany: Groaning, Luther popped his neck with a loud crack as he raised his scarred body from the worn, leather couch. His blond brow raised in a questioning manner. “What are jou talking about?”

He watched with cold, tired eyes as (Y/N) took a deep breath before forcing the horrible statement again from her throat like a lion cub’s first roar.

Chuckling, Luther shook his head as he held his out his calloused hand.

 “Come now, Kätchen. Let’s nap on it before we do anything.”

Shaking her head, (Y/N) backed up. She screamed a loud no, before sprinting down the hall. Her bag swung and bruised her hip as slammed against the wooden door and fumbled with the slippery knob.

The click of the locking mechanism quickly became a loud slam as the door was forced to close again. (Y/N) now frozen still from the man she was trying to escape.

“Vhat made jou think I was asking?”

Luther is quick to forgive. A simple bow to his demands will quell his anger in ways that could be used against him. IF, he wasn’t already suspicious of all behaviors leading up to your foolish declaration. The missing objects, full cardboard boxes hidden in the closet, and failed attempts at distancing yourself from him.

Your announcement is what causes the iron fist to finally drop.

Similar to the ‘fighting and married’ bit, he begins with house arrest while retrieving all the items you’ve sneaked out. Any found attempts of planning to escape will lead Lutz to become more controlling and to harsher punishments.

What makes it worse, is that even on the darkest nights, locked in the rusted, gilded cage and draped in heavy, silver chains, Luther will remain outside the door. Murmuring promises of a better life and love, if only you agree to stay and obey. Forever.

Prussia: It had been two weeks since Wilheim let (Y/N) go. Two weeks of hoping she would return, of hoping she would realize how deeply their souls were intertwined. Fourteen days he had been pained by a wounded heart, that felt like each weak beat may be its last without his Maus.

He could bear it no longer when he watched as she set off with another man. The bright laughter and innocent blushes told him all he needed to know. With the flutter of his cloak, Wilheim set out to reclaim what he had lost.

Wilheim’s long, blood-stained life has taught him a lot. One such lesson is the use of free will. He hopes by letting you go for a time that you will come back, but as the time goes on without even a text from you, Wilheim begins to crack.

His cracks start small by stalking and recording. But as he hears how happy you are to be away and the proud compliments from friends about escaping the abuse, they become large fissures within his psyche

The last straw is your attempt to move on. That was the night he drags you back once the date is done. Questioning you on why you would betray him, did the time you spent together mean nothing?

With eyes like a burning ocean, Wil will force you into a small cell. Its tight walls only allow you to stand or sit. As the days wear on, you’ll find yourself taking comfort in Wilheim by your own volition.

He is the only one to open the door. So, doesn’t he deserve your love?

Austria: Jon cocked his head in a similar fashion to his little bat. Observing her intently as (Y/N) shuffled. She, at first, might have thought it was cute until a demonic laugh erupted from his pale throat. Heavy heaves for breath causing his chest to sink in showing his ribs in the tight, red shirt before expanding outward like an organic balloon, that no one could properly fill.

“That’z a funny yoke meine Queen.” Jon wiped a tear from his red eyes. “But, vhile jou here, did jou pick a place for dinner?”

(Y/N) shook her head quickly and muttered a no. “I-I’m breaking up with you, don’t you understand that?”

A loud sigh came from Jon as he stood from the leather couch. His heeled boots clicked against the wooden floor as closed the distance on the cowering woman.

“Of course I do, but” he looked at his shiny, black polished nails. “if jou really vant to, zhen go for it. Juzt don’t be zurprized vhen zomeone dizappearz.”

Jon lives in an odd mix of delusion and reality. He will take the smallest acts of obedience and view it as you submitting to and loving him. Every moment of rebellion shows him how far he still has to go until you are ready to be his Queen of the Night.

Since, you’ve decided to walk out the front door, consider the threat now a prophecy. He will start with the disappearance of a close friend. At first, you may dismiss it, until a body is found and the red words ‘come home’ are painted on the alley wall.

During your mourning, you try to tell the police of the possible lead. That Jon may be the cause of it all. Yet, it all falls on deaf ears as they explain that man doesn’t exist.

You, wanting justice, decide to confront him and run to his home, expecting a fight. Instead, you find an open door that reveals a dark house. Stepping inside, you feel a cold chill and gasp as the door shuts behind you, locking you in. Before you continue your forced path forward, you notice the shadows move like dancing snakes.

A quick glance and scratching at the light switch reveal no working lights. You scream when you feel the first shadow latch onto your ankle. Attempting to pull you through the floor. Shaking and pulling doesn’t help as more attach, eventually pulling you into an inky blackness. Ensuring that Jon’s pale skin is the brightest thing you see in your world of eternal night.

Spain: Armando’s eyes slowly lifted from the stacks of paper in front of him. His quill rested limply against his rough fingers as he took (Y/N)’s form in wholly.

 He noted her straight lip tremble at its edges, the subtle scrapping of her nails over the nylon bag straps as his silence continued. She shuffled an inch back whenever he twitched or breathed too loud, before shakily regaining the lost ground. Though, she remained tense, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

His question shattered the silence like a hammer to a mirror.

