#yandere steak x reader

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 3

☆⁠ HEADCANON : You Were Pregnant... And Your Pregnancy Wasn't Normal... Especially Not Something That Mark Expected...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark started noticing things.

It began with small stuff.

Shiny things went missing—coins, keys, a silver spoon, even his mom’s earrings (which somehow ended up under his bed).

Then there was the soft stuff. His hoodies, pillows, blankets—all gone.

And the food. Fruits he’d never seen before piled up in the corner of his room, untouched but somehow... perfectly fresh.

Mark was so confused.

At first, he thought you were just being weird. Because let’s be honest—you weren’t exactly normal. But then he caught you sitting in a pile of stolen goods, legs tucked beneath you, nesting.

That was when he finally asked:

"...What are you doing?"

You blinked up at him, tilting your head, hair cascading around you like a shimmering cloak.

"For baby," you said simply. Then, after a pause, you added: "Babies."

Mark froze.

"...What."

You pointed at your stomach with a serene smile. "Baby. Nest good for baby."

Mark’s heart stopped.

"WHAT???"

Mark. Freaks. Out.

You tilted your head, confused. "What?" Mark panicked. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BABIES—PLURAL?!" You just shrugged. "Baby." You patted your stomach. "Yours." He felt his soul leave his body.

Mark didn't know how to handle this.

He immediately ran to his mom.

"Mom," he gasped, stumbling into the kitchen like he’d just seen a ghost. "She—she said she’s pregnant."

Debbie paused mid-dishwashing. "What?"

"She’s making a nest! She’s collecting stuff! She said babies!" Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Mom, what the fuck!"

Debbie dried her hands calmly. "Did you use protection?"

Mark gawked at her. "I didn’t think I needed to! She’s an alien!"

Debbie exhaled sharply. "Well, apparently, she’s an alien that can get pregnant."

Mark groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Oh my God. I’m not ready to be a dad."

"Well," Debbie muttered, completely unbothered. "You should’ve thought about that before sleeping with her."

Mark let out a miserable groan.

Now that you were pregnant, your eating habits changed.

You ate. So. Much.

Especially meat.

Mark stared, horrified, as you tore into a raw steak, completely unbothered. "You know... we usually cook that."

You blinked at him, mouth full of blood. "...Why?"

Mark swallowed. "Because it's gross eating it raw?"

You just tilted your head. "But taste good."

Mark watched in silence as you continued devouring the steak.

You also developed a sweet tooth.

Cookies? Gone.

Ice cream? Destroyed.

Syrup? You drank it straight from the bottle.

He had to physically pry it out of your hands.

Mark learned that you were serious about the nest.

You dragged his hoodies into a corner of his room. You hoarded pillows, blankets, even his mattress.

Mark woke up on the floor.

"You kicked me out of my own bed!" he groaned.

You blinked sleepily. "Nest not for you. Nest for baby."

Mark sighed, rubbing his face.

"...Where am I supposed to sleep?"

You thought about it for a second, then patted your lap.

Mark stared. "...I am not sleeping on your lap."

You shrugged, curling up in the nest. "Then floor."

Mark let out a strangled noise.

One night, Mark found you hugging your knees, staring out the window.

He frowned. "Hey... what’s wrong?"

You stayed silent.

Mark sat beside you. "Come on. Talk to me."

You took a deep breath. "Miss... sisters."

Mark blinked. "Your sisters?"

You nodded. "We... always together. Always. Birth together. Hug under sky." Your voice grew soft. Lonely. "Now... alone."

Mark felt something tug at his chest.

You were always so strange, so terrifying, so otherworldly. It was easy to forget you could feel sadness.

Mark hesitated before wrapping an arm around you.

You looked up, surprised.

Mark forced a smile. "Well... you’re not alone anymore."

You blinked. Then, slowly, you buried your face in his chest.

"...Mark warm," you mumbled.

He chuckled, resting his chin on your head. "Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot."

"Mark," you whispered against his skin, nuzzling into his neck. "You scared?" Mark swallowed thickly. "...A little." You pulled back, blinking at him. "Why?" He exhaled. "Because you’re not human. And you’re... different." You tilted your head. "Different bad?" "...No. Just... different."

You considered that. Then, slowly, you reached out, placing his hand on your slightly rounded stomach. "Not different," you murmured. "Just... mine."

And somehow, despite everything, despite the insane, terrifying reality of his situation— Mark smiled. Because yeah. He was yours.

You were beautiful. Terrifying, yes, but his. You clung to him, kissed him randomly, slept on top of him. And God help anyone who looked at him the wrong way. One time, a girl at the store smiled at Mark. You hissed. Mark had to physically drag you away. "Can you NOT try to commit murder every time a girl breathes near me?" You pouted. "She want mate." Mark sighed. "No, she was just being polite." You narrowed your eyes. "I kill." "NO." Mark was exhausted. Not because of crime-fighting, not because of college, not even because of his dad suddenly being back in his life. No. Because of you. It started one night when Mark woke up to emptiness. You weren’t in the nest. Panic hit him immediately. He checked the kitchen. Not there. The bathroom? Nope. The ceiling? ...Also no. "Goddamn it," he muttered. Mark searched the whole house three times before he heard it—soft breathing. He turned to the darkest corner of his room. Two glowing eyes stared back at him. "Jesus—!" He nearly punched the wall. "What the hell are you doing there?!" You blinked slowly, like a cat caught doing something forbidden. "Hide." Mark exhaled, running a hand down his face. "From what?!" You shrugged. "Feel good." Mark’s eye twitched. "Get out of the shadows." "No." "Get out." "...No." Mark groaned. Debbie had seen some shit. She survived Omni-Man. She survived Viltrumites. But she was not surviving this. She walked into the kitchen one morning, and there you were—perched on the fridge like some kind of cryptid. "...What are you doing?" "Mark say no raw meat," you said blankly. "So I eat where he not see." Debbie sighed. "Please don’t tell me you’re eating it raw again." You tilted your head. "...I no tell." "...Oh my God." Nolan hated you.

He had been sitting at the table, drinking coffee, when Mark asked you something completely innocent. "So… what were you like before?" You perked up. Pregnancy made you talkative, and you loved talking to Mark. "Oh! Had harem. Many males. Many pretty. All do what I say." Mark choked on his drink.

Nolan raised an eyebrow. Debbie just stared. "Harem?..." You nodded proudly. "Yes. Male do all work. Listen to Queen. Bring food. Fight others. Make babies." Mark coughed. "Uh. What happened to them?" You tilted your head. "Eat them." Dead silence. Nolan put his cup down very slowly. Mark paled. "...WHAT?" You hummed. "Some live. But old way… Male weak, we eat. No waste." Mark looked horrified. "...You ate your husbands?" You shrugged. "Yes. But you safe." You patted his head. "No eat you. Like you too much." Nolan looked like he was having a stroke. Debbie got up and left the room. Mark, meanwhile, just buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God." One time, Mark caught you crying in the nest. Immediate panic. He rushed over, pulling you into his arms. "Hey, hey—what’s wrong?!" You sniffled. "Nest too small." Mark blinked. "...Baby isn’t even born yet." You hugged your belly. "Need big nest." "...How big?" You looked at him, eyes deadly serious. "Big as house." He wanted to scream. Mark learned way too much about you. One night, as you laid in the nest together, you played with his fingers and whispered— "I ruin species once." Mark groaned. "Oh God. Not again." "Yes. Make them better. Stronger. Then… too strong." "...You made a species that killed itself?" "Yes." You yawned. "Oops." Mark covered his face. "Mark?" "...Yeah?" "Would you let me change you?" "NO." "...Okay." Mark didn’t sleep that night. One day, Nolan took Mark aside. "Mark. Listen to me. You don’t understand what you’ve done." Mark sighed. "Dad, relax. She’s harmless." "She is a goddamn genetic nightmare!" Mark crossed his arms. "She’s cute." "SHE ATE HER OWN KIND." "She said she wouldn’t eat me!" "THAT IS NOT REASSURING." Mark rolled his eyes. "Look, she chose me. That means I’m safe, right?" Nolan looked pale. "...Mark. If she chose you, that means you are hers. Forever." Mark shrugged. "I don’t see the problem." Nolan grabbed his shoulders. "MARK. SHE’S HAVING YOUR CHILD." Mark smirked. "Yeah. And?" Nolan looked to the sky, as if begging the universe for patience. "...You are the dumbest child I have ever raised."

Once Mark walked into the house after training, exhausted, covered in bruises, and ready to pass out. Instead, he was met with an eerie silence. His stomach dropped. "Babe?" No response. He checked the kitchen. No you. The living room? Empty. The bathroom? He opened the door and— "RAAARGH!" "HOLY SHIT!" Mark fell back as you jumped out from the shadows, completely naked as always, landing on his chest. You grinned. "Surprise." Mark groaned. "You almost gave me a heart attack." You tilted your head. "I no have heart attack." "I’M NOT YOU." You hummed, then leaned down, licking his face. Mark sighed. "Okay. You really need to stop licking me." "No." Despite the absolute insanity, Mark was obsessed with you. You were weird. You were dangerous. You were terrifying. But you were his. And he wouldn’t trade you for anything. Even if you tried to eat his kids.

"You are... happy?" you asked once, tilting your head as you lay across his lap, your long hair pooling onto the floor. Mark blinked, swallowing thickly. "I—I mean, yeah? I think so? It’s just... a lot." You smiled softly, placing a hand over your stomach. Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, you murmured, "I eat it if it bad." Mark choked. "WHAT?" You blinked. "If baby weak. Bad. I eat." His soul left his body. "YOU CAN’T JUST EAT THE BABY!" You frowned, confused. "Why not?" "BECAUSE—BECAUSE THAT’S NOT—" He buried his face in his hands, groaning. "Oh my god, I can’t believe I got you pregnant." You beamed. "I can."

One night Mark had come home late, exhausted. He expected to find you asleep in your ridiculous nest. Instead, he found you sitting on the balcony, staring at the stars. Quiet. Still. He sat beside you. "Couldn’t sleep?" You shook your head. "Stars nice." Mark hummed. "...Yeah. They are." You glanced at him. "You think babies like stars?" Mark hesitated. Then, slowly, he smiled. "...I think they’ll love them." You brightened, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He was so screwed.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 4.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[impish-baby]

would love to see more werewolf dad !!! i love him :3

Summer days - platonic yandere werewolf dad x reader - 🐾

"You know I can see you drooling over there."

The man snickers when you immediately look away, flipping the meat over on the grill.

"Smells good, right? Your old man is an amazing cook." Rowen chooses to ignore the mumbled 'you're not my dad' as he glances over at you. "If you come here, I'll give you a piece that's done.."

Pups have ferocious appetites, so it's not a surprise when you eventually pad over to stand beside him. Rowen smirks victoriously before slicing a piece of steak for you to try, "Here you go, kiddo. Freshly prepared just for you."

The steak is good, incredibly so, although it's hard to determine if that's because of Rowen's skill or just because of your new craving for meat.

The man's face splits into a toothy grin at the satisfied look on your face, puffing out his chest in pride. "Great, right? I know a thing or two.."

He has a bighead, that's for certain. Rowen goes back to paying attention to the grill, but he swings an arm around your shoulders to hold you close.

[noirscript]

domestic bliss

Pairing: Nicholas Sterling III x reader Description: Seven months pregnant with Nicholas’ child, you should feel safe—but the walls are too close, the air too thick, and the doors never quite open. This is normal. This is love. But you know better. Warning/s: Yandere. That's it. Note: Another commission for @violetvase ! Thank you so much for your support. I hope you enjoy this! Parts: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The slow murmur of a saxophone spills from the gramophone in the corner, weaving itself between the soft clatter of silverware against the finest china you’ve ever touched. The weight of the utensils feels foreign in your grasp, as if they belong to someone else, someone meant to sit at this table without the quiet thrum of panic coiling beneath their skin.

Nicholas sits next to you, his gaze a constant, possessive thing, lingering even when he pretends to focus on slicing into his steak with meticulous care. Across you, his mother lifts her wine glass with an elegance that seems second nature, her smile warm but knowing, like she’s in on the secret of your existence here.

The music hums on, smooth and slow, a lover’s whisper against the walls. A mockery of peace.

“Eat, darling,” Nicholas urges, his voice gentle, coaxing, but beneath it—an edge, a command.

You pick up your fork, pressing it into the soft meat, feeling its tenderness yield beneath the tines. The motion is automatic, rehearsed. Just another performance in the fragile illusion of normalcy that drapes over this house like lace, delicate enough to tear if you breathe the wrong way.

The clink of silver against porcelain fades into the background as his mother sets down her glass, eyes gleaming with something both mischievous and wounded. The warm glow of the chandelier overhead does little to soften the accusation in her gaze as she looks between you and Nicholas.

“You know, I had to hear it from Nara,” she announces, her tone light, but her posture stiff, expectant.

Nicholas exhales through his nose, the smallest shift in his expression betraying his exasperation. “Mother—”

“No, no, don’t you ‘Mother’ me.” She leans forward, her manicured fingers curling against the edge of the table as if she’s physically reining herself in. “I was there for everything. I helped pick out the crib, the clothes, the bottles—I have been involved. And yet, the one detail I don’t know, the one surprise left, you keep from me?” She presses a hand to her chest, as if personally wounded. “You let me go shopping without knowing if I was buying for my grandson or granddaughter?”

There’s something almost childlike in the way she pouts, a stark contrast to the polished woman she presents herself as. It’s unsettling. Endearing, in a way. Dangerous, in another.

Nicholas sighs, setting his knife down with deliberate care. “It wasn’t intentional. We weren’t keeping it from you.”

His mother gasps, dramatic, pressing her hand over her heart as though he just struck her. “Oh, so I suppose I was just forgotten, then?”

You shift in your seat, pressing your palm over the swell of your stomach in an absentminded gesture. The weight of her attention flicks to you instantly, eyes softening. She reaches forward, fingers brushing your wrist as she squeezes gently, reassuringly. “And you let him do this to me?” she asked, though there’s no real malice in it. Just a sort of helpless fondness, the kind that worms its way into your ribs and makes you question whether you should be charmed or unsettled.

“I—I didn’t think—”

“Oh, darling, don’t you start.” She releases you with a huff, shaking her head. “Honestly, Nicholas. A boy. A grandson. And I had to hear it secondhand? You are impossible.”

Nicholas rubs his temple, the tension in his shoulders making it abundantly clear that this is not a new conversation between them. “It’s hardly life-altering news.”

“For you, maybe. But I’ve been waiting for this moment since you were in the womb.” She exhales, long-suffering, before fixing you with a smile, warm and indulgent. “At least tell me you’re excited. A little bit?”

Excited. The word rolls through you, foreign, unfamiliar, heavy. There are many things you feel—excitement is not among them. But her smile is expectant, and Nicholas’s stare unwavering, and so you force yourself to nod.

Her expression brightens instantly, eyes alight with something almost reverent as she reaches for your hand again. “Oh, we have so much to plan, don’t we? The nursery, the final touches—at least now I know which colors to lean into. Not that I mind terribly. He’ll be beautiful, I just know it.”

The weight of expectation settles around you, cloying and thick, wrapping itself around your throat like a velvet ribbon. You smile, small and polite, and Nicholas’s fingers brush against yours beneath the table, a silent warning, a quiet claim.

The music plays on, smooth and slow, curling through the air like smoke.

A mockery of peace.

His mother dabs at the corner of her lips with a linen napkin before setting it aside, fingers lacing together atop the table. Her eyes gleam with something more calculating now, a shift from playful grievance to something with sharper edges.

“There’s also the Thanksgiving party coming up,” she says, almost offhandedly. “It’s important, Nicholas. A celebration of everything you’ve built after…everything.”

Your stomach knots.

His mother doesn’t say it outright, but you hear it anyway. After everything. After you.

Nicholas’s grip tightens around his fork, just for a second, before he forces himself to relax. “I know.”

“And I think it’s time people saw her,” she continues, gesturing toward you with a knowing smile. “The world need to know who she is.”

Something flickers behind Nicholas’s eyes. A shadow of something cold, possessive. His lips press together. “That’s not necessary.”

His mother tilts her head, bemused. “Oh, but it is. People are curious, Nicholas. And you can’t just keep her locked away forever.

Can’t he?

The words hang unspoken between them, but you can feel the weight of them, thick and suffocating. Your pulse thrums against your skin.

Nicholas doesn’t respond right away. He studies his mother, his fingers curling, tapping once against the table. A silent war.

Then, his mother smiles, almost too brightly. “You know, I’ve been telling everyone in my circle how beautiful your story is. How you fell in love with her, Nicholas. How it wasn’t about the money, wasn’t about anything but her. It’s the perfect tale of destiny. The romance between the caretaker, who is so dedicated and selfless, and the patient, who fell for the one person who wasn’t just there for the inheritance.”

Your heart drops.

His mother’s gaze softens, as if she’s remembering some distant, sentimental moment. “How you looked at her the first time, knowing she wasn’t like the others. How she cried for you, Nicholas, when you missed a step and had to get stitches on your forehead. You never saw it, but she wept for you. She never confessed her feelings, not once. But I knew. I always knew.

Nicholas’s jaw tightens, but his eyes shift toward you, locking in place, dark and cold.

“I know how it looks, Mother.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a chill to it, something that cuts through the warmth of the room. “But this isn’t something we need to broadcast.”

His mother leans back, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Oh, but it’s not just about what you need, Nicholas. It’s about what’s right. People should see the connection between you two. They’ll understand. They’ll see that this isn’t just some simple arrangement between patient and caretaker.”

Your stomach churns.

She turns her attention to you, her eyes soft and calculating as she smiles. “It’s time they knew you. Time they saw the bond that has been blossoming here. They’ll admire you, just as I do. A love story no one could ever forget.”

Nicholas’s hand clenches into a fist, the subtle tension in his posture thickening with every word his mother speaks. “I’m not hiding her, Mother. But this… this is too much.”

His mother shakes her head, dismissing his concerns. “Oh, it’s not too much. It’s necessary.”

Her gaze shifts to you again, her smile wide and almost too warm. “You’ve been part of this family for a while now, darling. You should be proud to stand by his side.”

The tension in the room thickens, and Nicholas’s words come out with a quiet but unmistakable fury. “Fine. You’ve had your say. I’ll agree, but on my terms.”

His mother beams, victorious. “Perfect. I’ll make the arrangements. And we’ll have a beautiful celebration.”

She stands, smooth and graceful, as if nothing had just shifted between the three of you. She walks toward Nicholas, kissing him on the cheek before moving to you, cupping your face with a delicate touch. “I’ll see you soon, darling,” she says, voice sweet but laced with something else.

Then, with a final glance, she’s gone, leaving behind only the scent of her perfume and the tension that suffocates the room.

The door clicks shut, and Nicholas moves without warning.

You barely have time to react before he’s on you, his arms crushing you against him with a force that steals your breath. It’s not a tender embrace—no, it’s a claim. A marking. His body presses you into the hard line of his chest, every inch of him seething with something dark, something urgent. His breath is hot against your temple, teeth grazing the soft curve of your ear as he speaks in a low, dangerous murmur.

“You won’t try again, will you?” His voice is a promise, low and silky, but underneath it—there’s an edge. A tremor of barely contained violence.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the weight of his words. You know exactly what he means. Not another escape. Not another attempt.

But there’s no need to answer. He already knows.

His hand slides down your arm, the touch almost too gentle, too calculating. He traces over the skin where the tracker resides—silent, invisible, but always there. A reminder. His fingers press against the spot, not gently, but with a purposeful intensity, as if marking his territory. As if claiming you even more thoroughly than before.

“Don’t you dare think you can run again,” he growls, his voice dropping to a whisper, sharp and venomous, like a blade pressed to your skin. “You think you can outsmart me? You’re not getting away. Not this time.”

His lips graze your jaw, brushing against your skin, before his teeth catch the edge of your earlobe, biting down just enough to make your breath catch. A small, cruel sound escapes you, and he groans low in his throat, the sound rough with restrained hunger.

“You’re mine. Always have been. And no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be free of me.” His grip on you tightens, his hands moving to frame your face, cupping your cheeks with a possessiveness that feels like it’s suffocating you. He brings you in closer, his forehead pressing against yours, and his eyes are dark pools of something that looks far too much like obsession. “You’ll never escape. Not from me. Not from this.”

His thumb traces over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment. His gaze never leaves your face, and the intensity of it makes your skin crawl. There’s nothing kind in that look. Only ownership. Only control.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he murmurs, almost tenderly, though the violence lurking in his tone is unmistakable. “You’re mine, and no one can take you from me. Not now, not ever.”

His fingers tighten again, pressing against your throat just enough to remind you of his power. You can barely breathe, but the air is thick with the tension between you, heavy and suffocating.

“Try to run again,” he whispers, lips curling into something that almost resembles a smile. “And I’ll make sure you regret it.”

He pulls back just enough to study your face, his gaze piercing, as if he’s waiting for some acknowledgment—some understanding that you’re his, fully, completely. The smile that creeps across his lips is soft, but it’s a predator’s smile. A cruel, possessive thing.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he asks, voice silky and lethal.

His hands fall to your waist, pulling you closer once more, as if there’s no space in the world for anyone else, least of all you.

The music plays on, but now it’s no longer a mockery of peace. It’s the sound of a predator circling its prey, the rhythm slow, steady, inevitable.

And you, like everything else in this house, belong to him.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

The opulence of the evening drapes over you like the gown Nicholas selected himself—silken fabric gliding against your skin, hugging your form in a way that flatters but does not constrict. The deep, muted hue shimmers under the golden glow of chandeliers, reflecting the wealth and status of the people who fill the room.

Nicholas never leaves your side. His hand rests possessively at the small of your back, a constant, grounding pressure that reminds you of his claim. You move only when he moves, speak only when prompted, and even then, your voice is little more than an ornament to the conversation, unnecessary yet expected. His mother beams at you, at him, at the perfect picture she’s presenting to the world.

“She was never after the money,” she coos to the women gathered around. “And she never even confessed her feelings for him, you know? But the moment Nicholas got stitches—oh, she cried for him. That’s how I knew it was real.”

A delighted hum ripples through the circle of elegantly dressed women. They look at you with something warm, something approving. As if you’re the epitome of devotion, of a love story too good to be hidden away.

Nicholas answers for you when questions arise, his voice smooth and unwavering, crafting a narrative you have no say in. His mother basks in it, weaving you into her world with delicate precision, ensuring every guest understand just how deeply Nicholas loves you—and how deeply you love him.

A hand at your elbow startles you. Not Nicholas. Trevor, his assistant.

His voice is gentle, polite, carefully measured. “Forgive me for interrupting, sir,” he says, directing his words to Nicholas first before his gaze flickers to you. “But I believe she may need a moment to step away. Just for some air.”

Your breath stills. Nicholas’s fingers press into your waist, a barely perceptible squeeze. He doesn’t look at you, only at Trevor, assessing, calculating. Trevor’s tone remains respectful, non-confrontational, but he does not backdown.

“She hasn’t said a word about it,” he adds softly, “but I can tell.”

Nicholas exhales through his nose, the tension in his jaw visible, but before he can respond, his father’s voice cuts through the murmur of conversation.

“Nicholas.”

It isn’t just a summons—it’s an expectation, a command wrapped in the weight of authority. When Nicholas turns, his father is watching him from across the room, a hand raised in a subtle but unmistakable gesture. “Come. They’re waiting.”

The business partners. Nicholas cannot refuse, not without making a statement that would ripple through the evening.

His grip tightens briefly before he turns his attention back to Trevor. “Stay with her,” he commands, low and firm. “Not for long.”

Trevor inclines his head. “Of course, sir.”

Nicholas studies him for a moment longer, then his gaze drops to you. Dark. Unreadable. His thumb brushes over your wrist—a silent warning—before he finally steps away, striding toward his father with practiced ease.

The moment he’s out of earshot, Trevor exhales, lowering his voice. “Just a moment outside, if you’d like,” he offers, his tone light but kind. “I’ll stay with you.”

The weight of Nicholas’s absence is both a relief and a phantom pressure still lingering against your skin.

You nod. Trevor does not smile, but something in his expression softens.

He leads you away, and for the first time tonight, you breathe.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

The night air is crisp against your skin, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the party. The city sprawls beneath the balcony, lights twinkling like distant stars, but they feel as unreachable as freedom itself.

Trevor stands beside you, silent at first, his presence neither overwhelming nor intrusive. Just there. Allowing you the space to breathe.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “For noticing.”

Trevor turns his head slightly, studying you with quiet curiosity. “Noticing?”

You exhale, fingers brushing against the smooth railing. “It’s been a while since someone did.”

His gaze lingers, patient, waiting for you to say more. You hesitate, warring with yourself before the words slip free, fragile yet firm. “I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t even supposed to meet him.”

