Welcome to my page! Please be warned and aware that I like to write darker work of fictions. Yandere's aren't good people, especially the men that I write about. They're despicable, stalkers, jealousy at an all-time high, capable of murder, and in some fics will cause harm to the reader. All of this should be specified in the 'includes' caption at the beginning of the fic, and if I am missing any, please let me know. Make sure to actually read the warnings before continuing, sometimes it can get pretty disgusting. Most of my fics are for readers that are 18 and up! I always make that clear. There are some blurbs and short works that are for everyone too. I do have smutty fics but I don't write those too often. I also write for fem and gender-neutral readers where I try my best to keep it ambiguous.
I am still a student, and my major is pretty demanding. This is a hobby. I do this for fun. I don't update often but I do respond to asks.
(under construction)
Important:
Requests: Click on 'ask me anything' to send me a request! If it piques my interest, I'll write a small fic. On rare occasions--when I get really inspired--I'll write a full/normal fic of it! If you have any questions or asks about a specific yandere oc of mine, definitely send them! Sometimes I get carried away and write a pretty long reply, so it'll take me a while.
New Ranking System!
Red Juicy Delicious Apple means a softer, sweeter fic. Doesn't require any warnings and is typically a short blurb.
Green Sour and Hard Apple fic has a couple of warnings, rated 18+ with smut, and potentially mentions darker topics.
Rotten Apple fics are basically dead dove: do not eat. Dives into unsavory, weirder, and harder topics like cannibalism and murder. Rated 18 + and may consist of smut with specific kinks, and you read at your own risk.
LINKS!
(Under Construction) What do my yanderes look like: https://www.tumblr.com/allurilove/752974913846083584/any-face-claims-for-your-ocs
(Under construction) My yandere kinks: https://www.tumblr.com/allurilove/750481690147913728/yan-classmates-kink-list-what-are-these-greasy
The real meaning of being a bird is actually a girl or young woman who comes across as vain, ditzy, stupid or useless. But lately, there is a trend going around carrying a different meaning around the world.
And now it’s more use to describe a person who consistently returns to a toxic, unfaithful, or bad partner, despite knowing better. It implies a lack of self-worth or being "blinded" by love, often used in relationship contexts to describe someone acting foolishly in love
Like a exemple of "bird" that comes to my mind rn would be Marinette from miraculous or Cassie from Euphoria
Ohhh, I see!
The biggest bird has to be Crybaby Yandere Inmate. He would NEVER leave the reader despite their toxic and tumultuous relationship. Like the reader gives zero fucks about him, continuing to live out their baller criminal lifestyle, and yet, he still holds onto some hope that they'll come back and free him from prison.
2. Second in line... there's a tie. He's not a yandere, but Kendrick ifykyk. He can't leave his wife, loves her to death. In that AU, it would end terribly for him if he did try to end things anyway. And also, Yandere Stalker. He's just terrible with relationships, period.
3. Third, probably Dumb Yandere. I think we all kind of knew he would be up here.
4. Fourth... another tie, and lowkey, it got to be Yandere Neighbor. He's been wanting reader for so long that he'll literally just glue himself onto them and never let go. I think Yandere Prodigy has to be either third or fourth. I mean, his relationship with the reader is pretty destructive. Both promising or established violin players that constantly fight for first chair, sabotaging each other, and in this universe...everyone knows their dirty business too. Well, everyone that's interested in classical music. He can't necessarily bring himself to leave the reader. He's fascinated by them, in love with the way they play and pluck the strings. He's quite literally dating his idol, and he would never, ever, break up with them.
Skipping down to the smallest, Yandere Prince. HES THE TOXIC ONE. A HORRIBLE PARTNER AND HUMAN BEING. I would say that AU Yandere Prince (Reject/Banished!Yandere Prince) would be like a relatively smaller medium-sized bird. He's more down bad.
The absolute teeniest tiniest bird would be Yandere Manager. He knows his worth and usually cuts off his relationships asap if they get a bit toxic.
Honorable mention: dad's best friend x yandere you. Reader can't let that man go.
PLSSS am i delusional or are you the one who posted a dads bestfriend x yandere reader fic?? It randomly came across my mind on this beautiful Wednesday and i was like omg lemme go read it again BUT I WAS ALMOST SURE IT WAS YOU WHO POSTED IT??? IS IT?? I FEEL LIKE THIS SCROLLING THRU UR PAGE
lol yeah! That was me. Here’s a link to it and it’s also found in my master list!