“You want to leave me?”

“Y-yes, I do.” She nodded as her heels dug against the wooden floor.

“Well,” Armando stood before walking to a large glass and oak display case. His hand gripped the wooden handle as he opened it, reached in, and pulled out a large, silver axe. “I think that we should let a simple game decide our fate.”

This man isn’t going to let you go. End of story.

But! That doesn’t mean it will be a simple no with slices to disable your legs. No, Armando doesn’t work that way. He’ll have fun by forcing you to play a game, his favorite to be specific.  Axe throwing.

If you are one to see the dark side of his world from the beginning, then you’ll know that your chances are low, even if you have thrown axes before. He won’t play fair, offering damaged axes and using a target that is just a little too far out of reach.

Most likely, you were kept in the dark. Not fully knowing the amount of blood that stained his hands. Your axes are sharp, but the target itself is dry, hardwood. Your muscles were never meant to throw with the power to dent such a mass, and it didn’t. You could only watch in fear as Armando hit consistently a bull’s eye each time from a different angle.

Depending on how badly you lose will determine what comes next. If Armando absolutely destroyed you, then he’ll keep his punishment simple. A quick snip to one of your Achilles tendons and being locked in a room with minimal contact for a couple of weeks with only him to rely on will help subdue your fire without snuffing it.

If you presented a challenge to him, then it would be worse. A debilitating injury to hinder your chances of escape mixed with a strict schedule of labor on the farm and obedience training. This mix will drown any thoughts of rebellion, leaving behind a fearful shell of yourself that is easier to control.

Italy: The silence of (Y/N)’s statement reverberated off the walls as Luciano set his wine glass on the dining room table. His leather-gloved hands came together to intertwine as a chinrest while he leaned back into the wooden chair—a large grin on his face as he sized up his darling fiancée.

“What made you think that was your call? When you agreed to be mine,” He stood, slamming his hands down as he leaned forward on the table, the taunting smile turned to a vicious snarl in a mere blink. “It meant until the day the world stopped turning when Italia would be wiped off the map and forgotten about by the fragile minds of mortal men. NOT because you got cold feet! NOT W-“

“I NEVER AGREED TO THE BLOODSHED!” She sobbed; the dam of emotions finally bursting. “You are nothing more than a monster that feeds off the mutilated flesh of your victims. Always looking for an excuse to kill again!”

(Y/N)’s declaration shocked Luciano like he had been bitten by a hidden viper. His eyes were wide as his focus never left the woman he loved.

She backed up a few steps. Hesitance caused her frame to tremble, before she turned her back to him. “I’m leaving, goodbye.”

It was only a few steps before the sound of maniacal laughter accompanied the sound of whistling metal. 

(Y/N) gasped, before collapsing. As the laughter came closer, she saw three knives embedded within her flesh. All lay within her lower half, making the mere thought of running from the mad Mafioso impossible.

“Oh, Tesoro.” Her head snapped up to view the smiling Italian. “You’ll be staying with me forever.”

After your shouting match and injury, Luciano will decide it's time to retrain. After all, you’ve shown him that your loyalty was false. Nothing more than a piece of tin that needed to be forged into something stronger. Something steadfast.

He will take the time to rebuild you. Each step toward what he wants means healing, rebellion just creates additional injury. Eventually, you’ll either break into a creaked and numbed doll, or you’ll be the perfect wife, trustworthy enough to join Luciano in the flames.

Romano: (Y/N)’s stomach flipped as Fabrizio stepped closer, his questions ignored as she turned her back. She was ready to run, pushing her legs to their limit as she forced her stride to be at its max.

It wasn’t enough.

A small dart with a fuzzy tip, no thicker than the graphite of a #2 pencil and no longer than a standard ballpoint pen, had sailed into her thigh.

The mosquito-like sensation caused her to pause. Gingerly, (Y/N) tapped the object, before pulling it free. As she stared at it the world began to blur and sway. One dart became two, then four and more. Her attempts for balance failed as a numbing sensation crawled from the hit point.

Falling due to weakened legs, (Y/N) gasped as the marble floors caught her. She heard Fabrizio speaking, his voice muffled as blackness started to flood from her periphery. As the drug took its hold, the last thing she felt was the warmth of her devil’s hands.  

To Fabrizio, it was a sin to end the relationship. He has done so much for you; creating fabulous outfits, spoiling you with various luxuries, and most important of all gifting you something precious, his love. When you ended it, allowing him no time to rebuttal, he threw away his dramatic flair. A quick shot of a special sedative, and you’re down and out.

As you’re fainting, Fabrizio will give his monologue. He rants about how he won’t allow one of the purest things to grace him to just walk away. No, it was time you learned your place.

When you finally awake, the world feels off. Firstly, you’re upright with legs bound to steel bars. Secondly, it’s a new, strange room. Your stand is surrounded by glass-encased mannequins, all dressed in outfits from many different eras. Some outfits go back further than the Dark Ages.

