Yandere, normal, platonic, romantic, xreader, oneshot, full stories, headcanons, lemon, fluff, gore, I will add more when I think of more.
Wait!:
Age gap (both legal adults), Things not on my masterlist...i might try if I know the fandom other then that no, sorry..., platonic animals maybe?? Strictly platonic, ill think of more later,
No!:
Incest, CP (BIG NO NO), pedophile, body horror, ill think of more later..
Yandere Platonic! Craig tucker x female reader south park
Craig's usual cold, monotone exterior completely cracks around you, making him fiercely protective and defensive of your friendship above all else.
He approaches his yandere tendencies out of a desperate, overwhelming need to be your absolute best friend, genuinely believing he is just being incredibly loyal.
He tracks your daily schedule down to the exact second, purely so he can coordinate his breaks and guarantee you two always sit together.
He uses his tech skills to quietly mirror your phone screen, mostly just to see if you are venting to other people instead of coming to him.
He sits in the back of class and stares blankly at the back of your head, getting deeply annoyed if anyone else tries to partner up with you.
His signature middle finger is weaponized as a silent threat, flashing it at anyone who tries to join your duo because he hates sharing your time.
He gathers private dirt on your other friends by quietly observing them, leaving anonymous blackmail notes in their lockers so you only hang out with him.
He manipulates Clyde, Token, and Jimmy into letting you join their friend group, but ensures you are always paired up strictly with him during activities.
He gaslights you with a flat, certain voice, telling you fake rumors about your other friends so you will realize he is the only loyal friend you have.
He keeps a specific desk drawer entirely dedicated to your friendship, filled with neatly labeled items like matching arcade tickets and old school projects.
He positions Stripe's guinea pig cage to face a framed photo of you two, unironically rambling to his pet about how you are his only true best friend.
He exploits Tweek's intense anxiety, asking him to constantly check on you just to make sure no one else is trying to replace Craig as your number one.
If Tweek ever becomes closer to you than he is, Craig will feel deeply betrayed and ruthlessly trigger a panic attack to push Tweek out of the picture.
He stands by your locker every single day to walk you home, grunting a flat, "We're hanging out today," leaving zero room for objection.
He insists on carrying your heavy backpack every day, claiming it's just what a real best friend does so you don't wear yourself out.
He hacks into your home security cameras, not to spy maliciously, but just to make sure you safely made it home after hanging out.
He buys two copies of every video game, skateboard tool, and snack he owns, excitedly ensuring you two always have matching gear.
He sits next to you at lunch every single day, aggressively claiming the seat next to you and glaring at anyone who tries to crowd your space.
If you try to ignore him, he will sit right outside your house on his skateboard, waiting with a stubborn, sullen expression until you come out.
He learns your absolute favorite video games and secretly practices them for hours at night just so he can perfectly carry you in co-op modes.
He actively lets the air out of your bicycle tires just so he can hang out with you longer while helping you fix it.
He takes candid photos of you two hanging out, printing them out to keep in a hidden scrapbook under his bed that documents your friendship.
He shows up at your workplace or after-school activities, awkwardly sitting in the corner just to serve as your personal, silent support system.
He learns your parents' schedules perfectly, timing his visits so he can bring over junk food and video games for a movie night the second you're alone.
If you ever try to end the friendship, his deadpan eyes will immediately well up with tears, completely shattering his unbothered facade.
He will nervously pull out his phone and show you your tracking data, desperately begging you to see how much he cares about keeping you safe.
He will clumsily explain his plans for you two to move into the same apartment complex after high school, red-faced and insisting you can't break your duo.
my friend is ignoring me :((( she said we would call and play adopt me but she never did. This happened two days in a row but shes a really nice and good friend, but I feel like im bring ignored or smthhh
Yandere tweek x yandere Wendy x yandere kyle x gender neutral reader
SEPARATE:
* Kyle maps out your entire semester before it even begins, looking up the professors for your major and cross-referencing syllabus workloads just to subtly pressure you into taking the exact same general education classes as him.
* If you are in different majors, he actively volunteers to "peer-review" every single essay, lab report, or project you write, weaponizing his high intelligence to foster a deep state of academic dependency.
* When you fail an exam or feel overwhelmed, he won't just comfort you; he will subtly imply that the campus environment is too toxic for you to handle alone, pulling your chair closer to his desk and telling you to just let him handle the study schedule from now on so he can ensure you pass.
* He feels a deep, possessive thrill knowing that your academic success and future career goals are entirely reliant on his intellectual labor, using the overwhelming nature of college academics to weave himself inextricably into your daily routine.
* If you do not room with him, he views your actual roommate as an immediate, hostile threat to your safety and moral purity, spending hours analyzing their habits to look for minor infractions like drinking, smoking, or messy habits so he can file anonymous, highly detailed reports to the Resident Advisor to get them evicted.
* He essentially moves himself into your space anyway, leaving his textbooks, laptop chargers, and hoodies scattered around your room to mark his territory while acting as a hyper-vigilant gatekeeper for your social life.
* Because he hates college party culture, he will explicitly forbid you from attending them by citing "safety statistics," and if you do manage to go to a frat party, he shows up uninvited under the guise of being your designated driver, standing in the corner and glaring with a terrifying, cold intensity at anyone who tries to offer you a drink.
* He exploits campus technology to keep tabs on you, casually suggesting you download location-sharing safety apps under the excuse of "campus safety at night," while completely memorizing your class schedule down to the exact building and room number.
* He knows exactly how long it takes to walk from the library to your dorm, and if you are even five minutes late, his phone calls and texts start flooding in, masked as frantic, breathless worry.
* When he discovers a romantic rival, Kyle rarely resorts to clumsy, physical violence, choosing instead to ruin their life institutionally by using fake email addresses to report your crush to the university administration for academic dishonesty or code-of-conduct violations.
* He destroys their reputation so thoroughly that they are forced to transfer schools or lose their scholarships, leaving you heartbroken and confused—at which point Kyle is right there to hold you, whispering about how people always reveal their true colors eventually, but he will never leave you.
* If he catches you genuinely falling for someone else, or if you attempt to cut ties with him because his behavior is suffocating, his calm, logical facade completely shatters, and the explosive, screaming temper he had as a child returns as something deeper, colder, and far more intimidating.
* He will pin you against a dorm wall or trap you in a secluded study room, demanding to know why you are throwing your life away on people who don't care about you the way he does.
* His inner monologue completely distorts reality, convincing him that you are simply naive, easily manipulated, and incapable of making adult decisions in this big college world, which makes locking you away feel like a necessary intervention rather than a crime.
* If he decides to take you, it will likely be to a secluded off-campus apartment or a remote cabin during winter break where he will confiscate your phone and take care of your every physical need with a gentle, terrifyingly domestic smile, completely convinced that once the chaos of college fades, you will thank him for saving you.
—
* Tweek develops a hyper-fixation on you as a coping mechanism for his overwhelming college anxiety, turning you into his ultimate "safe space" and the only thing that can quiet the constant noise in his head.
* The sheer size of a university campus
completely overloads his senses, causing him to latch onto you so tightly that he experiences severe, shaking panic attacks whenever you are out of his sight for more than an hour.
* He constantly uses his signature paranoia to justify tracking you, frantically convincing himself that if he doesn't know exactly where you are, you will get hit by a campus bus, get trapped in an elevator, or get targeted by a dangerous criminal.
* Tweek handles his absolute terror of you leaving him by weaponizing his vulnerability, crying and shaking so intensely during minor disagreements that you feel forced to stay and comfort him out of pure guilt.
* He uses his family's coffee business to keep you physically dependent on him, constantly brewing custom, hyper-caffeinated roasts packed with specialized herbal supplements designed to keep your mood stable and your energy focused entirely on him.
* If you try to study at the campus library alone, Tweek will hide nearby behind bookshelves or in adjacent cubicles, visibly twitching and tearing at his shirt collar while watching your every move to ensure no classmates sit next to you.
* He takes over your physical health under the frantic excuse that you aren't taking care of yourself, obsessively tracking your sleep schedule, packing your meals, and forcing you to take specific vitamins that he monitors you swallowing.
* When he perceives a threat from a classmate or a romantic rival, Tweek’s typical nervous stutter completely vanishes, replaced by a frantic, wide-eyed, sleepless manic state where he plots how to eliminate them before they "ruin everything."
* He uses anonymous campus burner accounts to send terrifying, unhinged conspiracy theories and fake threat letters to your friends, successfully scaring them into avoiding you entirely so that you have no choice but to rely on him for protection.
* If he finds out someone asked you out, he won't confront them directly; instead, he will completely break down in your dorm room, pulling his hair out and screaming that the person is a secret predator, deliberately making such a massive, exhausting scene that you promise never to speak to that classmate again just to calm him down.
* He secretly collects your discarded personal items—like used pens, stray hairs from your hairbrush, or old hoodies—and hides them under his mattress in a frantic, disorganized shrine that he clutches tightly to sleep when you aren't there.
* His breaking point occurs when he becomes entirely convinced that the university environment is designed to tear you away from him, causing him to snap and decide that the only way to keep you safe from the world is to completely remove you from it.
* He will subtly slip a heavy sedative into your daily coffee, pack your unconscious body into his car, and drive you far away from the campus to a remote, locked location—likely an old, abandoned property owned by his family's business.
* Once he has you locked away, his manic energy completely resets into a domestic, hyper-attentive state where he tearfully serves you homemade food and coffee, rocking you back and forth while whispering that the scary outside world can never hurt their relationship again.
—
* Wendy approaches her obsession with the terrifying, clinical precision of an Ivy League-bound honor student, viewing you not just as a partner, but as a long-term investment that she must protect and optimize at all costs.
* She uses her high-ranking position in student government to completely control the campus environment around you, subtly adjusting university club schedules, student worker shifts, and even department events to ensure your paths cross perfectly.
* If she notices a specific classmate or professor trying to get too close to you, she will abuse her administrative connections to quietly access their student or employee records, looking for any minor academic violation to weaponize against them.
* She establishes a flawless public image as the campus power-couple, manipulating social media and public campus events so thoroughly that the entire student body views the two of you as completely inseparable, making anyone else feel too intimidated to ever flirt with you.
* Wendy completely weaponizes gaslighting under the guise of intellectual debate, using her champion debate-team skills to pick apart your arguments until you genuinely believe your boundaries are irrational and that her controlling behavior is just "mature relationship communication."
* She subtly takes over your entire financial and professional future by "helping" you apply for internships and scholarships, deliberately deleting acceptance emails from companies located out of state so you are forced to accept positions close to her.
* If you manage to get a spot in a co-ed dorm, Wendy will quietly meet with the housing department, leveraging her student government influence and fabricating "safety concerns" to switch your housing assignment so you end up rooming either with her or a quiet student who is never home.
* She tracks your location using high-end security apps that she insists you install for "campus safety," keeping a dual monitor setup in her dorm room where one screen holds her thesis work and the other tracks your live GPS coordinates.
* When a romantic rival refuses to back down, Wendy completely ditches her diplomatic facade, printing out highly confidential, damaging information about that person and leaving it on their advisor's desk to ruin their academic career overnight.
- She keeps a highly organized, password-protected digital dossier on her laptop containing your daily schedule, a list of everyone you speak to, your current grades, and a detailed psychological breakdown of your emotional vulnerabilities.
- If you try to break up with her, she doesn't cry or scream; instead, she sits you down with a cold, terrifying smile and calmly explains exactly how she can ruin your GPA, your scholarships, and your post-grad job opportunities with a single phone call.
- Her absolute breaking point happens if she realizes the unpredictable nature of the college campus is making her lose her grip on you, pushing her to execute a highly calculated plan to remove you from the university system entirely.
- She will systematically forge paperwork to officially withdraw you from all your classes, pack your bags while you are out, and use her family's wealth to relocate you to a private, highly secure off-campus residence that she fully controls.
- Once she has you isolated, she treats you with absolute, chilling grace, managing your daily routine like a strict but loving warden, completely confident that she has successfully saved your future from the chaos of the outside world.
—
POLY:
- This four-way relationship operates like a highly structured, inescapable web where Kyle handles the long-term planning, Wendy manages the logistics and campus politics, and Tweek acts as the hyper-vigilant emotional anchor.
- They have a shared Google Calendar and a synchronized tracking app that all three of them monitor constantly, ensuring that no matter where you are on the university campus, at least one of them is physically by your side or watching from a distance.
- Kyle and Wendy use their combined, staggering intellect to completely run your academic life, co-authoring your study schedules and peer-reviewing your papers together at a private library table while Tweek sits next to you, frantically rubbing your shoulders to keep you from getting stressed.
- Tweek is the one who handles your immediate physical environment, constantly bringing custom coffee blends and meals to your dorm room, while Kyle and Wendy handle the high-level security, ensuring your dorm roommate is permanently reassigned so the four of you can essentially live together.
- When a classmate tries to flirt with you, the trio reacts with a terrifyingly synchronized, multi-layered counter-attack that leaves the target completely socially and academically ruined before the weekend even starts.
- Wendy will use her student government power to get the rival removed from your group projects, Kyle will launch an institutional smear campaign against their reputation, and Tweek will send anonymous, unhinged text warnings that scare them into changing their major entirely.
- Arguments within the polyamorous dynamic are impossible for you to win; Wendy will logically dismantle your boundaries, Kyle will guilt-trip you using his self-righteous savior complex, and Tweek will start sobbing and hyperventilating until you apologize just to make the chaos stop.
- They weaponize their own internal relationship dynamics to keep you trapped, comforting each other in front of you to show you what a "perfect, united front" they are, leaving you feeling entirely isolated if you ever try to push back against their rules.
- Wendy manages a shared, encrypted database on her laptop where all three of them log daily updates about your mood, your conversations, the people you interact with, and your current academic standing.
- Kyle acts as the moral judge of the group, deciding which of your friends are "toxic influences," while Wendy seamlessly executes the social elimination of those friends and Tweek watches your phone to ensure you don't secretly message them.
- If you try to run away from the campus or escape the relationship, their individual breaking points instantly merge into a highly efficient, terrifyingly organized kidnapping plot.
- Wendy handles the finances and secures a secluded, off-campus property, Kyle officially forges the university paperwork to withdraw you from your classes, and Tweek smoothly slips a sedative into your morning coffee.