Waaaait awesome!!! How’s everyone doing? I’ve been so busy with school... haven’t been writing. Send questions if you have any and I’ll respond to them at least!
Includes: yandere dom camp counselor x bimbo fem reader, friends with benefits, always using cute nicknames & p in v sex.
*A short and random 1.2k blurb of Presley going on a trip with reader! It’s been a while since I wrote something smutty. Reminder: this is purely fictional writing!*
Part one fic is here! 🍎
Presley decides to take you out to a farm, somewhere cute and small, and far enough out into the wilderness where you can see deer and bunnies hopping about. It was a bright early morning when he had woken you up, a gentle hand on your waist as he hoisted you up and over his shoulder. He had you dressed in jeans– not the usual tight capris with little slits on the bottom– a bit baggy and long, the ones that you didn't care if they got dirty or not. He convinced you to wear one of his tanks and flannel before gloving you up. You were in his truck before you knew it, buckled you in tightly, and draped a soft fluffy blanket over your tired and sleepy form.
It was hard work the moment your feet touched the ground. You’re sipping on a fizzy drink after lending a hand here and there, dusting the dirt off the fruit before dropping them in the woven basket. Occasionally you were on “kissing” duty, giving him the much-needed loving and attention to get him going through this tedious task. You put the can to the side, pushing yourself off the side of the car. You grab the plaid cloth out from his pocket. “Tired?” You hum, leaning down to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
He lets out a long sigh, instinctively leaning into your touch. “No, no, I got this.” He spoke, but you could see the weariness in his eyes.
“You can always take a break, ya know?” You press your lips against his cheek and he turns bright red.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head."
“Why are we even here anyway?”
“Well, you like fruit, don't you? Now we’re surrounded by them.”
Your friend went back to being bent over the plants, weaving through the stems to pluck the plump garnet colored berries. You could hear him mutter repeatedly about a list of things, something about making you happy and needing to get stuff done in time. You could only shrug and go back to lounging about, staring at his bulging biceps.
“Done?” He simply asked you after a while, hand reaching up to grab for your empty can of juice. But you continue to suck, your straw searching the bottom for a single drop of anything leftover.
He tsked at your stubbornness, raising his brow as you pulled away. “Doll,” he started with the nicknames. “I can get you another one. I’m done here anyway.”
Pres stands back up, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He always had defined, strong arms. The muscle and strength beneath his tan skin got you chewing the plastic between your lips, and your eyes followed the way his veins ran down his thick forearms. He took off his gardening gloves, revealing his long digits. They curl and flex. He picks up a rogue raspberry, popping one in his mouth. You see his Adam's apple bob and he swallows. He then licks his finger, eyes fluttering shut before letting out a small groan out of satisfaction. “Fuuuck, this is the good stuff.”
You gulp.
You couldn’t pay attention during the house tour. You notice the way he walks with purpose, confidence even, as he shows you around. His back straight with a slight sway to his hips. His pants fit him perfectly. It’s a dark wash straight cut jean that hangs low on his hips. You can see the waistband of his boxers as he stretches his limbs, his shirt rides up just a bit for you to notice the dimples on his lower back. He turns around, smirking at you. “So, what do you think?” He wiggles his brows, “Cozy, right?”
“Mhm,” your throat suddenly becomes dry at the briefest sight of his prominent v-line.
“Annnnd it’s ours for the night… could do whatever we want.” He grabs your arm–like he has done countless times–although it makes your heart flutter and hyper aware at how delicate he holds you.
He chuckles at your flustered expression, pulling you towards him. His head dips down to your neck, breathing in your scent. You feel him smiling against your skin, “I remember this one… you're still wearing the perfume I got you?”
“Hah,” you let out a shaky breath, your hand sneaking downwards towards his crotch. “Only wear it for special occasions.”
“Oh, like today?” He pushes his hips against your palm. You can feel how much he wants you, how long he's been waiting for this. “I’m a lucky man.”
“Up,” he tapped your thigh. Presley had your legs wrapped around him in an instant, and now, with you in his arms, he carries you up to the bedroom.