A subtle tightening sensation on the chest would distract you. Taking away from the strangeness of the room. Looking down you would see a white, velvet corset with silver steel rivets. Your breath quickened as the constriction continued, while your arms felt paralyzed. Black spots would reappear in your vision as a hushed chuckle brushed against your ears.

“Mia Bambola, it’s-a time you learn to listen.”

[fafayayarhen]

I wanna draw yandere Spain so bad

Saw an ask @j-ellyfish answered about yandere Spain and Austria and it hasn't left my mind

TW: some pretty dark, twisted stuff under the cut cause y'know, yandere trope = bad so be warned tee hee

This man is perfect to slap every yandere archetype into him because no one will suspect a thing. He's friendly! He's nice! He's so charming, the red on his shirt he said was from the tomatoes that he was mid harvesting but oh no, some got squished and stuff! The colour is suspiciously dark brown when it dried up but there's no reason to question it.

That eerie, vacant look in his eyes from time to time when he sees a certain someone standing a little too close to Austria — when asked why he's glaring sharp daggers to dig and carve into the poor man's back, the Spaniard would shrug it off and steer the conversation away easily.

Here's the thing that nations don't die but you can sure as hell hurt them like a bitch, and this green eyed monster would woefully lambast; "It's a pity, really, I'd rather you be gone from this world for good if I have to see you breathe the same air as mi querida does but mutilating you beyond recognition is a fair trade."

"Porfa, be good for me and scream loudly as I torture you. It'll do wonders, promise."

His possessive and downright obsessive behaviour would be insane, and the kicker to all this is Austria being aware of his beloved beast's depravity but you know.

This pretty gemstone enables it because Antonio is doing it for him, isn't that romantic? (Roderich is no better in this aspect of morality. Spain is hot when he goes a bit nuts = Spain should get to do whatever he wants.)

[when-is-tuesday]

Grian somehow manages to go psycho on every smp he plays on

have you seen the man? he's in spain without the p

[berenkhalidm]

Nights of #champions only know #realmadrid . 🤍😍

[yanxidarlings]

Just wanted to say i love ur characterisations for latin america!! On that note, since mexico was colonised forcibly adopted by spain, do you think he would share any behaviour traits with him?

you have no idea how much this ask excited me someone shares my interest in latin america yAY

absolutely.

my earliest thought of how spanish "little brothers" might adopt and trace their yandere traits back to him came from these headcanons, specifically the line "any sons probably would be". man, you just KNOW the latin american countries probably saw how antonio treated his darling, romano, maybe a shared obsession (a concept i've been dipping my feet in) and would have grown up assuming spain's behaviour was totally normal.

this would definately be at different degree's and depend on how deep spain got his claws into each latin american nation; for example, former colonies like the philippines and mexico, who i headcanon grew up around spain, would probably behave most similarly to spain, without even realising it really.

then there are nations like peru and argentina who i don't believe were raised as closely to spain as mexico might have been (i feel like colonial spain was all over the place, played favourites and favourites meant the most resource rich, obediant, catholic colonies), who would unconsciously develop more of his violent traits / scare tactics (especially argentina in this regard), or use their history with spain as a way to gain sympathy from their darling whilst also emulating the same manipulation tactics spain used on them as colonies (case in point; peru).

mexico is definately the most similar to spain as a yandere, at face value, he uses many of spain's favourite tactics, like manipulating his darling by crafting a them vs us dynamic, and fully buying into it himself as well; that's what makes spain so dangerous, he cannot see any fault in his actions.

i've been binge watching the handmaid's tale and as icky as the comparison might be, yandere spain is alot like fred waterford in this regard. but spain is much smarter than that sad sack of shit, and kind of knows what he's doing is manipulative, he just doesn't care or think it's wrong.

mexico on the other hand doesn't believe his actions are at all manipulative, he buys into what he says as much as he wants his darling to.

i haven't touched much on spain's 'darker' side as a yandere, but it is very much there, and unlike england or even germany, antonio is more than happy to harm his darling if they don't comply. the other two are serious and strict when 'forced' to punish their darling, but antonio is lighthearted, joking around as he causes them 'righteous' pain, which is what can make him such an unnerving yandere.

josé definately retains a more calm, lighthearted demeanor when upset with his darling, definately inherited from spain, but is less jolly and more 'matter-of-fact' about it; he definately wants to avoid harming his darling, and is more willing to let things slide that antonio wouldn't.

i've actually been thinking of starting a headcanon 'series' kind of based around yandere latin america/spain/portugal/romano for a while now, it's mostly centered around a specific character so i would probably write it on a themed sideblog, but i would probably also alter whatever i write there to be more 'reader insert' friendly and post it here!.

anyways hello again hetalia fandom, i live, until the next sporadic burst of inspiration *tips fedora*

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 1)

Summary: Your troubled older brother disappeared two years ago, vanishing without a trace; that is until one day you receive a letter from him. He’s living in Spain after having joined a religious group called Los Iluminados, his life seemingly changed for the better. He would love it if you came to visit him. Who are you to refuse an invitation from your beloved big brother, right?