- Once you wake up in their shared, highly secure off-campus home, the atmosphere shifts into a smothering, deeply domestic paradise where all three of them dote on you constantly.
- Kyle will read to you on the couch, Wendy will manage your daily schedule within the house, and Tweek will hold you tightly through the night, all three of them completely convinced that they have successfully saved you from the dangerous outside world.
Hey, guys! Welcome back to Snake in the Garden! I do apologize for my long absence. College has started back up; my depression has been kicking my butt and writing block for this chapter were just a few reasons for the delay. However, I'm back with a bang! I highly recommend reading the warnings on this chapter as it does get a bit intense. Oh, and from the bottom of my heart: thank you all so much for supporting this fanfiction! I cherish every like, reblog and read every comment posted on each chapter. I plan to have multiple parts after this one, so I hope you stay. Also, the taglist is open, so if you'd like to be added don't hesitate to comment! As always, have a great day/night and enjoy part five!
Words: 9626
Warnings: Swearing (more than usual), Non-Con Touching, Non-Con Kissing, Non-Con Sexual Advances/Harassment, Reader is forced to wear skimpy clothes, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Body Horror, Lots of Blood, Various Characters gain Trauma from Lucifer, Lucifer goes into Beast Mode, Lucifer's Obsession goes off the rails, Possessive treatment to Reader, Talk of hanging by snake, Kidnapping, Talk of watching someone die, Major Yandere Behavior from Lucifer, Reader gets Pushed Around, Reader gets put in a Cell, Degrading Name Calling-mainly to Reader, Talk of Cannibalism, Reference to Disturbing use of Body Parts, Talk of Sexual Actions, Talk of Drinking Blood, Reader Suffers Abundantly in this Chapter, Seriously who gave Lucifer a Sword
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
I gasped and my eyes widened as I stared at the two beings in my living room. The one who spoke was a larger man. He appeared to have a dad bod underneath his white, purple and gold robe. The black mask he wore had two large horns attached and his golden facial features held a smug look. Behind him stood a female. She too wore a black mask, her horns curled inwards. She appeared to be wearing a black tunic with black skin tight pants and light gray thigh high boots to match. The crude white stitched mouth scowled at me, almost acting like I was wasting her time. I gulped, both sets of eyes watching me like a hawk. “W-who are you? What do you want?”
The masked man set down his bag of Doritos (which I realized were from my cupboard) and offered a hand. “The name’s Adam, sweetheart. I’m the First Man.”
I looked down at his hand and then back at him. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “If you’re the First Man, does that mean that Lucifer sent you to come get me?”
I stepped back in fear as he cackled, holding his stomach. “Heavens no! I hate that son of a bitch!”
I lowered my guard a bit. “If you’re not with him, why are you here?”
Adam stopped laughing and brushed his robe. “I’ve come to take you to Heaven with me.”
“But I have no business there. I’m not even dead!”
“I can grant you permission. Let’s say it's one of the perks of being a celebrity.”
He pointed his fingers at me as if they were guns and he clicked his tongue. I looked between him and his companion. She tilted her head towards her master as if to say take his hand. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on! Lucifer can’t touch you while you’re on Holy ground. And I have a funny feeling he’d like to get his claws on you, if you know what I’m saying.”
I cringed in disgust at what he was implying. “Besides, I can be your bodyguard! I have special privileges being famous after all. And my wingspan is bigger than Lucifers!”
I looked down at my engagement ring. The snake seemed to coil tight around my finger as the eye glimmered, daring me to trust in the Heavenly man’s words. I bit my lip and looked up at him, his female companion now by his side. The sword at her side glinted and I could picture it ramming into my fiance. I could see the light leave his eyes and blood spill down his snow white skin. The betrayal would show on his face as it had mine when he took me to Hell. I felt my lips twitch into a smile as I realized that maybe, just maybe, these two were my allies. My eyes met Adam’s and I gave a quick nod. “I’ll go with you.”
His smile curled up by his eyes. “Good choice, babe. Lute prepare the portal.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman stepped forward and raised her sword to the sky. She began to draw a symbol that looked like a cross and chanted under her breath. “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, let these three souls enter Heaven freely.”
As soon as she finished, gold mist began to circle the ceiling. It began to sprinkle down around us, causing me to sneeze. “Bless you.”
“Thanks.”
I looked up and was amazed to see a bright blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Sunlight streamed down and it felt warm on my skin. “It’s ready, sir.”
“C’mon, babe! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”
“Wait!”
I brought my fingers around my ring and forced it off. Relief flooded my body as I set it on the coffee table and I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I was finally free. “I’m ready now.”
I let out a squeak as he hoisted me up by my waist, his hand traveling a bit low to my butt. I didn’t have much time to think about it because his golden wings opened up and pushed us upwards. The wind from the angel’s wings swept my hair and I couldn’t help but let out a gasp. Even on a bright sunny day on Earth that sky couldn’t compare to Heaven’s. The blue of the sky was a bright baby blue and the clouds were the purest of white. I reached out a hand and laughed at how light the cloud felt passing through my fingers. “Beautiful isn’t it,” Adam questioned.
“It’s better than I could have ever imagined!”
“This isn’t even the best part.”
I focused my gaze ahead of us and my eyes widened. I could see a patch of clouds with bright pastel colored buildings, almost too bright to stare at. We landed on said patch and the mist surrounding the area brushed away, bowing to the First Man. Adam set me down and I was hesitant to place my full weight down. The cloud itself was soft and yet I didn’t fall through. Casting my eyes up, I saw a golden fence stretching a long distance that I couldn’t even begin to see the end of. In the middle was a set of golden doors creating a gate, pearls and diamonds adorning the bars. I gasped as I realized these were the Pearly Gates that people claimed to see as they passed on. As soon as it clicked, a short, blonde haired man with lightly saturated clothes and white wings appeared behind a podium. He flashed a smile with his pearly whites and beckoned us over. “Hiya! Welcome to Heaven! Can I get your name please?”
“Oh, um, Y/n L/n.”
He flipped to the appropriate page in his large book and when he found it he used his index finger to skim through all the names. He muttered under his breath as he searched, his eyebrows wrinkling after a few seconds. “Um, I’m not seeing you on my list. Perhaps you’re in the wrong place-”
“She’s with me, pretty boy.”
Adam crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. “I told you not to call me that. It’s Saint Peter. Besides, she has to be on my list if she’s passed on. She’s dead, right?”
“No, but-”
“Adam, you can’t just bring living people here! It’s against the rules! Oh my goodness, what if He finds out-”
“He won’t! Now let us in, jackass!”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. I will not get in trouble again for your shenanigans!”
“You listen here-”
“What is going on here?”
All of us looked up to see two females flying down towards us. The one on the left was much taller than the one on the right. Both had gray dresses with purple and white accents. They landed in front of us and I could see them clearly. The one on the left appeared to be an adult woman with dark grayish brown skin. She had gray scaleras with white irises, long winged eyelashes and white freckles below her eyes. Her gray hair was long and was twisted into thick curls. A glowing white crown with blue jewels floated above her head as her black lips set in a frown. The one on the right looked like a child, her skin a lighter grayish brown tone. She too had white freckles under her blue eyes, the irises being an ombre of purple. Her light purple hair reached the hem of her dress and her black lips formed a pout. Both of their six white wings relaxed at their sides. “Sera, tell this dickhead to let us in! He has no right to keep us out here!”
“Sera, he brought in a human! One that has not yet passed on!”
The taller woman, Sera I assumed, raised her hand. “Enough. Let the girl speak on her own terms.”
Everyone turned their gaze towards me and I could feel my stomach twist in knots. My fingers fiddled with the fabric of my nightgown and I found my eyes were more interested in my bare feet. “Um, I’m Y-Y/n. I lived on Earth but Lucifer kidnapped me. He wants me to be his bride.”
I glanced back up at Sera and a shocked expression graced her features. In a second she flipped back to a more relaxed face, her black lips smiling at me. “My child, you have had quite the journey. Come.”
She moved to the side and gestured her hand towards the gate. I looked at Adam and he pushed me forward. “But, Sera-”
“It’s alright, Saint Peter. This is the one exception I will make.”
“Alright.”
He waved his hand and the gate opened, sunlight streaming through. I took a few hesitant steps forward and the four angels followed behind me. The buildings that I saw before glowed in the sunlight and the golden paved road appeared like marble. The two females stepped in front of me, calm smiles on their faces. “How rude of us to not introduce ourselves. I am Sera, the high Seraphim.”
She bowed her head as the child-like angel giggled. She bounced in front of me and was quick to take my hand, shaking it ferociously. “I’m Emily, the other Seraphim! But you can call me Emmy, Em, E, whatever. Welcome to Heaven!”
I smiled and pulled my hand away from her light grip. “Thank you. It feels so surreal being here honestly. I didn’t picture Heaven to look like this.”
“We are quite the close knit community. Everyone is friendly, polite and the nicest of the nice. We pride ourselves on being the best and most innocent of creatures,” Sera said.
“Oh you’re going to like it here, Y/n! We’ve got the most delicious food you’ll ever taste and the beds are like you’re sleeping on a cloud, they’re so soft! You can indulge in any hobby you like and we even have ice cream with rainbow sprinkles!”
I chuckled at Emily’s enthusiasm. “Sounds like fun. Where might I be staying, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“You’ll be with me, toots. I have several bedrooms in my bachelor pad.”
Adam wrapped an arm around my shoulder. His fingers played with the strap to my nightgown and I felt a pit in my stomach as he slid it down my shoulder. His black fingers caressed the skin and I couldn’t help the shiver that ran down my spine. I didn’t know what was worse: Lucifer’s gentle touch or Adam’s commanding one. “How about we get you something new to wear. Lute, take Y/n and get her some new clothes. While I enjoy seeing those pretty shins of yours Y/n, I prefer to see them just for myself.”
His fingers slightly dug into my shoulder and I gulped. Was he being possessive or was it just my imagination from being around Lucifer? Lute signaled for me to follow her and as we walked the golden road I wondered if I truly was in a better place. I thought back to Earth and how I longed to be there with S/o. I wondered if he was looking for me or if somehow the Devil made him forget all about me. I held onto the hope that he was searching everywhere, calling everyone he knew and scouring every town in our state. “Hey, pay attention! We’re here.”
“Sorry.”
I hadn’t noticed Lute had opened a wooden oak door and was pointing at it. I walked in and she shut it behind us. I looked around the room as she rummaged through a closet. The purple floor was made to look like tiled marble and the light blue walls were a pastel version of the sky. The bed itself was King size and had purple sheets and blankets to match. A white knit duvet laid over top and the whole thing looked so soft. A nightstand with a purple based lamp stood on either side of the oak headboard, a wooden oak desk stood under a stained glass window, a purple wooden dresser stood next to the door, and the purple closet was next to another wooden door. Lute walked over and threw a pile of clothes at my chest. I looked up at her and could feel the anger behind her mask. “This will be your room. Bathroom is behind that door. Change and roam around as you like. Just don’t disturb Adam or myself. We’re busy people, got it?”
I blinked in shock at her tone. Why was she so displeased with me? It was Adam’s idea to bring me here. When I didn’t answer, she grabbed me by the hair and pulled. I shrieked as searing pain tugged at my scalp. “I said, got it?”
It sounded like she was gritting her teeth. I nodded my head rapidly. “Yes, yes! I got it!”
As she let go, she pushed me and I landed on the edge of the bed. “Just because you're in Heaven doesn’t mean you’ll get Heavenly treatment. You’re only here because Adam said so. If it was my choice, you would still be rotting in Hell being Lucifer’s bitch.”
She scoffed and turned, her heeled boots clicking against the tiled floor. I sat in disbelief even as the door slammed behind Lute. Clearly she despised me. The question was why. It took me a few minutes to get over the awkward exchange, finally looking down at the pile of clothes. Lute had chosen a boring arrangement: a white tank top, a golden jacket that was just the neck, shoulders and puffy sleeves, dark purple puffy harem pants, and black gladiator sandals. While I matched Adam's color scheme, Lute made it so I didn't stand out. I sighed and walked to the other wooden door. Opening it, it did house a bathroom like she said. I stepped in and locked the door behind me. Sure, everyone is supposed to be friendly, but with the way Adam made me feel uncomfortable I was not risking my safety. The bathroom held a toilet, shower, and a white marble counter with a sink. Silently I stripped down and put on the angelic garments. I had to admit while the clothes Lucifer gave me were soft, these felt, well, heavenly. I looked at myself in the mirror above the counter. I looked so pale from receiving no sun down in Hell and my eyebags matched the purple of my pants. I sighed and turned the faucet onto cold water. The frigidness felt nice against my fingertips as I tested the temperature. Satisfied, I splashed water onto my face and rubbed it in thoroughly. I breathed in deep and looked at myself in the mirror once more. My cheeks felt a bit warm from the cool contact, but I felt a bit better nonetheless. Drying my hands on a towel hanging on a metal bar behind me, I unlocked the bathroom door and headed back into the bedroom. As I was trying to figure out where I was going to explore first, I heard two voices. Curious, I stepped to my bedroom door and opened it slowly. Nobody was in the hallway, but I could hear the muffled conversation taking place next to me. Hesitantly, I walked into the hall and to the golden door next to mine. I put my ear up close to the wood. I couldn’t tell exactly who was talking to one another, but from what I knew it sounded like Adam and Sera. “-can’t believe you would bring her here, Adam! Do you know how dangerous your actions are?!”
“Chill out, drama queen. Nothing is going to fucking happen, okay.”
“You don’t know what Lucifer is capable of.”
“The motherfucker hides during the exterminations. You really think he’d try and come up here?”
“Yes! When Lucifer desires something he won’t stop till it’s in his grasp. I fear he will make quite the grand entrance to come and retrieve his beloved.”
“Oh please. Even if he does come, I’ll have her wrapped around my finger to the point she’ll obey my every order.”
My eyebrows scrunched together. I could only assume they were talking about me. But why would Adam want me to comply with him? It’s not like I found him attractive or was even remotely interested in him. My ears caught onto light footsteps headed for the door, so I quickly rushed around a corner. I watched as Sera entered the hall, a look of disappointment gracing her features. She sighed and floated the opposite direction of me, Adam soon following after. I let my hands slip down to my sides and decided to take a walk to mull over the whole situation.