Sex with you comes easy. It’s fun and exciting and makes him want to do it over and over again. You have this magnetic pull on him. Your ditzy and yet, bright, bubbly demeanor got him hooked. And so did your cunt.
He watches you bounce on top of him, your tits looking like something he wants to bite, and he doesn't hesitate to do so. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” he moaned, his voice slightly muffled by your flesh. He licks and sucks at your nipple, his other hand fondling and pinching the one that begs for attention.
Your thighs burn, nails digging into his shoulder as you grit your teeth. “Pres…!” You whine, throwing your head back. “I–I can't keep going…”
He narrows his eyes at your conflicted but pleasure ridden face, “Don't tell me you're quitting now.” He sits up, yanking at your hair.
Your mouth opens but you can't speak. You slow down, coming to a stop.
“Use your words, doll. I don't have time for this. I’m this close to finishing.” He holds the back of your thighs, his mouth next to your ear. “Tell me what you want from me.”
You clench around him, causing him to grunt. His dick twitches and pulses, and he's trying so desperately to hold himself back. He teases you, slipping out of you inch by inch. His thumb makes way to your clit, rubbing it in tight little circles. And slowly with the tip of his dick, he moves it up and down your slit. “God, don't do this to me.” You pout, trying to sink your hips but he's quick to reprimand you.
You yelp, your pussy stinging after the smack. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please!”
“Say. It.”
“Please just fuck me already!”
He flips you on your stomach, wordlessly. His palm pressing into your back to make you arch for him. He nudges your legs open wider with his knee, now aligning his cock to your entrance. He presses himself into you, stretching your walls once again. You don't even hear the fact that he was planning on baking you a cake to finally pop the question of asking you to be his girlfriend. How he was going to decorate it in your favorite colors and make the frosting out of whipped, delicious cream. How he was going to use the strawberries you picked together for the filling, but now all he can think about is how warm you are. He uses his weight to hold your face into the pillow, smothering your cries. His hand slaps your ass before grabbing a handful to drive his cock inside of you.
He keeps going until his thrusts start to stutter. “I’m gonna, oh fuck–” he inhales sharply. Presley wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you close to his chest. You have nowhere to go but to stay put and take it like a good girl.
"Can I?" He pants.
He yanks you by your hair again, letting you fill your lungs with air. You sputter for a moment, having to catch your breath to eagerly reply back. You squeal as he doubles his efforts, grinding and rolling his hips. He thrusts deep, hard.
He then comes and you follow.
Presley slumps besides you, taking initiative to be the big spoon. He plays with the strands of your damp hair, pushing it away from your face, "...are you still in the mood for a sweet treat?"
the audacity to have a kofi in your bio while also churning out ai bots is so ick
i think ur maybe the same anon idk? My kofi is completely separate and only if people want to donate for the work I write on tumblr. i’m not charging money for like anything. especially not for anything I do on c.ai, and I made bots of my characters to make up for the fact I haven’t been writing much. Which I honestly feel so terrible for like being on a long hiatus 😞
I also haven’t made anything on any platform since i’m pretty sure my bots have been taken down..? Not sure if it’s back up, but I can totally get rid of all of them!
okay so mind you, people can be shit at writing and also not use AI. Like we exist, ya know? Also, this is just a little hobby that I do on the side. Like I’m not trying to be the best writer out there, kay. I like to watch videos and read books on how to become better, but still, writing is like an afterthought and something I just do for fun whenever I got the time.
Like I dunno if people are thinking i just write up a prompt or something and give it to AI. And boom, I got a fic. Like this shit genuinely takes me forever, and if I were, I would have finished yandere husband’s storyline a loooong time ago.
I also want to use this as a learning opportunity and ask if using Grammarly counts? Cause I lowk have terrible grammar. I just have it installed on my browser from a while back.
I love Yandere Prodigy so much. I wanna love-bomb him. How would he react if Reader was super nice to him and praised him, but then suddenly started giving him the cold shoulder XD
Yandere Prodigy being a hater in the beginning: would be confused and a little weirded out. He has some fans of his own, a little small fanbase that rally together to watch his performances. He would think that you're one of them. "I don't accept gifts from..." his face contorts, trying to think of a nice word. 'Stalker' didn't fit, you had genuine talent, and he believed you were just trying to get a gig. Calling you a 'fan' made him sound like he was full of himself. So, he landed on: "co-workers."