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

A/N: I want to give a shoutout to @d10nyx, who's bot heavily inspired this new series. I had been wanting to write plagas!Leon again for so long, but I wanted to do something I hadn't seen done before and my interaction with her bot planted the seed (breeding kink go brrrrrrrrrrrr). This will likely be my darkest series yet so if that's not your jam, I kindly ask that you keep scrolling. It should be noted that any of the Spanish seen in this series is either from my extremely vague recollection of the language from my youth or from Google translate, so I apologize if there's any weird grammar in any of the Spanish, it is not my intention to butcher the language.

I hope you guys like thrill rides :3

The title is inspired by Bad Things performed by I Prevail

April 22, 2008

Sis,

I apologize for this being the first time I’ve contacted you in two years, but I promise you, it was for good reason. I finally got help. I moved out to Spain to this lovely rural area called Valdelobos to live with this wonderful community called Los Iluminados. I’ve been sober for just over two years because of them. I would really love it if you came to visit, you would absolutely love it here, sis! I would love more than anything to share with you the community that has made such a huge difference in my life. I don’t have access to a computer, so you’ll have to send me a letter to reply. You can find the return address on the envelope. I eagerly await your letter!

With all my love,

Vince

You sit on your old saggy couch, gently holding the handwritten letter in your hands like it’s going to disintegrate. Your mind is in turmoil; your older brother Vincent, or Vince as most people call him, had disappeared about two years ago. He struggled with drug addiction when he reached adulthood, always chasing his next high. When you had reported him missing, police searched everywhere for him for weeks until you finally had to come to terms with the fact that he was most likely dead.

This letter, however, says otherwise.

“Who’s it from?” your boyfriend asks before sitting beside you, seeing the strained look on your face and growing concerned. 

You don’t answer him at first, your eyes locked on the weathered piece of paper. Realizing your boyfriend, Mark, had asked you a question, you blink a few times and shake your head, snapping yourself out of the shocked daze.

“It’s from Vince,” you reply, looking over at Mark.

Mark looks at the paper you’re holding, then back to you, “are you sure it’s from Vince?”

“Of course I’m sure! That is definitely his handwriting. He’s alive!” 

You hand the letter to Mark, who takes a moment to read the letter himself, adjusting his glasses as he does so, “he wants you to go visit. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea…” you say softly, burying your face in your hands as you continue to struggle with your emotions.

Growing up, all you had was your brother, having lost your parents at a young age. Growing up, the both of you lived with your grandparents, but they were very abusive. As soon as Vince had turned 18, he fought to become your legal guardian and the two of you moved out. Unfortunately, Vince had turned to drugs to deal with his trauma, but could you blame him? Your grandfather was especially hard on Vince; there were many nights you could remember falling asleep to the sounds of the two of them shouting and throwing things at each other. 

There’s a ten year gap between you and your brother, so naturally Vince had become something of a father figure to you, especially considering you were only two when your parents had died. A car accident you had been told; hit by a drunk driver on the way home from a New Year’s party. You felt like life always dealt you a shitty hand. First your parents, then your brother. But now, your brother seems to be back and he’s ok; he’s sober. You should be happy, so why are you so conflicted?

“I’m going to do some research on this ‘Los Iluminados’ group,” you finally say before standing up from the couch to walk into your bedroom, “make sure it isn’t some Jim Jones bullshit…”

“I’ll get dinner started then,” Mark says, also standing up, making his way over to the kitchen, “I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”

You nod at Mark before walking into the bedroom, sitting down at your desk in the corner of the room, opening your laptop and powering it on. You open up Internet Explorer and open a new Google search window, typing in Los Iluminados which unsurprisingly yielded zero results; with them not having computer access, it makes sense that there’s no trace of this group on the internet by searching their name. You then search cults in Spain and skim through the results. Again, there’s no mention of Los Iluminados anywhere. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you begin to question the letter’s legitimacy. Whoever sent it knew where you lived and that your brother had been missing for two years. No one would go through that much trouble just to prank someone. 

“Babe, dinner’s ready!” you hear Mark call from the kitchen. 

Letting out a sigh, you reluctantly stand up from your desk, walking out of the bedroom to join your boyfriend in the living room, who just finished putting both your plates down onto the coffee table. Laying in the middle of the living room, your 8 year old brindle English Mastiff, André, lifts his head lazily, sniffing the air upon smelling food. You can’t help but let out a chuckle as you sit down on the couch, grabbing your plate to start eating.

“Even in his old age, André has a one track mind,” Mark says, watching as the large dog gets up from the floor. Mark gently pats him on the head, “don’t you buddy?”

“He sure does,” you reply, reaching over to pat the gentle giant before returning to your meal.

“Were you able to find anything on that group in the letter?” Mark asks, looking over at you before taking a bite of food. 

“Not a damn thing. Which I guess makes sense but still…” you say, your voice trailing off as you let out a heavy sigh, “something about it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then we go to Spain, find out if this group is real or not and bounce if it’s just a wild goose chase,” Mark says, weaving his left hand through the air as he speaks.