Trevor says nothing, but his attention sharpens, an unspoken invitation for you to continue.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I applied for the job in place of my friend. She… she couldn’t make it, and I thought… just one day. Just enough to help her. But he wouldn’t let me go.”

Trevor’s brow furrows. He remains silent, but you can feel the weight of his concern.

“I tried to leave.” You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Three times. And every time, I failed. I don’t even try anymore. I can’t. Not when—” Your hand drifts instinctively to your stomach, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your gown. “Not when my child deserves better than a mother who keeps running and failing.”

Trevor’s jaw tightens. “So, you stay. For your child.”

You nod. “If it means they grow up safe, with everything they need… I’ll play the part he wants.”

Trevor exhales slowly, his fingers curling into fists before he forces them to relax. Then, carefully, he reaches out, his hand grazing yours before settling against the back of it. A silent promise. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You blink up at him, unsure if you misheard. “Trevor—”

“I’ll help you.” His grip tightens, his voice unwavering. “We’ll find a way. I swear it.”

A lump forms in your throat, emotions threatening to spill over, but before you can speak, before you can even process the gravity of his words, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

Something feels off.

Unbeknownst to either of you, hidden beneath the rich ruby of your ring, a tiny bug transmits every whispered confession. And standing just beyond the entrance to the balcony, in the shadows cast by the golden light of the ballroom, Nicholas listens.

Watching.

Waiting.

And the look on his face is anything but forgiving.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 3/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: You didn't think your new home could become any stranger. Shadows have started to follow you, the night no longer the safe haven it once was. It leads you to the one person who may be able to help.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, Isolation, Slight Infantilization of Reader

A/N: The penultimate chapter 👀. Had a lot of fun with this series and I hope y'all have too! Last Chapter should be coming out sometime later this week/early this week. It's gonna be quite a doozy 😈

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

You think someone is watching you.

You didn’t think the eeriness of your home could be more uncomfortable, but the unmistakable feeling of attention has made it so. Only worsened by the fact you have no understanding of whose attention it is. Your first thought was perhaps the staff, but you can’t imagine months of your droll day-to-day life would suddenly gain their attention. Not when they skirt around you, ignoring all attempts to make conversations or eye contact, just as they’ve always done.

You’d learned to enjoy the solitude of your home, to be content with your own company. Reading, wandering the grounds, pondering the sky was now your beloved routine, not a prison of listlessness. But now you whip your head around at the slightest shadow. Something prickles on the back of your neck at odd moments, uneasy shivers coming down your spine when you turn the corner, your fight-or-flight instincts expecting something there.

The only other two options would be your father-in-law and your husband. The prior is an obvious no, well aware he confines himself to his study during the day so he may work in peace. The latter is absent during the daytime, supposedly sticking to his habit of sleeping with the sun, so you’re left with no clues.

To make it all worse is the fact that your husband has been present for dinner lately; Every night for the past week, to be precise. It seems to be the one meal he deems worthy of being awake for. But you figured that this was another kink to get used too, surely a momentary lapse before he returned to the routine.

But then he started talking to you.

—

“Was your day enjoyable?”

Your husband opened with, as if this was a normal dinner and you were in a normal marriage.

You hesitate to respond, convincing yourself that you had misheard one of the servants. Caleb isn’t even looking you in the eye, focused instead on cutting his steak.

“Well?” He juts in, right before taking a large bite. It's only then you realize it was in fact him speaking and in fact you who he was speaking to.

“I suppose so.” You finally deign as a well enough response. A suitably polite answer. “It was nothing remarkable.”

“Hmm.” He says, chewing on his wad of meat as he takes a sip of that curious wine of his. You return to your food, figuring that is the end of that. One of your husband's many irregularities, that was all. “What did you partake in?”

That brings you pause, halting your fork, currently being used to awkwardly move around fingerling potatoes. Your appetite starts to leave you.

“...Some of the books from the library.” Your stab at a potato, wishing you could dissent from proprietary like he could and eat through this conversation. “The estate has quite a robust collection. Especially the astronomy section.”

The sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain makes you wince, draws your full attention to your husband. For a second, you swear his eyebrow twitches.

“I see.” He stabs his steak like it’s a vicious enemy, and rips away another piece. “Anything else?”

Why are you doing this?

You desperately want to ask. You swallow that urge down.

“I began a new cross stitch today.” You swallow. “My skills are unfortunately unrefined, but I found some beautiful thread I forgot my sister had packed away when-” I was shipped off “-when I first moved in. I’m planning to embroider a Mourning Dove.”

It had been more comforting than you expected, cross-stitching. Forever it had been a habit your mother forced upon you, imploring that good embroidery was only right for a proper lady to know. Now, all alone and homesick, it felt nice to create something that could fly away.

“Hmm.” Caleb says, and that is the end of it. What follows is uncomfortable minutes of silence. Too uncomfortable to eat, you gently push your plate away and stand up, another informal curtsy and a “good night”, hoping that would be the end.

It unfortunately was not.

Edric had let you know the night prior that he’d be busier these upcoming weeks, several meetings with important men or something of that matter keeping him away for the nights as well as the days. You told him it was no issue, even though your heart had tugged at the idea of spending those dark hours alone.

To your great shock, upon arriving at your favorite spot in the garden, your husband is there. Not lounging as he did before, but sitting on the bench. Your bench.

“I did not know you had finished dinner.” You remark, trying to act less flustered than you were. Months ago you would have rejoiced at this change of pace, so bored and listless. But now it left you feeling more than a little aggravated.

“I did shortly after you.” He says, actually acknowledging you with a look over his shoulder. Weirdly, a bottle does not accompany his side. “Thought I’d go for a walk. It is quite a big garden.”

I’m not here for you. He seemed to scream with every word, his very soul. You don’t why know he’s being so insistent, he’s made that opinion very clear in every other interaction so far.

“I see.” You parrot, a surge of obstinance making you bolder than normal, sitting down next to him. This was your favorite spot, you refuse to give it up to him on a whim.

It brings great satisfaction when he scoots away, his body jerking, clearly surprised by you being so close. You’re sure he thought you all figured out, some girl he could walk over whenever he pleased.

You don’t bother speaking first, figuring his stint during dinner was a temporary lapse in judgement. His sheer disinterest made it clear it was from a source of boredom, not genuine curiosity, which spurred this change. Surely, that was the end-

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb says, his long hand, usually adorned with a bottle, points at the night sky. When you don’t respond immediately, he goes to lengths of drawing the ‘W’ shape with his finger.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You say, surprised that he has continued talking to you and that he knows any constellation. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.” You chuckle at the joke, the mood quickly souring when Caleb doesn’t, looking at you like a strange sort of insect.

Edric would’ve laughed.

“And from her,” Caleb traces his hands away from Cassiopeia to another, “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” The words whip out immediately, before you can think better of it, although your tone is gentle. Caleb turns to look at you, wordlessly once more. For a second, you wonder if he’ll snap at your correction. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

Caleb pauses for a moment, retracting his hand.

“Hm.” He hums and turns away.

The awkward atmosphere lingers afterwards, and you almost feel bad for correcting him. You hadn't meant it as a criticism, just as a reminder.

But that just makes you more upset. Why should you care how Caleb feels about your words, unintentional or not? He has made no such consideration for your feelings during your time here, nor does he seem to intend to anytime in the future. He’s a cad, a rake, he could stand to be knocked down a peg or too.

Luckily, the rest of the night is blissfully quiet. You try your best to bat away any lingering feelings of anxiety or awkwardness, simply savoring what you could.

—

Caleb isn’t sure what he is doing.

It was bad enough foregoing his rest and haunting you like a phantom, chasing this incessant new urge of his. Like picking at a scab you know would be healed if left alone, he can’t seem to resist. His body follows you naturally now, using his more inhuman qualities to blend in the shadows, avoiding the poisonous daylight and lingering on your every move. You make it too easy with your rhythmic movements, keeping regular in your entertainment about the house. If not in the library, you were in the garden having tea. If not in the garden having tea, you were embroidering on the lounge. What should be so dreadfully boring is now enrapturing, although it is wounding it feels too good to stop.

Look at him now, bumbling around like a fool, words falling out his mouth like hail against your soft skin. Even when he does catch your attention and get a genuine response, he loses himself in the memories of said moments, reimagining it as vividly as he saw it from the shadows. He remembers the jump of excitement when you found a new book on Greek Mythology on the shelf, having thought you had already read them all. He remembers the look you made when you had made a mistake in your embroidery, your brow furrowed as you undid your stitches. When focused on your work, a tiny sliver of your tongue would sit out at your mouth, something he’s sure your mother scolded you for time and time again. By the time his mind got back to him you were leaving, the same curt response and rigid curtsy as before.

Desperate for a fix, he even ambushed you at your stargazing spot. He could barely look you in the eye, too nervous you would see through his ruse, point and laugh at his boyishness. It was made even worse when you sat near him, tantalizing him with your blood and the beating of your heart, which sang to his very ears.

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb attempts, wondering if this will have greater success. Given your silence, he wondered if perhaps his maker hadn’t pointed it out to you yet. Pride fills his chest as he traces out her shape, wondering what look you have in your eyes.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You reply, and Caleb’s monstrous heart skips a beat. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.”

Caleb freezes, caught off his rhythm, you giggle making him realize that he isn’t understanding something. The disappointed look on your face feels like a blade in his stomach.

He should be angry, furious even. It had been years since anyone had made him feel this way, this inferiority. He had outgrown that, had ripped it out with his own bleeding heart and tossed it outside.

“And from her,” Caleb pivots, hoping the skills of aloofness can work in favor “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” Caleb’s stomach turns. Frozen in his best laid plans, this windstorm of his wife has blown them away. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

It’s all he can do to not scream at that moment. But he fears that too will be as awkward and foolish as the rest of his words, choosing instead to say nothing. To his consternation and relief, you follow suit and do not speak as well, returning to your own stargazing.

When you eventually retire, Caleb should go out. He should find the nearest beast and rip their throat, soak in their blood and be reminded that he was the fearsome beast. He was not the stupid farm boy, he was an unholy abomination built to feast and terrorize.

Instead he paces around his room, wondering what he should say. He looks in the mirror at his facade self, the beautiful face that makes ladies of all classes swoon, and wonders what would catch your eye.

You were smart, clearly, smarter than he anticipated. He thinks you might be catching onto his voyeur-tendencies, once or twice hiding around a corner and popping out, as if to confront your own shadow. Once, when he had left your book an inch or two over from where you had left it, you returned to the room with a quirk in your eyebrow. You had searched the room up and down, even flagged down a servant to ask if anyone had cleaned the library recently.

He had assumed your quietness came from a dull demeanor, just as boring as one would expect from the “wife.” But you had good humor. He saw you joking around with his creator, possibly the stodgiest vampire to ever roam the world, and even make jests of your own. You had tried with him tonight, although it seemed to fly over his head. And you seemed to enjoy dancing, like most ladies, if the way you hummed and swayed down the halls when you thought you were alone was enough indication. These were all things he was used to; Wining and dining ladies with his good charm and superb dancing skills, yet he found himself at a standstill.

His head falls into his hands, a frustrated hunger stirring in his gut. He needs to feed. At least that was an aching he could satisfy.

—

A whole fortnight of this. No peace, no privacy, no respite from the dreadfulness of the estate. During the day you tremored, aware that someone followed in your footsteps but not who it was. During the night all sense of comfort was robbed by him, your husband who, after several months of blissful avoidance, could not leave your side.

The conversations had not gotten better since the first. Mostly one sided, your husband seemed to force himself through every word, barely listening when it was your turn to speak. You don’t know why he bothers with the painful effort, his head off in the clouds, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. It's worse than the silence by a landslide, and you find yourself begging for your husband to start ignoring you again.

But like every one before it, your wishes go unanswered. The pain of it all forces you to focus, to try and find the source of this newfound vigor for this falsehood of a marriage.

All your hypotheses lead you back to one person. One person whom, unlike your husband, could hopefully be reasoned with.

—

You make quick work to scurry out of the dining hall after another painful dinner, hoping the distraction of his meal will keep your husband from noticing your divergence from routine.

Striding deeper into the bowels of the estate reminds you of just how unsettling the rest of the house feels. Each hallway is cleaned too perfectly, each decoration too precisely placed. You never knew furniture could feel so cold, that the sterility of a cleanliness would be so unnerving. It felt as if no one had ever really walked these halls, not for a long, long time.

But you push on, too determined in your mission. You had finally been able to corner a maid during the day, making up a vague excuse for returning a book to have her point the way to the Earl’s office. You’re happy you had the forethought to write it down, sure the enticing darkness around each corner and the amount of turns would’ve befuddled you. But with your trusty papers, you're able to navigate yourself to a beautiful mahogany door, befit with a golden knob and intimidating presence.

Why must everything in this place feel so hostile?

You ponder, wondering if the architect of this place had a hatred of joy and fresh air. But you digress, rapping your knuckles onto the thick door frame. Through the wood you can faintly hear the scribbles of an ink pen and the focused voice of The Earl.

“You may enter.”

His tone lacks the familiarity you’ve grown used to. For a discomforting second it reminds you of Caleb, not of these past two weeks but the months before. You banish that thought away. They are father and son, it is only natural.

“Sir?” You default to polite terms, peaking your head past the grand entrance. Even now the study feels untouchable, makes you hesitant to walk inside so boldly.

The Earl quickly leans his head up, shoulders falling down and a smile gracing his lips. You smother your fluttering heart, reminding yourself of your mission.

“My dear, I was not expecting you.” Edric stands with a dramatic push of his chair, setting his ink pen into its pot. “I apologize, but I fear I cannot join you again tonight. There is still much work to be done.” Edric taps his fingers against his desk.

“Oh it is no issue, Si-Edric. I understand completely.” Finally comfortable enough, you enter the room completely and shut the door behind you. Though this does little to calm your nerves, both for the conversation you must have and the idea of being alone in a room with him. As silly as it is, the hesitance of being alone with a man who is not your husband lingers, even if it is someone proper like your father-in-law. “I actually wish-” You words catch, but you will the butterflies in your stomach away, “-I wish to talk to you about something else. If you are available to it.”

Edric’s brow quirks, a minor change in his usually flawless face. For the very first time, he looks caught off guard.

“Of course, my dear.” Edric pulls out a chair for you to sit, moving his own so the desk won’t block you from each other. You nod in thanks, knees knocking together. You were never great at confrontation, and after finally finding peace in your new home, you fear disturbing and ruining what you have.

But Caleb is doing a fine job of that all on his own.

Your hands fiddle with each other in your lap, forcefully distracting you from making eye contact with Edric. He sits now with his ankles crossed, his arms resting on the sides, looking all like a king receiving his subject. Given his authority and your desperation, he might as well be.

“Now, what would you like to speak about?”

“I-” You swallow the lump in your throat, “I would like to start with my appreciation for your kind intentions, as I know it is what most likely drove you to act in such a way.” Your finger bones ache with how tightly you clench them. “That I appreciate you taking the effort to…encourage Caleb to spend more time with me.” Encourage is probably the incorrect word. If you knew anything about your husband ‘bribed’ was most definitely more accurate. It is the only thing that would make sense given recent circumstances. “But while I understand why you would think such a move was for the best, I’d like to implore that it is not necessary.”

You can hear a pin drop, your father-in-law quiet as the dead. It urges you to keep speaking, to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. At the least to release the issues from your mind, to get them off your chest.

“I know you are a good and honorable man, and that from the outside I must look so pitiful to you. That my lonesome nature most likely urged you to aid in my companionship, but I have found much happiness in this place in these past months. I see it as my home, and I do not mind the quiet.” You’ve released the fabric of your dress, moving instead to the fascinating shapes of your palm lines. Still, you proceed. “As…uncouth as my husbands, they seem to make him happy. He does not seem to enjoy the quiet nights like you and I do.”

A heat decorates the apples of your cheeks, spreading all the way down your neck and up to the tips of your ears. It seems silly looking back on it, having more in common with a man no doubt twice your age than your own husband.

“So, if you could speak to him and let him know that he is free to live as he likes, that he should not feel responsible for me, I would most appreciate it. Please tell him that I am quite happy with the way things were before.”

With you.

Your twisting heart does not know if it wants Edric to understand that unspoken sentiment.

The tapping of Edric’s fingernails on the chair arm finally pulls you attention, sounding cacophonous in the void created. It draws your eyes to finally look Edric head on, to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, his reserved face leaves it difficult for you to do so.

“I see.” Edric finally breaks it, his fingers speeding up in their rapping. Something squeezes in your chest, wondering if perhaps you’ve offended him with your presumptions.

“I did not-” You bluster, trying to explain before he assumes anything. But a wave of Edric hands stops you in your tracks.

“I am not offended, dear.” The Early gives a gentle smile, a nod to show the truth of his word. Relief washes over you. “I am simply…surprised.”

You swallow your response. As attentive and understanding as Edric is, he is still a man, still subject to misunderstandings of a woman’s true heart. While Caleb is quite handsome, it takes much more good looks and the bare minimum to curry your favor.

“I shall speak to him.” Edric finally commands, standing up from his seat and sending you scurrying to do so on your own. A bubbling feeling fills your chest, the relief of knowing things will finally return to normal. At least the nights.

“Thank you, Edric.”

“It is no problem.” Edric says with a wave of his hand. “I commend you for bringing it up with me promptly. I understand that can be a difficult feat, especially when I am such a recluse.”

That lightens your mood even more, giving you a gentle giggle.

“I think you presume too much of your intimidation, good sir.” You lie, as if you were not petrified of facing him not 10 minutes ago. That fear seems silly now. Of course Edric would listen, when hasn’t he?

You don’t notice the way Edric’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the way his eyes for only a second dip down to your collarbone.

“Perhaps I do.” Edric pats the back of his seat. “Well, while I do enjoy your company, I'm afraid I must get back to work. Shall I escort you to your room?”

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to disturb and I am quite confident I can find my way.” You weren’t really, but you also were not ready to admit that to him.

“Then I bid you goodnight, my dear.” Edric nods his head, quickly moving his chair back behind his desk, no doubt to resume his business. You drop into a small curtsy yourself, a new energy in your steps as you leave. Even with the labyrinthine task of returning to your room ahead of you, you can’t be despondent.

You have a feeling things are taking a change for the better.

—

It takes everything in Edric’s immortal power to not burst into laughter the second the door closes behind you. Even with the thick wood as a barrier and your inferior human hearing, Edric is sure his cackling could be heard from miles away.

He had planned to court you slowly. Push the boundaries of his affection with every visit, subtly make you dependent on his touch and his closeness. Then, he would pull away, make you truly long for him. It would make his return all the more dramatic, hopefully swell your emotions to such a size that you would not turn away more uncouth behavior. A hug, a kiss to the cheek, maybe even a peck to your soft lips.

But now his son had revealed his hand, clumsily so. Scrambling to hold on to the toy now that it was being swept away, every bit the petulant child. He had made his own desperate move for your affections and was failing miserably.

It's cruel how much glee that gives him, Edric thinks, chuckling into his hands. He needs to remind his son that such obvious peacocking is hardly a foolproof strategy, teach him subtler ways of luring and ensnaring prey, nonetheless a partner. The boy had been riding on his good looks and inhuman charm for too long.

Ahh yes, and you. Who came to him, who chose him. Who ran into his arms and pleaded for safety. How could he not give it to you? His sweet dearest, his darling future. Edric’s nails dig into his palms and he’s sure if his heart still beated, it’d be racing a mile a minute. A palpable thirst burns in the back of his throat, one Edric knows won't be satisfied by any half-thought meal.

This has all but confirmed it: plans are changing. It seems the timeline for his machinations are moving up, given your clear displeasure. Who is he to deny you?

[amphitriteswife]

Romance

Pairing: Raphael x Apostle reader

Source: killer peter

Warnings: implied yandere

Tagging: @kinaoryi

.

.

.

‘You called boss?’ Raphael turned his head to look at you. A playful yet empty smirk plastered on his lips. ‘Apostle Matthew and Judas already went. So sorry!’ Raphael watched you closely, curious as to how you would react, his lips pressed against his wine glass. He had deliberately called you here to order you to be the next one to go after Peter, yet he had ordered Judas and Matthew to do the same thing, just a little earlier. His hazel eyes pierce into your form. What will you do? Will you get angry at him? Perhaps even insult him? He’s dying to know! You’re always so..stoic and indifferent. He wants to see you break…only for him. ‘If that’s the case i’m assuming i’m dismissed?’ Raphael placed his wine glass down. His eyes still looking over at you. He’s almost naked. Yet you’re still not staring at his body. Why? Don’t you think he’s attractive? ‘Don’t be a bummer. Join me.’ Raphael watches your form sit down on the couch his eyes following your every move. He had been suspicious of you ever since you had taken an interest in the whole case with Peter. Usually you obeyed him, you did only what he asked of you. Nothing less, but also nothing more. Now however you did your own research. Did you like Peter? Why Peter but not him? It makes him a little irritated…but that’s okay. As long as he can keep you for the night he’ll be fine for the next few weeks… ‘have you had dinner yet?’ The question was pretty random…and weird. He never seemed interested in your daily life until some months ago. ‘I have not.’ The answer made him hum. His eyes focused on the big screen, he was watching some gruesome movie. It was weird, almost everything he did was always so morbid. A creepy smile plastered on his face when someone in the film was brutally murdered.

‘Would you like something to eat? Perhaps a steak?’ He wondered if you’d accept. Should he drug you? No..no you would notice that…would you? Rapheal waved his hand. Signaling you to come closer, and without a doubt you obliged. ‘I don’t eat steak.’ Ah…you’re denying his offer once again. First it was you refusing to go to his office. Then the refusal of his gifts. Then it was the fact you started being interested in Peter. You’re making him quite irritated dear. You noticed the subtle change in Raphael’s demeanor but brushed it off. That was until a fork with a piece of steak was brought to your lips. ‘Open.’ Your eyes glancing towards the steak and then back at Raphael. You shifted back a little. ‘I don’t eat steak boss. Religious reasons.’ Raphael blinked. Religious? He didn’t know that before. It’s certainly not mentioned in your documents…and didn’t he see you eat that with Thaddeus before? So you’re lying to him….aren’t you? Ouch. ‘Close your eyes and part your lips.’ A rather wide smirk appeared on his lips when you obeyed him. Good. Very good. You’re at least still obeying him. When your vision was all black, there was still nothing against your lips. No bloody steak. That was until you suddenly felt a soft sensation of warm wind. It smelled like wine…and cologne. Raphael. Your eyes fluttered a little which made Raphael click his tongue. ‘No looking.’ You furrowed your eyebrows. Parting your lips again. You felt suspicious, very suspicious of Raphael…but he had always been like that. He’s playful yet sadistic…you shouldn’t let your guard down. You took a few breaths..just to calm you down.

In one swift motion you were pushed back onto the couch, Raphael’s mouth onto yours on a forceful kiss with his tongue intertwining with yours. You opened your eyes a hard thud was heard in the room. The servant who was cleaning up Raphael’s glass watched the scene in shock. You slapped him. ‘That hurt darling.’ Raphael said, his hand gently touching his cheek. ‘I-i’m sorry boss….’ Rapheal looked at you with wide eyes, the yellow colored pupils drilling into your soul. A slight smirk made its way to his lips…finally. A reaction out of you after all that indifference…but..since you slapped him anyway. He can just milk the situation. ‘Are you? Are you really sorry?…prove it’ Raphael watched you stare at him. Yes, stare even more. Stare at his body. He wore these clothes for you. You like that right? You like seeing him out of his work clothes? Gaze upon him like you would have if it was Peter…Raphael grabbed your hand. Grazing it over his toned body, making sure you feel every smooth piece of skin. ‘Come on…i’m waiting darling.’ He guided your hand into his comfortable sweatpants. Ah…your hand is so soft and warm. It makes him hard. Rock hard even. His head leaned back onto the sofa. ‘Touch me more.’ Raphael released your hand to let you touch him on his own…he had waited so long for you to touch him. He didn’t care of you did it willingly or not. All he wants is you to touch him. To feel him. To be as crazy about him like he is to you. Rapheal ground against your hand. He wonders what you think now that you find out he isn’t wearing any boxers. His eyes dart down to his bulge. The outline of your hand stroking him in his pants makes him shiver. He thought about things like this almost everyday. Do you like it as much as he likes it?…he feels so exited. Ah. He might just bust from the images in his mind. He can already picture you kissing him. Touching him like you are now. Pushing him onto the bed. Your mouth around his cock. His hands playing with your nipples. Your body moving up and down his dick. Ah he can’t take it. He wants it. All of it. He wants you to want him. Ah…he can already imagining you telling him how much you love him. That you want to be with him. How you’d rather be with him than Peter or be an Apostle. Raphael threw his head back, his body shivering and a loud grunt escaping his lips. Ugh…his pants are all sticky now. His eyes watched you closely as you pulled your hand out his pants. His eyes glaring at your face…you’re indifferent again. Why? Didn’t you like it? It makes him so angry that you’re not reacting to him…say something. Look disgusted. Anything! But you’re not doing anything at all…you’re just wiping your hand…fine. Fine you win..but next time..next time he’ll have you. His voice is much colder now…way colder than usual. ‘You’re dismissed’

[hana-no-seiiki]

STILL INTO YOU

yandere batfam x cat villain! reader (+extra!!)

synopsis: moments wherein the batfam n co. realize that after all this time they’re still into you

status: unedited.