He then gave you one final look, noticing the way you deflate. "It could be tampered with, affect my abilities as a performer."
"It's nothing personal."
Yandere Prodigy crushing hard after you smile at him: genuinely going insane with your hot and cold behavior. Literally lying in his bed, tossing and turning and contemplating if he should ask you out. And when he finally does, he's crushed after you say, "No."
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he whacks himself with the bouquet of flowers he bought.
Includes: yandere husband x wife!reader, toxic and abusive relationship, cheating accusations, loooots of arguing, choking, and potentially more.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Sorry for the late post. I pretty much slept through Christmas and just got around to working on this again.
Your husband’s mind was racked with potential gift ideas. Jewelry in boxes of your favorite color, arranged into a beautifully large, decorated bouquet. He could pair it with a new car—an Aston Martin DB9, with a pink interior in particular. You had seemed quite drawn to that vehicle when your eyes first landed on it.
Before meeting your husband, you had spent most of your adult life taking the metro and subway. Since being with him, he drove you everywhere and even got you a personal chauffeur whenever he couldn’t take you himself. He spoiled you, making sure you wouldn’t have to lift a single finger to get anywhere—and yet, you yearned to be on the road. So much so that you got your driver’s license behind his back.
Throughout the days leading up to Christmas, he dropped hints here and there and mentioned other things he could get you—such as the popular So Kate heels and a new thick winter coat with fur. Expecting praise and an elated reaction, it hurt when he was met instead with disinterested grunts and disdain.
Back to the drawing board he went.
“No… no, this isn’t right either,” your husband mumbled to himself, swiping through a fashion catalog. You had practically worn it all. Your walk-in closet took up the entire left wing of the house, all thanks to him. He had seen you in the newest fall collection of every designer brand he could think of, even his father’s own line.
He wanted to get you something you would never forget. So, he would have to get personal.
Henry. Sometimes his comrade in games, other times his foe—the one who liked to go toe-to-toe with him. In the end, no matter how they felt about each other, Henry was his son, so he had to listen to him.
Henry returned to his father’s office with a worn-out brown leather bag—one his father remembered as always being comically stuffed to the brim with a mix of your belongings and Henry’s toys.
You were overly protective of this purse, no matter how many times your husband told you to get rid of it. You claimed that it was the most expensive purchase you had ever made back in the day—that you scrimped and saved just to buy it with your barista salary.
It landed on the desk with a loud thump, several of your lipsticks and bits of random junk spilling out. Your bag—or rather, a thoroughly abused sack—was hanging by a thread. The gold plating on the hardware had rubbed off, revealing the metal underneath. The single pocket it had wouldn’t even close; the zipper was missing, leaving it perpetually open.
As he dug deeper, pulling out more clutter, his hands found your thick wallet.
The hundreds of dollars he had given you had been broken down into twenties, fives, and ones. He tossed it aside, thinking nothing of it—until he grabbed your passport next.
“Odd…” he murmured, now noticing that both your birth certificate and Henry’s were inside as well.
“Fuck…” he breathed, flipping the bag over and dumping the rest of its contents onto the desk.
Important documents—the passports, wads of cash bundled together with your hair tie—and now… your phone felt heavy in his hand.
He typed in your birthday. It didn’t work. He tried his own; the lock screen barely budged. Only when he entered Henry’s did the phone finally open to your home screen.
He went through your messages. A short list of names appeared—his at the very top and pinned, your parent right below, a couple of friends, and then John.
John?
Your husband did a double take. Were you cheating on him? He gulped thickly, his thumb hovering over the name. If you were, he could find all the proof and evidence right now. Blood rushed to his face, his ears turning bright red as his heart hammered in his chest. He didn’t even want to imagine you entertaining another man, but it would certainly explain why you had been acting so distant. Perhaps you were planning on leaving him for this John.
He couldn’t do it.
“This is…” He sharply inhaled, turning back to his son, who was still idly waiting to be dismissed. “This is perfect, Henry. Thank you,” he said tightly.
He then roughly shoves the rest of the contents into a safe, quickly hiding it away with a satisfying click of the lock. He pocketed your phone, and was now examining the bag with a scrutinizing gaze.
Christmas came by fast.