“And who’s going to watch André?” 

André’s big brown eyes look between the two of you, letting out a soft whimper. Mark mouths the word ‘fuck’ before taking another bite of dinner.

“Right,” Mark says quietly, giving André another pat on the head.

The two of you finish eating dinner in silence, afterwards helping each other clean up the dishes. You let Mark know that you’re going to write a response to Vince’s letter, heading back up to the bedroom to sit back at the desk, pulling out a notebook and a pencil.

May 15, 2008

Vince,

First, I just want to say I am relieved to see that you’re ok and that you’re doing better. You had dropped off the face of the earth and I couldn’t find you anywhere; I thought you were dead! I’m so incredibly glad I was wrong. And, of course, congratulations are in order for your two years of sobriety. I know that’s something you really struggled with and I’m glad this community was able to help you. Is it a religious group? I think Los Iluminados roughly translates to “The Enlightened Ones” if my vague recollection of Spanish serves me right. Regardless, I would love to come visit you and see where you’ve been living these past two years, just let me know where I need to go.

Sis

May 31, 2008

Sis,

I was so excited to see you had written back that I practically ripped the envelope open. Los Iluminados is a small religious community and, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not a cult, so you have nothing to worry about there. They’re really big on living a traditional, almost pagan-like lifestyle and for me, being able to unplug while I got better was exactly what I needed. I’m hoping after experiencing Los Iluminados yourself that you’ll feel the same. As far as getting you here goes, you’ll want to fly into Valencia Airport, we’ll come pick you up from there. Call the enclosed number once you have your flight booked and tell Maria what day you’re coming. I’m looking forward to seeing you!

Vince

You tuck the letter back in your carry on bag, leaning back in your seat on the airplane and closing your eyes. You land in Valencia Airport in less than an hour and you are doing everything in your power to keep your nerves in check and not get your hopes up. You did as Vince had asked, you called this woman named Maria and with really broken Spanish, you had told her you were flying in on June 17th. At some point you must have dozed off because you’re jolted awake when the plane lands on the tarmac.

The plane pulls into the dock and you along with the other passengers file out. You head down to baggage claim to grab your luggage; you had packed about a week’s worth of clothes since you didn’t know how long you were staying. You low key were hoping to talk your brother into coming back to the States with you, but that’s a bridge you’ll cross when you get there. That thought is far from your mind, however, when you get through airport security and immediately spot your brother holding a large sign with your name on it. Your mouth hangs agape as you stop in your tracks. The last time you had seen him, he was a 33 year old who looked almost 50 due to his years of drug abuse. Now? He has color in his face, he’s gained weight and actually looks healthy. His clothes are a little disheveled and covered in dirt, but he’s smiling, probably the first time you’ve seen him smile since you were children.

Dropping your luggage, you run over to your brother, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight, tears freely flowing from your eyes as you cry out, “it’s you, you’re real! You’re alive!”

Vince tightly hugs you back, rocking you both back and forth before stepping back, smiling down at you as his hands remain on your shoulders, “look at you! All grown up; 25 has treated you nicely!”

You playfully scoff before walking back to grab your luggage, “hardly.”

You return to Vince, who then takes your luggage from you as the two of you begin to walk out of the airport, “how’s Mark? You two are still together, I take it?”

“We are! He’s doing good, he’s at home watching André.”

“André is still around? That’s nice to hear!” Vince says as the two of you walk up to a very beat up looking sedan, “here’s our luxury limousine!”

You playfully smack him with the back of your hand, “very funny, Vince.”

You watch as Vince opens the trunk of the sedan, putting your luggage inside, he looks up at you as he closes the trunk, “go ahead and get in the back seat, Sis.”

You nod in acknowledgement, climbing into the back seat, your brother joining you shortly after. An older couple sits in the driver’s and passenger’s sides of the sedan, promptly driving away from the airport once you and your brother put your seatbelts on. 

“We have about a three hour drive ahead of us, you must be exhausted from your flight,” Vince says, looking over at you and giving you a warm smile.

You nod, feeling your eyes grow heavy from jet lag, however you force your eyes to stay open; you desperately don’t want to miss a single moment with your brother.

“Hey,” Vince lays a hand on your shoulder, “it’s ok, get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get close to the village.”

“If you say so…” you reply softly. 

You hesitantly let your eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. It feels like only a moment has passed when Vince shakes you awake.

“Hey Sis, we’re here!”

After getting out of the car, there was still a considerable hike until you got to the village proper. Once getting there, however, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You weren't sure what you were expecting of a small village at the center of a religious community but what you’re seeing wasn’t it. It is a bonafide village, with actual houses, a town center, a watchtower and a large brick structure towards the back. In the distance, you can see a windmill slowly spinning. You chalk it up to the large number of documentaries you had watched on cults leading up to this trip that painted a picture in your mind of what this village would look like; the small, white cottages of People’s Temple immediately coming to mind. A part of you is glad you were wrong.

“So, what do you think?” Vince asks me, gesturing one of his hands towards the village, “this is where I’ve been these last two years.”