I didn’t really pay attention to where I was going, just focusing on my feet lifting up and down as I walked. It wasn’t till I heard ocean waves that made me stop. I looked to my left to see a gorgeous beach sitting in the distance. How odd.
I felt myself drawn to the calming sound of the tide seeping in and out as I made my way over. The wooden steps below my feet squeaked a bit and soon the white sand seeped around my sandals. I stopped at the water’s edge and closed my eyes. The breeze off the sea brushed against my flesh, the warmth feeling like a hug from a loved one. The smell of the salt reminded me of when S/o and I traveled a few towns over from ours to visit an aquarium. The animals were held in their natural waters behind glass panes, but the smell of rich salt permeated the air wherever you went. “Enjoying your freedom?”
My eyes shot open and I spun around. Laying on a long white beach chair was a taller woman. Her long blonde hair blew a bit in the breeze and caressed the top of the sand. She wore a dark purple sun hat with a lighter purple band, a dark purple bikini set, and purple rimmed sunglasses. Even though I couldn’t see her eyes, her aura wasn’t threatening. “W-what did you say?”
“I said enjoying your freedom, dearie?”
“Um, I guess. I mean I just got here so I wouldn’t know-”
“Come closer.”
I was taken aback by her tone. Though she was in a relaxed position, her voice was commanding, authoritative. I gulped and did as she requested. I stopped by her bare feet and could feel her eyes scanning me up and down. She hummed and her lips twitched into a small smile. “So you’re the one Lucifer is obsessed with now. I’ll admit I can see why. A pretty thing like you probably reminds him of the swans he would keep in gilded cages. While they weren’t ducks per say he found their beauty and grace appealing.”
I could feel my cheeks heat up at her compliment. “T-thank you?”
She chuckled and leaned back, soaking up the sun. “Your wedding will be the talk of Hell for quite a few months, I reckon. It’s not often that the King lends out his heart. You must be very special to him.”
“I found him as a snake. He was wounded and I patched him up. God, if only I hadn’t touched him I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
The woman scooted her feet over and patted the empty space on her chair. I sat sideways so I was able to glance at her. “So he took the form of a snake, eh? He hasn’t done that since he offered the apple to Eve. I always did find it interesting how slippery he could be, even when not in his snake form.”
“He’s so clingy. I hardly have any time to myself, he is always by my side. His claws touch me tenderly and when I look into his eyes all I can see is adoration. It’s disturbing.”
“Possessive as always. Perhaps your presence eases his depression.”
“I guess. I just don’t understand why he can’t get it through his head that I don’t want to be with him.”
“It’s called ego, darling. His pride gets the better of him. It doesn’t help that he’s the sin of it either.”
I brought my hand up to sit in my lap and found myself fidgeting with the finger my engagement ring had been on. “Apparently he’s so in love with me that he forgets he was married before. I realize his wife, Lilith I think her name was, left him seven years ago but he acts like I’m his first love.”
The woman was silent for a moment, the calm of the tide being the only sound between us. “Sounds like he’s just trying to find someone who makes him happy.”
“Yes, but at the expense of my own happiness.”
The woman opened her mouth to say something, but a familiar voice made us both look up at the wooden stairs. Emily stood waving her arm, a giant smile on her face. “Adam said you’d be out wandering so I thought I’d catch up and show you the ropes!”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Come on! I have so much stuff to show you!”
I chuckled and stood up from the chair. Just as I started to walk away, the woman’s hand clung to my wrist. Her grip was firm but gentle, making me turn back towards her. With her free hand she slid her sunglasses down her nose just enough to see her eyes. My eyes widened to see her light purple irises gleaming at me. “Please take care of him for me, Y/n. I can tell he truly loves and adores you.”
She raised my hand to her lips and left a light kiss on my knuckles. “Y/n, come on!”
The woman let me slip my hand from her grasp and as I slowly walked away she pushed her sunglasses back up. I was dazed as I reached Emily on the stairs, still reeling from what the woman had said. “Oh I’m so excited to show you everything! I think I’ll take you to the park first, ooo! Or I could take you to the zoo! We’ve got all of the animals Noah had on the Ark and more!”
I didn’t say anything as she grabbed my hand and pulled me away. Before we got too far I looked back at the woman, her hair blowing in the breeze.
I didn’t really pay much attention to what Emily was showing me or what she was saying. I was too focused on my conversation with the woman on the beach. Her eyes felt so familiar to me and yet I couldn’t place where I had seen them before. “/n? Y/n? Are you listening?”
I shook my head to see the young Seraphim looking at me concerned. “Huh?”
“I asked what you thought of the sunset. Isn’t it pretty?”
I followed her arm to see her pointing ahead of us. The clouds around us had turned pink, orange and light purple while the Sun had been cast to be a golden orange. “Yeah, it’s cool.”
“Are you okay? You seem distracted.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You can tell me anything. I’m here for you.”
Emily placed a hand on my shoulder, her thumb rubbing light circles. While the offer was tempting I didn’t know if I should tell her anything. I mean what did she know about Lucifer? Would she understand how the woman and I had connected while talking of the Devil? I looked over at her and could feel a wave of calm hit. Emily had this aura of trust and care surrounding her; her eyes sparkled and a friendly smile was placed on her black lips. I let out a sigh. “The woman I was with on the beach. Who is she?”
The angel looked puzzled, holding her chin in between her index finger and thumb. “I’m not entirely sure. She just showed up one day with Adam and Lute. I tried to talk to her but she brushed me off. Come to think of it, she only really talks to Adam. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that she knew about Lucifer and I are to be wed soon. She also had information that isn’t known to the general public.”
“Maybe she heard it somewhere? I’ve heard Sera talk about Down Below every once in a while.”
“No, she knew too many details to have heard it in passing. Besides, she told me to take care of him, almost like she knew him personally. It was like she was giving me her blessing.”
“How mysterious.”
The two of us stood watching the sky slowly paint itself to night. It was refreshing to see something that S/o and I would watch any chance we got. “Y/n, may I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What’s it like on Earth?”
I blinked a few times, stunned by her question. “You’ve never been?”
“No. I was created way after Lucifer fell. My only purpose is to make the winners happy and enjoy their eternal life here in Heaven. Sera doesn’t view my position as something needed in everyday human life.”
I hummed and stared at the night sky. A shooting star passed by and I smiled in wonder. “I find it to be a lovely place. The town I live in is a nice community. Everyone knows their neighbors and it was the kind of place where if someone had a barbeque, everyone in the neighborhood was invited. I live by myself in a small house. It was kind of like an apartment but with no roommates. I even have my own little garden out back. It is my pride and joy.”
“That sounds amazing. Do you have any significant others?”
“I do. His name is S/o and he’s my world. Before I was kidnapped we didn’t have much time to spend with one another due to our work schedules. But when we were together, my god those were the best times. He made me feel like the most special girl in the universe.”
I smiled upon remembering my dear boyfriend. The memories of us on dates or him telling a stupid joke that I’d laugh way too hard at flooded my head. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes and I was quick to wipe them away. I choked back a sob and tried to focus on the stars. I didn’t want to become a crying mess in front of Emily. “Hiya, toots~”
The young angel and I turned to see the First Man standing behind us, his arms crossed in front of him. “It’s getting late, babe. Hows about you and I get to bed, hm?”
I looked at Emily, who gave me a curt nod. “I suppose.”
I walked up to him, only for him to snuggle me up to his side. “Thanks for watching her, Em! Go get yourself an ice cream or some shit.”
Before I could even say goodbye, Adam was dragging me back to my bedroom. He threw open the door and lightly pushed me inside. I stumbled and turned to look at him. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything, and I mean anything, give me a holler. I’m right next door. Night, babe!”
He threw up a rock symbol on his right hand before slamming the door shut. What is with angels and slamming doors?
I shook my head and went to the closet. I looked in disgust at the pajama choice: a light pink babydoll nightgown with ruffles around the chest area and hem. I searched to see if there were any other options. Unfortunately, there were none. I headed to the bathroom with my pj’s and locked the door behind me. Stripping down, I slid on the nightdress. Looking in the mirror, I cringed at how short it was. I tried to pull the hem down but it stayed around my upper thigh. Growling in frustration, I unlocked the door and headed to the bed. I flipped back the covers and climbed in. I shifted around a bit to try and get comfortable. Even though the mattress was like a cloud, I preferred my bed back home. There I could have S/o’s arms wrapped around me as we cuddled. My homemade quilt and weighted blanket would keep us warm in the Queen sized bed. I could feel the tears from earlier gather in my eyes and slide down onto the pillowcase. I wrapped my arms around my midsection and curled into a ball. I ended up crying myself to sleep.
Over the next few days I found myself next to Adam’s side nearly all the time. The only time I was separated was when I was in the bathroom or when I was sleeping. Even being in the supposed happiest place for death I found myself very uncomfortable. Adam constantly had his hands on me: playing with the straps of my tops, smacking my butt, massaging my shoulders and hips, and his fingertips “accidentally” scraping my boobs. It didn’t help that Lute would constantly glare at me and her face would be pulled into a snarl. I suppose she thought I was disobeying her order to stay away from her master.
I thought about my interactions with the two as I pulled back the covers, getting ready to go to bed. A knock on my door made me pause. It was pretty late so I was confused as to who could be there. “Come in.”
The door slowly opened to reveal Adam. I gagged at how strong his cologne was as I could smell it all the way to where I was. “Um, hey Adam. What can I do for you?”
His footsteps sounded heavy on the tiled floor and the door shutting behind him felt like a blade stabbing into my heart. He lifted his hand and my breath caught in my throat when I heard the lock. I backed up but I felt the bed behind my knees. The First Man stopped right in front of me and allowed his lips to quirk into a deep grin. His hands came up and started to slide the nightgown straps down. Disgusted, I slapped his hands away and went to shove him. As my hands pushed on him, he was quick to grab my wrists and hold them to his chest. “You look so hot, babe. I was right to pick out this pj set. You fill it out perfectly.”
“Let go of me!”
I struggled to pull my hands away but his grip didn’t falter. “Adam, let go! Y-you’re scaring me!”
“Just go with the flow, sweetie. Can’t you see this was meant to be?”
He pushed me onto the bed and before I could get up he pounced on top of me. I was about to hit him but he pinned my wrists on either side of my head. He leaned down and began to kiss my neck. His lips were sloppy and he brought his tongue to lick against my vein. “I’m going to make you forget all about that fucking Morningstar. All that you’re going to have on your mind is the original Dickmaster.”
As he brought his lips down to kiss mine, I let out a growl and threw my leg upwards. I heard him let out a cry of pain before he fell onto the floor clutching his privates. “My balls! My fucking balls! God dammit, Y/n!”
With fear guiding me, I stumbled to the door and fumbled with the lock. “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
My fingers shook as I heard Adam rise, a groan leaving his lips. “I was going to play nice, toots. I really was. But it seems you want to play hard to get!”
I heard the lock click and I quickly threw the door open. I sprinted down the hall as I heard Adam yell after me. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I ran faster than I ever had. My escape was futile though as I slammed into a muscular body. I looked up to see Lute, her mask off to reveal a white bob and yellow eyes. I was frozen as I heard Adam huffing behind us. “Good job catching her, Lute!”
“What would you like me to do with the bitch?”
“Lock her in a cell.”
“Anything else?”
“Hit her or something for kicking my balls. That shit hurt.”
“Of course, sir.”
I cried out as Lute grabbed my hair and pulled me down the hall. I tried to pull her hand off but she just tightened her hold. With the pace we were going, the two of us ended up at a dark wooden door. Lute opened it and walked me to the middle of the dimly lit room. She opened the black metal door to the cell and threw me inside. I groaned as I felt my knee scrape against the cold cobblestone floor. I looked up at the angel who sent daggers into my soul with her gaze. “I told Adam you were trouble, but he insisted we bring you here. And after all the hospitality he showed you…you go back on his trust.”
“By hospitality do you mean perverted-” I growled out.
Lute brought her leg up and kicked my cheek. I landed harshly on my side and spit out some blood that oozed from my teeth. “Don’t speak of him like that.”
“Why? It’s not like he’s a saint!”
She growled and drove her foot into my stomach. I howled as sharp pain blossomed. “He’s better than you could ever be! I mean look at you. While he’s up here in Heaven you’re Down Below sucking Lucifer’s cock.”
Her foot hit my stomach again and I could feel bile rise in my throat. “How does it feel to know you’ll never achieve anything? Your legacy will be known as the Devil’s little whore and that’s all you're good for.”
I gave her a smirk before I coughed. “At least I probably give better head than you.”
Her eyes widened before they returned to slits. With her teeth clenched, she brought her right fist into my mouth. I felt my bottom lip split as some blood came shooting out. “Oh, triggered are we? Is this because you have pent up sexual frustration for your leader? Is that some kind of kink you’re into: master and servant?”
“Shut the hell up!”
Grabbing my hair, she slammed my head into the stone floor with a warrior cry. My vision blurred and the room felt like it was spinning. With her hand still tangled in my locks, Lute brought my head up and down several times to meet the floor. My cheekbone felt like it was on fire and I figured the bone was probably shattered with the force of me hitting the ground. “Think you’re tough shit, huh? I can tell you’re just a scared little girl. You were never meant for Heaven, even if you weren’t branded as Lucifer’s slut.”
I could feel my anger boiling. How dare she call me such vile names. “You think I chose this life? Hell no! I was fine being on Earth with my boyfriend!”
“Yeah right. You probably summoned that dirty retch. Why’d you do it? Did you want fame? Money? The glory of saying you fucked the King of Hell?”
“I didn’t do any of that shit! If I had it my way I would have never helped that stupid snake in my garden! Then maybe I wouldn’t be forced to be a bride against my will! Or better yet, then maybe I wouldn’t have met you or your motherfucking boss!”
She yelled in fury and brought her foot up to meet my chest. I landed on my back and the air left my lungs. I heaved in oxygen as she kept kicking me. I swear I heard ribs cracking under pressure. Lute didn’t stop there. She slammed her gray heeled boot onto my fingers and I couldn’t help but let out a scream. “That’s it! Scream, little girl! Pray that your hellish Daddy comes to save you!”
“S-shut up!”
I felt whiplash as her foot dug into my cheek, blood spilling down my bruised lips. “You know what we consider people like you? Fallen. Maybe I should cut your wings like we do all the others?”