[AUTHOR’S NOTE:] Super sorry for the lack of fics everyone!! Lately I found out that my DID symptoms have gotten worse and that I’ve experienced a full blackout (and possibly more, I just have no memory of it). So I’ve just been trying to recuperate my mental health for a while with art related stuff. Which, on the positive side of things, means that I’ll be releasing a Webtoon (pilot) around this July!! Hope to see you guys there during the release!!

Can’t count the years on one hand

That we’ve been together

I need the other one to hold you.

Make you feel, make you feel better.

You never realized how much Bruce knew you until you two sat down and had a meal together. Why? You might ask. Well, you were supposed to have a dinner date with Tim today at the manor, but he was unfortunately caught up on a case. You were about to cancel it, maybe cause some chaos in town and then chill with Jason as revenge for your bestie bailing — but Tim insisted you hung out with his father instead.

The pair knew it was the only way for you to (A) Behave and (B) not sleep with Jason for the nth time that week.

Gazing at all your favorite foods displayed upon the excessively extravagant and expensive table you realized that aside from the second youngest, Bruce knew you the most out of everyone in the Batfamily by virtue of his contingencies and overall time as the Batman while you were training to be Catwoman’s successor.

It was so odd, seeing him so calm and not so hostile when you were around. Eerie.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm?”

“I always saw you as a threat. Treated you like one. But you were just a kid stuck in a situation you didn’t have a hand on. I’m truly sorry. For treating you that way.”

“. . . Isn’t it your job? No hard feelings really. I’d be creeped out if you treated me so nicely — not the food though this is very much welcomed.” You ranted as you stuck a fork into your steak, pointing it at Bruce’s face. Yet, as much as how you were failing to achieve proper etiquette he didn’t seem annoyed more so . . . surprised?

“I hope to see you have dinner here again next week.” His hands stretched to awkwardly pat your head.

“Depends, will I have more of Alfred’s steak again?”

It's not a walk in the park

To love each other.

But when our fingers interlock,

Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it.

Koriand’r wasn’t an idiot. She knew about Dick’s lingering feelings for you.

Perhaps she may be. Considering the fact that she still tried to be in a relationship with him even then.

“Shit. Kitty? Kitty! Wake up you hear me?!”

“. . . I’m. . .” You coughed, groaning at the pain it triggered all throughout your body “ . . . here . .”

You raised your hand, too weak to reach his face you settled with holding his own. Dick squeezed your intertwined hands with a pained expression , and an intimacy unfamiliar to the alien.

But that wasn’t what made Koriand’r finally understand how hopeless their relationship was.

It was the fear in his face. His pretty features morphed into one of horror.

Ah, even after all this time. Dick couldn’t live without you.

Cause after all this time I’m still into you.

I should be over all the butterflies

But i'm into you (I'm in to you)

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let em wonder how we got this far

Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

Jason spent many, many grueling years under the influence of the LoA. And not once did his body forget the feeling of you.

The butterflies, the heart wrenching pain of being apart from you, and the fleeting, venomous hatred you two shared.

After all, it was your name that escaped his lips the moment he awoke from the dead. Your face the first on his mind. Your voice that he longed to hear again.

He had plenty of time to prepare for this moment. Months? Maybe even years.

“Hey, cool helmet. You a Deadpool fan or . . ?”

But even then, your appearance still made him more nervous than confronting his family once more. More nervous than fighting the villain that ended his life.

“Yikes, awful cut you got there. Need me to patch you up buddy?”

You had grown. He had too, even if it was through some magic, deus ex machina water. Seeing the change in your features, how you shed your youthful look of naïvete and grew into a beautiful/handsome/pretty specimen almost made him break all his plans just to be with you again.

“I know that you’re shy and all but I need words.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here til the vigilantes show up.”

For his revenge’s sake he hopes that you’ll stay for longer.

Recount the night that I first

Met your mother

And on the drive back to my house

I told you that, I told you that I loved ya.

You felt the weight of the world

Fall off your shoulder

And to your favorite song

We sang along to the start of forever

It was one of those nights when you intruded on the Batfam’s nightly patrols. This time your victim was Damian. And strangely, no one else. He explained that the rest were taking a break.

Leaving out the fact that he poisoned them with some self engineered laxatives.

It was relatively calm until a heist suddenly started in one of the banks you wanted to pick off. Damn.

“Hey, I didn’t know you listened to [Favorite Artist(s)]” You eyes widened at the sound of the music playing the background as Joker’s men began to surround you and Robin.

“Just a casual listener. How did you meet my mother anyhow?” Damian sheathed his katana. Opting to take down his foes by hand to hand combat as he peeled his eyes and ears to listen to you.

Besides he could see that your eyes weren’t on him anyways, so there was no point in showing off.

. . . Not that he was doing that.

“Huh? Well, I know everyone really.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

He sighed, bashing a poor guy’s face with his knees, his hands adding force with a pull — yikes. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”

“She hated me at first. Courtesy of Cat Woman and the Bat being together.” You turned to him, and he ducks.

“Then I lost someone really, really important to me. More than anything in this world. More than this world itself.” Your whip meets a goon behind him. Both of you hear a splat sound as the man falls to the floor. “And while everyone was calling me insane, when everything was breaking down around me. She was the only one who didn’t judge me for . . . the things that I did.”

“She supported me and was there for me no matter what.” You gaze at the blood on your weapon and cringe. “And then I realized your dad was an absolute bastard for leaving her behind. So I took up the mask again and made it my mission to make his life miserable."

"Even after the dinner?"

"Especially. Wanna bet on how long til he snaps?"

"Deal."

And after all this time I’m still into you.

I should be over all the butterflies

But i'm into you (I'm in to you)

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let em wonder how we got this far

Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

Some things just,

Some things just make sense

And one of those is you and I

Some things just,

Some things just make sense

And even after all this time

Tim honestly didn’t think he had it as bad as his brothers. Sure, he watched your every move and had extensive digital libraries on everything about you, but he did that for everyone. He was more rational; a man that clung unto his senses.

No it wasn’t his actions that made him realize how dangerously important you were to him, it was the way he felt doing so.

After an excessively arduous mission, the first thing he does as he gets back home is to open up his devices and get back to work. Surprise surprise, the stress wouldn’t go away. Not even when he stopped to play some games or catch up on Dungeon Meshi’s last episodes. And that always, always made him relax.

Anxious, his hands subconsciously guide him to that one folder.

Click Click

Dozens if not hundreds of holographic photos, videos and even fan art of you surrounded him.

Tim stares at a video he took when he first found out your identity.

Curling up into a ball with a blanket surrounding him, he slowly drifts off to sleep. Your voice lulling him into his overdue journey to dreamland.

Yeah, he was more rational than the rest. Yet, some things just made sense. Like you being the only thing in this world that manages to make his heart race and anxieties run away.

I'm into You

Baby not a day goes by that

I'm not into you

Jon was a bit dense. But even then he could see the signs of his best friend slowly losing himself to love and infatuation.

He would have been happy,

if it weren’t for the fact that he had a crush on you first.

Being the sweetheart he is, he backed off, respectful of Damian’s feelings (even if the latter wasn’t of his).

I should be over all the butterflies

But i'm into you (I'm in to you)

“Woah, you guys are done already?” Jon landed. As soon as he heard that he’d be able to fight alongside you after what felt like years (it was a couple of weeks), he flew all the way from Metropolis in record time.

If he knew what awaited him he probably wouldn’t have left at all.

“Yeah.” You gave him a thumbs up. Your head laid atop Damian’s lap as the domino masked vigilante ran his hands through your hair. His gloves off to his side.

“C-Cool.”

Jon cried himself to sleep that night.

Even after knowing of Damian’s feelings all this time, he could never stop his own.

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let em wonder how we got this far

Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

I'm still into you

I'm still into you

[ NEXT PART : NOBODY GETS ME ]

[chaoticforever]

When The Dark Crawls | Yandere Dean Winchester x Male! Reader

Summary: Everyone knows that when a cat chases a mouse, the mouse looses. Dean lives for the thrill of the chase, and Y/n L/n? The man just wanted to leave.

A/n: Not too sure about this one.

Damn these handcuffs, Y/n thought. 

The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into his skin, causing him discomfort and making it difficult to move his right hand. He gazed around the area, hoping to find something that could allow him to unlock them, but didn’t see anything. He needed to find something fast before a certain someone came barging in here.

And that someone is Dean Winchester. 

A well-known hunter who had saved Y/n's life from bloodthirsty vampires that wanted to suck the blood out of him. In the beginning, Y/n had been so grateful to have met the man. He would be dead right now if it wasn't for Dean, after all.

However, as it turned out, that wasn't the last time they had seen each other. The following week after the whole vampire incident, the h/c man had been attacked again, and it seemed like he had nothing but bad luck with all these supernatural creatures attacking him for no reason.

Once again, Dean was there to save the day. He had shown up at the abandoned house they had Y/n trapped in with lots of silver bullets and managed to kill the werewolves and free Y/n from his binds.

Again, Y/n had thanked Dean for saving his life, and Dean just said that it wasn't an issue and that maybe he should stay with him tonight to ensure he was safe. The hunter laughed it off as a joke, but Y/n decided to take him up on that offer. He didn't want to risk another near-death experience. They say that third time's a charm, and next time he might not be so lucky to get away like the last two times.

On that day, Y/n asked about Dean's life and the circumstances that led him to engage in combat with these creatures, which he had not even believed in until a week prior. Dean explained to him that he and his brother hunt these monsters and it's the family business. Y/n couldn't imagine growing up like that, but he told Dean that if he ever needed any form of help from him, such as a place to lay low to let him know. Dean did save his life so Y/n believed that he should reciprocate.

And a friendship between them formed, where Dean would stop by whenever he was on a hunt to check in or if he simply wanted to hang out with Y/n. Y/n always welcomed him. It's not like he had many friends, so he was glad to have another. However, he had noticed something.

Like the way Dean looked at him.

Y/n was not stupid. In fact, he was quite perceptive, and he was aware that Dean had a crush on him. He made sure to let Dean know that despite his gratitude, he doesn't share the same sentiment. Dean is an attractive guy, with beautiful forest green eyes, yet he only perceives him as a friend. After the rejection, Dean said it was fine as long as they were still friends.

However, it seems that Dean lied to him, as evidenced by the way he continued to touch and stare at him. In passing, Dean would find different excuses to touch or brush up against him. He found reasons to be near Y/n; their paths crossed more frequently than before. Y/n would turn a corner, and Dean would be there, leaning against a wall with a smirk on his face. He'd be at the same coffee shop, sitting at a nearby table, looking at him with a predatory gaze. When he went on a date, there was Dean, glaring at Y/n's date the entire time with a steak knife in his hand.

Hence, he felt increasingly uneasy with Dean's constant presence, but whenever he mentioned it, the hunter insisted that he was protecting him. Y/n did not share this perspective and informed Dean that he needed some space away from him. Dean's jaw tightened, and he warned Y/n that he'd regret his dismissive treatment.

Later, he discovered that Dean had been quite serious in his words, as the day Y/n's car unexpectedly broke down on the road one night and Dean kidnapped him, taking him to a secluded cabin far away. Dean claimed that Y/n belonged to him and was protecting him from everything that was evil in the world. He had to do it.

Y/n had attempted to escape before, but he was recaptured by Dean every single time. As punishment, Dean would spank Y/n's bare ass with his hand. Since then, he had learned not to attempt an escape while Dean was present, opting instead to try when he was absent. It wasn't fair that Dean decided to ruin his life, and he was determined to reclaim his freedom.

The h/c-haired male opened the drawer next to the bed and was relieved that he saw a paperclip. He knew people usually pick door locks with this clip, therefore, he was hoping it could pick a cuff lock.

Quickly, he bent down and picked up the paperclip, his fingers shaking as he tried to manipulate it into a makeshift key. He inserted the bent end into the keyhole of the handcuffs, twisting and turning it in a desperate attempt to unlock it. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled.

"C’mon," Y/n muttered under his breath. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the handcuffs unlocked, and the cold metal fell off his wrist. Thank God. He exhaled, rubbing his tender wrists, still feeling the lingering sensation of those handcuffs. I am free. Not wasting another moment, he stood up and darted out of the room, peering through the blinds to survey for any sign of Dean. A wave of relief came over him when he didn't spot the Impala.

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest as he bolted out of the cabin, his feet carrying him farther away from his captivity. Y/n didn't know where he was going, but he didn't care. All that mattered to him was getting as far away from this location as possible before Dean realized he's gone. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he continued to run through the woods. despite him feeling incredibly exhausted.

Soon, Y/n reached the road and was so overjoyed when he spotted a car coming down the road. "Hey, stop!" Y/n jumped in front of the car and threw himself in front of it, causing the driver to slam on their brakes before the car could hit him.

The driver — a tall guy with brown hair —exited the car and promptly approached Y/n, looking worried. "Are you okay, sir?"

Y/n shook his head, his voice breathless from the running he did. "I'm not. This guy... he kidnapped me. Please, help me."

The tall man nodded. "I'll help you. Get in the car." He opened the passenger door.

"Thank you," Y/n slid into the passenger seat and buckled up as the other male shut the door and got behind the wheel.

"It's no issue," he turned the keys and the car roared to life. He stepped on the gas and the car cruised down the open road. The man glanced over at the one sitting in the passenger seat. "If you want, you can stay with me tonight. Then we can deal with whoever took you tomorrow."

"That would be great, thank you again." Y/n was sincere. "Do you have a name?"

After those words escaped his lips, Y/n wanted to hit himself. Of course, he has a name. Everyone on this planet has one.

The driver laughed. "It's Jared. And you?"

"Y/n."

During the remainder of the drive, Jared maintained a focused gaze on the road ahead while Y/n observed the passing scenery through the window in thought. The events of the past few months with Dean had left Y/n a bit shaken, but he felt incredibly fortunate that someone had been driving by at the right time to help Y/n escape from that stupid hunter.

When Jared brought his vehicle to a halt, Y/n shifted his attention to the imposing structure before him. The exterior looked quite old, and Y/n turned to face Jared, his expression marked by confusion.

"Uh, why are we here? I thought you said you were taking me back to your place."

"And that's what I'm doing now," Jared said. "This building is where I live. It's my bunker. You'll be safe here, don't worry."

Y/n regarded the place with suspicion, feeling a sense of unease that caused warning bells to ring in his mind. Despite his apprehension, he chose to ignore his intuition. After all, Jared had gone out of his way to help him, even though he wasn't obligated to, and Y/n decided to trust him. If it wasn't for Jared, he would still be at the cabin with Dean, and that was not a situation he wanted to be in.

Jared opened the car door for Y/n and escorted him inside the bunker. Despite the unappealing exterior, the interior was surprisingly inviting. Y/n appreciated the contrast. Jared then led Y/n to the room where he would be staying for the night, excusing himself to retrieve a blanket.

Y/n took a moment to assess the room, noting its basic amenities: a bed, a desk, and a drawer with a lamp, which was the only light source. Despite its simplicity, Y/n found the room to be quite inviting.

Later, Jared re-entered the room with a blanket, fresh towels, a washcloth, and a toothbrush. "Here's a blanket in case you get cold, a toothbrush for your teeth, and a towel and washcloth for your shower," he explained, placing the blanket on the bed, the toothbrush on the desk, and the towel and washcloth on the rack. "Get some sleep. I know it's been a long day."

"Thank you so much, Jared. I don't know what I would've done without your help." Y/n expressed his gratitude once again because he needed this man to know that he was so grateful for helping him.

Jared smiled reassuringly at Y/n. "No problem at all. I'm just glad I could help."

Jared left the room and closed the door behind him. Y/n lay on the bed and put the blankets over him, closing his eyes.

He was finally free.

Dean couldn’t get to him now.

XXXXX XXXXX

The next day, Y/n awoke feeling utterly refreshed. It had been a while since he'd slept so well, and according to the clock, he had slept for more than twelve hours. Although he hadn't intended to sleep for so long, he supposed his body needed it.

Rising up from the bed, Y/n gathered his towel, washcloth, and toothbrush, and proceeded to the bathroom. After a brief exploration, he found the bathroom and removed his clothes before entering the shower. The warm water cascaded over his skin, providing a soothing sensation as it cleansed his body and his mind.

After taking his shower and brushing his teeth, he returned to the guest room and he decided to wait for Jared to return so that they could discuss their next move.

Folding the covers meticulously, Y/n heard the door creak open from behind. Knowing that it was Jared, Y/n initiated a conversation without turning around. "Hey, Jared. Thanks for allowing me to—"

Panic seized Y/n's heart as he retreated a step. There, in the doorway, was Dean Winchester with a devilish smirk on his face that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. No! Y/n's thoughts raced with alarm: he was free. How did Dean find him again?

Dean edged closer, attempting to narrow the gap between them. "Surprised to see me, Y/n?" he mocked, voice laced with amusement from the fear in Y/n's eyes.

Y/n retreated, pressing his back against the wall. "H-How did you find me?" he stammered, his face contorted with fear. The intimidating man's presence made it impossible for Y/n to conceal his terror.

A dark chuckle emitted from Dean's lips as he closed the remaining distance between them. Now face-to-face with Y/n, he slammed his hand against the wall beside him, trapping him against it. "Oh, I always find what's mine," he declared. "And you, sweetheart, are definitely mine."

"I'm not yours!" Y/n retorted, but his defiance was quickly overshadowed by a pressing concern. "What did you do to Jared?" he asked, worry clear in his tone.

Dean's smirk widened. "Jared's not real," he divulged, causing Y/n to stare at him in bewilderment. "His real name is Sam, my brother. And this bunker? It's ours."

Y/n felt his world shatter once the truth unraveled. He had never escaped; Jared, no Sam, brought him back to Dean. Y/n had been deceived from the beginning.

"This can't be true," Y/n whispered.

Dean's fingers trailed possessively down his arm. "It is true, my little plaything," he gripped Y/n's jaw and forced a hard kiss upon him, only to break away when Y/n continued to resist his advances. "Stop fighting it, pretty boy. Just let it happen."

No, this was bullshit. Y/n wasn't going to just let it happen or continue to cower in submission. Y/n delivered a swift kick to Dean's groin, causing him to crumple to his knees, clutching his injured area. He fled as Dean's chilling laughter echoed throughout the place  Dean taunted Y/n, urging him to run, claiming that he loved the chase. Y/n sprinted, feeling the wind whip against his face. He needed to get away on his own, unable to trust anyone in case another person he bumped into happened to be acquainted with Dean.

The surrounding area seemed devoid of buildings and people for miles, but in the distance, Y/n saw an abandoned house. It was his only option. He dashed inside. The interior had peeling wallpaper and boarded-up windows, yet it didn't look that bad. Y/n figured that Dean wouldn't consider searching for him here. His plan was to remain hidden until he was certain that he was safe, free from Dean.

The floorboards creaked beneath Y/n as he raced up the stairs, and the bathroom door was the first one he encountered. Y/n didn't hesitate before entering the shower and closed the curtain, trying his hardest to calm his ragged breathing.

Seconds turned into minutes, and in the deafening silence, Y/n believed he might have escaped Dean's clutches this time. But the illusion shattered when he heard doors opening, the floorboards creaking, and the taunting voice that was Dean's. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, and Y/n stopped himself from breathing.

"Y/n, are you in here?" Dean's voice was laced with false sincerity. "Get out here. There's no point in hiding. I'll find you."

Y/n remained silent and unmoving in the shower, but it became very challenging, particularly as a spider crept up his leg. Not now. Get off me. The spider, though, disregarded Y/n's silent plea and kept crawling. Unable to endure the crawly sensation any longer, Y/n used his right foot to kick the spider off his left leg and killed it as quietly as he possibly could.

Y/n's heart pounded.

Two steps outside the bathroom, the green-eyed male halted, his attention drawn by a faint noise emanating from the shower. A smirk tugged at his mouth as he turned around, his gaze narrowing.

"So, that's where you are?" Dean walked back into the bathroom and yanked the curtains open, revealing an empty space.

A moment of confusion clouded Dean's face as he scanned the empty shower for Y/n. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n had silently exited through the second door connected to the bathroom and hidden in the nearby room's closet. This cat-and-mouse game between them intensified with each passing moment, but still, Y/n remained steadfast in his determination.

Yet, at the same time, Y/n struggled with the fear of being caught. He knew Dean was a highly skilled hunter, who's good at tracking people down. His chances of escaping were slim to none, but he was going to take his chances, nevertheless.

Y/n could hear Dean's footsteps echoing through the house, growing louder as he approached the room Y/n was hiding in. Then, the door to the room opened, and Y/n remained silent and still as Dean sauntered fully into the room. Not again.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Dean persisted, his voice saturated with that sick, sadistic satisfaction. "You can run, but you can't hide from me forever."

Y/n's fingers trembled as he searched for anything he could use as a weapon, but there was no weapon in the closet. Nothing. Y/n pressed himself against the wall, accidentally triggering a hidden mechanism that pushed him backward into a secret room nestled in the closet.

"Just you wait," Dean said, approaching the closet, his fingers curling around the handle with a predatory grace. "I have so many things in store for you, and you are going to love every fucking second of it. Ready or not, sweetheart, here I come."

With a swift motion, Dean yanked open the closet door, anticipating the sight of Y/n cowering in fear. To his surprise, the closet showed nothing but empty space. Dean's laugh echoed through the room. "I love this little game of cat and mouse, but trust me — I always catch my prey."

In the hidden room, Y/n's ear was on the wall, hearing the closet door closing and Dean's retreating footsteps. Y/n pushed open the secret room's door, entered the closet, and emerged into the main room.

The hidden man cracked the door open, the hinges silent, and he peered through the slightly ajar door. He observed Dean going up the stairs, heading to the attic. This was his opportunity, his one chance at freedom. Carefully, he eased the door open fully, ensuring not to make a sound.

Y/n's heart thundered in his chest as he tiptoed down the stairs, his eyes vigilant for Dean or his brother. He did not need any surprises. His pace quickened as he headed for the door, his hand hovering over the knob. He had done it. He won—

Suddenly, Y/n's body was sent crashing to the floor. Dean had appeared out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground. No, Y/n thought, his hopes shattered.

Y/n struggled to free himself from Dean's grasp and crawl toward the door, mere inches away. Dean, however, didn't plan on letting Y/n escape him this time. His grip on Y/n's legs remained firm as he pulled Y/n closer. Then, he pinned Y/n's hands above his head and placed his knee on Y/n's crotch, immobilizing him.

Dean smirked triumphantly down at his captured prey. "Man, that was a fun little game of cat and mouse, but you should know that you're my bitch." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a syringe, heightening Y/n's panic. Y/n struggled to free himself, but Dean's strength was overwhelming.  He took the cap off and quickly jabbed the needle into Y/n's arm. Weakness washed over Y/n, rendering him helpless against his impending fate.

The green-eyed hunter chuckled darkly as he looked down at Y/n, caressing his face and letting his fingers trace over Y/n's lips. "I'm taking you home now. You'll never be able to escape me, pretty boy. Stop trying, and get used to being mine."

Y/n was starting to think that Dean was right. There's no way he can escape him.

Dean felt a sense of triumph as he looked down at Y/n, his little plaything. He had won, and there was no turning back. He knew that he had done terrible things to get him, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that he had Y/n, and no one would take Y/n away from him.

As the tall man carried Y/n away from the abandoned house and to the bunker, he could feel Y/n’s body tense up in his arms. Dean knew that he was terrified, but he didn't care. He would do whatever it took to keep the other man with him, even if that meant resorting to violence.

Dean placed Y/n on the bed in his room, their room, and could sense Y/n's fear permeating the air. He relished every bit of it, loving that Y/n was afraid of him and would soon understand who owned him. Dean needed to break Y/n, to make him see that Dean was his one protector from danger. He was doing all of this for Y/n, to ensure that he was always safe.

Dean climbed into the bed, wrapping his arms around Y/n and pulling him close. He could feel Y/n's body trembling with fear, but he didn't let go. He had to show him that he's in control. Now and always.

"It's alright, baby," Dean whispered in Y/n's ear, planting a kiss on the back of his man's neck. "I'm here, and I'll protect you from anything that could harm you, but don’t even think of trying to leave again unless you want a punishment. There’s no place you can go that I won’t get you."