Henry wore the same pajamas as you—decked out in red velvet with white, shimmering snowflakes printed across the fabric of his shirt, matching joggers, and elf slippers with a little bell hanging from the curved, pointed tip. He was already sipping on a warm glass of milk by the tree, one hand fishing for another cookie from the tin beside him.
Henry had opened most of his presents, his attention now focused on the array of trucks spread out in front of him.
You were seated by the couch, a camera resting in your lap as you smiled fondly at your enthusiastic toddler. You hadn’t even noticed the dark, looming presence nearby—a large box held firmly in his hands.
“It’s your turn, honey.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything—”
“Nonsense.”
He stared down at you blankly, barely breathing or blinking, his hands tucked into his pockets as he impatiently tapped his foot. You began to feel unnerved by how silent he was.
Usually, he was jumping with joy, urging you to open the countless gifts he bought you. But this year, there was only one.
“Is it more lingerie?” you joked, slowly lifting the lid of the box.
“Ha,” he replied dryly.
“Well, no matter what it is. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” You give him a quick smile before pulling back the tissue paper.
“It’s… oh, uh…” You pursed your lips, lost for words, and your hand stilling just above the familiar orangish-brown leather.
It looked revived—restored to a condition far better than when you had first bought it. The leather was supple again, no longer cracked or dulled by years of wear, its color rich and even, as though time itself had been reversed. The hardware gleamed, polished back to its original luster, free of scratches and tarnish. The handle—once frayed and threatening to snap—was now seamless and sturdy beneath your fingers.
When you dared to peer inside, your breath caught. The interior had been thoroughly cleaned, every stain gone, the lining crisp and immaculate, as if it had never carried years’ worth of clutter and receipts.
When you finally locked eyes with him, all you felt was existential dread.
Without thinking, your tone turned accusatory.
“Where’s my stuff?”
“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered under his breath as he turned on his heel. He stormed toward the bedroom, you trailing hot on his heels.
You called his name, grabbing his wrist, but he yanked his arm away immediately—reacting as though your touch had burned his skin. He led you into the bedroom and carefully closed the door behind you.
“I’ll ask you again,” you said, forcing your shaking voice to steady. “Where’s my stuff?”
“That’s all you care about?” He whipped around to face you, his hands clenched into tight fists.
He then pulled out your phone, dangling it in the air. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he grated, his eyes dragging slowly up and down your tense form before narrowing into sharp slits when they reached your face.
“God, why can’t you just fucking care about our relationship for once?” he snapped. “We have a child. We have a family—we’re married, y/n!”
“You’re ungrateful, and I’ve turned soft. You make me soft—dumb, even. I should’ve known you were cheating on me.” he angrily continued.
“I’m not cheating,” you huffed, gritting your teeth. “You made me cut ties with every man I know. My life revolves entirely around you and your selfish desires.”
“Is that why you ran to your little John?”
Of course he had been able to get into your phone. You didn’t want to tell him that you were lawyering up, trying to at least keep one part of your already blown up plan under wraps.
“Did he touch you?” he asked quietly, his body tightly coiled. It was a question meant more for himself than for you—his mind already whirling with images of this strange man laying hands on his wife, spiraling into a gut-wrenching, tumultuous storm of thought.
He stiffened, his grip tightening around your phone as an unsavory image crossed his mind. His jaw clenched shut as he began to pace back and forth, restrained fury simmering just beneath the surface.
He yells, then your phone is thrown onto the floor. It breaks.
All you could do was slink down the wall, holding your knees close to your chest as he rants. You don’t even remember when he finally stops, the angry stomps coming to an end.
You disassociate when he grabs onto your arms, shaking your body to force out a response. When he gets none, you find yourself on the bed with him on top of you.
His eyes locked onto yours—deadly, resolute, determined to hurt you. Only when you saw his hands moving toward your neck did you finally scream, thrashing beneath him.
You say two strangled words to save yourself. Complete lies, but the black dots dissipate and your vision becomes clear again. His awfully sickly sweet smile quickly appears, attention now on your stomach.
finally done with finals!! Flying home and I’m gonna try to start writing short fics with yandere husband and the kids, fluffier christmas stories, and maybe something a little more scandalous?
Anyways, I hope you guys are doing well and good luck to anyone that still has finals!