“N-no!”
She roughly turned me over so that my back was facing her. I attempted to stand when I heard the sound of fabric ripping and cool air hitting my back. Lute however stomped me into the ground, her heel digging into my flesh. I heard her sword being unsheathed and saw its angelic light bounce off the cell wall. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything I said! Lute, p-please!”
She let out a cruel laugh and I yelped at her heel digging in further. “You’re pathetic, you know that? If you were half the woman that Adam claimed you to be, you wouldn’t go back on your word. Some advice for you, sweetie. If you say a threat, really mean it.”
I screamed as her sword pierced into the left side of my back. There had to be some kind of special angelic powers attached because this hurt way worse than when I would accidentally slice my finger while cooking. Lute reveled in my cries as she dragged the blade around forming some shape. Tears fell rapidly from my eyes as I slammed my fist down into the cold floor, trying to focus on something other than the pain radiating in my back. I was relieved when I felt the weapon retract, but the relief was short lived. A blood curdling shriek ripped through my throat as the sword entered the right side and began drawing a similar shape to its predecessor. Lute seemed to take her time, enjoying my wails bouncing off the walls. She harshly pulled the sword out and resheathed it. “While I would love to carry on my tradition of licking the blood of my enemies off my blade, I don’t want to taint my Holy body with your sin.”
“W-what did you d-do,” I stuttered under my breath.
I could sense a smirk gracing her features as she rounded in front of me. Reaching under my armpits, she hoisted me up and threw me against the wall. I cried out as the rough stone dug into my newly acquired wounds. “I just cut the wings off the fallen, dare I say, angel. Oh who am I kidding? You’re no angel. You’re not even as worthy as the dirt beneath my feet.”
“F-fuck you.”
I grit my teeth as she harshly gripped my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. “What did I say about empty threats, sweetie? Or do I need to remind you?”
I shook my head as a dangerous smile overtook her face. “No, I think you need the reminder.”
Her hand moved to my throat and she made sure to drag my back up the wall as she let me hang. I weakly kicked my legs as I tried to get her to release me. I could feel my body shutting down as Lute squeezed. I was pretty sure I’d have bruises where her fingers lay. My hands started to slide off of hers as my vision began to get a black haze around the edges. “What is going on here?”
Lute let go of me in her haste and my butt collided hard with the ground. I couldn’t see who had entered as I heaved in deep breaths. “Miss Emily, what are you doing up? It’s late. You should get to bed. Here, let me escort you.”
“What were you doing, Lute?”
“Oh, um, I was taking care of a prisoner.”
I could see a familiar head peek around my attacker’s body, a gasp leaving the young Seraphim’s lips. “Oh my goodness! Y/n!”
Emily rushed past and cradled me in her arms, her hand gently rubbing my bruised cheek. “What have you done?! Y/n didn’t do anything to you!”
“On the contrary Miss Emily, Y/n here has committed a major sin. She rejected the orders of the First Man and I was told to punish her in any way I saw fit.”
“I rejected him because he wanted sex. You left that part out,” I hissed, my throat raw from screaming.
Lute bit her lip and I could see she was dying to cuss me out. “I could forgive Adam’s behavior up until now, but this, this is unforgivable! I need to talk to Sera about this. Violence isn’t the answer and neither is attacking innocent people!”
I could see a shadow cast over the white haired angel’s face and her hand reached for her sword. “There’s no need to discuss this with Sera.”
My eyes widened as her sword was unsheathed next to her side. Emily must have sensed something was off as well because her arms trembled around me. “Lute, w-what are you doing? Put your sword away n-now!”
“I can’t risk you running and tattling to Sera. Who knows what she’ll do to us. Adam and I belong here in Heaven! We’re doing good in God’s name! We will not be cast Down Below!”
She raised the blade and brought it down quickly towards Emily’s head. She screamed and with a newly found inner strength I forced myself up. I let out a warrior cry as I brought my arm up to protect my face, the sharp weapon making contact with my left shoulder. I heard fabric ripping and a glass shattering shriek from the young Seraphim. Glancing down I saw my arm was missing, it lying discarded on the dungeon floor. I let out a shaky gasp and stumbled into the wall. “Y/N!”
I went to go to Emily’s side but Lute stabbed her sword into my right shoulder, effectively pinning me to the wall. I screeched and realized there was nothing I could do. I helplessly watched as the evil angel went for the younger girl’s throat. However, a punch to her face made her drop Emily. She grunted as her head smacked the wall next to me and her body slid down to the floor. I looked towards our savior and felt the color drain from my face. There stood Lucifer, six red and white wings displayed behind him. His eyes were completely red as tall, curvy, red horns grew from his forehead. A flame hovered between them and the snake that usually rested on his hat was now wrapped around the tip of his horns. From this distance it looked like his sharp teeth had grown longer, his canines more prevalent. Lute grunted as she sat up holding her cheek, golden blood trickling from a cut. “You BASTARD! You can’t hurt an angel on Holy ground!”
“The rules don’t apply to FUCKING SCUM LIKE YOU! How DARE you lay your filthy hands on MY BRIDE!”
He rushed forwards and sent a hard punch to her gut. Lute let out a cry of pain before Lucifer grabbed her by the feathers around her throat. Her muscular legs kicked violently, her white gloved hands digging into black hands. I could hear the crunch of her neck bones breaking, golden blood flying out her mouth onto the Devil’s claws. “I can think of so many ways I can torture you with. What should I start with first, hm? I could pluck those white and black feathers from your wings and have them decorate a cape for my darling; Or I could have my snakes bite you all over your body as you screamed and writhed in agony. Oh yes, their venom would enter your bloodstream and there would be nothing you could do as it slowly overtook you, boiling your insides to ash; Or I could break each bone in your body beginning with your fingers and leaving your neck. After everything was broken and you felt that pain, I could slowly saw off each limb, starting with the tops of your fingers and going down each joint. I think I would like that! And after every vein, tendon, muscle and bone was cut off your body I could give them to Cannibal Town to feed the residents as a treat from their King. Just before you died, I could cut out your tongue, eyes and ears and give them to Alastor. I don’t know what the Radio Demon would do with them, but I know he’d find a way to make them useful. And as you would crash from blood loss, I would place your head on a spike outside my palace. It would be a reminder to not mess with me or my fucking bride! Oh, I’d have fun torturing your soul as surely Heaven wouldn’t want you as my hellish hands corrupted your purity!”
Lute bared her teeth and her legs started to slow down to a small wiggle. I watched on in horror as he threw her at the wall on the opposite side of the room. As he stomped towards her, Emily ran to my side. She took off the shawl around her shoulders and wrapped it around my left shoulder. She pulled it tight to try and staunch the bleeding. I hissed as the pressure sent shooting pain to my remaining nerves. Lucifer’s black tail flicked up and down, acting like a scorpion's. My pupils shrunk as I watched him wrap his fist around one of Lute’s wings. She scratched at him as he tugged, a scream ripping from her throat. “That! Is for even bringing my dear apple up here!”
He gripped her other wing and tugged, more bloodied feathers in his fist. “That! Is for throwing her around!”
He went back and forth ripping more and more feathers from each wing, a pile growing behind Lucifer as he called out something harmful Lute had done to me. “Get off me, you motherfucker!”
The Devil brought up one of his feet, slamming the heel of his black leather boot into her eye socket. I shrieked as he kept at it, more golden blood dripping down as her face was slowly being caved in. I couldn’t watch this any longer.
“LUCIFER, STOP!”
His foot was in midair as it froze. He looked over his shoulder at me. I scrunched my eyebrows together and let pleas slip past my bruised lips and raw throat.
“PLEASE, STOP! Just stop! You’ve done enough damage!”
He scowled and brought his foot down, turning to face me completely. White irises surfaced on top of his red scaleras, softening as they stared at me. “Y/n, she could have killed you! By God, your arm has been lobbed off! Why do you plead mercy for a disgusting soul like hers? She and Adam should suffer for what they have done to you!”
“It’s not worth it! Killing her won’t rewind time or heal me. Just, just let her be.”
He sighed and looked down at Lute’s crumpled body. I could hear her labored breathing so I knew she was still alive, just in a fatal condition. He walked over and crouched before me. Those white eyes of his were filled with rage and determination, but not directed towards me. He brought his hands up to my cheeks, tenderly rubbing them with his thumbs. “Okay. But I need to remove this weapon from your shoulder. I’m not going to lie, this’ll hurt like hell. Emily, stabilize her.”
“O-of course.”
The young girl moved her hands from my missing arm to underneath my armpits and Lucifer grabbed the hilt of the sword. “I apologize for the pain this’ll bring, my dear. I’ll go as fast as I can without the risk of damaging your nerves.”
I nodded and with that he pulled. I cried out in pure agony. Emily hushed me in an effort to make me feel better but all I could focus on was the pain. When the sword was fully out of my shoulder, Lucifer patted the top of my head and gave it a gentle kiss. He stood and turned back towards Lute, who had pushed herself up so she was in a sitting position. With the sword by his side, my fiance slowly stalked forward until he stopped in front of the fallen angel. I couldn’t see her due to Lucifer’s wings spread out but maybe he had done that on purpose. “You should thank my dear apple. She has shown you mercy in a time when she shouldn’t be so kind. But her kindness is one of the reasons I fell for her.”
I felt a sudden tension in my body. He had agreed to not do anything so why did I feel so uneasy? Suddenly he thrust forward and from the feminine scream that bounced off the walls I could tell he had stabbed her. “But on the other hand, I’m not so merciful. I am the King of Hell after all. What is it that you angels say about me? That I’m a rotten, purely evil, husk of a man who should have choked on his own apple while a snake hung me from a tree in the Garden of Eden? Well let me live up to my title. Let me show you how rotten and purely evil I can be!”
“Lucifer, no,” I cried.
He pulled the sword out of wherever he had stabbed it and lifted it above his head. He brought it down with a yell of fury and I screamed as golden blood sprayed everywhere. I squirmed as some of it had splattered across the room onto Emily and I. It was warm and sticky against my legs and face. I wondered if Lute was even alive after that blow. “You. Sick. Fuck! You’re a monster, you know that?!”
I was shocked to hear the female sidekick, even if her voice was shaky. “I don’t care! I don’t care what others think of me! The only one I need is Y/n! She’s MY darling! MY little apple! MY light! And no one, not even the fucker up here who calls himself Father, CAN TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME!”
My eyes widened and I couldn’t tell if it was Emily or I who was trembling the hardest.
He was crazy.
Absolutely batshit insane.
I finally realized how deep his obsession for me ran.
He cackled like a lunatic, throwing his head back. His whole body shook with how hard he was laughing. He brought the angelic weapon up again and swung down-
"LUCIFER!”
All of us froze. There in the doorway stood Sera, a multitude of eyes surrounding her gray curls. Her fists were balled at her sides as she walked in. “What is the meaning of this?!”
Lucifer didn’t even look at her, too focused on his prey in front of him. “I’m acting in self defense. Aren’t I, Emily?”
Sera looked at the two of us and Emily squeaked. “Is this true, Emily?”
“I-I-I-”
“Be truthful, my child. I don’t want you scorned for siding with the embodiment of evil.”
“...He saved us, Sera! Lute, she, she, she was going to kill me! If Mister Morningstar hadn’t stepped in both Y/n and I would be dead!”
The High Seraphim was taken aback, her eyes fading from her hair. “What?”
“Hey, what’s with all the commotion? Some people are trying to sleep-”
My gaze saw Adam walk in behind Sera, his mouth allowing a yawn to pass. The pit in my stomach grew as I feared how he would react when he saw the state of his right hand woman. Sure enough his eyes landed on her and his body tensed. “Holy shit…Lute.”
His hands balled up next to his sides and his eyebrows scrunched over the top of the golden eyes on his mask. “You, motherfucker! You, son of a bitch! You could have killed her-”
A screech ripped my throat as Lucifer whipped around and sliced through Adam’s arm. It flopped to the floor and a chorus of fear filled the air. The First Man was quick to grab his open wound, liquid gold coating his fingers. “What the fuck. What the fuck! WHAT THE FUCK! YOU CUT OFF MY ARM, YOU ASSHOLE!”
With Lucifer turned I could see the fire burning in his eyes. He was scaring even Sera, her taking a step back. “What is it they say? An eye for an eye? Well in this case it’s an arm for an arm.”
“YOU, DICKBAG! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!”
“Why don’t you ask your little whore when she wakes up? I’m sure she’d love to tell you in great detail while she’s in between your thighs sucking you off about what happened.”
Adam growled and released his shoulder, his bloodied hand pointing at Emily and I. His index finger started to glow with a bright white light and I feared he’d shoot me. With the threat in the air, Lucifer brought the tip of the sword to the masked man’s throat. He pushed it in, not enough to draw blood but enough to make the consequence known. “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It. You’re lucky that my dearest told me not to kill anybody. Because believe me, my limit has been passed and I’m hanging by a fucking thread.”
Adam gulped and the blade moved with the bob of his adams apple. I could see fear in the egotistical man’s eyes and even his stance had changed to try and protect himself. “Say, how about I cut off the other hand to join its partner on the floor? I could make them into a pair of cup holders for my beloved and I to use as we sip your thick rich blood from bejeweled goblets.”
“W-why would you want to do that? My blood doesn’t even taste that good!”
“Let’s see, I could name a million reasons. But the first one that comes to mind is to punish you for assaulting my fiance! Did you really think I wouldn’t know about you constantly putting your wretched paws all over her?”
“L-look, you stole two of my wives. I was only returning the favor!”
Lucifer grit his teeth and I swear with how hard he pushed them together they would shatter. The glare that he sent towards Adam was lethal as his eyes turned completely red once more. His black knuckles turned white with how hard he gripped the hilt of the sword. “Those two were just to show how superior I am to you. Y/n is different. She is my true love! She’ll remain by my side for the rest of her eternal life and together we will rule Hell as King and Queen! And if you think you can take that away I’ll cause my own extermination! Any and all winners will be subject to my wrath! They will be slaughtered one by one and their souls forced to burn beneath my hooved feet! I’ll torture every last one of them as I send them to each ring of Hell, the Cardinal Sins and Overlords free to do whatever the fuck they want! UNDERSTOOD?!”