Y/n remained silent, which didn't bother Dean, since he knew that after this day, Y/n wouldn't dare try to leave him again.

The green-eyed man held him close, and he thought about all the things he would do to keep Y/n with him. He would make sure that Y/n never left his sight, that he never spoke to anyone else, and that he was the only one who could protect him.

After all, Dean killed the few friends Y/n had to make Y/n dependent on Dean. He had proven his love and devotion to the man in the most extreme way possible.

And now he would do whatever it took to make sure that Y/n loved him back.

XXXXX XXXXX 

[snowywolf1005]

@stuff6969fuckyou : YANDERE STRAW HATS X READER WHO CAN BATTEL SOME TIMES BUT HAS HEALTH CONDITIONS AND CANT STAND VERY LONG AND CAN ONLY BATTLE LOW LEVEL THUGS. But that doesn’t stop the love they have for them! Also Chopper as platonic little brother like yan, who only allows and actually wants y/n to hold him and scratch behind his ear 🤭🤭🤭. Also helps with their illnesses a little too much like the crew. And Luffy and others have to keep convincing them they are worth having on the crew!

You got it!!!!

"(Y/N)! Hold me! Hold me!" Chooper cried, begging you to pick him up. "Okay, for a reward for helping me with my injuries!" You said, picking up chopper and spin around. Chopper cheer happily.

While the other strawhat crew watch, luffy being all jealous, he wants you to hug him. But luffy thinks you'll be great joining his crew, even though you don't know how to fight.

"Dinner ready!" Sanji yelled. You held Chooper and then rushed to the kitchen, "(Y/N)-swan! Here are some meat steaks!" Said sanji, putting the plate in front of you. You smiled and gave him some headpet.

Sanji eyes turn to heart, flustered by your voice, and zoro is pretty much jealous. "(Y/N)! Feed me!" Said Chooper, you smiled, luffy want you to feed him too.

"(Y/N)! Feed me too!" He yelled, you noticed and fed luffy. Zoro saw this and wanted to join in too, he pick a food. "Oi! You should try this! It tastes delicious!" He said, you lean over the table to take a bite, and you did.

Zoro was blushing because he saw your chest, "(Y/N)!" You look over to Nami handing some cake. "Say 'ahh'!" She said, you open your mouth and take a bite, "Ahh! It tastes delicious!" You said with red cheeks on your face.

Making everyone blush, you take out of steak and want to give it to sanji. "Sanji, say ahh!" You said sanji was flustered, "of course! (Y/N)-swan!" He said and took a bite.

You smile happily. Then a boom erup to hit the ship, luffy look outside to see the marine. And they keep shooting, "Usopp! Keep (Y/N) safe!" Luffy order, you follow usopp.

And you made it to the room. "Stay right here till everything is fine! You got that!?" Usopp question, you nodded. Usopp shut the door lock, you turnaround, walk towards to your bed and sat down.

You so tried. It has never been like this. You remember it was yesterday. You were just a coffee owner. You're restaurant owner, but later that day, you were kidnapped by strawhat.

You try to escape them, but it no use. You try to pretend you were happy so that they know you're happy. They even destroy the village, your hometown. You lost everything.

Hey guys sorry interrup but do you remember the first yandere strawhat crew x reader?

That is where you escape from them. The strawhat thought they trusted you, but nope.

Fast forward, you went to the island of wano, you change your looks. And you have your hairpin. You got it from your grandmother when she passed away.

Hairpin:

You thought everything went well,

until...

you saw strawhat.

MORE YANDERE ONE PIECE CHARACTER X READER, JUST ASK ME!!!

[lavandulawrites]

Can you give us some Yandere Dottore please ☺️

Hurry Before The Dinner Gets Cold

Yandere Dottore x reader

Dinner with Dottore is never pleasant.

Masterlist

Word count: 794

The silver wear clinked against the porcelain plates. The room were dimly lit, making it a almost cozy atmosphere. A butler and a maid were standing against the east wall, almost like they were apart of the decoration. The wind howled outside.

In front of you sat Dottore. His gaze fixed on the beef on his plate. Blood was oozing from the rare steak as he cut into it with precision. Like a surgeon.

His eyes met yours. “Are you not going to touch your food dear?” his deep voice thick like honey. His expression one of concern. “I know that you do not trust me, but you need nutrition.”

Your mouth a tin line “I am not hungry”.

His stare unyielding. His eyes a replica of the dark blood in the many test tubes inside if lab. “Really?”

“Yes” you nodded trying your best to remain expressionless.

He hummed as his gaze bore through you. “Why do I find that hard to believe?” he tilted his head. He sighed and snapped his fingers. The butler hurried to him and bowed his head in an almost inhuman way. “Bring me the chef” he ordered. The butler nodded and hurried out. Not too long after the chef was standing beside Dottore.

“Is it perhaps that the food wasn’t to your liking?” Dottore raised a brow and nodded towards your untouched food.

You quickly caught onto his scheme and shook your head. “N-no! It’s not that at all!” you waved your hands and forced your lips into a tight smile.

The Harbinger’s eyes wandered over your features. “Are you sure darling? If your meal is not good enough, I will have to punish the chef. After all your happiness and comfort is the most important thing for me” his face twisted in concern.

Your eyes flickered to the chef who’s face was drenched in sweat. He was shaking. You gulped “I assure you the meal is not the issue”.

Dottore hummed. “Are you perhaps not feeling well?” his expression unreadable. “Everyone get out” he ordered. The servants and the chef all exited in a hurry leaving you alone with the blue haired man. “Let’s make a deal” he leaned forward and folds his hands hand rests his head on them. “You eat up all the food on your plate and I will spare the chef. Sounds good doesn’t it?” he said with a unsettling grin.

You looked down in your plate. With a shivering hand you lifted the fork to your lips. You closed your eyes to calm your nerves. A hum could be heard from opposite of the table “You better hurry for the dinner gets cold”.

You held your breath and shoved the fork into your mouth. The meat was tender and cooked after your preference.

“See? That wasn’t so hard was it now?”. You opens your eyes and were met with a sharp teethed smile. “You were afraid I drugged the food.”

You swallowed. “I have my rights to be suspicious”

“Of course my love” his voice melodic. “You were indeed right with your suspicion.”

You dropped your fork. You entire frame shaking. “What…?”

“Oh come now. It’s not dangerous. It’s just a way to get you a little more relaxed. I am starting to get sick of your small riots, so I came up with a solution. This drug will make your mind slowly but surely more submissive. I really do love you you know, but u can’t have you keep hurting yourself” he smirked. “Though it seems that I have to find a new way…” he sighed. “But worry not… I will have your memory of this dinner wiped. Just like last time…” his red eyes gleaming with something sinister.

Your eyes widened. The hair on the back of your neck raising. “Last time?” your voice shaky.

Dottore smiled “Yes darling. Wiping someone’s memory so mere child play for a man of my calibre”. He chuckled and rose to his feet. The chair scraping against the carpet. Like a animal he stalked towards you. He stopped behind your chair and leaned down. Much to your dismay you had to admit the doctor smelled good. Really good. His smell always bringing you a sense of comfort.

He leaned hand on the arm rest of your chair. His lips mere centimetres away from your ear. “Relax darling. This is for your own good you know?” his lips kissing your neck. He pulled away and placed a device against your right temple. When did he get that? The device glowed blue and it hummed slightly.

“Rest now…”

Darkness swallowed your senses and you fell into a deep slumber.

Dottore stroked your hair with a living expression. “A pity… I have to start over it seems.”

[circeyoru]

Unwanted Soul _ Part 3 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 (here) — Part 4 — Part 5

At first you allowed it because you understood Alastor was worried about you, as absurd as it was. Now it was plain annoying. Him requesting, no, that’s not the right word, forcing himself to be in the same bed as you. At first there was the excuse of you recovering and him not wanting you to roll over on you stomach to apply pressure to the wound. Then it was him not used to his new room. Now? He just flops onto the bed and hugs you no matter what you’re doing

“Do I look like a pillow to you???? Or a soft toy??????” “Darling, you are the best cloud ever.”

He doesn’t even mind you slapping the back of his head and snuggles closer to you. You gave up trying to escape his hold and continue with your reading or watching

It went as bad as to you needing a bigger bed since Alastor was always here with you. Alastor got you covered and gave you the best bed you could ever think of. You really just treated Alastor like one of your giant soft toys and slept, you’ll admit, listening to his heartbeat was more lulling than any other sounds. Your warmth and presence had the same effect to him

Oh, right. Alastor filled you in that you were in the hotel and you were occupying a room Alastor took for himself near his bedroom and radio tower. He connected your room with his, evident with the difference in style

You never seen his old room, but he did say he had half of the room as a bayou where he ate his meals. Yeah, he didn’t do that with you, never has he eaten a whole raw meat in front of you. This time though, it was just two different room styles on either way while the wall separating the two was gone. There was an extra door that replaced the window as a dimension to his feeding ground, you just never enter it

It happened out of the blue. When the room door opened and you thinking it was Alastor greeted him without looking. You noticed the lack of static or the obnoxiously loud announcement of his arrival, that’s when you looked up to see who you believe to be Husk from Alastor’s stories and reports

Before Husk knew what hit him, his neon green chains appeared and dragged him into the large room, the door closing and locking behind him. Husk landing on the ground looked up to see Alastor looming over him

You had to wack your memory to recall their relationship. Right, Husk was a former overlord of gambling and he lost his soul to Alastor in a bet to regain power. Poor choice of decision really. Why would you make deals with other Overlords that would want to knock you down? You looked away, thinking that it was none of your business how Alastor treated his souls, as long as he wasn’t like that to you

But your voice snapped Alastor out of whatever he was planning to the former Overlord, “Alastor, I’m craving some steak for tonight. Can you go to Rosie’s and get some nice ones?”

Of course Alastor knew you were giving Husk a save. Yet he can’t deny your request to have his cooking again. (you were binge eating snacks and cup noodles after your wound healed and didn’t want to eat his cooking) So he left into his shadows

Turning back to your laptop, you typed away for another new episode while Husk composed himself. You heard that sigh of relief, you knew Alastor was a cruel demon. You knew because he’d paint the streets red and black whenever sinners and demons alike would glance at you the wrong way, even worse when they said the wrong or vile things to you

“I’m curious, does anyone know I’m here?” “I know now.” “Mhm… You best leave before Alastor’s back and please don’t say anything. Else I’m positive you’d be wishing otherwise.” “Why are you here?” “I wonder too. Because of Alastor?”

You shouldn’t have phased it that way because Husk thought you were an innocent soul that Alastor took as well. That can’t be farther from the truth, but you let him believe as he please. Neither you nor Alastor wanted to disclose your hold over Alastor’s soul to anyone apart from the two of you. Perhaps you could play it like Alastor has your soul, that would make more sense. Maybe

Over dinner, you told Alastor that you’ll be making your appearance as his assistant in the hotel. That way it was reasonable to take the room next to his (that you are currently in) and you’d be always seen around Alastor (more like Alastor could always be near you). Alastor agreed without a second thought

He did added a little detail to your plan. That you two were romantically involved with each other. You shot that idea down immediately. Changing the subject, you told him how Husk thought you were the one that Alastor took the soul of. That gave him a good laugh and you a chuckle. Both of you calmed down, you with your small smirk and Alastor with his wide grin as you two met eye contact, thinking the same: That was such a ridiculous assumption

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet My Dearest Darling.” Alastor’s hand patted your shoulder “Nice to meet you all, Alastor’s told me all about you guys.” You had bowed your head a bit with a smile, appearing as humble as you could. The introductions went without hiccup, was what you would wish for “Pager! My good fellow!” Lucifer came over and wrapped you in a tight hug. “How have you been!?” You missed how Alastor was glaring daggers at Lucifer and the King of Hell was grinning like crazy. “Sire, just fine. Thank you for asking?”

Now it was everyone else’s turn to be shocked and confused. Questions came at you left and right. You didn’t even need to answer because Lucifer had told them you used to work for him. Your room would have been assigned next to Lucifer’s if not for Alastor’s intervention that you were to be ‘put to work’ under him

Well, now that there was something of an intermission for the hotel to bounce back to its former glory (if it had any), things were pretty chill around the hotel. Everyone did their things like usual. Though it was odd that things were unchanged, since you were supposed to be a new staff member. Yet they hardly saw you, nor did Alastor tell you to work on anything

All they knew was you were always in your room, doing whatever behind closed doors. Charlie and Vaggie had asked about you, from Alastor since you were barely out when they were active and the only other contact was through Alastor who was never bothered that you were slacking

Alastor reassured that you were writing scripts for his broadcast and doing your own research on something else, so you wouldn’t be leaving the room for the majority of the time

Everyone would catch Alastor using the kitchen at the oddest time of the day to cook or bake things, then bring it up to his radio tower to eat. When he was confronted on his odd mealtimes, he informs that it was yours. As for why he was the one making, he said it was because he sent you to work overtime and so he compromised

“The poor darling was feeling peckish so I, as the employer in charge, should do my duty, yes?” “Oh ho! No need to fret over my dear Pager upstairs, merely took a longer nap than usual and needed to delay dinner!” “My doe won’t be joining us for breakfast, still sleeping from all that work, you see. I’ll make some food later on.”

All lies. Each and every one of them. All this time, you were eating up on the internet provided by the hotel and doing what you do best. Laze around and chill. There was no work assigned, no script to be written, and certainly no research underway. You were doing what you would back home, now it was just a change in location. Then there’s Alastor joyfully serving you like always without change

But none was the wiser when any of them hardly knew you. Save for Lucifer. He’d pop into your room without Alastor’s notice and give you new books or comics or shows or whatever you please. All while saying they were gifts to you for all you’ve done for him. He was quickly chased out of the room when Alastor sensed another being with you

Now when it came to your break periods, your room wasn’t enough and you wandered around the hotel to stretch and give yourself a change of scenery

This was when everyone else got to talk to you and not through Alastor

Charlie got you to join in her exercises, wanting some feedback from you. You lazily joined, matching Angel’s attitude to it all. You two shared a knowing glance and smirk from time to time. Vaggie groaned and scolded Angel since he was the one that wants to be redeemed, but then turned to you to be more supportive and put heart into it since you were a staff

Alastor immediately poofed out of nowhere, hands on your shoulders while you had a bored look on your face at Vaggie. At the growing static, you sighed, “Please don’t.”

Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel raised a brow at your words. Vaggie wanting to pull you away from Alastor since from their point of view, Alastor was having a scary face again. Husk watched silently from the bar, wondering if you’d be ‘punished’ later behind closed doors for ordering the Radio Demon

But to everyone’s surprise, Alastor reverted back to normal and hummed, offering you his hand to escort you away from the group, “Shall we take a stroll outside the hotel, darling?”

That day, a whole street was painted red. You and Alastor returned late and just went to your room to rest. No one dared to question. They did wonder what would have happened if you said nothing when Alastor appeared behind you. Perhaps Vaggie was lucky she got off with a glare

You wandering the hotel became obvious to the others that you were ‘resting’ from your heavy workload given by Alastor which was rare, they noticed that there was no routine nor a fixed time you’d appear

They held off attacking Alastor about your workload since everytime they see you you weren’t complaining or drained in any way. So they continued as normal, sometimes asking Alastor if he was giving you enough breaks between work or if you were eating. Alastor kept up with appearances and assured them you were well and dandy. You had a good laugh at their concerns

Yeah, neither of you were going to correct it since there was no need

You’ll admit that Alastor was doing a good job at keeping people away from you, just as you like it. Though it could be because of his possessiveness you can tell. Still, it aligns with your wishes, so you leave it be

Once when you were on break and with Charlie and the others for a broad game day, another activity for bonding and the like. Suddenly left mid-game and went to the kitchen to cook, everyone thought Alastor was preparing for everyone’s lunch so no one questioned it. Soon enough you got up

“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, everyone turned to you “Hungry.” It was like you were on autopilot when you turned to walk into the kitchen Everyone else shared a glance, thinking it was time for food anyways. “Let’s eat.”

They weren’t prepared to see you leaning against Alastor with your arms crossed over your chest meanwhile Alastor was having no trouble plating whatever dish was cooked. Another point, you were just causally touching Alastor and he didn’t do anything! He didn’t even make a peep and let you stay there while he worked

No one could touch Alastor unless he does it first. No one touches Alastor especially when he’s in the kitchen cooking!

“Have a seat, darling, food’s ready.” Alastor cooed “Mhm~ Looks nice.” You remarked with contentment as you pushed yourself off of Alastor and sat on one of the high chairs on the island Angel noticed how only you had food and no one else, complaining, “Hey, what about us?” Alastor turned over, shamelessly commenting, “Oh, I finished using the kitchen, you can make your own food now. Sorry for taking so long.” The condescension was gone when he turned his attention back to you, “How’s the food, dear?” “Good as always.” You praised, glancing up at him to know he was overjoyed at your words even with the lack of expression. His eyes narrowing while his grin widened was the hint. “Could use some mini cupcakes when we play the board games later.” “Say no more!” Alastor snapped his fingers, making a bunch of ingredients appear. He turned to the crew, “Apologies, but I’ll be using the kitchen since you’re all merely standing at the entrance!”

Yeah. Everyone came to the conclusion that Alastor was extra weird after you came to the hotel. They’d ask Alastor about it but he would dodge the question all together or he’d just shift the attention elsewhere. They’d love to ask you, since you were somewhat more approachable? But you were just rarely around. When you are around, Alastor was not far from you

Note: Yup. Part 3. Amazing right? I blame the ask and you can thank the ask. The writing mood just hit me like a truck, so here's the result

Guys I'm very tempted to change all the stories in ask to a post format so I can keep track of them! Not sure about this yet, but if I do do it, the stories in ask will be replaced with a link instead and the stories will be readable as a post (maybe with a picture of the ask?). Do I reboot all of them or just start with the next new request?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@nevermore-ramblings

@justboredforreal

@youroneandonlysimp

[lustlovehart]

Caught In Her Web

A/n: I love women

Pairing: Kafka x Reader

Summary: [Yandere] Dinner never seems to go right with Kafka

Warnings: Toxic date, memory erasure, unwanted touching, unconscious kiss

Her gloved fingers tap against the wooden table, every sound only increasing the tension through the room.

"Hm? Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm not gonna eat you dear."

At this rate, you wouldn't doubt if she did take a bite out of you.

"Kafka, quit this, what do you need from me this time?"

"Don't be so heartless [Name], maybe I just wanted to have dinner with my favorite person through the universe's."

"Cut it out."

"I'm not messing with you," her leather covered hands slowly make their way into your own, both palms caging your own in hers as she makes heavy contact into your soul. "Let's just eat shall we?"

You don't reply, only looking hesitantly at your hand covered by her malice.

You knew of the existence of scripts, she never hid information from you. Whatever information she did withhold probably would’ve been stuff you wouldn’t wanna know anyway.

The food laid between you two, the steam floating off it being very visible, yet Kafkas eyes completely overshadow them, rather than being drawn to the appetizers your focus is entirely on her, you don't look into her eyes, but just staring at her gloved hands is enough.

She has that effect on people you assume.

Her left hand plays with your arm, the digits of her limb playful crawling up your skin until they catch onto your chin, forcing you to finally look at her.

"You know darling, it's common coutersy to look at someone when you talk to them is it not?"

“I'm not gonna look at you."

Her fingers quickly release you from her hold, a playful 'hm' leaving her lips as she takes a fork and, somehow, makes stabbing a steak look both violent and elegant at the same time.

"Fine, be that way, the least you could do is let me feed you."

"I doubt you'd give me a choice."

"Hm, you're smart, good," the knife cuts through the meat, her utensil slowly lifting it to your mouth, her lips telling you to say 'ahh'. "Be careful dear, it's hot."

You don't give her the satisfaction of listening to her, despite the heat of the food radiating off of it, you don't blow. You'd rather burn your tongue than make this criminal happy with you.

You were right, your mouth is in so much pain. You try to keep your face neutral, but you can't help letting a little of the pain escape.

"See, I told you it was hot. I just praised you too."

You swallowed, it hurt like hell, but you swallowed. You're sure if it wasn't boiling it would've been delicious, but what's done is done.

"Try to at least enjoy our dinner, this will be the last time I see you for a while"

"Hm, maybe you're right, that does sound like something to celebrate."

"Oh, so you're only witty when it comes to remarks against me?"

"Was that not obvious?"

"You wound me [Name]" she looked down at the food again, instead of giving you more she only sighs and pushes the plate to the side. "Seems the dinner plans fell through. That's okay, Elio saw it coming."

"So even your 'heartfelt' dinner was apart of the script."

"Not all of it, we were just meant to sit at table filled with food, that wasn't apart of the plan."

"So you decided toying with me would be funner?"

"Playing with anyone is enjoyable to me, it's just nicer when it's you." She smiles after her words. Just that, a closed lip smile at you.

You look at the clock she had set up, it felt more like a countdown than a way to keep track of time. 3 hours left, that's too long for you.

"What, so you added your flirtations into this dinner?"

The more you think, 3 hours left till what?

“Hm, I did, is there problem? I don't think I hide my liking towards you."

Your brain can't remember what it was you were waiting for. It's like the memory of what waited for you at the end wasn't there anymore.

“You don't, but I wish you did."

Keep... Date... As long... Possible...

She leans across the table, her lips ghosting over your earlobe, a deep laugh escaping from her throat.

“How will I express my adoration for you then?" Her whisper came out teasing, yet if you looked past that, you can hear her underlying annoyance slip through the cracks. "Perhaps lock you in a golden cage like an innocent bird? Or should I do like a spider and trap you in my web." You sit still, not daring to move.

"Jokes of course, though, I would like for you to stay with me."

Feint words of broken memories invade your head, beating like some painful headache.

"Once this is over, you'll be different. It's sad I won't be able to keep the [Name] I cherish, but it's the price we have to pay for the script. These last moments will be what I'll have left of you, so I hope we can enjoy it together.

The whispers felt familiar, like you've been through it before. Spirit Whsiperer...

"Now, can we please enjoy this last meal of peace before it changes ?"

Your hands grab onto her as you push her to her side of the table. Your breaths were heavy once you remembered the situation the damned clock. Looking back at the time, how could time go by so quickly?

1 hour left.

"Don't try using that shit on me Kafka. It was 3 hours left 10 minutes ago how the hell could that be."

"That's the [Name] I like to see." She doesn't answer you, not a single question. While you frantically shake her.

“I told you myelf, I really do enjoy messing with you." Her hands aren't gloved anymore. The leather long being discarded, her fingers slowly reach up to your cheek pulling you closer to her face.

Her fingers are cold, like a corpse. You don't shiver though. Her touch is the most undisturbing part about her. It's what makes her so horrifying.

"Times up dear." Her thumb ghosts over your lips, gently placing her digit on you. She stand up from her seat, being eye to eye to yourself, her other hand placing itself on your waist, seemingly pulling you closer.

"Boom."

Your vision blacks as your head falls forward, the last thing you remember being the soft feeling of your face resting on her shoulder. Ice cold fingers are left stroking your head as the sound of a door opens.

"At the end of the day," Though you're out cold, deep down she wishes you can feel the way her freezing lips place a chaste kiss on your own. "I'm a selfish woman."

------

A dim light is all your blurred vision can see, the sound of a feint hum ringing through the empty space as well. Your head is rested on what feels to be someone's thighs, whoever it is must be the one rubbing circles into your chest, more specifically, the area where a heart would be.

It's not beating. Your hearts not working.

"You're awake." Your eyes clear as you look up at the woman smiling from above. She's beautiful.

She's familar.

"Do you remember me?"

"..."

She waits.

"Do you like me?"

“I…”

She doesn’t say anymore, only tracing patterns into your skin as she waits, that unwavering smile still on her face. The lights grow darker. You don’t hear a throbbing in your ears, something someone with a heart would hear in distress. You don’t have that anymore. Well, maybe not anymore, you can’t remember if you ever did have one.

“Who are you?”

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Spinoff: Elysian

Pairing: Doctor/Mafia!Kim Seokjin x Intern!Reader 

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Ahhhhh sorry for the late update (Daniella was swamped) but thank you for anticipating this story! I hope you like this and please reblog if you do! Also also also. Have u seen how handsome Seokjin in in every content he releases…I am unwell

Masterlist, Part VI of __

Jung Hoseok was looking at him with visible disgust in his face. The fucker did not even attempt to hide it as he watched his hyung drank another shot of alcohol.

See, he could have drunk alone but this particular mafia prince decided to disrupt their fairly peaceful dinner when he sauntered in with an expensive bottle of whiskey that could feed a community from the price alone. Their conversation was abruptly cutoff when he placed the bottle on the dining table with a thud before proceeding to pour the content in a glass, and then drinking straight from the bottle like the lunatic and eccentric man he was proving to be.