“It’s nothing like what I expected, it’s… honestly really peaceful,” you reply, looking around the village in awe.

You watch as several of the other villagers stop what they’re doing to look at you and your brother, an older woman over by a well giving both of you a warm smile before pulling a bucket of water up from the well.

“My house is over here,” Vince continues, pointing to one of the houses on the left before leading you towards it. 

Vince’s house sits next to the watchtower, he opens the door and walks inside. Before you enter, you happen to turn around and look towards the large brick building in the back of the village. Standing at the door is someone wearing a black cloak with gold trim, underneath his clothes you can tell he’s wearing cargo pants and a tight fitting athletic shirt of some kind. But that’s not what grabs your attention; it’s his azure eyes locked on you, causing your blood to run cold.

“Vince,” you say, your voice trembling as you reach to grab his wrist, stopping him, “who is that over there?”

Vince turns to look where you’re looking, letting out a soft chuckle once he sees who you’re looking at, “him? That’s just Leon. He’s the right hand of our Lord Saddler. He’s probably here to check on things, don’t worry about him. Come inside.”

Vince practically pulls you, shutting and barring the door shut once you’re inside.

“Why are you blocking the door?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as your brother turns to face you.

“We tend to have an open door policy in the village. Where you and I haven’t seen each other for awhile, I figured it’d be best to have some privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod as you take in your surroundings. There’s a staircase leading upstairs and around the corner, a dining table and a kitchen area. Several candles are burning; they definitely don’t have electricity and running water in this village. Behind your brother is a worn couch.

“Is that where I’m sleeping?” you ask, pointing at the couch.

“Nope, you get the bed upstairs. I can live with the couch for a while. Nothing but the best for my little sis.”

“Thanks Vince,” you reply, grabbing your luggage, “I’ll bring this upstairs, then maybe we can talk. You know… catch up.”

You grab your luggage, dragging it up the stairs. You spot the bed at the end of the bannister next to a window overlooking the village center. As you’re staring out the window, you spot the cloaked man, Leon, again. He’s standing in the center of town, looking right at you. It sends a chill down your spine. You turn around and scream a little when your brother taps you on the shoulder.

“You ok? You weren’t answering me,” Vince says, his face full of concern.

“Sorry… it’s that guy. He’s right down there staring at the window,” you reply, turning to point out the window, however, Leon is gone, “oh, nevermind. It must have been my imagination.”

“He’s like… a guard dog of sorts. He’s probably just making sure you’re chill,” Vince explains, gently grabbing you by your upper arm and leading you back downstairs, “he’s like that with anyone he doesn’t know.”

“Right, of course…” you’re still uneasy, but decide to trust your brother.

“I’ll get started on dinner, have a seat at the table,” says Vince before walking over to the large wood stove, which is already aflame.

“Can I help with anything?” you ask, still standing by the table.

“No, I got it. Been doing this for two years. I can handle it. You’re the guest of honor, you just sit back, relax and let your brother take care of you.”

While your brother prepares dinner for the two of you, you make small talk, getting him caught up on the two years worth of stuff he missed. You told him about Mark and André, told him that your horrendous grandfather finally passed away a year ago; you had caught a smirk on Vince’s face before he turned his attention back to making dinner. Once dinner is finished, he sets both plates down at the table and the two of you dig in.

“Earlier you had said Lord Saddler,” you begin, taking a bite of food before continuing, “Vince… are you sure this isn’t a cult?”

Your brother bursts out laughing, reaching over to put his hand on yours to comfort you, “Lord Osmund Saddler is the patriarch of Los Iluminados and the speaker for the Holy Body. I’m not held here against my will. I promise you with every fiber of my being, this isn’t a cult, Sis.”

“I’m sorry I just… I may have watched a bunch of documentaries before coming here on cults and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Vince smiles, “Don’t worry, no one is going to drink any Kool Aid here.”

“Vince, that’s terrible!” you playfully smack him, “also it wasn’t even Kool Aid!”

You can’t help but laugh, slowly letting your mind be at ease. It’s clear your brother is happy and healthy here in this village. Before you can continue your conversation with Vince, you hear the chime of a church bell in the distance and you watch as your brother immediately stands up.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, slowly standing up. 

“That is the sound of evening service. Come! I’d love for you to see one of Father Méndez’s services.”

Taking your hand, Vince unblocks the door and takes you outside. You see all the villages are filling into the large brick building you had seen Leon standing in front of earlier.

“That’s the meeting house, we have to pass through it to get to the church,” he explains to you as he leads you to follow the other villagers inside the building. 

Upon walking in there is a large room, shelves of food and supplies lining the walls. In the back of the room was a large painting of a robed man; not Leon, but someone else, Vince notices you staring at the painting.

“That is our Lord Saddler. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him during your visit; he’s a wonderful patriarch, I think you’ll like him.”

There is something about the painting that unsettles you, but you can’t put your finger on it; nor do you have time to because before you know it, Vince is leading you into the adjacent room. This room has a large table lined with chairs on both sides. You both proceed around the table exiting out of the door on the other side with the other villagers. The door takes you out to a winding path which opens up to a cemetery with the church sitting just at the top of the hill.