The sword was pushed a bit further into Adam’s neck, a light trail of blood sliding down from the small gash. The tension was so thick that the weapon in Lucifer’s hands wouldn’t be able to cut through it. “Y-you got it, man! Just don’t hurt me!”
The Devil chuckled and pulled away. “Oh, Adam. So above it all until your whole existence is threatened. Then you turn into a pussy and cower away.”
Throwing the sword into Lute’s left wing with a huff, he used his now open hands to conjure a red misty portal. When Lucifer turned to face Emily and I his white irises had returned to his red eyes and a soft smile reached his lips. He walked over, his bloodied boots clicking against the cobblestone. Slowly, as if to not scare me further, he crouched in front of us. His arms reached for me and as he got close Emily hugged me tight to her frame. Tears ran down my cheeks and wet their previously dry tracks. I shook my head and curled my legs into my torso, trying to get as far away from my fiance. “Please don’t hurt her, Mister Morningstar!”
His face dropped and he shook his head side to side. “You honestly think that I’d hurt my darling? I’m hurt, Emily.”
He reached for me again and before the young girl could put up a fight, he wrapped his arms around me. Standing up, he hoisted me bridal style and brought our foreheads together. He closed his eyes and nuzzled me close. A purr rumbled in his throat and he opened his eyes. That frightening look of adoration had returned, his pupils almost looking like little hearts. He gave my forehead a kiss and then turned towards the other angels. “Goodbye, cunts. Hopefully we never see you again.”
His presence commanded the room as he walked us towards the portal, the familiar dark red sky of Hell peeking through. “Let’s go home, my dearest Y/n. We deserve some alone time together.”
A sob wracked my body as he flew forward, the portal closing immediately behind us.
Kenny hoards his meager arcade tokens for weeks just so he can "win" you the specific cheap prize you eyed at the local pizza place.
HIM WHEN HE FINALLY GETS IT:
He keeps a close eye on the town's creepy adults and will randomly show up on his beat-up bike to escort you home if you are walking past the sketchy parts of South Park alone.
KENNY PULLIN UP COMIN TO GET YOU:
He uses his Mysterion persona to watch your bedroom window from a nearby rooftop at night, convinced he is the only one who can actually keep you safe from the town's bizarre dangers.
You sometimes see mysterion through your window..
If Cartman tries to rip you off or bully you, Kenny instantly drops his usual relaxed attitude and gets dangerously in his face until Cartman backs down.
Why he tryna act all tough..
He knows exactly how crappy it feels to go hungry, so he will quietly slip his own meager lunch into your bag if he thinks you didn't eat enough that day.
Him giving you what little food he has left:
He steals small, worthless trinkets from your room—like a plastic ring or a cool rock—and treats them like absolute treasure, keeping them hidden inside his parka pocket.
Kenny reading your diary he stole:
Whenever he dies and resets the timeline, his very first instinct upon waking up alive in his bed is to run straight to your house to make sure you are still okay.
He fell outta his bed to find you..
He laughs off your jokes way harder than anyone else's, using his loud, muffled giggles to make sure you always feel like the funniest person in the room.
Whenever you say something not funny...Kenny will always think its funny because YOU said it
He borrows your school supplies constantly just to have an excuse to sit right next to you and whisper inappropriate jokes during class.
I dont have an image for this one..
He watches your interactions with Craig's gang very closely, ready to step in the second any of them give you a look he doesn't like.
Kyle uses his high academic ranking to convince the teachers that he needs to peer-tutor you, ensuring you two share a desk in almost every class.
Him watching the teacher say no to you for anything
He gets intensely stressed if your grades drop even a little bit, aggressively forcing you into mandatory, late-night study sessions at his kitchen table.
He gets so scared when you get an F
If Cartman makes even a slightly rude comment about you, Kyle completely loses his temper and physically attacks him on the spot, way more brutally than usual.
He has to look up at cartman when arguing because cartman is so fat
He writes down every single detail about your allergies, medical history, and daily routine in a private notebook, treating your health like his personal responsibility.
He giggles and kicks his feet when he learns something new about you
He subtly interrogates Stan or Kenny after school if he finds out you spent even five minutes talking to them without him there.
Has to interrogate every mf that you come across like hes on judge judy..
He monitors your online activity under the guise of "internet safety," keeping track of who is commenting on your posts and blocking people he deems toxic.
Him blocking your friends and family because you didnt ask for "permission" you dont even know him though...
When his mom tries to plan a family trip, he throws a massive tantrum and refuses to go unless your parents agree to let you come along with them.
Throws the biggest fit ever.
He acts like a strict guardian, lecturing you for hours if he catches you staying out past dark or hanging out with a crowd he considers a bad influence.
He keeps a spare key to your house that he "found" on the counter, using it to let himself into your room whenever he decides you need company.
He will completely abandon his own strong morals and lie to the principal or the police if it means keeping you out of trouble.
Cartman uses his mom's credit card to buy expensive gifts or gaming consoles for you, throwing a massive screaming fit if you try to refuse them.
He WILL scream at you since he doesnt know how to handle his emotions
He fabricates incredibly elaborate, highly damaging rumors about anyone who tries to flirt with you, completely ruining their social life by the end of the school day.
He laughs at anyone's life he ruins
He prints out a massive, professional-looking contract full of fake legal jargon and tricks you into signing it just so he can claim you legally owe him all your free time.
Type of note he will give you if you dont spend time with him
If you don't answer his text messages within two minutes, he will literally call the police non-department line to report you missing just to force you to look at your phone.
He will dress up as a police officer and go to your house and arrest you..putting you on the backseat of his bicycle
He treats you like absolute royalty while acting completely obnoxious to everyone else, forcing the other boys to sit on the floor so you can have the best seat in the room.
He will treat you like he did princess Kenny just a tiny bit nicer..not that much though
He sneaks into your house while you are at school just to install hidden nanny cams in your living room, fully convinced he is "monitoring your safety."
He keeps a highly detailed, deeply unhinged binder full of photos, schedules, and ranking charts tracking every single person you interact with on a daily basis.
He takes pictures of you when you embarrass yourself to keep in the memory album
If you show a minor interest in a specific hobby or show, he will immediately buy out all the local merchandise for it so that you can only get it by asking him.
If you mention liking a specific animal he will wear a hat imitating that animal so youll like him like you like the animal!
He uses his alliance with Cthulhu or any random town crisis to specifically target and eliminate people who annoyed you the previous week.
He is NOT being sneaky about assassinating people for you since hes easy to spot.
He will completely fake a terminal illness or a dramatic kidnapping scenario just to see how fast you will run to the hospital or his house to check on him.
If you dont make it in 5 minutes (the hospital is an hour away from your house) he assumes you dont want to be friends anymore and whines
Stan gets visibly restless and starts chewing on his collar if you sit with anyone else at the lunch table, staring dicsomfortingly across the cafeteria.
Him pretending to listen to his friends while staring at you-
He obsessively checks his phone for your replies, and if you leave him on read for too alone, he will casually walk past your house with Sparky just to see if your bedroom light is on.
Of course stan has to check his phone for any texts by you before bed!
He channels all his hidden aggression into his sports games, completely dominating the field if he knows you are watching from the bleachers.
He gets so unbelievably sad when his team loses and your sitting in the bleachers..he hates failing you..even if you don't know he exists..
If Kyle tries to give you advice that contradicts what he said, Stan will get unusually cold and defensive, starting a massive, week-long fight with his best friend over it.
He will happily mock his best friend if he thinks Kyle is getting in the way
He secretly hates when you listen to new music bands, so he will constantly make you custom playlists filled with depressing indie songs to keep your tastes identical to his.
Him looking at your Playlist saying "what the hell is this!?"
He treats your problems like absolute life-or-death crises, turning a minor bad grade or a mean comment into a massive, brooding existential emergency that he needs to fix for you.
Him looking at your grades (he needs them to be all a's..if they arent he blames it on the teacher, not you!) Stupid teacher putting in incorrect grades..you obviously deserve an A
When Wendy or any other girl tries to talk to him, he immediately shifts the conversation entirely to you, hyper-fixating on your achievements until the other person gets bored and leaves.
Him appearing out of no where when someone mentions your name...
He keeps a secret, locked folder on his computer filled with saved photos from your social media profiles, organized neatly by the date they were posted.
Him writing down what you did 5 seconds ago
If you are upset, he will drag you out to the middle of the woods or the farm just so you can scream at the sky together, refusing to let you go home until you smile.
He encourages you to scream louder
He gets incredibly passive-aggressive toward anyone who invites you to a party without him, subtly convincing you that the event is going to be lame so you stay home with him instead.
The morning light filtered weakly through the kitchen curtains, carrying the sharp, acrid smell of cigarette smoke. Your mom stood by the open window, one elbow propped on the sill, a half-burned cigarette dangling from her fingers. She took a long drag, exhaling slowly as she stared at the transfer papers from Principal Asano that lay crumpled on the table. Her face was twisted in open disgust, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Class 3-E,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “Of all the goddamn places.”
She didn’t look at you. Not once. You stood awkwardly in the doorway in your uniform, bag slung over one shoulder, waiting for… something. A goodbye. A word of encouragement. Even a complaint directed at you. Instead, she flicked ash out the window and took another drag, the silence stretching thick and uncomfortable. The disappointment in the air felt heavier than any lecture. You swallowed the lump in your throat, grabbed a quick piece of toast that tasted like cardboard, and slipped out the front door without another word. The lock clicked behind you like a final judgment.
The walk to the 3-E campus was hell.
The main road ended at the base of the mountain, forcing you onto a narrow, overgrown forest trail. Tall trees blocked out much of the sunlight, leaving everything in a hazy green dimness. Roots snaked across the path like traps waiting to trip you. You kept your eyes down, stepping carefully, heart jumping every time leaves rustled. A thin snake slithered across the dirt a few feet ahead—you froze, waited for it to disappear, then hurried past. Further on, patches of poison ivy forced you to edge uncomfortably close to thorny bushes that snagged at your uniform. Sweat already beaded on your forehead. Your legs burned from the steep incline. This was nothing like the clean sidewalks and train rides to the main campus. Everything here felt wild, unforgiving, and isolating.
By the time the old wooden building came into view, you were breathing heavily, chest heaving, uniform damp with sweat and dotted with bits of leaves and dirt. Your hair stuck to your neck. You paused at the entrance, trying to compose yourself, wiping your face with the back of your sleeve.
You slid the classroom door open with a quiet creak.
Inside, the room was already lively. Students chatted loudly, some tossing paper balls, others comparing what looked like modified rubber knives. A boy with striking red hair and piercing eyes lounged near the back, spinning a pencil between his fingers. Karma Akabane. You’d heard rumors even on the main campus—troublemaker, genius, dangerous smile. His gaze flicked to you immediately.
You stood there awkwardly, still catching your breath.
Karma raised an eyebrow, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “New meat, huh? You look like you just survived a war zone.” He stood up and sauntered over, hands in his pockets. “Karma Akabane. Welcome to the rejection club.”
You managed a small, breathless “Hi… Y/N.” Your discomfort must have been written all over your face—shoulders hunched, eyes darting around. Karma noticed. His sharp eyes scanned you for a second, taking in the sweat, the leaves on your sleeve, the way you seemed ready to shrink into the floor. But he just shrugged, unbothered. “Relax. It’s not that bad here. Sit wherever.” He turned and dropped back into his seat without another word, already losing interest.
You picked a random empty desk near the middle-back, somewhere not too front-row obvious but not completely isolated. Your hands trembled slightly as you set your bag down. The chatter continued around you, but no one stared too long. It felt… strangely normal.
Then the air itself seemed to explode.
“GOOD MORNING, CLASS~!!!”
A booming, energetic voice filled the room like fireworks. A yellow blur streaked in at impossible speed, tentacles waving wildly, academic gown fluttering. Koro-Sensei materialized at the front of the class in an instant, his round head beaming with that permanent, wide grin, beady eyes sparkling with pure enthusiasm. He was enormous, vibrant, and radiating so much chaotic energy that you instinctively gripped the edge of your desk.
“Today is a wonderful day for learning and growth! The sun is shining, the mountain air is crisp, and—” His gaze locked onto you instantly. “Ah! We have a brand new student joining us!”
He zipped over in a gentler streak, stopping a respectful distance from your desk. “Everyone, please welcome Y/N! They’ve transferred from the main campus and will be with us for the remainder of the year. Y/N, I am Koro-Sensei, your dedicated homeroom teacher. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you!”
His voice was loud but warm, almost vibrating with genuine excitement. “A new face is always so refreshing! I’ve been looking forward to this since I received the news. We’re going to learn so much together. If you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here to support you one hundred percent!”
You blinked up at him, stunned. This was the monster who destroyed the moon? The one everyone was supposed to assassinate? He seemed… overwhelmingly friendly. Gushing, even. His tentacles gestured animatedly as he floated back to the front, already launching into roll call and morning announcements with infectious cheer.
The rest of the day unfolded in a whirlwind that left you exhausted but oddly steadier.
Normal classes—math, science, literature—felt surprisingly manageable. The students were loud and imperfect, but they didn’t freeze you out. During literature, you found yourself answering a question about character motivation almost without thinking. Koro-Sensei’s eyes lit up. “Excellent insight, Y/N!”
Assassination training, however, was where you crashed and burned. When the period started, the class shifted into focused chaos. Students launched coordinated attempts—knives flying, traps snapping, distractions shouted. You stayed glued to your seat, flinching at every sudden movement, hands useless in your lap. You had no idea what to do. Every time you tried something basic, it went wrong: a clumsy step, a mistimed throw, freezing up entirely.
Koro-Sensei was there every single time.
After one particularly failed attempt where you dropped the rubber knife and it bounced pathetically away, he appeared beside you in a gentle whoosh, voice softer just for you. “Not to worry! Try shifting your weight like this—” One tentacle demonstrated a slow, patient motion. “And keep your eyes on the target’s rhythm. You’ll improve with time. No rush at all!”
You mumbled a shaky “Thank you…”
“No biggie!” he replied brightly, giving you a cheerful thumbs-up with another tentacle before zipping off to dodge three more students at once.
It happened again and again. Each pointer was delivered with endless patience. Each “Thank you” from you was met with his signature “No biggie!” and an encouraging grin. By the end of the day, you almost believed you might not be completely hopeless.