Suffice to say, he was starting to get concerned at his hyung’s actions. He was a man of manners, priding himself to always be in proper decorum and holding himself at such a high esteem. The way he had been for the past few days were anything but the man he claimed to be. It wasn’t only Hoseok who found this peculiar. Park Jimin was nibbling his lower lips in worry, a habit he had from his childhood and was not able to shake off until now.

The brothers, sans Yoongi who was declared missing and presumed dead, all watched as their oldest hyung ignored them and instead, focused on his drinking while actively glaring at his phone as though the silence was offending him.

“This is familiar,” Taehyung commented with his deadpanned voice and continued eating his steak like nothing was amiss, uncaring of whatever was happening outside his dinner he specifically requested from the chef because Seokjin was not in the mood to prepare their usual dinner. “This was you more than a year ago.”

Jungkook looked at knife Taehyung was using as a pointer with a pout. “I didn’t reach that level of patheticness, thank you very much!”

“He’s right, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon butted in, his hand patted Jungkook’s back.

“Thank you, hyung-“

“He was worst.”

Kim Namjoon enjoyed chaos, it was apparent. He thrived in it, but his cool demeanor and his strictness made it seemed the opposite. The brothers knew better. He wasn’t the straight A student people perceived him to be. Nope, he was much worse with twisted sense of justice and humor.

It can be seen by the way he calmly sipped his wine, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle smirk as Jungkook exploded and Taehyung dodged the chicken thrown his way. Hoseok, ever the pacifist, didn’t know where to focus his attention to: the two youngest bickering on his one side, or the oldest who had just opened yet another bottle of whisky and was drinking straight from the source as though he had a spare liver and was testing the limits of his current one.

On the other hand, Jimin was on the corner with his phone plastered on his ear. “Hello, bear? Where are you? Come pick me up, I’m scared-” He paused as he listened to the response on the other end. “Hello? Bear?”

“Fine! I’ll just join my favorite hyung!” Jungkook pointedly said as he neared Jin who quietly passed him a glass of whisky. “You’re my only brother now.”

Seokjin suddenly lunged at his phone the moment it dinged with an alert, only to suddenly curse at it much to the surprise of the brothers. The force from which he slammed his phone on the table caused the expensive dinnerware to fear for their lives. Jimin timidly picked up the phone he threw across the table and read the message aloud.

“Dear Doctor Kim Seokjin, I hope this email finds you well. We wanted to extend our heartfelt congratulations to you on your well-deserved nomination- what is this? Are you mad because your research is nominated for a nobel prize?”  Jimin turned to his hyung with a frown on his face. He swore his brothers were becoming weirder and weirder as the days passed by. He was the only sane one here, truly.

Of course, it was perfectly sane to threaten any man who came too close to his bear, Jimin reasoned to himself. Or that he purposefully got injured in assignments whenever he felt like her attention was straining away from him.

Seokjin nodded, grumpily resting his chin on his fist. His thick dark brows were pinched together as he cursed at the message. “Stupid awards.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in realization, “Ah, I get it now. You don’t want award, you want noona.”

This again, Hoseok thought. There was no way his hyung was acting this way because of a woman. He knew his hyung. He was disgusted by women and didn’t find them particularly interesting. In fact, he acted like they didn’t exist and Hoseok thought it was because of his mother. He waited for the denial that he was certain would come…until it didn’t.

Seokjin was silent. The man just literally sat there and drank his alcohol as though he had no plans to deny Jungkook’s ridiculous claim, much to Hoseok’s surprise.

“If you want her so bad, why don’t you apologize already?!” Jungkook shouted, shaking Jin’s shoulder. Ever the competitive one, he caught up to the volume of drink Seokjin intake and now it showed through his loud voice and sluggish movements.

“I already did, you idiot!”

“So she didn’t forgive you! Deserved!”

“As a matter of fact, she did!” Seokjin screamed back at the youngest, the vein in his neck protruding and his ears reddening.

“Then what is the problem, hyung?” Namjoon prompted, even he couldn’t make sense of why he was acting the way he did.

“She forgave me!”

“And that’s…the problem?” Hoseok asked with a tilt in his head.

“Yes!”

“Because?” Jimin prompted, sensing that Seokjin was struggling to articulate his feelings.

“I don’t just want her forgiveness-“

“And they said I was the different want who couldn’t differentiate one emotion from the other,” Taehyung said in a deadpanned manner.

“I realized I don’t want forgiveness. I want-“

“-Her?” Jungkook finished.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Seokjin immediately snapped; his voice was defensive but there was a telltale pause, a moment of hesitation that betrayed his true feelings. He continued, his voice rising with each word, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as the others. “I don’t want her forgiveness. I don’t want her to text me again. I don’t crave her attention. I don’t imagine us running towards each other in a field of flowers somewhere in Amsterdam. And I certainly don’t want her to be the mother of my children!” His voice broke with emotion, and with that final outburst, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the others in stunned silence until the resounding slamming of several doors broke them out of their stupor.

---

You were deeply focused on your phone that you didn’t notice a certain someone standing in your way. You admitted that it was a bad habit of yours to be so utterly unaware of your surroundings nor the danger that it contained when you were thinking of something. It was later in the future when you discovered just how unsafe it was.

You certainly couldn’t have avoided bumping into him, but he could have– and yet, he actively chose not to. The collision could have been avoidable given the sparse amount of space around. It was five in the morning and the hospital lobby was not yet busy. Your pace was not even hurried and he was literally standing there and watching you with his dark eyes enter the hospital lobby. It wasn’t until you collided with his surprisingly broad chest did you notice him. You would’ve stumbled, maybe even fallen, if his hands hadn’t gripped your shoulders, steadying you.

“I’m so sor—” you began, but your words trailed off as your eyes landed on him. You had been expecting a stranger, but instead, you found yourself looking up at Kim Seokjin, someone you had seen not long ago (more than eight hours to be exact).

You blinked up at him, slightly dazed, as he looked down at you with something warm and unexplainable in his eyes. There was a subtle change in him, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t your concern anymore.

Not your monkey, and definitely no longer your circus.

You pulled away from him immediately. However, you noted that there was a hesitation in his touch before he let you go. It was brief and yet, you were sure it was there.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice smooth and calm. The corners of his mouth curled up in a faint smile, making his eyes twinkle with a touch of amusement.

“No, I should have been paying attention. My apologies, Doctor Kim,” you replied formally, drawing an invisible line between the two of you. Maybe if you did that, you could go back to the way things were before everything got so complicated. Right. It was just correct that you started acting professionally when it came to the Chief. He was, after all, your boss and you had embarrassed yourself enough. If you wanted that stellar recommendation, then you’d have to get your act straight.

You smiled at him and that was when he lost his. You bowed and proceeded to walk away from him, your attention back to your phone as though his presence could no longer affect you. There was something telling him that maybe it was true.

How could you just…brush him off like that?

How could you just go on while he was beating himself for pushing you away?

And how could you expect him to just accept what he found to be unacceptable?! He wasn’t Kim Seokjin, a trained Mafia prince, renowned doctor, billionaire, and the worldwide handsome for nothing.

“Ah!” he groaned dramatically clutching his chest where you had bumped into him, his voice echoing through the quiet hospital lobby. He made sure it was loud enough to grab the attention of everyone around him, including the staff. They immediately ran over to check on him, their eyes wide with concern.

You paused, frozen mid-step, feeling the eyes of the entire room shift toward Seokjin. You could sense it—theatrics. This was exactly the kind of scene you had wanted to avoid, but of course, Seokjin was never one to let things go quietly.

"Doctor Kim! Are you alright?" one nurse asked in a panic, while another was already dialing someone—probably a medic. Someone even was screaming emergency as more people gathered around him.

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to summon whatever patience you had left. He left you no choice. Had you leave, you would look like a bitch. Turning on your heel, you walked back to where Seokjin stood, still clutching his chest as if he were on the verge of collapse. His eyes met yours, sparkling mischievously despite the serious expression he tried to maintain.

“Really, Seokjin?” you muttered under your breath.

---

“Doctor Y/N, your negligence caused serious physical injury not only to anyone, but to our very own and beloved Doctor Kim!”

You flinched at the HR Department head before sneakily shooting Seokjin a hard glare. Seriously, he sent you to HR just because you bumped into him?! How petty could he be?

The answer to that was too petty.

Even petty couldn’t even begin to describe this!

Seated across from you, with an exaggerated pout, Seokjin held a warm compress to his chest as though nursing a life-threatening injury. Next to him sat the HR Department head, looking utterly serious.

"How are you feeling, Doctor Kim?" the HR head asked him, to which Seokjin gave a pathetic little whimper.

"I'm recovering," he replied, dramatically wincing as if your minor collision had left him grievously wounded.

You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to scream. This man is unbelievable! You weren’t just in HR because of a bump. You were in HR because Kim Seokjin wasn’t ready to let you go. Or was it his ego that couldn’t let go? You thought for sure that it was probably the latter.

“Did you even apologize, Doctor?” the HR head asked, her brow raised and eyes filled with judgment.

“Of course I did—” you began to explain, but before you could finish, Seokjin interrupted with a dramatic sigh, leaning further into his chair.

“It feels like she wasn’t even sorry,” he muttered, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt.

Your jaw clenched, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. You shot him another glare, your patience wearing thin. “I literally apologized right after I bumped into you,” you protested, your voice tinged with frustration.

The HR head frowned, turning her disapproving gaze back to you. "Doctor Kim seems to think otherwise," she remarked.

Seokjin's lower lip jutted out in a pout as if your mild collision had ruined his entire week. He clutched the warm compress on his chest more theatrically, glancing at you with puppy-dog eyes.

This was so beyond ridiculous, but you had no choice but to play along for now. "I apologize again, Doctor Kim," you said stiffly, the words forced but necessary.

He shook his head slowly, “I don’t think I can function well this week…”

Of course, the HR head ate up his performance without hesitation. Her face twisted in concern as she asked, “How can we make this better, Doctor Kim?”

Seokjin didn’t miss a beat. He lifted his gaze toward you, looking up through his lashes with the faintest smirk hiding beneath his pout, as though he was plotting something.

You braced yourself.

“Well,” Seokjin began, his tone measured and sweet, “perhaps if Doctor Y/N could make amends...by spending a little more time making sure I’m alright. After all, accidents can have lingering effects,” he added, his voice a mixture of innocence and something else entirely.

Your patience snapped. “I bumped into you. You’re not a fragile vase!”

But he wasn’t going to let this go that easily, and judging by the look on the HR head’s face, you were stuck.

“Enough. Because of the inconvenience you caused to Doctor Kim, you are suspended for a week.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. Suspended? For bumping into him? This couldn’t be happening. Your brain raced as you tried to process what had just been said, but all you could focus on was one fact—you couldn’t afford to be suspended. You literally couldn’t afford to lose a week’s salary.

Your crestfallen face almost made Seokjin stopped this act, but he couldn’t lose you. At least, not yet, he thought. Not until he figured out why his heart was fucking hurting when you weren’t around. Or why he was up all night because the thought of you leaving his life made him tossed and turned all night. Or why he was acting like a devious, Slytherin brat (something Jimin would surely was) just to keep you beside him.

“Or she could just assist me the entire month it’ll take me to recover-”

“Whole month?!” you repeated, dumbfounded at what your ex-crush was saying.

Seokjin’s eyes blinked innocently, as though he wasn’t pulling the strings of this ridiculous charade. “What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as if he didn’t understand the problem. “This way, you’ll get paid. Plus overtime. Plus premiums. Plus dinner with me everyday. What more can you ask?”

You stared at him, your jaw hanging open as you tried to process the audacity of his proposal. The way he smirked, leaning back slightly with a look of self-satisfied victory, only served to increase your frustration. This was outrageous, but somehow, you knew he was serious.

“Are you kidding me?” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just—”

“Actually, I can,” Seokjin interrupted smoothly. “And I will. Unless you want to risk a suspension that you clearly can’t afford. It’s your choice.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Seokjin had you cornered. He was offering a solution that, while absurd and humiliating, was far better than the alternative. And the way he leaned in, as if he was sharing a secret, made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Well?” he prompted, still wearing that smug grin.

[twistedheartsclub]

Dust & Desire Yandere Cowboy X Fem Reader

⚠️ Content Warnings for Dust and Desire: This story contains dark and mature themes including: Non-consensual sexual content (noncon/dubcon), age gap relationship, obsession, psychological manipulation, physical and emotional abuse, captivity, forced domesticity, pregnancy kink, gun violence, and themes of control and power imbalance. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

“You can cry, beg, even pray to the dust—but out here, I’m the one who answers.”

The Texas heat was unbearable, but Y/N didn’t notice. Not really. Not over the goddamn smoke rolling out from under the hood of her cherry-red convertible.

“Stupid piece of shit,” she snapped, slamming the door shut in her heels. The dry wind whipped at her dress as she kicked the tire out of pure spite. “This is what I get for trusting a man named ‘Craig’ with engine repairs.”

She was stranded. No signal. No clue where she was—somewhere between Dallas and hell, by the looks of it.

That’s when she heard it: the low rumble of a truck engine rolling up the dusty road. She turned, eyes narrowed against the sun.

And there he was.

Tall. Broad. Tan skin, messy hair under a wide-brimmed hat. One hand on the wheel, the other lazily holding a toothpick between his lips. He looked like sin wrapped in denim and flannel.

“You lost, sweetheart?” the cowboy drawled, stepping out.

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring. “What gave it away? The smoke or the cursing?”

He chuckled—deep, low, dangerous. “Feisty.”

“And you’re a walking cliché.”

He grinned like he’d just found a wild mustang to break. “Name’s Weston. You got a mouth on you.”

“And you’ve got a hero complex. Let’s not make it a whole thing.”

But it would be.

Because once he got her back to his ranch, the game would change. And Weston? He didn’t like letting things go. Especially not her.

Y/N sat stiffly at the long, worn wooden table, eyeing the cast iron skillet sizzling on the stove. The ranch house smelled like butter, garlic, and something shockingly good.

“You cook?” she asked, eyebrows raised, arms still folded tight across her chest.

Weston didn’t look back. Just grunted. “A man’s gotta eat. And I don’t eat takeout.”

“I eat takeout,” she muttered, watching the way his shoulders flexed under his faded t-shirt. “Shocker, huh? I don’t cook, I don’t sew, I don’t iron some cowboy’s damn jeans.”

He finally turned around, plate in hand. “Didn’t ask you to.”

He set the plate in front of her—perfectly cooked steak, golden potatoes, roasted vegetables. It smelled like something out of a high-end steakhouse.

Y/N blinked. “Holy shit.”

Weston just smirked and leaned against the counter, watching her.

She took a bite—closed her eyes—and then begrudgingly muttered, “Okay. That’s annoyingly good.”

“Mama taught me well,” he said. “She believed a woman oughta know how to feed a man. I just figured I’d better learn in case I ended up with a pretty little thing who didn’t have a clue.”

Y/N froze.

“You mean, like… me?”

He shrugged, slow and dangerous. “Somethin’ like that.”

“I’m not gonna be your little housewife, Weston.”

He walked over, leaned in low, voice a rough whisper against her ear. “That’s the thing, darlin’. You don’t gotta be yet. I got time. I can teach you.”

Her stomach twisted.

She pushed the plate away, suddenly unsettled. “I should go. My car might be working by now.”

“It ain’t,” he said simply.

“You didn’t even check.”

“I didn’t have to.”

She stood fast, and he moved faster—blocking the front door with that easy, predator stride.

“Weston—”

“You can sleep in the spare room tonight,” he said, voice calm. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you.”

But the look in his eyes said he wanted to.

And the way his jaw ticked when she huffed and stomped off?

Said one thing clear as day:

He wouldn’t be patient forever.

The “spare room” was clean. Too clean.

Fresh sheets. No dust. A candle on the nightstand that hadn’t been lit—but had definitely been touched recently.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. Weston didn’t strike her as a lavender-vanilla candle type of guy.

She sat on the edge of the bed, biting her bottom lip. Her heels were off, her dress wrinkled from the day’s disaster, but she still didn’t feel comfortable enough to change. Not with him roaming around somewhere out there in the house, quiet as a shadow.

Still, she needed answers.

She padded out barefoot, tiptoeing past the living room, where the dim light of the TV flickered but no sound played. The house creaked under its own age, the wind whispering against the windows like old ghosts. She found herself drawn to a half-open door down the hall. Wooden. Unassuming.

Inside, a room.

Not his bedroom. Not quite.

There was a closet. Closed.

And a dresser.

Curiosity—it always got her in trouble.

She opened the top drawer slowly… and froze.

Lace. Soft, delicate lingerie—blush pink, creamy white. Her size. Not a tag in sight. All worn, washed, and folded carefully. On top: a delicate white sundress with little blue flowers.

Her stomach dropped.

The closet creaked when she touched it.

Inside? A pair of boots. Small. Her size again.

“What the hell…”

Then—

“I wondered when you’d find this room.”

His voice, low and gritty, slid down her spine like ice.

She spun, heart racing. Weston stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he’d been there forever.

“What is this?” she demanded, voice cracking with more fear than she wanted to admit.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped inside. Closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“You really don’t get it yet, do you?” he asked, voice calm. “You ain’t here by accident, sugar. I didn’t just find you.”

Her breath caught.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you in Dallas two weeks ago,” he said, stepping closer. “That little walk you did through the farmer’s market in heels and red lipstick, acting like the heat couldn’t touch you. You stuck in my head like a bullet.”

Her back hit the dresser.

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I needed you. And now I got you.”

He reached out slowly—fingers brushing her cheek, featherlight.

“You’re gonna look so goddamn pretty in that dress.”

Her voice was a whisper. “You planned this.”

“I dreamed about it, darlin’,” he murmured, leaning in close. “And dreams like that? A man like me don’t let ‘em go.”

Y/N’s chest heaved as Weston’s words settled in the room like heat—thick and suffocating.

I needed you. And now I got you.

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Until he reached for her.

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

That made him smile. Not kindly. Not amused. Something darker.

“Little firecracker,” he murmured, stepping in again.

This time, she had nowhere to run. His body boxed her in, the dresser cold against her spine. He lifted a hand—not fast, not rough—but firm. His fingers wrapped around her jaw, not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to remind.

“I saved your pretty ass out there in the middle of nowhere,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Fed you. Gave you a bed. And you still act like I’m the villain.”

“You are,” she hissed, struggling against his grip.

His thumb stroked the corner of her mouth.

“You don’t even know what a villain looks like, sugar.”

And then, slow and deliberate, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Not sweet.

Claiming.

She turned her head sharply, but he just chuckled and backed off. Barely.

“Change,” he said.

“What?”

He nodded toward the sundress and the silk pajama set folded neatly on the bed now. Had he… brought it in while she was distracted?

Her heart stuttered.

“No.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Right now. I wanna see you. All of you.”

She blinked. “You’re insane if you think I’m stripping in front of you.”

“I already know what’s under that dress,” he said, stepping back but never looking away. “I’ve seen it in my head a thousand times. Those hips, that waist. God made you to carry babies, didn’t He?”

Her whole body went cold.

“I’ll turn around,” he offered. “If that makes you feel better.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t give her a choice.

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she slowly reached for the zipper behind her back. Shame crawled up her spine, but something else throbbed in the silence—fear. And maybe… something sicker, something she hated herself for.

He watched.

She dropped the dress, left in her bra and panties. Weston’s jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

“That’s enough,” she whispered. “You got your show. Now get out.”

But he didn’t leave.

He walked up behind her—close—and whispered against the shell of her ear:

“You’re already mine, city girl. The only thing left is for you to admit it.”

The click of the lock was louder than the kiss he’d left on her cheek.

Y/N stood frozen in the middle of the room, still in her underwear, the silky pajamas untouched on the bed. The air felt thinner somehow. Hotter. Like the whole damn ranch was watching her.

She lunged at the doorknob. Yanked. Rattled. Nothing.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered.

She was locked in.

Trapped.

Tears stung her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She wasn’t going to cry over some flannel-wrapped psycho with a god complex.

But as the silence stretched on, something inside her started to bend.

How did she even get here?

She tried to backtrack—mentally, emotionally. She’d left the city two days ago. Quit her job. Told no one. Her ex had posted that smug engagement announcement with his new, perfect little fiancée. Her landlord raised the rent. Her friends had started drifting like they all do when you’re the last single one in the group.

She hadn’t been running to anything.

She’d just been running.

And now she was locked in a stranger’s house with a man who watched her like he already owned her womb.

She paced for hours.

Checked the windows (nailed shut). The walls (thick). Looked for a phone (none).

Her eyes kept flicking to the silky little pajamas he left.

She didn’t put them on.

She curled up under the covers in her bra and panties, heart hammering too loud to sleep.

But she did sleep.

Eventually.

And when she woke…

She smelled bacon.

And eggs.

And coffee.

She opened the door fast, expecting resistance. Instead—nothing.

Wide open.

She hesitated.

And only then did she remember what she was wearing.

Bra. Panties. That’s it.

The chill in the hallway nipped at her skin, but shame was colder.

She spun around to grab the pajamas—but paused.

If she put them on, she’d be letting him win. He wanted her to wear them.

Her jaw clenched.

So instead, she walked out exactly as she was. Chin high, stomach flipping. Every step felt like a dare she didn’t know how to take back.

Weston didn’t even turn around at first. But his shoulders went tight. Still. Like he felt her before he heard her.

“Morning, sugar,” he drawled. Voice just a little deeper now. Rougher. “Hope you slept alright.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

His back muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he flipped eggs in the pan. But his eyes? They flicked over his shoulder—and down her body like a slow drag of heat.

“You forget somethin’, sweetheart?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You locked me in. So no, I didn’t have much wardrobe to choose from.”

His grin was sinful. “Can’t say I mind the view.”

“You locked me in!.”

“I did,” he said simply. “You were upset. I didn’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”

“I’m not crazy,” she snapped.

“Didn’t say you were. But you do got that wild look in your eyes. Like you don’t know what you need.”

He turned then, holding a plate stacked with food. He nodded toward the table.

“Sit. Eat. You’ll feel better.”

She stared at him. He was acting like it was just another Sunday morning.

Her mouth was dry.

“Why is the door unlocked now?”

He smiled—slow, wolfish. “Maybe I trust you now.”

She didn’t move.

But the smell of bacon twisted in her stomach, and hunger was a cruel thing.

“I hate you,” she muttered, taking a seat.

Weston placed the plate in front of her. Bent down low.

“You will,” he whispered. “But not for long.”

Y/N sat stiffly at the table, her arms still crossed over her chest. The chair was too wide, the room too quiet, and Weston was too relaxed.

He set the plate in front of her—eggs, bacon, crispy potatoes, a fresh biscuit. All homemade. Like he hadn’t locked her in a room hours ago.

She grabbed the fork with shaky fingers and took a bite. She hated how good it tasted.

“You cook like this every day?” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“Only when I’m feedin’ someone important,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.

She paused mid-chew. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“That whole… fate thing. The ‘you were made for me’ thing. I’m not your little ranch wife.”

He leaned on the table across from her, arms folded, eyes dark and slow as they traveled her body. Her skin prickled.

“You wearin’ lace in my kitchen, sugar,” he murmured. “That’s already more housewife than I ever dreamed.”

She glared, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t stop yourself, neither.”

He reached forward suddenly, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. A crumb. Maybe. Or just an excuse.

Y/N froze. His hand was warm. Rough.

“You got a habit of bein’ messy,” he said softly. “Might have to teach you some manners.”

She slapped his hand away, hard. The sound echoed.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

His jaw twitched, the muscle flexing once.

And then—he smiled.

That terrifying, patient, twisted smile.

“You’ll ask me to, eventually,” he said, calmly sipping his coffee like she hadn’t just hit him. “And when you do… it won’t be like that.”

He stood, dragging his chair around the table. Sat beside her instead of across. So close she could feel the heat rolling off him.

“You can eat. You can talk. You can fight. But you ain’t leavin this table ‘til we get real clear on somethin’.”

Y/N stiffened. “What?”

“You belong to me now.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” he cut in, voice hard now. “You can yell, you can cry, hell, you can try to run again. But I will catch you. And next time? I won’t be so sweet about it.”

She stared at him, breath shallow.

Weston leaned in, nose brushing her temple as he whispered:

“Finish your breakfast, baby girl. You’ll need your strength.”

She tried to sleep that night with the door unlocked.

Big mistake.

The silence of the ranch crept under her skin—every creak, every whisper of wind felt like a breath at her neck.

And it was.

Because when she rolled over in the dark, he was already there.

Weston.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, boots off, shirt undone, that look in his eyes so full of hunger it made her breath catch.

“I knew you’d stay,” he whispered.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “What are you—”

“I gave you a choice, darlin’. Let you roam. Let you eat. Let you think.”

He leaned closer. His hand found her thigh, squeezing—hard.

“But now I take.”