You and your brother make your way up the hill, following the rest of the villagers into the church where you and your brother sit in one of the pews in the middle. There is an extremely tall man standing at the altar, wearing a black leather trench coat and a large brim hat. His dark beard has subtle white hairs, indicating to you that he’s much older than you and your brother. In fact, now that you think about it, you realize you and your brother are probably the youngest ones in the church.

Behind the imposing man is a large stained glass window decorated with red, blue, green and white. The white glass makes a pattern. You’re not sure what to make of it; it’s almost like a crude insect-like cross with four appendage-like parts extended out with a tail pointing downwards. Once everyone is seated in the pews, the man at the altar addresses the villagers.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man begins, his Hispanic accent thick, “before we begin tonight’s sermon, I wanted to welcome the visitor that Vincent has brought to visit our village.” The man gestures one of his hands towards us, “if you would do the honors, Vincent.”

Your brother stands up, “Gracias, Father Méndez. This is my younger sister,” he says before telling everyone your name, “she’ll be staying with me for a while, we haven’t seen each other since I first came here. I hope you all can join me in showing her what makes Los Iluminados a special community.”

The other villagers clap softly as Vince sits back down. After that, Father Méndez begins the service, which is in Spanish, so you strained your brain to try to pick up bits and pieces of what he’s saying. This doesn’t last long, however as your eye catches movement in the darkness in the back of the church. You feel your heart skip; it’s Leon again, his azure gaze once again locked on you. His expression is cold and emotionless, but there is no doubt in your mind that he is staring at you. 

As if sensing your unease, your brother nudges you with his elbow and whispers, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s Leon again…” you reply, nodding your head in Leon’s direction.

Vince’s gaze follows yours, spotting Leon staring at you from the back of the church. Vince lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ll talk to Father Méndez after the service.”

For the rest of the service, you steal glances towards the back of the church, where Leon remains, still staring at you. At the end of the service, however, when you look back, Leon is finally gone, much to your relief. 

Father Méndez’s booming voice draws your attention back to him, “¡Gloria a Las Plagas!”

“¡Gloria a Las Plagas!” the villagers, including Vince, repeat back.

Gloria a Las… Plagas? you think to yourself, glory to the… plague? Plagues? Pests? What? That makes no sense…

Before you can think it over further, your brother stands up abruptly, pulling you up with him.

“Pablo,” Vince says as he approaches another villager, “¿Puedes llevar a mi hermana de regreso a mi casa? Tengo que hablar con el padre Méndez.”

The man nods, “sí, claro.”

Vince turns his attention back to you, “Pablo here is going to take you back to my house while I talk to Father Méndez about Leon, ok? I won’t be long.”

“Alright, thanks Vince,” you reply as Pablo gently takes you by your upper arm, leading you out of the church.

You turn back, watching your brother approach Father Méndez before the church doors close behind you.

“Vincent,” Méndez begins as Vince approaches him, “what can I do for you, my brother?”

“It’s about Leon,” Vince says, crossing his arms, “I want him to leave my sister alone.”

“What do you mean? You do remember what you agreed to, no?” Méndez presses straightening his posture.

“I do remember, but he is scaring her. All he’s done since she got here is stare at her.”

“And? Are you saying you’re defying the will of Lord Saddler?”

“No, of course not!” Vince exclaims before lowering his voice, “but if we want any chance of her staying in Los Iluminados, he needs to chill out with the staring, ok? Is that too much to ask, Father?”

Méndez brings a hand to his beard, stroking it as he contemplates Vince’s request. After a few moments, he gently nods, “fine. I will speak with Lord Saddler on this.”

“Thank you, Father.”

She is perfect.

Leon stands at the end of the bed that you’re sleeping in, completely oblivious to his presence. Bringing his hands up, he lowers the hood of his cloak. The exposed skin on his neck and face are completely covered in inky black veins and seem to pulse under his skin. He gently crawls onto the bed, being careful not to wake you as he cages you with his body.

Leaning down so that his nose is nearly pressed against the side of your neck, he breathes in your scent deeply, opening his mouth slightly to lick his sharpened incisors with his tongue. He moves away from your neck, staring down at you as he watches your chest rise and fall gently as you slumber. Unable to help himself, he leans back down, his lips hovering above yours when he hears the unmistakable sound of the front door opening downstairs.

His head snaps towards the stairs, crawling off your bed with the grace and stealth of a panther. He brings his hood back up over his head, walking silently over to the open window at the head of the stairs where he had let himself in, climbing out and shutting the window carefully behind him, not leaving a single trace that he was even there.

Part 2

[midnightlee25]

Yandere Team-ups: France (Francis Bonnefoy) & Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt) & Spain (Antonio Fernandez Carriedo)

Bad touch trio  

Out of the three of them Prussia is the main one who does the punishments while Spain will rarely do punishments. France is the only one out of the three that won't do punishments since the other two will do it.

On the other hand, it's the same two (France and Spain) who will try to get their darling’s punishment lightened or make it harsher.  