When the final bell rang, students packed up quickly, laughing and complaining about homework as they headed down the mountain. You lingered at your desk, pretending to organize notes, reluctant to face that brutal forest path again so soon. The classroom emptied until only the quiet creak of wood and distant birds remained.
A soft rustle of tentacles made you look up. Koro-Sensei floated near the teacher’s desk, watching you with quiet curiosity. “Y/N? Why aren’t you heading home yet? The others left a while ago.”
You hesitated, then sighed. “The walk here… it’s really exhausting. The forest path is full of snakes, poison ivy, steep hills… I’m already worn out from this morning. I was just catching my breath before doing it all over again.”
Koro-Sensei listened attentively, floating closer and settling at a nearby desk like a concerned parent. “I see. That trail is quite unforgiving, especially for a first-timer. You handled it well reaching us today.” He nodded sympathetically, agreeing without dismissing your struggle. “Many students find it difficult at first.”
The two of you talked for a while after that. It flowed easier than you expected. He asked gentle questions about your old classes, what you missed, how you were feeling. You answered carefully at first, then more openly. He laughed warmly at a small story you told about a disastrous group project from your old school. The conversation felt natural—comforting, even.
At one point, he complimented you sincerely. “I noticed during literature today—you have a real talent for ELA. Your analysis was thoughtful and well-articulated. That’s something to be proud of.”
A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “Yeah… it’s always been my best subject.”
Koro-Sensei’s beady eyes sparkled. He filed that away carefully, already thinking of ways to nurture it in future lessons.
The sun was lower now, casting golden light across the classroom. Koro-Sensei glanced outside, then back at you. “Well then! No need for you to suffer that path again today. I’ll fly you home.”
You blinked. “O-oh, no, I don’t want to trouble you—”
“Nonsense!” he declared cheerfully, already scooping up your bag with one tentacle and extending another toward you in a supportive gesture. “It’s no trouble at all. Consider it a welcome gift from your teacher. Besides, I can have you home in seconds!”
His mind was clearly made up, grin wide and unwavering. You hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. As he gently lifted you into his hold—secure, surprisingly comfortable—and shot out the window in a controlled yellow streak, the mountain forest blurred beneath you. The wind rushed past, but you felt oddly safe.
For the first time that day, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter.
You sat at your desk in the middle of a mundane history lecture, staring blankly at the textbook page that might as well have been written in another language. The words blurred together. Notes from earlier in the week lay scattered in your notebook, half-finished doodles filling the margins where actual information should have been. It wasn’t that you didn’t try. You did—quietly, desperately, in your own way—but the effort never seemed to translate into results that mattered here at Kunugigaoka Junior High.
The classroom was a sea of perfectly pressed uniforms and sharper students. Laughter rippled from the back rows where the popular groups clustered. You kept your head down, earbuds hidden beneath your hair (against the rules, but no one ever noticed you enough to enforce them). Being an outcast wasn’t a choice; it was the default setting. You weren’t loud or rebellious enough to draw negative attention, nor charming or talented enough to earn positive glances. You simply existed in the gaps between everyone else’s stories.
A knock at the classroom door cut through the teacher’s droning voice. The door slid open, and the school secretary peered in, her expression neutral. “Y/N? The principal would like to see you immediately.”
Whispers erupted like startled birds. A few heads turned your way—curious, amused, or indifferent. Your stomach twisted. What did I do? You hadn’t broken any major rules. You gathered your things with clumsy hands, nearly dropping your pencil case, and followed the secretary down the polished hallways. The walk felt longer than usual, your footsteps echoing too loudly in the quiet.
Principal Asano’s office was as intimidating as ever—immaculate, minimalist, and radiating an aura of absolute control. He sat behind his large desk, fingers steepled, his sharp gaze assessing you the moment you entered. A second man stood off to the side: the vice-principal, perhaps, or someone from the administrative staff. You bowed politely and sat when instructed, hands folded tightly in your lap.
“Straight to the point,” Principal Asano began, his voice smooth and unyielding. “Your academic performance has been… consistently below the standards expected at this institution. Placement exams, midterms, participation—none of it meets the bar. We’ve reviewed your file thoroughly.”
You swallowed. Heat crept up your neck. You wanted to defend yourself, to explain that you studied late into the night or that test anxiety made your mind go blank, but the words stuck.
“Kunugigaoka prides itself on excellence,” he continued. “Students who cannot keep pace with the main campus curriculum are… reassigned. Effective immediately, you will transfer to Class 3-E for the remainder of your time here at the school. Your belongings will be moved. Classes begin there tomorrow.”
Class 3-E. The End Class. The dumping ground for failures, the secret training ground for an assassination mission against a super-powered teacher who had destroyed the moon. Everyone knew the rumors. You’d heard the whispers in the halls—how the students there trained with knives and guns (unloaded, supposedly), how they were isolated on a mountain campus, how failure in 3-E meant failure in life. Your heart hammered.
“But… I’m not…” You faltered. “Im not an outcast like them!"
Principal Asano’s smile was thin and impersonal. “This is not a discussion. It is a decision made in the best interest of the school’s overall standards. You will report to the 3-E campus tomorrow morning. Transportation details and a new schedule will be provided. Dismissed.”
The meeting ended as abruptly as it began. You were ushered out with a folder of documents and the weight of the world on your shoulders. The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze. You packed what little was in your locker, avoided eye contact with former classmates, and headed home on the train, the folder clutched like a death sentence.
---
Later that evening – Koro-Sensei’s Perspective
The sun had dipped low behind the mountains surrounding the old 3-E building, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks that Koro-Sensei found utterly delightful. He zipped around the classroom at Mach 20, yellow tentacles a blur as he finished grading the last stack of assassination technique essays. “Mmm-hmm-hmm~! Such creativity today! Though Karasuma-sensei might frown at the excessive use of rubber bands in trap design.”
He paused mid-tentacle-flip, one striped appendage holding a bright red pen, another adjusting his academic gown. The students had already gone home for the day, leaving the building quiet except for the distant hum of insects and the occasional rustle of leaves. Koro-Sensei loved these quiet moments almost as much as the chaotic ones filled with youthful energy and failed murder attempts. Almost.
A soft *whoosh* announced the arrival of a familiar figure at the doorway. It was Principal Asano’s messenger—discreet, efficient, and always bearing interesting news. The man handed over a sealed envelope without a word, bowed, and departed just as quickly.
Koro-Sensei’s beady eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Oho? What’s this? Fan mail? A new recipe suggestion? Or perhaps another thrilling challenge from the government?” He tore it open with theatrical flair, tentacles unfurling the crisp paper.
His reading speed was, naturally, extraordinary. Within seconds he absorbed every detail:
*New transfer student. Y/N. Academic struggles in main campus. No noted aptitude for stealth, marksmanship, or physical conditioning. Assigned to 3-E for remainder of high school term. Arrival tomorrow.*
Koro-Sensei’s grin widened impossibly, the black crescents on his face curving into pure delight. A new student! How wonderful! He spun once in mid-air, tentacles waving like celebratory streamers.
“Another precious pupil to nurture! Mmm-hmm-hmm~! How exciting!” He floated over to the class roster board, already imagining the perfect desk placement—somewhere visible but not overwhelming, perhaps near Nagisa or Kayano where friendly faces could ease the transition. “Not good at being sneaky, eh? Assassination not their forte? No matter! Every student has hidden talents waiting to bloom. Perhaps literature? Or art? Or the quiet joy of simply trying their best!”
He began zipping about the room again, tidying already-immaculate desks and arranging a small welcome gift: a beautifully wrapped box of premium snacks from his latest international collection. “I must prepare a personalized lesson plan! Something gentle for the first day. No pressure about grades or knives until they’re ready. We’ll discover what makes them shine. Oh, the questions I’ll ask! Their favorite subjects, hobbies, dreams… I cannot wait to get to know them!”
Koro-Sensei paused by the window, gazing out over the mountain path that the new student would soon climb. His expression softened into something warm and genuinely eager. In his long, strange existence—first as a ruthless assassin, then as this bizarre octopus educator—he had come to cherish these moments most of all: the arrival of a new life into his temporary classroom family.
“Welcome in advance, Y/N,” he murmured cheerfully to the empty room, voice full of boundless optimism. “This old teacher promises to make your time here meaningful. Let’s learn and grow together, shall we?”
He laughed his signature laugh—light, infectious, and full of life—before vanishing in a yellow streak to prepare even more surprises for tomorrow. The mountain wind carried the echo of his joy into the gathering dusk.
Yandere platonic! Sully (creepypasta) with female child reader!
Sully is the colder, more violent alter that emerges from Liu. Around a child, he comes across as an unpredictable, off-putting older-brother figure who always seems a little too intense, a little too detached from normal human boundaries. His presence feels heavy and wrong, like something is watching from just behind your shoulder even when he’s standing in front of you.
He shows up without warning—standing at the edge of the playground after school, sitting on the roof of your house at night, or waiting inside your closet when you open it. His scarred face and wide, unblinking stare make it hard to look at him for long. He talks in a flat, childish voice that doesn’t match the dead look in his eyes.
If anyone upsets you (a bully, a mean teacher, even a parent raising their voice), Sully handles it in ways that leave you with nightmares. You might hear distant screaming later that night, or find him wiping a knife clean the next time he appears, casually saying “They were loud. Won’t be loud again.” He never seems sorry—only mildly annoyed if it got blood on his hoodie.
He insists he’s “only seven” sometimes and wants to play games like hide-and-seek in abandoned buildings or forests at 3 a.m. His laugh is sharp and sudden, cutting off too fast. During games he might disappear for long stretches, leaving you alone in the dark before popping out right behind you with a knife in hand, giggling like it’s the funniest thing
He leaves strange presents on your windowsill or under your pillow—shiny rocks, torn-up stuffed animals from who-knows-where, or little drawings done in thick red marker that look suspiciously like real blood. He watches your face closely when you find them, expecting you to be happy, and gets quiet and intense if you look scared.
Sometimes mid-conversation his expression softens and Liu takes over—voice gentler, trying to explain away the bloodstains or the screams you heard. But you can tell when Sully is about to come back: his eyes go glassy, his head tilts at an odd angle, and the air feels colder. The two of them arguing with each other out loud in front of you is deeply unsettling, like listening to one person fight with their own shadow.
Even when he’s not physically there, you start noticing little signs he’s been around—your window unlocked when you’re sure you locked it, drawings of stick figures on your walls that weren’t there before, or the way neighborhood animals go quiet when you walk home. He seems to know things he shouldn’t: what you dreamed about, what you’re scared of, when you’re alone.
If you cry or get scared, he’ll pat your head too hard or awkwardly wrap an arm around you while muttering “Stop that. It’s annoying.”
His version of protection is making sure nothing else can hurt you… by making sure nothing else can get near you at all. The silence after he “takes care of things” feels heavier than any normal quiet.
—
The alley smelled like rotting garbage and wet cardboard. Rain had fallen earlier that evening, turning the pavement into a slick mirror that reflected the flickering streetlights overhead. Sully stood in the shadows between two overflowing dumpsters, his hood pulled low over his scarred face. The knife in his pocket felt warm from how often his fingers brushed against it. He wasn’t supposed to be here—Liu had wanted to keep moving—but something had made him stop.
A small family huddled under a torn blue tarp stretched between a chain-link fence and a concrete wall. The mother looked exhausted, her eyes sunken, rocking a baby that barely made any sound anymore. The father sat with his back against the bricks, coughing wetly into his sleeve. And then there was the child—you. Maybe eight or nine years old, bundled in layers of filthy clothes that didn’t quite fit. You were trying to share a single stale slice of bread with the baby, breaking off tiny crumbs with careful fingers.
Sully tilted his head. The parents weren’t yelling. They weren’t hitting you. But they were letting this happen. Letting you shiver in the cold, letting your cheeks hollow out, letting your small hands tremble as you tried to make the bread last longer. It was almost funny in a sad, stupid way. Like watching someone slowly peel the wings off a butterfly while calling it love. He found it… endearing, in a twisted sort of way. The quiet suffering. The way humans could just keep going even when everything was pointless.
He watched for hours. Night settled fully. The father eventually dozed off. The mother whispered something to you and pulled the baby closer. You stayed awake, staring at the sliver of moon visible between the buildings, humming a broken little tune under your breath. Sully’s lips twitched. Cute. Pointless, but cute.
The next afternoon he was still there, lingering on the edge of the park across the street where your family had moved to beg. He sat on a bench with his legs drawn up, picking at the dried blood under his fingernails. People gave him a wide berth. Good.
You approached him slowly, barefoot in shoes that were falling apart. Your steps made almost no sound. When you stopped in front of him, he didn’t look up right away. He let the silence stretch.
“Um… mister?” Your voice was soft, hoarse from days of not enough water. “Do you have any spare change? Just a little? My baby sister’s really hungry.”
Sully finally lifted his head. The scars on his face pulled tight as he stared. Your eyes—God, your eyes. Even sunken, even ringed with exhaustion, they still sparkled. Like someone had left tiny pieces of glass in them that caught the light anyway. You were starving. You smelled like street grime and sickness. Yet you stood there smiling a tiny, hopeful smile, as if the world hadn’t already tried to chew you up and spit you out.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stared, unblinking, letting his wide eyes drink in every detail: the way your lower lip was cracked, the matted hair sticking to your forehead, the small bruise on your knee from sleeping on hard ground.
“You’re dying,” he said flatly. His voice still carried that childish lilt, the one that never quite matched the dead look in his face. “Slowly. They’re killing you out here.”
You blinked, confused but not yet scared. “We’re okay. Mom says it’ll get better when it warms up.”
Sully let out a short, sharp laugh that cut off too suddenly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill, and held it out between two fingers. When you took it, your small hand brushed his. Cold. Too cold.
“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching it like treasure.
He watched you run back to your parents. They hugged you. Praised you. Shared the hope of one more meal. Sully stayed on the bench until the sun went down, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his knee. Those sparkling eyes kept flashing behind his own whenever he blinked.
---
That night the city slept under a thick layer of clouds. Sully moved like smoke. The parents were passed out from exhaustion and whatever cheap alcohol they’d managed to get. The baby was silent. You were curled up on a piece of cardboard, using your jacket as a blanket.