“Don’t—”

She tried to scoot back, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward, fast, rough, desperate.

“I warned you,” he growled, pinning her to the bed. “Warned you what happens when I stop bein’ sweet.”

She struggled, legs kicking, but he was already between them, weight pressing her down like a cage.

“Please, Weston—”

He silenced her with a kiss. Brutal. Wet. Possessive. His teeth scraped her lip.

“You’ll remember this,” he muttered, kissing down her jaw, her neck. “You’ll wear the marks.”

And she did.

He left bruises on her hips.

Bit her shoulder when she screamed his name—not in pleasure, not yet.

But he took it anyway.

He used her body like it was his. Because in his mind—it was.

After, he didn’t speak. Just laid behind her, arm wrapped tight around her waist, hand resting over her stomach like he was already thinking about filling it.

And in the dark, voice low and raw, he whispered:

“That’s the first time. You’re mine now. Body and soul.”

Later…

She woke sore. Bruised. Silent.

And the scent of coffee and eggs hit her again.

But so did something else.

A small bucket by the door. A wash rag. A pile of folded clothes—not hers. Simple cotton. Modest. Domestic.

Weston walked in without knocking.

He tossed her an apron.

“Time you learned how to hang laundry and sweep a floor,” he said, not even looking at her face. “Might as well earn your keep while you soften up.”

She said nothing.

She just sat there, hollow, wrapped in his shirt.

And all he did was smirk.

Because he knew the breaking had begun.

The sun was hot.

Too hot for a girl like Y/N—city-born, skin delicate, not used to this kind of work. Not used to the weight of cotton on her back, the scrape of splinters under her nails, or the feeling of being watched from the porch while she hung damp laundry on the line.

She dropped the wooden clothespin. It landed in the dirt near her bare foot.

Weston didn’t say a word.

Just sat on the rocking chair, legs spread wide, boots tapping the porch wood, a glass of sweet tea sweating in his hand as he watched her bend down.

She hesitated.

He didn’t stop watching.

So she bent slow, jaw tight, skirt lifting just enough for him to see the back of her thighs—where the bruises still lingered from the night before.

“Good girl,” he murmured under his breath.

She flinched.

When she turned around, he was already standing. Moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps. She froze—clothespin still in hand.

“Lotta work to do,” he said, taking the sheet from her and smoothing it out. “You learnin’. I like that.”

“I’m not your wife,” she said, voice hoarse.

He grabbed her chin, fingers rough. Not tight enough to bruise—but enough to remind her.

“Not yet.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips just barely against her cheek—where his stubble scratched her last night. Where he bit her.

“You start actin’ like one,” he whispered. “Maybe I’ll stop takin’ you like a whore.”

She shoved him, hard.

He laughed. Full, low, cruel.

“You’ll beg me for it again,” he said. “Once the need sets in. Women like you—full hips, soft belly—built to be bred. You’ll ache for it soon enough.”

She threw the clothespin at him.

He caught it midair. Smiled.

“Fiesty little thing,” he murmured, eyes glinting.

Later That Day

He had her sweeping the porch.

The rhythm of it—sweep, drag, sweep—started to dull her brain. Her body moved on autopilot, exhausted, sweaty, aching between her legs. He brought her water. Watched her drink. Wiped her lip with his thumb when she spilled.

“That’s it, sugar. Keep drinkin’. Gotta keep you strong.”

She hated how gentle his tone was.

As if she asked for this.

As if she was already his wife in everything but name.

Then Came the Neighbor.

An old truck pulled up the drive. Weston tensed.

Y/N looked up, startled. Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her hands were shaking on the broom.

The man who stepped out was in his forties—rough, sunburned. Wore a badge on his belt.

“Sheriff Colton,” Weston said with a drawl. “Didn’t expect ya.”

Colton eyed Y/N immediately. His gaze lingered. Not in a lecherous way. In a worried one.

“Everything alright here?” he asked slowly. “Ma’am?”

Y/N opened her mouth.

Weston’s arm slid around her waist like a snake. Tight.

“She’s just shy,” he said, squeezing her side. “Ain’t used to country folks yet.”

Colton tilted his head. “You okay, miss?”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Weston’s fingers pressed—hard—into her hip, right where no one could see.

She forced a smile.

“I’m fine.”

The lie tasted like blood.

The sheriff’s truck disappeared down the dirt road in a trail of dust.

Y/N stood frozen on the porch, broom limp in her hand, her fake smile still twitching on her lips. Weston hadn’t said a word since Colton left. Just stood beside her. Silent. Still.

Until the front door creaked open, and he nudged her inside.

Then he shut it.

Locked it.

Deadbolt. Chain.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

She turned to face him—and the look in his eyes made her stomach twist.

Not fire. Not rage.

Something colder.

“Almost made a real mess of things out there,” he said softly, stepping toward her.

She backed up.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You paused.” His voice stayed calm, deadly smooth. “You looked at him like he could save you.”

She hit the wall.

He cornered her with one arm planted beside her head, his face close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“You think that badge means he’d believe you?” Weston whispered. “You think anyone’s gonna take the side of some run-down city girl shakin’ in her panties over the man who feeds her?”

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?” His voice snapped, hand suddenly wrapping around her throat—not choking, just holding. Controlling. “Please stop? Please don’t hurt me? Or is it please do it again like last night?”

Tears stung her eyes.

“I saw the way you moved this morning,” he murmured, pressing his hips into hers. “Limping a little. Sore. But you still came to breakfast like a good girl.”

He let go.

She gasped.

And then—he kissed her forehead.

“I ain’t mad, sugar,” he said sweetly. “You just don’t understand yet. So I’m gonna teach you.”

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the dining room table. Pulled out one of the sturdy, oak chairs.

“Sit.”

She hesitated.

“SIT.”

She sat.

He left and came back with a set of leather cuffs—soft on the inside. Worn.

She tried to bolt. He caught her. Bent her over the table.

“Don’t make me tie you up like an animal,” he growled in her ear, “but I will if you make me.”

She stopped struggling.

He cuffed her wrists to the arms of the chair. Fastened them gently. Like he was tucking her in.

Then he knelt in front of her.

Lifted her dress.

Pulled her panties aside.

“You don’t speak to no one but me. You don’t look at no one but me. You wanna earn your way outta this chair?”

His voice was pure gravel now.

“Then you sit real still, baby. I’m gonna make you remember who owns you.”

And he did.

Every cry.

Every squirm.

Every tear down her flushed cheeks…

He swallowed them.

When it was over, she was shaking. Raw. Ruined.

He unbuckled the cuffs with a soft kiss to her palm.

“That’s my girl. You’ll do better next time.”

The sheriff’s truck disappeared down the dirt road in a trail of dust.

Y/N stood frozen on the porch, broom limp in her hand, her fake smile still twitching on her lips. Weston hadn’t said a word since Colton left. Just stood beside her. Silent. Still.

Until the front door creaked open, and he nudged her inside.

Then he shut it.

Locked it.

Deadbolt. Chain.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

She turned to face him—and the look in his eyes made her stomach twist.

Not fire. Not rage.

Something colder.

“Almost made a real mess of things out there,” he said softly, stepping toward her.

She backed up.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You paused.” His voice stayed calm, deadly smooth. “You looked at him like he could save you.”

She hit the wall.

He cornered her with one arm planted beside her head, his face close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“You think that badge means he’d believe you?” Weston whispered. “You think anyone’s gonna take the side of some run-down city girl shakin’ in her panties over the man who feeds her?”

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?” His voice snapped, hand suddenly wrapping around her throat—not choking, just holding. Controlling. “Please stop? Please don’t hurt me? Or is it please do it again like last night?”

Tears stung her eyes.

“I saw the way you moved this morning,” he murmured, pressing his hips into hers. “Limping a little. Sore. But you still came to breakfast like a good girl.”

He let go.

She gasped.

And then—he kissed her forehead.

“I ain’t mad, sugar,” he said sweetly. “You just don’t understand yet. So I’m gonna teach you.”

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the dining room table. Pulled out one of the sturdy, oak chairs.

“Sit.”

She hesitated.

“SIT.”

She sat.

He left and came back with a set of leather cuffs—soft on the inside. Worn.

She tried to bolt. He caught her. Bent her over the table.

“Don’t make me tie you up like an animal,” he growled in her ear, “but I will if you make me.”

She stopped struggling.

He cuffed her wrists to the arms of the chair. Fastened them gently. Like he was tucking her in.

Then he knelt in front of her.

Lifted her dress.

Pulled her panties aside.

“You don’t speak to no one but me. You don’t look at no one but me. You wanna earn your way outta this chair?”

His voice was pure gravel now.

“Then you sit real still, baby. I’m gonna make you remember who owns you.”

And he did.

Every cry.

Every squirm.

Every tear down her flushed cheeks…

He swallowed them.

When it was over, she was shaking. Raw. Ruined.

He unbuckled the cuffs with a soft kiss to her palm.

“That’s my girl. You’ll do better next time.”

The sun spilled through the kitchen windows, golden and warm, softening everything it touched. Even her.

Y/N stood at the counter, hair messy, apron dusted in flour. Her fingers worked the dough slowly, eyes lowered—not because she wanted to obey, but because he told her to.

Weston stood behind her, close enough for her to feel the heat of him—his presence constant, looming. One hand on her hip, thumb brushing the curve there in lazy circles.

“You’re learnin’,” he said low, voice deep and pleased. “Ain’t that nice?”

She didn’t respond.

“Use more pressure, sugar. Push it down. Like this.”

His hand covered hers, guiding the motion—firm, rough, in control.

She hated the way her stomach fluttered. Hated how his breath on her neck made her thighs tighten.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you. You’re built for this.”

“For what?” she whispered.

He leaned in close, lips grazing her ear.

“Cookin’. Cleanin’. Breedin’.”

She tensed.

“You think I ain’t noticed?” he went on. “How your hips sway when you walk. How soft you’re gettin’, how quiet you’ve become.”

She turned, ready to snap, to fight—but he was already there.

Lifting her onto the counter like she weighed nothing.

The dough was forgotten.

Her breath hitched. His hands were already pushing the apron up, pulling her panties to the side. Rough, practiced.

“W-West—”

“Shhh.”

He didn’t give her time to think.

Didn’t let her speak.

Just kissed her—messy, claiming, tongue in her mouth like he was already inside her in every way. His jeans pushed down just enough, her knees hooked around his waist. She braced herself on the counter, already crying out as he slammed into her.

No prep.

No patience.

Just pure possession.

“That’s it,” he growled, thrusting hard, knocking over a jar of sugar that hit the floor and shattered. “Take it. This is what you were made for.”

Her fingernails scraped the wood. Her breath came in gasps.

“You feel that, sugar?” he panted. “That’s me, markin’ you. Fillin’ you.”

Her legs trembled. The apron fell off one shoulder.

He grabbed her throat with one hand, not tight—just enough to make her listen.

“I’m gonna put a baby in you,” he said, voice thick with obsession. “Gonna keep you here forever. Barefoot in my kitchen, carryin’ my name and my child.”

She tried to look away.

He gripped her jaw and forced her eyes on his.

“You look at me when I claim you.”

And she did.

And she broke.

After

He didn’t let her down right away.

Held her there, spent and shaking, his head resting against her chest.

Like they were in love.

Like she had a choice.

And when he finally pulled back, he kissed her lips softly.

“Tomorrow we learn pie crusts. Then maybe we talk about names. Boy or girl—don’t matter. It’s ours either way.”

She didn’t plan it.

Not really.

She just saw the keys left carelessly on the hook by the door—heard the shower running upstairs—and ran.

No shoes. No coat. Just her raw body, still sore from the counter, still trembling from the things he whispered while he filled her up.

She peeled out in his truck, tires kicking up dust, heart slamming so loud she couldn’t hear the engine.

The town was a blur.

She didn’t even think. Just went to the only person she could.

Sheriff Colton.

She burst into the station, tears in her eyes, voice ragged.

“He’s got me—he took me—I didn’t want this—please, you have to help me—”

Colton stood slowly. His mouth set in a tight line.

She clung to his arm. “Please. You saw me! You knew something was wrong. You knew!”

He nodded. Calm. Too calm.

“Sit down, Miss Y/N.”

“I don’t want to sit down—what are you—”

“Sit. Now.”

She backed away.

And then… she heard the door creak open behind her.

Boots. Slow. Heavy.

Her blood ran cold.

“No,” she breathed.

Weston stepped into the room, shirt still damp from the shower, eyes unreadable.

“Colton,” he said simply.

The sheriff looked at her—then back at Weston.

“She came in screamin’, makin’ a scene,” Colton said. “Lucky no one else was here.”

Y/N’s scream died in her throat.

“You—” she choked, turning on the sheriff. “You’re helping him?”

Colton wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Weston did.

He stepped forward, and this time, she backed into the wall.

“You ran,” he said softly.

She shook her head, lip trembling. “You’re a monster.”

He tilted his head. “You’re my girl. And girls like you? They don’t get to leave.”

He nodded once to the sheriff.

And just like that—Y/N was in cuffs.

The ride back to the ranch was silent.

No yelling. No threats.

Just Weston’s hand resting casually on her thigh, like he hadn’t just hunted her down and reclaimed his property.

When they arrived, he didn’t drag her.

He carried her.

Over his shoulder. Like she weighed nothing.

She kicked and screamed until they reached the barn.

The loft was warm. Too warm. Straw and leather and wood. The scent of horses.

And restraints.

He didn’t speak.

He just tied her down.

Wrists above her head, ankles wide on the post. Bent at the hips. Completely exposed.

She whimpered, eyes burning. “Please don’t—please—”

He didn’t even undress.

Just unzipped.

“You wanna know what happens to disobedient little wives?” he murmured, voice like gravel. “They get bred ‘til they break.”

And he did.

He took her hard. Brutal. Over and over until she couldn’t scream anymore—until her voice was raw, her body limp, her cheeks streaked with tears and drool.

But it wasn’t just the sex.

It was the words.

“You belong to me.”

“You’ll never leave again.”

“I’ll keep you pregnant ‘til you forget who you used to be.”

At one point, she begged.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I won’t run again—”

He leaned in, teeth at her throat.

“Damn right you won’t.”

And just before he filled her again, he growled:

“Next time you run, I’ll cut the damn brakes. Then we’ll see how far you crawl.”

After

He untied her gently.

Held her.

Rocked her like a child.

“You’re home now,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “You’ll never have to run again. Daddy’s got you.”

[linos-luna]

Ask and you shall receive 💕

———————————————————————

My Queen (Pt. 2) 🔪

Yandere!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Warning: Yandere, 18+, delusions, Stockholm Syndrome?, Soft Sex, drinking

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3) (Pt 4)

———————————————————————

Another two weeks has passed. Your shoulder was finally healing but still sore. A weak point, if you may. You felt that the longer you were here, the more Hyunjin’s mind slipped into this delusion. And while you were technically his prisoner, it wasn’t all that bad…

Hyunjin was able to gather more of your items from your house as the days went by. He would also bring you new things as gifts. You wondered if any friends or family had realized you were missing. Were they even looking?

Whatever was happening in the outside world, it didn’t matter to Hyunjin. He was too busy with you. Loving you. Serving you. Spoiling you.

He would barely let you walk, opting to carry you bridal style anywhere he went. He dressed you everyday and would fix your hair. If you didn’t comply, he’d be angry but try and control himself to not hurt you. It was hard sometimes. He was very unpredictable and some days were like walking on eggshells.

A cheesy rom com played as you sat on the couch. A blanket rested on your lap as you waited for the man to finish cooking. You weren’t paying much attention to the movie and fiddled your thumbs on your lap.

Hyunjin soon came out of the kitchen, setting some dishes on the dining table.

“Dinner is ready, my love.” He said with a smile while taking your hand.

At the table you see a tasty steak dinner. You didn’t know he could make something like that. But maybe he looked it up online.

Hyunjin pulled your hair behind your shoulders before sitting next to you.

The steak was cut up in small pieces and vegetables nicely aligned with the rice. A glass of wine was there as well, nearly halfway full. Seemed like a lot.

You were about to take the fork to begin before Hyunjin stopped you.

“How about I feed you today.” He said while taking the fork. “A queen shouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I… I can feed myself…”

“My love, I insist.” He took your hand and looked at you with desperation.

He hasn’t been so serious about feeding you before so this was unsettling. But the least you could do was feed yourself.

“No… Hyunjin… I don’t—”

Hyunjin suddenly squeezed your hand tight. And it was very tight. The grip had you whimpering as your finger bones were squeezed together. Needless to say that it hurt a lot.

“I’ll feed you tonight.” He said sternly, suddenly getting very serious.

“H-hurts… you’re hurting me…” you whimpered and he quickly let go. Almost as soon as he went serious, he was back to himself.

“I’m sorry, darling!” He pleaded while kissing your hand. “I must’ve hurt your frail bones!”

You sighed as he began to feed you. The food was actually delicious and you ate the whole thing.

Hyunjin took a sip of the wine before holding it to your lips.

You were about to grab it when he slapped your hand away and tilted the glass for you to drink. You weren’t exactly fond of red wine but if you didn’t drink, it would just get everywhere.

The bitter drink went down your throat fairly quick and he was already preparing another glass.

“One is okay…” you said as you felt your cheeks getting warm. It must be a strong wine as you were already feeling buzzed.

“Nonsense.” He said before putting it to your lips again.

Drinking it again definitely left you buzzed and your mind was getting a little fuzzy. Nothing too crazy but you definitely weren’t sober.

“Was it good?” He asked. “I only buy the best for you.”

You nodded and he smiled with joy as he helped you to your feet.

“Um… Jinnie?” You had an idea, not sure how it would go.

“Yes, darling?” He replied quickly.

“I… I was wanting to um…” you looked down, feigning shyness. “N-never mind…”

He instantly got on his knees before you and held your hand. “No what is it, my love? Anything! I’ll do it!”

“I just… I wanted…” you paused for a moment, hoping that if you use his lingo, perhaps it’ll entice him more. “I want to… take a stroll… around the castle…”

“Why of course!” Hyunjin said before standing up and holding your cheek. “My queen needs her activities, right.”

You nodded as he took your hand and led you to the bedroom.

He got you a coat and held your hand as he started walking you from the room to the kitchen.

“Um… how about outside?”

“Outside?” He paused. “But we are strolling your castle.”

“But… but I wish to see the garden!” You said quickly. “Surely there is a lovely garden. All castles have one. You know?”

“Of course!” He blinked as if coming out of a thought. “I will take you there immediately!”

After putting on your shoes, he took you out to the backyard.

Now his backyard wasn’t anything special; in fact, it was quite small. There wasn’t really much of a garden either.

There was a small tree to a side and on rose bush. Trees from the neighbor’s yard carried over into his, leaving some apples hanging on the side. Other than that, the grass was almost dead.

“Wow.” You said awkwardly while looking around.

“I’m glad you like it, my love.” He said while kissing your cheek. “I was sure to fill it with the most beautiful flowers just for you.”

He motioned in a direction that had nothing, only dirt where a flowerbed could be.

“Hyunjin… there’s nothing there…”

“Nothing there?! Of course there is!” He chuckled and went to the area, reaching out as if he plucked a real flower. “I was sure to plant the prettiest flowers. The castle garden must be as gorgeous as you.”

You laughed nervously as he put the nonexistent flower in your hair and admired you.

“I-it’s… a lovely pink…”

“Pink?! My dear, that is purple.” He laughed. “The wine must be messing with your head.”

Hyunjin continued to walk you around, avoiding some spots as if plants were actually there. It worried you a bit.

“Jinnie… may I see the garden up front?”

“No.” He said bluntly.

“Why not?”

“Because someone will try and steal you away!” He said frantically.

You stepped back for a moment as he calmed himself.

“It’s getting dark.” He said while looking up to the sky. “Let’s go in.”

After settling down, you were in a nightgown. You waited for him to come back from turning out the lights in the kitchen and living room. He then came in with another two glasses of wine. Both half full.

You were still a bit buzzed from the last two glasses and looked at him confused as he raised it to your lips.

“Jinnie… haven’t I had enough?”

“Tonight is special.” He smiled while tilting it, making you gulp it down pretty fast.

With that, you were definitely past buzzed. Tipsy is more like it. Your mind was a little fuzzy and vision delayed. You only looked at him with drooping eyelids.

He gave you a kiss on the lips before pushing you on your back. For a moment, you snapped back into reality and saw him looking down at you. And yet… you had no ambition to move.

“Let me please you tonight.” He said while holding your cheek. “I promise to be gentle.”

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Let me worship your body as a queen deserves.” He added while rubbing your side and delivering another kiss to your lips. But this one was deep and filled with more passion.

As he kissed you, you found yourself doing the unthinkable. Kissing him back. Surely it must be the alcohol that was clouding your judgement!

Hyunjin loved when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss and making soft moans.

His hands were under your nightgown, lightly groping you as he pushed his tongue through. And you? Well you didn’t fight it.

“Please, my love.” He whispered against your lips. “Let me love you…”

His hand was already at the waistband of your panties and you could feel yourself getting aroused by his touch.

“Okay…”

“Hm?” Hyunjin paused, holding your cheeks while looking into your eyes.

“You can….”

“I can show you my love?”

“Yes….”

You couldn’t believe what you were saying. Your mouth must have a mind of its own! No way! Surely you weren’t in the right mind! Right?

“Thank you my love!” He said before continuing to make out with you.

“My dear queen…” he gasped between kisses to your neck. “No one is as fair as you… nor as beautiful…”

You blushed. His complements always felt good. Hyunjin kissed your breasts and nipples over the nightgown and slowly lowered your underwear.

They were already wet. Very wet actually. He quickly stripped of his pants and boxers, already noticeably hard.

He teased your hole with his cock making you gasp softly before he slowly entered.

A fairly tight fit, but felt so good.

“My queen…” he grunted as he started to thrust. “So tight��”

You moaned at even the slightest of moment and it got more and more breathy as he continued.

He held your wrists above your head with one hand while holding you cheek with the other. He passionately kissed you, swallowing your noises as he made love to you.

The feeling was amazing. So warm and comforting. For a moment you forgot about everything in the world and the situation at hand. What situation? He was loving you. Taking care of you and giving constant praise,

It all accumulated to when you had your euphoric orgasm. One that you hadn’t had in a long time.

After coming himself, Hyunjin pulled out and gave a few more sloppy kisses before resting next to you.

You only stared up at the ceiling. Where are you? What is happening?

“I need to use the restroom, darling.” He said while walking out. “Ill be right back.”

When hearing the bathroom door close, you stumbled to your feet and made your way to the front room.

Your mind was still clouded but it was clear enough to see that the front door was unlocked. Perfect.

You went to it. Excited for the taste of freedom but then you paused.

Your hand laid on the doorknob but you did nothing.

Open it! The voice of reason pleaded. But you didn’t.

He’ll be devastated if you leave! Right? Or is it that… you wanted to stay…?

No way! That’s crazy talk! Why would you want to stay with the man who kidnapped you?? The man that took you from your life! … Your boring and mundane life… A life where no one cherishes you like he does…

You shake your head at the absurd internal arguments and twist the knob. Before you do anything, you hear Hyunjin call out to you.

“My love?! Where are you?!”

Your heart was pounding. It’s now or never.

“Darling, what are you doing here?” Hyunjin chuckled as he entered the kitchen.

And there you were. Leaning against the stove, away from the now locked front door.

“I just… wanted a snack…”

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 2/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Your husband is more observant than you think. He's not quite sure he likes what he sees.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Jealousy, Intimidation

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

In a strange turn of events, your husband is at dinner today.

You're surprised he’s even awake at this hour, your late dinner still too early for his typical schedule. The staff seemed as shocked as you, hurriedly preparing a glass and plate for his end of table, which is luckily far from your own.

He eats the same meal as your first night here; A steak rare enough to moo, and a goblet full of wine. You ponder for a second how he hasn’t been struck down by scurvy with this diet. 

Unlike the first night, you don’t bother with pleasantries, nor small talk. The first few dinners of awkward half-conversations, gentle questions hanging in the air as he stared at you like you were a bug and you learned your lesson. Besides, you refuse to let anything ruin this night. Especially not him.

Ah, that thought has your lips upturning. There was supposed to be a beautiful meteor shower tonight, one The Earl said you’d have a perfect view of from the garden. Not to mention that they’d be visible for most of the night, stretching deep into the evening, leaving you plenty of time to reminisce and talk with your father-in-law. He always seems insistent you get enough rest, cutting off your rendezvous whenever you show a hint of drowsiness. You’re sure it's just his paternal instinct kicking in, but hopefully tonight he can make an exception.

To your luck your husband doesn't bother any attempts of small talk either. The dinner passes quickly, no need for formalities that draw out this uncomfortable time, and you finish your meal with a curtsy and a good night. Hopefully your husband doesn’t notice the extra energy in your step, fervent to get out of the dining hall.