All three are delusional however each one is at a different level with France being the most delusional and Prussia just being a bit more aware. Spain is in the middle between the two on the scale.

It's not that hard to keep things peaceful since they get along already and adding their darling in the mix isn't going to cause too many problems.

Their darling will be completely always smothered by all three.  

It will be near impossible to escape those three on a good day let alone a bad day.

[httpskuzuu]

It can't hurt you now

I wrote this while in spain we were in red alert for rain.

Yandere!Chuuya x Reader

I don't now english, let me cry

summary: it's a stormy night and you couldn't be more scared.

tw: idk rain¿ kidnapping, panic attack (maybe)

The rain was pouring down heavily, drowning out the noise of the television. By now you couldn't hear what the announcer of that cheap program was saying.

In spite of everything, you decided to just focus on the images that appeared on the screen, trying to forget what was happening outside. A storm. You felt like a bit of an idiot for being afraid of something like that, not that it could do anything to you, at most, in some cases, flood the streets, but you “live” in Chuuya's attic, so that's not really a problem.

Just this once you are grateful to be locked up here, in a safe place.

A particularly loud clap of thunder completely broke your attention to anything else. You were scared and you couldn't help it, your brain refusing to pay any attention to the TV even though you begged it to. You covered your ears with your hands, trembling as if this was the end of the world, but what if it is?

Slight sobs came from your lips, thanks to them you realized that you had been crying. You don't quite know what you should do, how to stop crying or shaking, until you hear a door opening.

From here Chuuya appears, with an expression still asleep. He makes you look up with a strange gleam in your eyes, was it fear? happiness? You are not sure, although you prefer it to remain unknown. You have enough guilt for the fact that you don't hate him.

Apparently he finally noticed you leaving the bed at midnight, replacing your figure in his arms with a pillow. The feeling of fear settles in your stomach, you didn't want him to be angry, your intention was not to disobey by doing that act. If he took away your earned privileges now, like the TV, the books, your sketchbook, what would you do? This whole week is forecast in heavy rains and storms, no distractions and with a punishment you swear you will die.

“What are you doing here?” his tone conveyed weariness. You remove your hands from your head and look at him with teary eyes. You're supposed to tell him the truth, but you don't really feel like going through the humiliation of saying you're afraid of a little (a lot) of rain.

“Nothing, I couldn't sleep.” It wasn't entirely a lie, the reason for your insomnia that night was the loud noises outside. You thought that if you slept maybe the rain might kill you or some shit like that. Now, come to think of it, that idea was pretty stupid.

A clap of thunder, without warning, fell loudly, causing you to flinch like a frightened animal. A trembling sob escaped your lips, as you tried with all your might to relax and wipe away your tears.

“Hey baby, what's wrong?” Now Chuuya looks wide awake, coming up to you to hold your face in his hands. They were so warm, contrasting with your icy cheeks, you couldn't control the fact that you leaned on them almost unconsciously.

A little comfort now wouldn't hurt, especially in your near panic-stricken state.

The rain intensified even more, as did the trembling in your limbs and your uncontrolled tears. Without much thought, you threw yourself towards Chuuya, embracing him as if your life depended on it. Actually, in your frightened mind, it did.

“So you're afraid of storms, huh?” you were inwardly glad that Chuuya didn't seem annoyed by your stay in the living room, nor mocked by your fear.

Chuuya was always understanding despite his tough temperament, he was especially so with you, giving you all his patience and love even though you rejected him. This is like an opportunity for him to show you that he really loves you more than anyone else will. In spite of that, he hesitates a bit whether to comfort you or leave you lying in panic. Did you deserve his sympathy when you kept walking away from his side? Chuuya decided to ignore that little voice in his mind, he only had to listen to your stifled crying to feel guilty for thinking that.

A soft kiss is placed on the crown of your head. Chuuya strokes your back affectionately and says things to relax you. Finally, just like the rain, your tears stop, and you can lift your head from the man's chest without so much embarrassment.

Now, as you look into his sympathetic eyes, you feel humiliated. You've just let your kidnapper comfort you, plus it was out of a senseless fear. If your fear had been founded, maybe you wouldn't feel so bad. Still, there is a grateful feeling, hidden deep inside you, but there it is.

“Better?” You nod, avoiding her gaze like the plague. “Then let's go back to bed, okay, baby?”

You didn't put up any impediments when Chuuya guided you to the room, the truth is that all that panic exhausted you like never before. You didn't understand why crying was so tiring, but when you lay down on the bed you almost fell asleep in a second if it wasn't for Chuuya.

He gets your attention by putting some earplugs in your ears, carefully so as not to hurt you. Sometimes you didn't understand how he could be so sweet to you in spite of everything, but you were happy about it, you really were.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounds smaller than you'd like, but Chuuya smiles at your words. It's not a smirk or a wicked smile, it seems simply… warm, loving.

You feel strange about your feelings, especially when you feel your cheeks burning. Chuuya kisses your already dry cheek and lies down next to you on the bed, hugging you from behind and stroking your hair.

You could get used to this.