He crouched beside you for a long time, just watching your chest rise and fall. Then he pressed a cloth soaked in something sweet and chemical over your mouth. Your eyes flew open—those same sparkling eyes—wide with terror for a single second before they fluttered shut. Your small body went limp against him.
Sully picked you up easily. You weighed almost nothing. He carried you through the alleys, humming the same broken tune you’d been humming earlier. The knife in his pocket stayed sheathed. For now.
---
You woke up in a dark basement room that smelled of damp concrete and old blood. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly even though no one had touched it. Your hands were tied loosely in front of you with strips of cloth—not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you couldn’t run easily. A thin mattress had been dragged into the corner. There was a bottle of water and a stale sandwich on the floor nearby.
Sully sat cross-legged on the other side of the room, back against the wall, knife balanced on his knee. His head was tilted at that odd angle again, eyes reflecting the light like an animal’s.
“You’re awake,” he said. The childish tone was back, but it sounded wrong in the concrete box. “Good. I was getting bored.”
You scrambled back until your shoulders hit the wall, breathing fast. “Where… where am I? My mom—”
“They’re still out there. Probably looking for you by now. Or maybe not. People lose things all the time.” He shrugged. “I’m keeping you for a week. Then I’m going to kill you.”
The words dropped like stones into still water.
You stared at him, small chest heaving. Tears welled up but didn’t fall right away. “Please… I didn’t do anything bad. I just wanted some change for my sister—”
“I know.” Sully stood up slowly, unfolding like a spider. He crossed the room and crouched in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint metallic scent on his clothes. “That’s why it’ll be a mercy. You’re happy while you’re dying out there. That’s weird. I don’t like weird things that don’t make sense. So I’ll fix it. One week of not starving. Then… quiet.”
He reached out and patted your head too hard, twice. Then he stood and left the room, locking the heavy door behind him with a sound that echoed.
---
The first three days were a strange, creeping nightmare.
You did everything you could think of to make him not want to hurt you. When he brought food—cheap fast food burgers, bags of chips, juice boxes—you ate it all and said “thank you” in the brightest voice you could manage even though your stomach hurt from eating too fast after so long without. You listened to every rambling story he told about “when I was seven” (even though he looked much older) and laughed at the parts where he clearly expected laughter, even when the stories involved screaming.
Sometimes he would sit right next to you on the mattress, shoulder to shoulder, and just breathe. Not speaking. Just breathing, slow and steady, while he stared at the wall. Other times he would disappear for hours and come back with fresh blood on his sleeves, acting like nothing happened.
On the fourth night you drew pictures for him on the back of old newspaper he’d left. Stick figures. A sun. A house with a chimney even though you’d never lived in one. He took the papers and studied them for a long time under the swinging bulb.
“You’re still sparkling,” he muttered. “Even down here.”
You didn’t understand what he meant, so you just kept drawing.
He started staying longer. Instead of leaving you alone with the fear, he brought more blankets. He showed you how to hold the knife the “right way” (though he never let you keep it). He played games—simple ones like rock-paper-scissors, then weirder ones where he would hide in the shadows of the basement and make you find him. When you succeeded he would giggle in that sharp, sudden way that made your skin crawl.
By the sixth day the planned ending felt further away. Sully kept forgetting to mention it. Instead he watched you sleep. He brushed the hair out of your face with fingers that still had someone else’s blood dried in the creases. He brought you a small stuffed rabbit he’d taken from somewhere—its ear was torn and there was a dark stain on its belly.
“You’re not annoying,” he told you one evening while you shared a bag of gummy worms. His voice was flat, but his eyes followed every movement you made. “Most things are annoying. They break easy. But you keep sparkling even when you’re scared. That’s… different.”
You offered him a gummy worm with a shaky hand, smiling the way you used to smile at strangers for coins. “Do you want the red one? They’re the best.”
Sully took it. He didn’t eat it right away. He just rolled it between his fingers, staring at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept changing shape.
Later that night, after you had finally fallen asleep from exhaustion, he sat against the wall across from the mattress again. The knife rested on the floor beside him, untouched. His head tilted slowly as he watched the rise and fall of your small chest.
One week, he had said.
The seventh day was coming.
But the bulb kept swinging gently above, and Sully’s wide, unblinking eyes stayed fixed on you long after the city outside had gone quiet. He didn’t move. He barely breathed. Just watched.
The seventh day dragged on in the dim basement like every other. The bare bulb swayed lazily overhead, casting long, shifting shadows across the concrete walls. Sully had barely slept. He sat in his usual spot against the far wall, knees drawn up to his chest, rocking slightly back and forth with that odd, childish rhythm. The knife lay on the floor beside him, untouched for hours now. His wide eyes never left your small, sleeping form on the thin mattress.
You looked peaceful when you slept. Too peaceful for someone who had spent days terrified of the countdown he himself had set. That sparkle was still there, even behind your closed eyelids. It made something twist uncomfortably behind his scarred ribs. The plan had been simple: one week of not-starving, then quiet mercy. End the slow torture your parents had dragged you through. But the week was ending, and the thought of pressing the blade down... it felt wrong now. Like breaking something that still hummed with a weird little song.
By late afternoon, the decision settled in him like a cold, giddy secret. He stood up abruptly, joints popping, and paced the small room in tight circles. A sharp, sudden giggle escaped his lips—too loud, cutting off too fast. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. Not going to do it. Not going to end it. The realization made him feel light in a way that was rare. Almost bouncy. He wanted to spin around the room like when he was little, before everything went red and loud.
But he waited. A couple of hours. He wanted to watch you wake up first. Wanted to see that face when he told you.
---
You stirred as the light from the single bulb grew harsher in the windowless room. Your small body ached from the hard mattress, but the constant fear had dulled into a tired ache after so many days. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, and immediately looked toward him. Checking. Always checking where he was.
Sully was standing right at the foot of the mattress now, rocking on his heels. His head was tilted at that unnatural angle, scarred face half-hidden by his hood, but you could see the strange energy in him. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to clap or grab something.
“I decided something,” he announced in that flat, childish voice. It carried an undercurrent of excitement that made the air feel thicker. “You’re not dying today. Or tomorrow. Or... after.”
You blinked, still half-asleep, processing the words. Then they hit. Your tired eyes widened, and for the first time in a week, a real, bright smile broke across your face. It reached those sparkling eyes, making them light up despite the dark circles underneath.
“Really?” you whispered, voice cracking with hope. “You mean it? I don’t have to... you’re not gonna...”
Sully nodded rapidly, that sharp giggle slipping out again. He even did a little hop on one foot, like a kid who’d just won a game. “Yeah. Changed my mind. You’re too... different. Still all sparkly even down here. It’d be boring without it now.”
You scrambled off the mattress and threw your arms around his waist in a tight, grateful hug. Your small frame pressed against his blood-stained hoodie, face buried in the fabric that smelled of metal and damp earth. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The words tumbled out in a rush, muffled against him. You squeezed harder, tears of relief soaking into the cloth. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t cry or anything. Thank you so much...”
Sully froze at first, arms hovering awkwardly in the air. Then he patted your head—too hard, like always—twice, then three times. His hand lingered, fingers threading through your matted hair. The giddy feeling swelled. He let out another abrupt laugh that echoed off the walls. “Stop that. It’s weird when you say it so much.” But he didn’t pull away. He stood there, letting you cling, staring down at the top of your head like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in years.
You eventually stepped back, still beaming, wiping at your face with dirty sleeves. “Can I... can I go back now? To my mom and dad and the baby? They’re probably really worried. I can tell them I got lost or something. They’ll be so happy I’m okay.”
The words hung in the damp air.
Sully’s rocking stopped. His wide eyes locked onto yours, unblinking. The giddy energy didn’t vanish, but it twisted, sharpening into something heavier. He tilted his head the other way, slowly, like an owl tracking a mouse.
“No,” he said simply.
You froze. The smile faltered but didn’t disappear entirely. “But... you said I’m not dying. I thought that meant I could go home. They need me. My sister’s still out there and she’s really little and—”
“They’re still killing you slowly,” Sully interrupted. His voice stayed flat, but the childish lilt had an edge now. He crouched down to your level, bringing his scarred face uncomfortably close. You could see every twisted line of old burns and cuts, the way his eyes reflected the swinging bulb like wet glass. “Out there with the cardboard and the rain and the nothing-food. They smile and hug you while you get smaller every day. I watched it. It was stupid. Funny, but stupid.”
You took a small step back toward the mattress. “I don’t mind. It’s my family. Please? I’ll come visit you or something. I promise.”
He followed the step, staying close. Too close. His hand reached out and grabbed your wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough that you couldn’t easily pull away. His fingers were cold.
“You’re staying here,” he said, almost conversationally. “It’s nicer. Food whenever. No coughing dad. No baby that doesn’t cry anymore. You can draw more pictures. We can play the hiding game again tonight. I’ll even let you pick where I hide first.”
Your lower lip trembled, but you tried to stay bright, still hoping. “But I miss them. Just for a little while? I can come right back after I see they’re okay.”
Sully’s grip tightened a fraction. He pulled you gently but insistently back toward the center of the room, away from the door. The heavy lock on it gleamed dully under the light. “They’ll get used to it. People lose things. Like toys. Or pets. Or kids.” He shrugged, that sudden smile flickering across his face again—too wide, too quick. “Besides. You hugged me. Said all those thank yous. That means you like it here now. With me. It’d be mean to leave after that.”
He released your wrist but stayed crouched, watching every micro-expression on your face. The way your sparkling eyes darted toward the stairs leading up to the locked door. The way your small hands clenched at your sides. He looked... content. Giddy still, in his quiet, unsettling way. Like a child who had found a new stray and decided the leash was necessary.
Hours passed after that. He brought you more food—warm this time, fries and a chicken sandwich he’d gone out to get while you were sleeping earlier. He sat right beside you on the mattress while you ate, shoulder pressed against yours, humming that same broken tune from the alley. Every time you glanced at the door, his head would tilt and his eyes would follow yours, as if reading the thought before it fully formed.
Later, when you tried again—voice small, “Just one visit?”—he simply stood up, walked to the heavy door, and checked the lock with deliberate slowness. Click. Click. Then he turned back, knife now twirling lazily between his fingers.
“Bedtime soon,” he said, as if you hadn’t spoken. “You can sleep longer tonight. No more counting days. That’s nice, right?”
The bulb kept swinging. Sully kept watching. The basement felt smaller than ever, the air thicker with the knowledge that the week had ended, but the door stayed firmly shut. And somewhere far above, in the cold streets, your family was still searching... or maybe they weren’t. Sully didn’t seem to care either way. He just kept humming, eyes fixed on you with that unblinking, giddy intensity.
- Marge shows up at your door every morning around 9:30 with a basket of fresh-baked goods (blueberry muffins with extra berries because she remembers you mentioned liking them once). She calls it “just being neighborly,” but she’s already planned your entire day around what she thinks will keep you happy and safe.
- She has a color-coded schedule on her fridge that now includes your work hours, errands, and “quiet time with Marge.” If you deviate without telling her, she shows up with that worried frown and a pitcher of pink lemonade, saying, “I just got so anxious when I didn’t hear from you, honey…”
- Your house gradually fills with her touches: perfectly folded towels in the linen closet, labeled Tupperware meals in the fridge (“For when you’re too tired to cook, dear”), and a spare key she “happened to have made” so she can “water your plants while you’re out.”
- She refers to you as “my sweet girl,” “my other daughter,” or “the best friend a woman could ask for” in that soft, raspy voice. The family has accepted it—Lisa finds it wholesome, Bart teases you both, Homer just shrugs and offers you a Duff.
- Marge’s protectiveness starts wholesome and canon-accurate: she’ll passive-aggressively bake “apology” cookies for anyone who was rude to you at work, or write a strongly worded letter to your boss if they overwork you. But it escalates quietly—if someone flirts with you or makes you uncomfortable, she’ll show up at your side with Maggie in the carrier and politely (but firmly) steer the conversation away.
- If you mention going out with new friends or joining a club, she gets that anxious, trembling-lip look. “Oh.. But honey, those groups can be so judgmental… Why don’t we have our own little book club here? Just us girls, with tea and cucumber sandwiches. It’s much cozier and safe.”
- She has a hidden steel underneath the pearls and green dress. When a sleazy salesman at the mall grabbed your arm, Marge somehow found out within hours. The next day the man mysteriously apologized profusely and never bothered you again. She’ll only say, “I had a nice chat with Chief Wiggum. We look out for our own in this town.”
- Marge will “accidentally” delete contacts from your phone that she deems bad influences—pushy coworkers, flirty acquaintances, anyone who might pull you away from Evergreen Terrace. She does it while “helping organize” with a sweet smile and an apology if you notice: “Oh dear, my fingers must have slipped!”
- Her biggest fear is you leaving Springfield (or even just spending too much time away). She once had a quiet meltdown when you mentioned a possible promotion with travel. She hugged you tightly, voice shaking: “I couldn’t bear it if you forgot about us… about me. You make everything feel right again.”
- Marge’s anxiety manifests as classic Marge worry dialed up: she fusses over your health, your diet, whether you’re getting enough sleep. If you’re stressed, she shows up with a warm bath drawn and a knitted blanket she made “just because the color reminded me of you.”
- She has occasional emotional outbursts when her control slips—nothing violent, but she’ll raise her voice in that rare Marge way (“After everything I’ve done to keep you safe?!”), then immediately apologize with tears in her eyes and extra baking. You always forgive her because she looks so genuinely remorseful.
- Deep down, she sees you as the stabilizing force she always wanted in her chaotic life. Homer is… Homer. The kids are a handful. You listen, you appreciate her efforts, you let her take care of you. Losing that would break her perfect homemaker illusion.
- She keeps a little scrapbook of photos of the two of you (and the family). It’s labeled “My Dear Friend & Family” in neat handwriting. She adds new pictures almost daily and sometimes stares at it when she’s alone, murmuring, “You belong right here with us.”
- Marge becomes your social gatekeeper without you fully realizing it. She’ll politely discourage invitations from others (“Oh, that crowd at the community center can be so rowdy…”). If someone new tries to get close, she invites them over for coffee… and subtly interrogates them while serving perfectly sliced cake.
- Town events are now “we” events. Church, the Springfield Mall, PTA meetings—she always has a spot saved for you and will look heartbroken if you say you’re busy.