—

Caleb isn’t sure why he bothered coming to dinner. He easily could’ve had the servants bring his steak to his chambers, allowing him the privacy to eat it in bed and nurse off the thunderous headache. Devils, what did that whore eat to make her blood so noxious on his body?

But he also knew he had a tedious night ahead, his massive hangover tampering any plans of escaping to the comfort of the town. With hours of boredom ahead, Caleb supposed he could at least try to go to dinner. At least have someone to talk to, even if it was the soft questions of his wife.

But tonight she is silent, not even greeting him as he enters the room. No questions, no comments, not even the polite small talk he’s used to. She eats her food in deadly quiet, done with her meal as quickly as she starts it. He barely hears her gentle “Good night, Husband.” as she scurries out, even with his superior hearing.

Whatever. Like he cares what she does in her free time. The less she bothers him, the better.

Now Caleb finds himself wandering the halls, the estate’s poorest wine bottle opened and clutched in his hand. His creator had disposed of the rest when Caleb slept one day, probably in an attempt to shape up Caleb’s act. He doesn’t understand why he’s still trying to curb him, especially when it was his creator who first introduced Caleb to the finery life had to offer. To give him everything and then force it away, Caleb wonders what kind of game he is playing-

Oh, speak of the devil.

There stands his creator, eyes pointed toward the night sky. It was a common habit of his, one Caleb never quite understood. He’d seen the same stars for centuries now, what appeal could it possibly still have?

It did not matter, the old man was probably being poetic, waxing to himself as he watched the moon. His creator did always have a flair for the dramatic. It’s no wonder no other vampire fancied him, far too brooding and fanciful. An absolute and total bore-

“Oh, it’s wonderful!”

Your soft voice coos, finally entering Caleb’s vision. He’s almost surprised he missed you, the tantalizing scent of your blood usually catching his attention even from across the house.  Maybe it’s because you're standing so close to his creator; His deathly smell covering up the sweeter notes of yours.

Caleb’s fingers curl tighter around the neck of his wine bottle

“They look like fairies, flying across the sky.” Your arm points up, the bareness of your arm almost shocking to Caleb. It was quite cold out, didn’t you think to bring out a jacket? Maybe it’s being so close to the large coat of his creator that leaves you unbothered. Even with the vampire’s cold body, the heat of the fabric must be enticing, given how close you lean into the monster’s side. A closeness his creator doesn’t seem to mind.

“Some say they are the tears of a martyr saint, still crying in his afterlife.” His creator points to the meteors painting the sky with one hand. It does not go unnoticed that his other hand rests on your back, too tantalizingly low. Caleb feels his chest burning. “Though, some Ancient Romans believed they were something else.”

You turn to his creator, your face curled up in a smile and a raised eyebrow. You tap his chest with your fist.

“What did they believe it was?”

His Creator chuckles, a deep sound that makes Caleb want to wretch. “I’m afraid it isn’t appropriate for me to say. But it is fascinating.”

“Oh, please tell me. You could whisper it in my ear.” You pout, the alluring pout of a nymph. Caleb’s knuckles go white. “No one is around to hear, Edric.”

Caleb has to stop himself from dropping the bottle. Since when did you call his creator so informally?

His creator acts if he’s contemplating, before of course giving in. He draws your body in even closer, leaning his free hand up to cover his mouth as he whispers in his ear. Once he’s done you do not draw away, nor does his creator’s hand leave its place by your neck. You two are practically attached at the hip.

A bashful, shocked look covers your face, quickly followed by a giggle like that of twinkling bells. 

“That can’t be true!”

“It is my dear. They believed it blessed their fields. Those Romans were quite odd.” Edric leans in again, his nose close enough that he must be drawing in your scent. “And quite provocative.”

You slap his chest, another delighted giggle coming from your covered mouth. 

Caleb can’t watch anymore. Can’t stand looking at your exuberant face, expressions he thought were impossible from you. Can’t stand to hear your delight.

He takes a swig of the piss-wine, stomaching it better than he thought.

The creator had weird delusions. Surely he is buttering you up due to his son’s utter failings. He had a way of falling into his roles almost effortlessly. Caleb is sure in his mortal life he was a performer, or at least had a dying wish to be one.

As he stumbles into his bedroom, half the wine gone, Caleb banishes the thought of you and his creator from his head.

There is simply no reason for him to be bothered by this. None at all.

—

To your relief, your husband is not at dinner the next night.

You take it later than usual, only heightening your fears that he might be present. Having slept in this morning due to the length of your last night, it brings a lightness that he is gone. You had forgotten how dreadfully awkward it was with him around, even when you ignored it. The fact that he was in fact your husband made it only worse, despite the fact you had discarded ideas of a loving marriage years ago.

But it does add to your despondence when you do see him in the garden, right next to your usual spot.

You notice him too late to leave, about to sit down on your favorite bench before you recognize his usual shoes, sprawled out on the grass with the rest of him. Those dark eyes of his merely graze of your from over the lip of his bottle, his clothing surprisingly neat despite how he lays supine in the dew.

“H-hello.” You unfortunately stutter, flinching at this invasion of your private space. “Husband.” You hastily add. You may not like the man, but you’re not a scoundrel.

“Wife.” Caleb says, much less vitriol and derision than you’re expecting. He says the term as it is, neutral. 

In a normal circumstance you’d ask what brings him out here. Ask if he enjoys the stars like you do. But months of nothing have taught you it’d be fruitless and that your words were better left unsaid. So you sit on the bench, look upwards, and try your best to ignore him. 

For a blissful moment you hope your arrival would convince him to leave. At least so he could drink and mope and…whatever else he does by himself. But he doesn’t. Caleb stays laying down, sipping on his wine and also looking toward the stars. 

You wish you could dismiss his presence as easily as he does yours. But like his father your husband is a rather large man, his spread out form hard to miss now that you know he is there. His alabaster skin and golden blonde hair deeply contrast against the blue-green of the grass, like a marble statue laid out in a field. Eye-catchingly attractive, you have no doubts the ladies of the town are missing him dreadfully.

It doesn’t matter, you don't intend to let him spoil your quiet time. He has free reign over every other part of the house, you refuse to back down from your corner of safety.

—

Caleb counts himself lucky you're so oblivious. So locked in your stargazing you don’t notice the periodic glances he takes your way.

Your skin looks extra soft in the moonlight, rays of it only highlighting your best features. The same smile from the night before is back on your face, even after several minutes of looking up at the stars and nothing else.

So, you were as star-obsessed as his creator. That must be why you were smiling so much last night, caught up in the rapture of the meteor shower. Only someone like that would enjoy his creator’s ramblings either, probably drawn together at that moment from sheer boredom. The knot unravels in his stomach, just a bit.

“Hello Caleb, I did not realize you’d be joining us.”

Caleb finds himself jolting, sitting up on his forearms as his creator creeps as silently as usual. His nose scrunches up, his eyes squinting. He’ll never get used to that. 

“I’m not joining you. Just wanted to lay in the garden for a while. I came here first.”

Caleb says, taking another defiant sip from his bottle. His creator, infuriatingly, shows no outward distaste. Instead he moves onto you, stepping right over Caleb’s outstretched legs.

“I see. That makes more sense.” His creator says, not even looking him in the eye. “He never was fond of stargazing, though I tried my best to teach him. Too obsessed with catching bugs to care for it.” He says entirely to you, in that tone fathers have when needling their children. It catches you off guard, a laugh caught by your open palm thrown across your mouth. 

If Caleb could still blush, he fears his cheek would be aflame. His fangs dig into the inside of cheek, his acrid blood mixing with the terrible wine. He jerks his head away, throwing himself back down to lay in the grass, unfortunately just like a child would. His creator just rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to stand and walk a couple paces over, to have some modicum of privacy.

Caleb fears at first that his creator’s greater perception would catch his frequent glances; That he’d call him out, embarrass him again. But to Caleb’s relief and great consternation, he seems far too wrapped up in you to make notice of his fledgeling. Your small talk is of the same drollness of last night, cooing over the heavens and exchanging stories, the kind that bore him to death. But you are enraptured, leaning into his creator’s every word, even excitedly grasping at his coat when a particularly joyant emotion crashes through you. His creator is just soaking it up. He lingers on every touch, takes in every detail and listens with a thoughtful look on his face. Caleb’s focused eyes catch the way his own drag across your neck when you point upward, how his hand moves from resting on your back to your shoulder to your neck, all in the guise of showing you something far away. 

You, oblivious as always, lavish in the attention like a blushing maiden. Far from the shy and proper touches you gave him on your wedding day, ever so polite even to your husband. Caleb hates the way it makes his unbeaten heart throb, makes his chest feel like lava as he sits in this feeling, unused to being on this side. 

But what sends Caleb over it is when you lock eyes with his creator. Still deep in a ramble about some story, your mouth moves a mile a minute, and Edric can’t take his eyes off it. It’s small, but Caleb sees his tongue dart out, wet his palette as he just stares at your plush lips.

Caleb stands up, making a huff and show of it to grab your attention.

“It’s late. I’m going to bed.” Caleb says, eyes focused on you instead of Edric.

“Oh.” you say, as if someone had just remarked on the weather. “I suppose it is. I should probably retire too.”

“Hmm.” His creator hums, a certain, cutting look in his gaze as he eyes Caleb up and down. “I as well.” He slowly turns back to you, “I had a great time, as always dear.” He bows.

“Me too.” You curtsy, that demure look back on your face. “Good night.” You say to both of them, but Caleb can tell you mostly mean it for Edric.

Your room lies on the opposite side of the estate, a tactical move to keep you as isolated as possible from him, another decision his creator had despised. It works to Caleb's advantage, as it means you give him and his creator ample time to talk.

Just as Edric turns to leave, Caleb strikes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Edric stops in his tracks, that smirk returning to curl up one side of his mouth.

“Whatever do you mean, Caleb?”

“You know what I mean, old man.” Caleb spits the words, knowing they fall like cats claws against steel.

“I am playing my part.” Edric says, so obviously with fake ambivalence. “Since you see fit to do as you please, it is up to me to make our guest feel comfortable. I am only acting as any normal father-in-law would.”

“Bullshit.” Caleb takes satisfaction in the way Edric flinches, his disgust for foul language apparent. “No father-in-law dotes this much. Hell, fathers hardly dote this much.” Caleb takes a stride closer, emboldened by cornering his maker. “Seems much more than playing a part to me.”

Edric’s head turns as if on a slow swivel, his perfectly trimmed brow quirking upward.

“Not that you would know, but the girl actually makes quite good company, the first I’ve had in years.” Edric keeps his eyes on him now, unblinking and void-like. “It is not odd for me to seek out actually stimulating conversation, once in a while. I too have needs.”

Caleb laughs, hand thrown against his forehead.

“She’s my wife. Do you remember that?”

In an instant, all the low light of the garden is sucked out. His creator crosses the space between them in mere seconds. He looms over Caleb, a cruel smirk on his face, eyes filled with a simmering rage. The sheer effect of it has Caleb taking a step back, fear catching in his throat.

“Do not forget your place, boy. Do not forget that the privileges you enjoy were given by me.”

This close Caleb can see the dormant swirls of red in Edric’s eyes, the pools of dark burgundy just hidden in his black irises. Caleb forces himself to keep eye contact, even if his animal brain calls for him to flee.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, merely minutes or hours. When you’re undead, time feels weird that way. But Caleb is thankful for his lack of breath, the lack of ache in his muscles, because if not he is sure he would’ve collapsed by now. 

The Earl’s lips curl back up, all of Caleb’s posturing for not. He knows his son too well.

“Go finish your wine, child. It will not enjoy you neglecting it for so long. It can be quite a jealous lover.”

Just like that, the mask slips back on, the Earl stepping back and finally allowing Caleb to rest. Glass cracks in his palm. With a swivel of his coat, Edric leaves him, knowing he’s won.

Caleb waits until he’s gone to throw the bottle, savoring the way it shatters against the garden bench.

[nanamineedstherapy]

The Symphony of Spite

Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Therapist Reader x Nanami Kento

Gojo Satoru x ..... (he's after one of your manz)

Also Crybaby!Gojo getting backshots from his Yandere

Summary: No summary. Read at your own risk. Because I don't even know what a good summary for this would be. A/N: I wrote this for fan-service. The fan was me.

Warnings (May Contain Spoilers): Crack Fic, NSFW Content, Explicit Language, Manipulative Relationship (just one, & it’s not yours—so relax), Toxic Dynamics (again, not yours—seriously chill), Office Romance, Love Triangle, Yandere (not your husbands, so breathe easy!), Corporate Shenanigans (think “The Office” but with more messy), Jealousy (why would you think yours? Do you not want a healthy relationship?! Let someone else have fun for once, please!), Mild Dub-Con (but only if you squint really hard), Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics (because we’re all about that corporate ladder climbing), Modern Corporate AU, Gojo is not all mighty here—just the office bimbo (yes, you read that right), you are a therapist married to Sukuna & Nanami (because... I honestly don't know), Satosugu genuinely hate each other (it’s not a enemies to lovers rom-com & has more punches), everyone wants to beat Gojo up (you'll see why), & yes, Haibara (the third wheel in your own marriage-one) is here for some reason winks. No use of y/n but you are referred to as wife once. Also, dycraphilia, fuckbuddies, & eventual smut—so if you’re underage or have a blog that’s ageless, please DNI. No, you can't skip it because they are talking during & it's essential to the plot. Enjoy the mess & remember: it’s all fun & games until someone gets a stapler thrown at them!

Nanami Kento and Ryomen Sukuna were two sides of the same corporate coin. Both had impeccable work ethics, immaculate wardrobes, and zero patience for corporate buffoonery. Their days were spent navigating a gauntlet of coworkers who couldn’t meet deadlines, bosses who made PowerPoint presentations last longer than historical eras, and HR seminars that reeked of faux positivity. And you? Their doting, mildly chaotic therapist wife, who absolutely did not have them as patients. That would be unethical, of course. But boy, did they unload their workplace woes at home as if you were billing them hourly.

It routinely started over dinner. Nanami was delicately slicing his steak while Sukuna gnawed on a chicken drumstick like he had a vendetta against poultry.

“Today,” Nanami began, his tone weary, “Kusakabe spent thirty minutes explaining why we don’t need to update our software, only to accidentally delete half the department’s spreadsheets because he clicked ‘yes’ on a pop-up without reading it.”

“Amateur,” Sukuna snorted, reaching for another drumstick. “I had to sit through three meetings about synergy today. Three! Do you know what synergy is? Nothing. It’s a fancy word for ‘waste Sukuna’s time.’”

You took a sip of your wine, your ears tuned in to the cacophony around you. It was as if a perfectly dysfunctional symphony of grievances had taken the stage, each voice blending into a chorus of disdain for corporate absurdities. Seriously, could someone just ask about your day? But of course, sharing anything meaningful was off the table, thanks to that pesky confidentiality clause.

---

A week later, you had a plan.

The idea struck during a particularly gruelling session with a patient who wouldn’t stop playing victim to her own bad decisions. You needed a release. No, they needed a release. Something cathartic but harmless. Something that could channel all their workplace frustrations into an outlet that wouldn’t get them arrested for arson.

You spent the weekend hunting for the perfect gift, eventually finding it in a quirky little music shop downtown. The shopkeeper had described it as “an instrument for anarchists.” Perfect.

That Monday evening, as Nanami and Sukuna returned home, you greeted them with an unsettlingly bright smile.

“What’s that face for?” Sukuna asked, suspicious.

“I have a gift for you both,” you announced, producing two brightly wrapped packages.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, his wariness palpable. True to form, Sukuna tore open his package without hesitation.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, holding up the obnoxious plastic horn.

“It’s called a vuvuzela,” you explained, barely containing your glee. “It’s an instrument. Well, sort of. It makes noise. Awful, horrible noise. Think of it as a stress reliever.” It was the infamous "instrument from hell,” notorious enough to be banned for its ear-splitting sound from hell.

Nanami opened his package with the resigned grace of a man who knew chaos was inevitable. His gift was a slightly different model, a kazoo. He held it up, inspecting it like it might bite him.

“You want us to... play these?” He asked, skeptical.

“No,” you said, grinning. “I want you to weaponize them.”

The next day, chaos reigned in their respective offices.

---

Nanami waited until Kusakabe began another ill-advised rant about company expenditures. He pulled the kazoo from his pocket, raised it to his lips, and unleashed a tuneless, nasally wail that drowned out Kusakabe’s voice.

The room fell silent. Kusakabe blinked. Nanami calmly put the kazoo back in his pocket and resumed taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Sukuna, predictably, took a more aggressive approach. During the fourth meeting of the day, as Fushiguro Toji, Chief Sales Officer (CSO) , droned on about “leveraging assets,” he stood, raised the vuvuzela like a battle horn, and blasted a deafening note that shook the windows.

“Consider that leveraged,” he growled before storming out.

When they returned home that evening, you were greeted by two men who looked far more relaxed than they had in months.

“You’re a menace,” Nanami said, setting his briefcase down.

“Best. Wife. Ever,” Sukuna declared, pulling you into a bear hug.

You smiled innocently. “So, how was your day?”

“Peaceful,” Nanami deadpanned. “Kusakabe hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Same,” Sukuna added. “They’re terrified of me now. It’s glorious.”

You couldn’t have been prouder.

In the end, the vuvuzela and kazoo became permanent fixtures in their work lives, an ever-present reminder to their coworkers that some battles were better left unfought. And you? You had achieved the impossible: turning corporate hell into a symphony of spiteful joy.

---

Nanami had long accepted that Kaisen Publishing wasn’t a company—it was a living, breathing disaster. As the Chief Finance Officer (CFO)—a position he’d achieved through sheer competence, meticulous planning, and the soul-crushing acceptance that mediocrity often reigned supreme in corporate life—his role demanded precision and discipline, qualities he wielded with brutal efficiency. Yet, despite his best efforts, he often found himself surrounded by chaos personified by Ryomen Sukuna, the Chief Visionary Officer (CVO), a title as nonsensical as Sukuna’s presence in the corporate world.

Sukuna was a walking HR violation, somehow both loathed and revered. His title was a sham, a position created purely to keep him from actually burning the office down. He spent his days offering “visionary” ideas like turning the break room into a paintball arena or replacing desks with throne room-like chairs. How he landed the role remained a mystery, though most suspected it involved intimidation, bribery, or sheer dumb luck.

Their hierarchy wasn’t just about titles—it was about grudges. Higuruma Hiromi, the Chief Legal Officer (CLO), had made it his life’s mission to bury Sukuna under an avalanche of formal complaints. “Improper use of company funds,” “harassment of legal staff,” and “general misconduct” were regular entries on Hiromi’s weekly HR reports.

Shoko Ieiri, the Chief Human Resources Officer (CHRO), was Hiromi’s closest ally. Where Hiromi wielded legal jargon like a sword, Shoko was the sniper, striking with pinpoint precision. She could cite obscure clauses from the employee handbook with terrifying speed, and her ability to weaponize HR policy was unmatched.

Sukuna, naturally, responded with equal malice. “You’re like cockroaches,” he told Hiromi and Shoko during one particularly tense meeting. “Impossible to kill and even more annoying to deal with.”

Hiromi adjusted his cuffs. “And you’re like a plague—persistent, destructive, and entirely preventable.”

Shoko simply smiled. “We’re just doing our jobs, Sukuna.”

“Your jobs are ruining my life,” Sukuna shot back.

“Correct,” Shoko said, her grin widening.

---

Nanami’s greatest regret was hiring Gojo Satoru. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—Gojo had potential, an impressive academic background, and a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Nanami thought he’d mold him into a competent executive assistant (EA). Instead, he got... this.

Gojo was, in many ways, the embodiment of corporate absurdity. His filing system was an enigma (folders labeled “stuff” and “more stuff”), and his scheduling skills were so bad they bordered on sabotage. Once, he accidentally double-booked Nanami for a budget meeting and a Zumba class. Nanami still hadn’t forgiven him for that because he'd never even taken a Zumba class to begin with.

“Satoru,” Nanami said one morning, staring at a calendar filled with overlapping meetings. “What is this?”

Gojo peeked over his shoulder, his blue eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Your schedule?”

“It looks like a Jackson Pollock painting,” Nanami deadpanned.

“I thought it’d be more efficient to, uh, multitask?” Gojo offered weakly.

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Satoru, if incompetence were an Olympic event, you’d not only take home the gold medal—you’d set a world record for sheer stupidity. Your talent for failure is truly unmatched.”

Later that day, Nanami would find Gojo crying quietly in the break room. But to his credit, Gojo showed up the next morning, ready to mess up all over again, still chasing the impossible dream of Nanami’s approval.

If Nanami’s life was an exercise in patience, Sukuna’s was an unrelenting storm of his own making. Geto Suguru, Sukuna’s EA, was the only reason Kaisen Publishing hadn’t imploded.

Geto Suguru was the miracle worker. If the company were a body, Sukuna was the ruptured artery, and Geto was the overworked surgeon keeping the patient alive with duct tape and sheer willpower.

Sukuna’s visionary ideas were like abstract art—vague, nonsensical, and utterly useless in their raw form. But Geto, with his near-superhuman patience, could transform them into actionable strategies. He charmed investors out of their skepticism after Sukuna’s profanity-laden tirades and even managed to prevent most board meetings from devolving into WWE matches.

But for all his professionalism, Geto had one vice: bullying Gojo Satoru.

When Gojo had first joined the team, Geto had felt immediately threatened, not just by his impressive academic pedigree but also by his striking looks. With that tousled hair and captivating features, Gojo was undeniably attractive. But his endless blunders quickly overshadowed any initial worry, making him seem more like a crybaby than a competent assistant. Geto had breathed a sigh of relief when Gojo’s probationary period ended, but the incompetence persisted, even after six months. It was as if Gojo had a talent for turning every simple task into a disaster, and Geto was all too happy to remind him of it at every opportunity. Geto knew Gojo was harmless—a pretty face with no bite—and he took full advantage of it.

“Hey,” Geto had said one day, leaning casually against Ijichi’s cubicle wall, sipping tea like it was a spectator sport. “Did you manage to file those reports yet, or are you too busy giving the CFO more wrinkles?” Yes, they were not friends by any stretch of the word. Not in this life.

Ijichi didn’t even look up from his screen, muttering, “Leave me out of this.”

Gojo, caught mid-fumble with a stack of papers, flushed from humiliation. “I—I filed them!” he stammered, clutching the documents like the last Horcrux.

“In the right Google form this time?” Geto’s smirk widened, his tone dripping with mock concern.

Gojo’s voice dropped to an inaudible mutter as he stared at his shoes.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Suguru,” Sukuna interrupted, striding past with the air of a man who owned the universe—or at least the vending machines in the break room. He cast a lazy, disdainful glance at Gojo. “The kid’s got a real talent for screwing up. It’s practically a superpower. Almost admirable, really.”

Geto snorted and followed Sukuna, leaving Gojo stewing in the ruins of his confidence.

His shoulders slumped under the weight of their mockery, but a flicker of defiance ignited within him. Maybe one day he’d prove them wrong.

Who was he kidding?

Gojo wasn’t just bad at his job—he was transcendently bad.

Every quarter, Geto tried to have him fired, but Nanami’s pesky kindness kept Gojo’s name off the termination list. One time after too many drinks at a company event, Nanami had described Gojo as “a lost puppy with a degree from Tokyo U,” and though the description fit, it didn’t make him any less insufferable.

All Gojo was now good for was being the office eye candy that no one took seriously.

What baffled everyone was Gojo’s persistence. After five years as Nanami’s executive assistant, he still couldn’t properly file an expense report. His "innovative" solutions caused more problems than they solved, like the time he scheduled a board meeting in the break room.

Sukuna had been there, loudly devouring a double cheeseburger while Toji, the CSO, and Kusakabe Atusya, the Director of Customer Experience (DCE) , lectured him on “professional decorum.” The lecture ended abruptly when Sukuna offered them half his burger.

Meanwhile, Hiromi Higuruma, the CLO, had stormed into Shoko Ieiri’s office to debate whether Sukuna’s habit of blowing a vuvuzela during lunch breaks qualified as workplace harassment. Shoko had suggested they would add it to the HR policy under “miscellaneous noise violations.”

And Nanami? He was in his office, typing a scathing email to the COO. He wasn’t defending Gojo because he believed in his potential anymore. That ship had sailed after Gojo accidentally attached a frog meme to a quarterly earnings report.

Now, Nanami’s argument was simple: “Firing him would violate our commitment to inclusivity. He’s… special needs.”

Despite the madness, Kaisen Publishing somehow continued to function. Hiromi and Shoko kept the legal and HR departments running like well-oiled machines, albeit fueled by spite. Geto ensured Sukuna’s chaotic energy didn’t destroy the company, while Gojo... well, Gojo tried his best.And Nanami? He soldiered on, kazoo in hand, ready to face another day in the madhouse.

---

The next day, Nanami arrived early, as always, to find Gojo already there. The younger man was standing in front of the coffee machine, staring at it like it had personally murdered his parents.

“Satoru,” Nanami said, exasperated, “what are you doing?”

“It’s… it’s broken,” Gojo sniffled, holding up a coffee pod. “I think I jammed it.”

Nanami sighed. “How do you jam a coffee machine?"

“I don’t know!” Gojo wailed, his silver hair catching the fluorescent light like some tragic anime protagonist.

Nanami sighed and pulled out the kazoo. He didn’t plan to use it, but just holding it gave him a sense of power. “Fix it, or you’re fetching coffee manually.”

Gojo’s lip quivered. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Despite his constant failures, Gojo clung to the job with a desperate determination that was almost admirable. At night, he cried over Nanami’s stern lectures, but every morning, he showed up, sky-blue eyes shining with a mix of hope and masochism.

His crush on Nanami didn’t help matters.

In Gojo’s mind, Nanami was the epitome of competence and discipline—everything he wasn’t. Every scolding felt like a dagger to his heart, but it also fueled his ridiculous fantasy that one day Nanami would notice him as more than just a walking disaster.

He did not know Nanami was married, let alone with Sukuna in the same boat.

Speaking of Sukuna, his morning was less composed.

“Mr. Sukuna, you can’t just ignore CLO’s emails,” Geto said as they walked into the office.

“I can, and I will,” Sukuna growled, swinging the vuvuzela over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

“You do realize he’s filing another complaint with HR?”

“Good,” Sukuna smirked. “Keeps them busy.”

As if summoned, Hiromi appeared, clutching a thick stack of papers. “Sukuna,” he said icily, “you can’t keep calling mandatory meetings and then not showing up.”

Sukuna raised the vuvuzela . “Mandatory this,” he said, blasting a note so loud it set off the fire alarm.

And you? You were at the club with your friends, chugging espresso martinis, unaware of the havoc your gifts were causing.

---

The next day, Nanami’s day started with a knock on his office door.

It was Gojo, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“What is this?” Nanami asked, already annoyed.

“I’m sorry for jamming the coffee machine,” Gojo said, eyes glistening. “And to schedule that meeting in the break room. And for... just everything.”

Nanami stared at him, torn between frustration and pity. “Gojo, you can’t fix incompetence with flowers.”

Gojo’s shoulders slumped. “I just… I just want you to not regret hiring me.”

Nanami sighed deeply. “Gojo, do your job, and maybe I will be.”

“Go easy on him, Kento-kun,” came a smooth voice from the corner of Nanami’s office.

Gojo was startled and whipped around his head. He hadn’t even noticed Haibara Yu, the Chief Editorial Officer (CEO), lounging there like a king holding court.

Nanami grumbled something under his breath, refusing to look up from his laptop.

Gojo blinked, his surprise melting into pure joy. “You’re back, sir?”

“Of course,” Haibara said, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “How have you been, Satoru? Hope Kento hasn’t tortured you too much in my absence.”

Gojo beamed, practically glowing under Haibara’s attention. “Oh no, he’s a good boss,” he said, glancing nervously at Nanami.

“I’m hard on him because he’s incompetent,” Nanami muttered, still not sparing Gojo a glance.

Gojo’s smile faltered, the corners of his mouth trembling.

“Don’t say that, Kento. He’s trying his best, and he’s loyal to you,” Haibara said, his tone dripping with a faint undertone of righteousness.

Haibara was one of the few people in the office who was genuinely kind to Gojo. He never joined in the teasing, never snapped at him for his constant mistakes. Nanami was kind too, in his own brusque way, but Haibara? Haibara felt like safety for Gojo.

Nanami murmured something under his breath that Haibara didn’t pay attention to.

He turned fully to Gojo. “Give me those flowers if he won’t take them.”

Gojo walked over and handed him the flowers with a smile, trying his best to hide his broken heart.

“They are beautiful, Satoru.” Haibara eyed them with a smile. "Kento, please have Ino move them to my office. Also, I’m borrowing your assistant for coffee; I hope it’s ok.” He asked, already rising to his feet.

Nanami waved a hand dismissively, still typing. “Borrow him permanently if you can.”

Haibara smirked. “You know Ino would kill me.”

---

They were out the door before Gojo could process what was happening.

Haibara made small talk as they walked, his tone light. “How’ve you been holding up while I was gone?”

Gojo ranted a little as Haibara listened with a quiet intensity that made Gojo feel seen.

And then, without warning, Haibara shoved him into the private bathroom adjoining his luxury office and locked the door with a soft click.

“Sir?” Gojo started, his voice trembling, but he didn’t get to finish.

Haibara’s mouth descended on his with a ferocity that stole the air from his lungs.

Gojo hesitated for half a second, his brain scrambling to catch up. Then a soft mewl escaped his throat as Haibara’s hand cupped him through his pants. It was as if that sound broke the dam. Gojo’s hands flew up, tangling in Haibara’s hair, pulling him closer as they kissed with a desperation that bordered on violence.

It felt like drowning and breathing for the first time, all at once.

Haibara broke the kiss only to bite Gojo’s neck, his teeth sinking into the delicate skin. Gojo gasped, his breathing ragged as Haibara turned his jaw to the side, exposing more of his neck.

“I asked you a question, princess,” Haibara murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Gojo blinked, trying to form a coherent thought through the haze of sensation. "I... I messed up again,” he stammered. “They hate me. The reports had errors, and the budgets—Geto explained the formula to me many times, but I still... I’m sorry.”

Haibara hummed, his lips trailing down Gojo’s throat as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“I broke the printer,” Gojo confessed, his voice breaking. “Shoko, Ijichi, and Hiromi fined me. I don’t even make enough.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Haibara said, his voice a velvet promise as he undid Gojo’s belt. “I’ll take care of it.”

Gojo whimpered as Haibara’s hand wrapped around his dick, stroking with a deliberate, almost punishing rhythm.

“I’m sorry, I’m so stupid,” Gojo babbled. “Sukuna, Toji, and Atsuya threatened to report me to HR because—because—”

“Because what?” Haibara asked, his tone gentle.

“Because I accidentally flashed them my waist during off-day tennis,” Gojo admitted, his face burning with humiliation. “I thought polo shirts were fine, but they said HR mandates suits, even off-duty. Did I do something wrong?”

“They’re messing with you,” Haibara said, his voice reassuring now, though his hands gripped Gojo’s slender waist possessively, almost bruising him as he placed him on the sink counter. “You’re not stupid.”

Gojo barely registered the words, his mind a blur of shame and pleasure. “Takuma’s trying to take my position,” he gasped. "Please... please take him back. I—I can’t lose this job.”

Haibara’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous flashing across his face.

“Don’t worry about Ino,” Haibara said, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge. “He was only reporting to Kento because I was on the business trip overseas.”

Gojo shivered, closing his eyes as Haibara’s fingers, slick with Gojo’s precum, traced circles around his rim.

For a moment, everything else faded—the humiliation, the fear, the endless cycle of mistakes. All that remained was Haibara, his touch, his voice, his overwhelming presence.

Sensing Gojo’s silence, Haibara reassured him again. “He’s not going to take anything from you. Keep talking.”

By now Gojo’s suit was rumpled, shirt open-untucked, and hair sticking up in all directions. By contrast, Haibara’s suit remained pristine, not a single strand of his neatly styled hair out of place.

Gojo grabbed Haibara by the collar, dragging him down into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. He bit Haibara’s lower lip, desperate, breathless. “I can’t wait anymore. Please...”

Haibara chuckled, low and indulgent, his fingers trailing down Gojo’s chest. It seemed Gojo’s masochistic tendencies under Nanami’s berating also extended in the bedroom, where he’d take all of Haibara right now with barely any prep. “You’re so impatient, Cupcake. Are you sure? I don’t want you crying about it later.”

Gojo nodded furiously, his hands clutching at Haibara’s shirt like he was clinging to a lifeline. “Yes, Mr. Yu. Please, sir.”

Oh, how Haibara loved it.

And Haibara would give anything those big, watery doe eyes begged him for.

Freeing himself from his pants, Haibara gave himself a few slow pumps, his eyes never leaving Gojo’s flushed, needy face.

Gojo was trying his best not to drool because just looking at Haibara’s cock was making him dumb dicked.

Then, with excruciating deliberation, he pressed into him, inch by inch, watching as Gojo’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry.

“What else happened?” Haibara asked, his voice calm and almost conversational, as though they weren’t in this compromising position.

Gojo struggled to answer, but his thoughts scattered the moment Haibara moved, his hips pressing forward, slowly. Gojo’s hands flew to Haibara’s hair, tugging as if he were going to fall. His voice cracked when he finally spoke, “Nanami-san... still hates me—ahhh!” Then cut himself off when Haibara pushed into him to the hilt, making Gojo’s back arch and eyes water.

Haibara wiped away a stray tear from Gojo’s cheek and licked it off his thumb as he started a slow, punishing rhythm. “Poor thing. Can’t even handle a little dick without crying, huh?” He teased with a smirk. “Keep going, sweet Satoru.”

Gojo whined, his voice trembling. “I mixed up the Compliance and Risk Management files with the Financial Forecasting ones... and sent them to the client by mistake. It cost the company so much money. Nanami didn’t talk to me for a week. I—I hated myself so much.”

Haibara kissed down Gojo’s chest, nipping at the sensitive skin of his nipples. His lips curved into something resembling soft, soothing coos. “Don’t hate yourself. It’s okay. It was an innocent mistake.”

Gojo was struggling to focus on Haibara’s words while he rearranged his inside by bullying his G-spot.

“No,” Gojo whimpered, his head falling back against the mirror. “Geto warned me what not to mess up, and I still did. I knew better.”

Haibara was at a loss for words now; he really dug himself there, but his rhythm didn’t falter. “Still, Kento overreacted. He’s always been stuck up like that.”

Gojo’s cries grew louder, his fingers digging into Haibara’s shoulders. “I just want him to see me as competent. I want to make his life easier, but I only make it worse—for him, for Geto. He humiliates me every day, and I deserve it. I’m useless. I make him feel like he’s doing two people’s jobs.”

Haibara stilled for a moment, his hands tightening on Gojo’s hips. “Do you want me to fire him?”

Gojo’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his tear-streaked face. “No! No, Mr. Yu, please, sir. Sukuna won’t let it happen, and I don’t want you getting hurt. He’s... he’s violent.”

Oh, his office bimbo—his crybaby. He hadn’t realized Haibara could fire anyone, even Sukuna if necessary. But as he considered it, keeping Geto around might not be so bad if it meant having the little crying angel all to himself. “Fine. I won’t touch him. But don’t just listen to him. Stand up for yourself. Or tell me, and I’ll talk to HR.” His thrusts grew faster, rougher, each movement a reminder of his control.

Gojo clung to Haibara like his life depended on it, sweat-drenched hair plastered to his forehead. His wide, glassy eyes fixed on where Haibara disappeared and reappeared into him over and over again, his lips parted in broken gasps.

“Agreed?” Haibara asked, his brows furrowing as his voice dropped to a low, commanding tone. He yanked Gojo’s hair, compelling him to meet his gaze.

Gojo, still being impaled, couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. He hid his face in Haibara's shoulder, his voice breaking with a choked moan. “Yes, sir…. Thank you,” he sobbed, his voice trembling. “But I feel so bad for Nanami-san. He’ll never see my love for him. I’m just so useless to him.”

Haibara leaned in, his tongue tracing the tear-streaked paths on Gojo’s flushed cheeks. The way Gojo’s dick twitched against his stomach told him he was close, teetering on the edge. But Haibara wasn’t done. Not yet.

He pulled out abruptly, ignoring Gojo’s whimper of protest, and dragged him down from the sink counter.

Turning him to face the warm-lit, golden-bordered mirror, Haibara pushed into him again, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. Gojo’s fingers tangled in Haibara’s hair, clutching desperately as Haibara licked, bit, and sucked on the delicate skin of his shoulders and back.

Haibara’s smirk darkened as he watched Gojo’s reflection—flushed, tear-streaked, and trembling under his touch.

His crybaby. His alone. The thought of Gojo’s unrelenting admiration for Nanami sent acid through his veins, but the jealousy only fueled him. He’d make sure Gojo stayed this vulnerable, this wrecked, for him and him alone.

Without warning, Haibara grabbed Gojo’s neck, holding him still as he reached for the small velvet box on the counter. He placed a custom Hermès necklace around Gojo’s neck, the gold gleaming against his sweat-slicked porcelain skin.

Gojo blinked, dazed, too overwhelmed to notice until Haibara whispered, “Look.”

"But... but what’s the need?” Gojo stammered, his voice cracking as his eyes flitted between the mirror and the necklace. “I already barely get to wear the Bulgari Serpenti Viper one you gave me...”

A smile tugged at his lips despite his protest.

Haibara chuckled, tightening his grip on Gojo’s neck just enough to make him gasp. He adjusted his angle, thrusting harder, deeper, drawing a strangled cry from Gojo. “It’s to remind you,” Haibara said, his voice a low growl, “that you’re not as much of a fuck-up as you think you are. I don’t spend a week hunting down the perfect necklace in Paris for just anyone.” He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts that made Gojo’s knees buckle.

“But Nanami-san…” Gojo’s voice was barely audible now, his legs trembling, threatening to give out. He was pent up after months of dry spell.

“Don’t worry about him when I’m making you feel this good.” Haibara pinched Gojo’s ass, grinning wolfishly as Gojo let out a high-pitched cry.

“Ahh, Mr. Yu!”

Haibara’s pace stayed unrelenting, his stamina endless and the dick to back it up with the way it bullied him in the right places.

“Now, I’ll ask again,” Haibara said, his voice dark and firm, “do you understand?” He gave a particularly hard thirst because he knew Gojo was close with the way his body was trembling.

“Y-yes, Mr. Yu,” Gojo sobbed, his voice cracking as he gripped Haibara’s arm and the counter for dear life. “Harder, please.”

Haibara’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as he watched Gojo unravel, each tear and whimper intensifying the dark, possessive hunger within him. His crybaby was so easy to break. He obliged, his movements rough and unforgiving.

The necklace brought him immense joy; unbeknownst to Gojo, it concealed the initials H.Y. and G.S., visible only under a microscope.

This was his. His crybaby. His angel. And no one—no, one—was going to take him away.

“Cum for me, Pumpkin,” he ordered, stroking Gojo’s cock, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Gojo’s lips trembled. “Are you calling me fat?” His voice wavered, and fresh tears welled in his eyes as he looked down at his chest and stomach.

Ah, this was also one of his annoying habits—to overthink everything.

“No, I just find you cute as a pumpkin with a pretty bow on top.” But Haibara was nothing if not his good yandere.

Gojo let out a choked laugh, his cheeks flushing deeper.

“Now cum for me, Sweetheart,” Haibara commanded, his voice dripping with authority.

Gojo’s legs would have given out if not for Haibara’s arms holding him, trembling violently as he fell apart, making a mess of himself. His cries echoed in the mirror, raw.

Haibara followed soon after, burying himself deep as his release tore through him. His grip on Gojo’s waist tightened, keeping him steady as both of them tried to catch their breath.

He pressed a soft kiss to Gojo’s shoulder. “Mine,” he thought to himself—against Gojo’s skin, the word more a promise than a statement.

Haibara gazed at the tear-streaked, thoroughly wrecked man in his arms, possessiveness tightening in his chest like a vice. No one—not even Kento—would take Gojo from him. Ever.

Gently, Haibara began fixing Gojo’s disheveled shirt and straightening his hair. If he left it up to Gojo, his clumsy ass would walk back into the office with something glaringly out of place, and the whole roaster would piece together what they’d been doing behind closed doors for over a year.

It had all started when he’d found Gojo crying alone in Nanami’s office after everyone had left, his resignation letter in his shaking hands.

That night, Haibara hadn’t just talked him out of it but also fucked him brainless until Gojo couldn’t move and forgot everything—Nanami, the resignation, his doubts—until all he could do was cling to Haibara, unable to think, or even breathe without him.

But what Haibara wouldn’t admit to anyone—not even Gojo—was that it wasn’t luck that led him there that night. He’d spent months trying to get close to him, memorizing every detail of Gojo’s life, from his coffee order to his laundry instructions. He’d followed him for months after hours, cataloguing every habit, every vulnerability, and beaten the shit out of those print factory workers harassing Gojo, catcalling him on his way into the building. Haibara made sure they never showed up to work again.

Now, they were office fuckbuddies, not that Haibara wanted it this way. Gojo still had that infuriating crush on Nanami, still sprinted off to fetch his lunch or his coffee like a lovesick puppy. But Haibara wasn’t worried. He was patient.

For now.

He caressed Gojo’s cheeks as the latter giggled, his fingers brushing over the gold custom Hermès necklace. His eyes sparkled, oblivious to the weight of Haibara’s stare.

“Wanna grab dinner tonight?” Haibara asked absentmindedly, smoothing the collar of Gojo’s shirt. He was ready for the usual rejection.

Then something shifted—just for a moment. Gojo looked at him differently, as though he was almost seeing him.

Haibara’s chest tightened, hope flickering dangerously.

But then Gojo’s phone buzzed, and he gasped. “Oh my god, I’m late to get Nanami-san’s lunch!” He spun, ready to bolt out the door.

Haibara’s hand shot out, catching Gojo’s wrist mid-step. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumb brushing over the delicate pulse point inside. Gojo froze, his breath hitching as Haibara leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss there.

Haibara’s dark eyes locked onto Gojo’s wide, cerulean ones.

Gojo’s cheeks flared red, the blush creeping up to his ears. He stammered something unintelligible before taking his hand back and sprinting out the door.

Haibara watched him go, his lips curling into a slow, satisfied smile.

---

Meanwhile, Sukuna was dealing with HR.

“This is the fifth complaint this week,” Shoko said, leaning back in her chair. “You can’t keep terrorizing the office with that thing.”

Sukuna smirked, spinning the vuvuzela in his hands. “Prove it’s me.”

“We have video evidence,” Hiromi snapped.

“So?” Sukuna shrugged. “I’m a visionary. Visionaries disrupt.”

“You’re disrupting my sanity,” Hiromi muttered.

By the end of the next week, the vuvuzela and kazoo had become infamous. Employees fled at the sight of Sukuna, while Nanami’s kazoo had become a symbol of silent ‘fuck you’ to corporate overlords. Even Gojo seemed to improve, if only slightly, terrified of losing Nanami’s approval.

---

Next week, it all came to a head when Sukuna proposed a company-wide retreat at a remote hot spring. “We need to boost morale,” he said, grinning like a man with ulterior motives.

“What you need,” Hiromi snapped, “is to stop submitting reimbursement requests for your vuvuzelas."

Shoko added, “I think we should approve the retreat. The HR department could use a break from writing up Sukuna’s infractions.”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Somewhere in the background, Gojo tripped over his own foot, spilling coffee all over the floor. Geto muttered something about bringing bleach to the retreat—“for the stains,” he clarified when Hiromi raised an eyebrow. Toji and Kusakabe almost got written up by Shoko for laughing.

As the meeting dissolved into a podium fight, Nanami reached for his kazoo. Sometimes, it was the only thing that kept him sane.

And you couldn’t be more proud. After all, corporate life was all about making your mark—and thanks to you, your husbands were leaving theirs in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible.

---

Later that day, the boardroom was uncharacteristically quiet, the air thick with confusion and the faint hum of the overhead lights. No one had any idea why they’d been summoned.  

“Why are we even here?” Shoko leaned toward Hiromi, her voice low and tinged with boredom.  

“To meet the elusive COO,” Toji replied with a shrug, stretching his legs under the table.  

Ino, perched nervously next to Haibara, was painstakingly organizing a pile of notes into immaculate fonts on his tab. Geto had his arms crossed as he watched Ino’s note-sorting with mild disdain.  

Kusakabe adjusted his coat and looked around. “Seriously, though, how come we’ve never met this COO? It’s weird.”  

“Germophobia,” Ino offered matter-of-factly. “Someone in HR said he avoids public spaces entirely.”  

The sound of a door creaking open cut the conversation short.  

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”  

The voice was unfamiliar yet strangely resonant, coming from the far end of the room.

Everyone turned to see a figure stepping out of the shadows—a tall man with striking white hair, his suit sharp enough to cut titanium.  

For a moment, no one spoke. The employees exchanged puzzled glances, and Shoko tilted her head in confusion.  

“Gojo?” Geto broke the silence, his voice laced with disbelief. “Did you screw up another meeting schedule? We’re supposed to be meeting the COO, not—”  

“No, Suguru.” 

Geto bristled at Gojo's use of his first name; one time he nearly received a ticket from HR for threatening violence over it, while Gojo sniffled near the ferns.

But this time, the voice was steady and calm, a whiplash from the bumbling tone they had come to expect from the clumsy assistant as the white-haired man stepped fully into the light, exuding an air of confidence and ownership.  

Nanami’s expression shifted from tired annoyance to something closer to alarm. “What… is this?”  

Gojo—or whoever he was—smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. I’m Gojo Satoru. Chief of Operations (COO) of Kaisen Publishingbarely. ”  

The room froze.  

“Excuse me?” Hiromi’s tone was accusatory.  

“I understand this might be a bit of a shock,” Gojo continued, his voice perfectly even. “But the truth is, I’ve been observing all of you from a different perspective. And now, it’s time for me to take a more active role.”  

Geto’s jaw tightened, his composure cracking. “You’ve been... what? Playing the fool? For five years?"  

“Precisely.” Gojo’s smirk widened slightly, his icy blue eyes scanning the room. “I needed to see who I could trust, who would rise to the occasion, and who would crack under pressure.”  

“Trust?” Sukuna growled, his tone low and dangerous. “You mean to tell me you’ve been watching us like lab rats?”  

“I prefer the term ‘case study,’” Gojo said, his voice as smooth as olive.  

Shoko let out a low whistle, breaking the tension enough to speak. “This is some next-level corporate psychodrama. You’ve been playing dumb for years just to—what? Test us?”  

Gojo’s gaze landed on Nanami, who looked like he’d just been handed a live grenade. “And you,” Gojo said, his voice softening just slightly. “Thank you for your patience, Kento. You believed in me when no one else did.”  

Nanami’s face hardened. “I believed in someone who didn’t exist.”  

The room fell silent again, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Gojo adjusted his cufflinks, the faintest trace of a grin playing at his lips.  

“Well,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “I hope this clears up any confusion. From now on, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. Let’s make sure Kaisen Publishing continues to thrive.”

Before leaving, he stopped and turned, “Also, Haibara, a word?”

Whatever was going on in Haibara’s head, he didn’t show, just followed.

And with that, Gojo walked out, leaving the boardroom in stunned silence.

A/N: I swear, this started as a cute little fic about the reader giving Nanami a kazoo, & somehow it spiraled into corporate angst, smut, & crybaby gojo for some reason. Like he's the office bimbo who no one takes seriously, truly a man in women-dominated fields. haha.. I’ve only written smut four times, & yet TWO of those have Nanami topping & Gojo being a bottom in two, while Haibara & Sukuna top somewhere in there. I'm baffled! Like… how did we get here? I’m confused because canon Gojo radiates I’m-the-top-but-I-cry-after energy, yet here I am, dragging him into bottom hell AGAIN. (Honestly? No regrets; all of us would lick his tears too, SHAMELESSLY!) Haibara, though… HAIBARA. Listen, I gave myself whiplash writing him. He’s my own OC from my fic 'Third Wheeling your own Marriage," & yet I’m feral for him. You guys hyping him up like he’s canon-validates every single unhinged decision I made there. We never saw adult Haibara, but I was like, "What if he was hot, obsessive, & dom-coded?” And here we are. This man fights for Gojo, literally & metaphorically, while Nanami sighs in the background with his kazoo. Quick sidebar: Tumblr, confuses me. For an app full of people who swear they don’t self-ship, why is every other post a “x reader” fic? No hate (I’m guilty too), just an observation. Shoutout to my AO3 gang, though—we ride for our ships. Nanago nation, rise up. I said what I said: Nanago makes more sense for adult Gojo. Don’t agree? Go argue with a wall. I love Satosugu; I do, but Nanami is just… superior. (Maybe because I, too, am a corporate baddie barely holding it together. We’re twinning.) Anyway, sorry for the rant. Toji & Kusakabe backtracking on Sukuna mid-lecture because they wanted his burger was comedy gold, btw. Did you check the links? Bonus points if you did!

Oh, & about the ending… what do you think Gojo called Haibara for? Did they agree to date, or did Gojo threaten him with something? Let me know, because even I’m questioning their dynamic at this point. Okay, bye for real this time! 💕

Next Chapter 2 - The Symphony of Stress-Relief (Tumblr/Ao3)

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