- She’s fiercely loyal. If anyone in town gossips about you (Helen Lovejoy, for example), Marge will defend you with quiet moral outrage, then come home and vent to you while stress-knitting a scarf in your favorite color.
- The rest of the Simpsons treat you like an honorary member. Maggie reaches for you instinctively. Lisa shares books with you. Even Patty and Selma tolerate you because Marge lights up when you’re around.
- If you ever seriously tried to pull away (moving, new relationship that takes time, etc.), Marge’s anxiety could tip into something more intense. She might “accidentally” cause small inconveniences to keep you nearby—car trouble she “fixes” by having Homer tow it, or a sudden family emergency that needs your emotional support.
- She never crosses into physical harm—that’s not Marge—but her emotional manipulation is wrapped in love: guilt-tripping with tears, baking your favorite treats while looking sad, reminding you how much the whole family relies on your presence now.
- In her mind, everything she does is for your own good and the greater good of “family.” She’s the moral center, after all. Keeping you safe and close is just… responsible.
- Quiet moments reveal the obsession: late at night after Homer’s snoring, she’ll walk you home and hold your hands a little too long under the porch light. “You know I’d do anything for you, right? Bake, clean, stand up to anyone… You’re the piece that was missing.”
- She teaches you her famous meatloaf recipe and gets genuinely excited when you nail it.
- Movie nights on the couch with the whole family—her sitting right next to you, occasionally patting your knee reassuringly.
- She knits you matching scarves or sweaters and beams with pride when you wear them.
- When you compliment her cooking or tell her she’s an amazing friend, she gets that soft, glowing smile and hugs you extra tight, whispering, “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetie.”
—
You’d only been in Springfield for three weeks when the doorbell rang with that cheerful, slightly hesitant ding-dong.
You opened the door to find a tall woman with a towering blue beehive, a green dress that looked freshly ironed, and a warm but worried smile. In her hands was a steaming casserole dish wrapped in a checkered cloth.
“Hi there, neighbor!” she said, her voice soft and raspy in that distinct Marge way. “I’m Marge Simpson, from right next door. I noticed you moving in and thought… well, everyone needs a little help settling into a new place. Especially in Springfield. It can be… a lot.”
She laughed nervously, adjusting her grip on the dish. “It’s tuna noodle. Low-fat, mostly. I hope you’re not allergic or anything. Oh, and I brought some of my pink lemonade too. The kids say it’s the best in town, though Bart usually spikes his with who-knows-what when I’m not looking.”
You invited her in. That was your first mistake… or maybe the best decision you’d ever make.
Marge’s eyes lit up as she stepped inside your modest house. She took in every detail—the half-unpacked boxes, the slightly crooked picture frames, the way the afternoon light hit your living room.
“Oh, honey,” she sighed, setting the casserole on your kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This place has so much potential! But you shouldn’t have to do it all alone. Here, let me help you fold those towels properly while the casserole warms up. No, no, I insist. It’s what friends do.”
By the end of the afternoon, your kitchen was spotless, your laundry was neatly sorted, and Marge was sitting across from you at the table, sipping lemonade and listening intently as you told her about your old life, your stressful job at the new plant on the edge of town, and how lonely the move had felt.
She reached over and squeezed your hand. Her touch was gentle, maternal, reassuring.
“You don’t have to be lonely anymore,” she said softly, her big eyes full of earnest concern. “You have me now. And the family, of course. We look out for our own in this neighborhood.”
You smiled, touched. Marge felt like the warm, steady big sister you’d never had.
It didn’t take long for “dropping by” to become every day.
Marge would appear at 10 a.m. sharp with a basket of fresh-baked muffins (“I added extra blueberries just the way you like them, dear”) or a new knitting pattern she thought would look lovely on you. She’d help with chores, chat about town gossip (“Did you hear about what happened at the Kwik-E-Mart again? Apu is a saint for putting up with it all”), and always, always ask about your day.
“How was work, sweetie? That Mr. Burns sounds just dreadful. If he gives you any trouble, you tell me. I’ll… I’ll write a very strongly worded letter.”
Her protectiveness started small and canonically Marge-like. When you mentioned a rude coworker, she baked him passive-aggressive “apology” cookies that somehow tasted like guilt. When your car made a funny noise, she had Homer tow it (grumbling the whole time) and refused to let you pay for the repairs.
“You’re family now,” she’d say, patting your cheek. “Family doesn’t keep score.”
Evenings became your favorite. After Homer stumbled in from the plant, complaining about “stupid safety meetings,” and the kids scattered—Bart skateboarding off to cause trouble, Lisa practicing her saxophone, Maggie sucking on her pacifier—Marge would invite you over for “quiet time.”
You’d sit on the couch while she folded laundry with perfect precision, occasionally glancing at you with that soft, adoring smile.
“You know,” she said one night, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I used to feel so overwhelmed before you came along. Homer’s… well, Homer. The kids are a handful. But talking to you, helping you… it makes everything feel right again. Like I have a real purpose.”
You hugged her. She hugged back a little too tightly, her fingers lingering on your back as if afraid you might vanish.
The obsession crept in so gently you almost didn’t notice.
One Saturday you mentioned you were thinking of joining a book club downtown. Marge’s smile faltered for half a second—barely noticeable—before she brightened again.
“Oh! That sounds… nice. But aren’t those groups full of gossipy women? The kind who judge everything? You don’t need that, honey. Why don’t you and I start our own little reading circle right here? Just us girls. I’ll make tea and those cucumber sandwiches you love. Much cozier, don’t you think?”
You agreed. It seemed sweet.
Then came the time you ran into an old college friend who was passing through Springfield. You invited her for coffee at the Java Server. Marge found out (Springfield has eyes everywhere, especially when Marge is quietly asking around).
That evening she showed up at your door with red-rimmed eyes and a plate of slightly over-baked cookies.
“I just… I worried when I didn’t hear from you all day,” she said, voice trembling with that classic Marge anxiety. “What if something happened? What if that friend wasn’t really who she said she was? People can be so cruel, you know. Remember what happened to Helen Lovejoy’s cousin? Oh, I couldn’t bear it if anything bad happened to you.”
She pulled you into a hug, her tall frame enveloping you completely. “Promise me you’ll tell me before you meet anyone new? I just want to keep you safe. You’re too good for this town sometimes. Too trusting.”
You promised. How could you not? She looked so genuinely scared for you.
Springfield being Springfield, trouble found you eventually.
It started with a sleazy salesman at the mall who wouldn’t take no for an answer when you politely declined his timeshare pitch. He grabbed your arm a little too hard.
The next day, Marge arrived with a fresh batch of “stress-relief” brownies and a determined glint in her eye.
“I heard what happened,” she said, setting the plate down with more force than usual. “That awful man. Homer told me—well, actually, Moe told Homer, who told me. Word travels fast here.”
She sat you down and inspected your arm, even though the bruise was faint. Her fingers were gentle, but her voice had a steel edge beneath the sweetness.
“No one touches my friend like that. No one. I… I spoke to Chief Wiggum. Politely, of course. But I made it very clear that if anything like that happens again, the Simpson family will not stand for it.”
You laughed it off. “Marge, it was nothing serious.”
Her eyes flashed—just for a moment—something darker than her usual worry. Then she smiled again, smoothing your hair like you were one of her children.
“It is serious to me. You’re important. More important than you know.”
That night she stayed late, helping you “organize” your contacts on your phone. She deleted a few numbers “by accident”—people she’d decided were bad influences. You didn’t notice until weeks later.
Weeks turned into months. Your life orbited around the Simpson house more and more.
Marge redecorated your guest room “just in case you ever need to stay over.” She stocked your fridge with her homemade meals labeled with little notes: “Eat this when you’re sad ♥ —Marge”
She started calling you “my sweet girl” or “my other daughter.” Lisa found it endearing. Bart teased you both mercilessly. Homer just shrugged and offered you a Duff.
But underneath, the yandere thread tightened.
When you mentioned applying for a promotion that would mean longer hours and possibly some travel, Marge had one of her rare, explosive-but-quickly-apologized-for outbursts.
“Travel?! Leave Springfield? Leave us?” Her voice rose, hands clenched around a dish towel. “After everything? After I’ve been here for you every single day? What if you meet someone out there who doesn’t care about you the way I do? What if you forget about us—about me?”
She caught herself immediately, eyes filling with tears. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just… I love you so much. Like family. More than family, in some ways. You make this crazy town feel like home. Please… don’t go. We need you here. I need you here.”
You stayed. Of course you did. She looked so heartbroken.
She started “checking in” more often—little texts, drive-bys in the station wagon, showing up with Maggie in the baby carrier just to say hello. If you didn’t answer within an hour, she’d knock on your door with that worried frown and a fresh pie.
“I just got so anxious,” she’d explain, voice soft and raspy. “My mind goes to the worst places. What if you were hurt? What if someone was bothering you and you didn’t want to trouble me?”
One evening, after a particularly bad day at work, you broke down crying on her couch. Marge held you close, rocking you gently like she did with Maggie, stroking your hair.
“Shh, shh, my sweet girl. Mama Marge is here. No one is ever going to hurt you again. Not while I’m around. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll talk to anyone I need to. I’ll… I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy right here with us.”
Her voice was soothing, loving, completely in character. But her grip was iron. Her eyes, when you weren’t looking, held a quiet, burning intensity.
You were hers now. Her best friend. Her confidante. Her project. Her reason to keep the Simpson household together.
And in Springfield, once Marge Simpson decided something was hers to protect… well, even Mr. Burns thought twice before crossing her.
Late one night, after the kids were in bed and Homer was snoring on the couch, Marge walked you home under the streetlights of Evergreen Terrace. The air smelled like freshly cut grass and distant Krusty Burger grease.
She stopped at your doorstep and took both your hands in hers.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” she whispered, her blue hair glowing softly under the porch light. “Bake for you, clean for you, stand up to anyone—Homer, the town, even my own sisters if they ever dared say a bad word about you. You’re not just a friend. You’re the piece I didn’t know was missing. And I’m never letting anything take you away.”
She kissed your forehead, gentle and maternal.
“Get some rest, dear. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow with breakfast. We have so many plans.”
As she walked back to her house, humming a little tune to herself, you felt it: the warm blanket of her love… and the quiet, unyielding cage it had become.
You smiled anyway.
Because in a town as chaotic as Springfield, being loved this fiercely by Marge Simpson felt like the safest place in the world.
Even if sometimes, deep down, it scared you a little.
The bright lights of the Springfield Elementary gymnasium buzzed overhead as the meet-and-greet line snaked around folding tables piled with cheap Krusty Burger merch. Balloons in faded red and yellow bobbed lazily, half-deflated from the afternoon heat. Krusty the Clown stood behind a long table in his usual getup—greasy green hair, white face paint cracking at the edges, red nose slightly askew, and that oversized suit that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and regret. He was signing glossy headshots with a Sharpie that had seen better days, his voice a raspy bark as he worked the crowd.
“Next! Come on, keep it movin’, I ain’t got all day!”
You were just a kid—small for your age, clutching a worn-out Krusty the Clown lunchbox like it was treasure. Your eyes were wide with that pure, unfiltered excitement only a true fan could muster. You’d watched his show every afternoon after school, laughing at the pie fights, the exploding props, and the way he’d yell at his sidekicks. Krusty was your hero, the one who made the boring days better.
When it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the table on shaky legs, holding out the lunchbox for him to sign.
Krusty glanced down, his painted eyebrows raising a fraction. “Hey, kid. Nice lunchbox. You actually eat out of that thing or just stare at my face while you choke down your mom’s meatloaf?”
You giggled, a little nervous but thrilled. “I watch your show every day, Mr. Krusty! The Itchy and Scratchy part is my favorite, even when it gets really messy.”
He let out a short, barking laugh—the kind that sounded like it came from years of chain-smoking and bad decisions. “Yeah? Well, good taste, squirt. Most brats these days got their noses in those video games. Here—” He grabbed the lunchbox and scrawled his signature across the lid with a dramatic flourish, the marker squeaking. “Make sure you tell all your little friends who the real star is.”
You beamed up at him, clutching the signed lunchbox to your chest. “Thank you! You’re the funniest clown ever.”
Krusty paused for half a second, his usual cynical smirk softening just a touch at the corners. Most kids at these things were dragged by parents or just there for the free balloon. This one actually meant it. He leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a gruffer but almost... warmer tone.
“Listen, kid. You seem like a smart one. Stick around after the line clears out, huh? I got a couple extra Itchy and Scratchy posters in the back that ain’t got ketchup stains on ’em yet. My treat. Don’t tell the other rugrats or they’ll mob me.”
Your face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Really?!”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal outta it,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than they did on the next kid in line. “Just... don’t go runnin’ off with some other hack clown, alright? Krusty’s the only one who knows how to do it right.”
The line moved on, but Krusty kept glancing back toward where you waited patiently by the bleachers, kicking your feet against the metal. When the last parent finally dragged their whining child away, he jerked his head toward the side door.
“C’mon, short stuff. Backstage ain’t much, but it beats standin’ around here.”
He led you through a dimly lit hallway that smelled like old popcorn and desperation, past a couple of exhausted stagehands who didn’t even look up. In a small green room that had definitely seen better decades, Krusty rummaged through a cardboard box, pulling out a rolled-up poster and a slightly dented whoopee cushion.
“Here. Limited edition or whatever they call it,” he said, handing you the poster. Then he tossed the whoopee cushion onto a chair and plopped down himself, lighting up a cigarette despite the “No Smoking” sign peeling off the wall. “So... what’s your deal, kid? Parents let you watch my garbage every day? Most moms would rather feed their spawn kale and educational cartoons.”
You sat on the edge of a folding chair, swinging your legs, and told him about how his show was the highlight of your day—how you’d mimic his voice when no one was listening, how the pie-in-the-face bits never got old. Krusty listened, surprisingly quiet for once, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. Every so often he’d grunt or chuckle, but mostly he just watched you with that half-lidded, world-weary gaze that hid something sharper underneath.
“Kid, you got no idea how many phonies are out there,” he said after a while, stubbing out the cigarette on the sole of his oversized shoe. “They smile, they wave, they sell ya junk with my face on it. But me? I’m the real article. Messy, loud, and I don’t pretend to be some perfect role model. You stick with watchin’ the show, and maybe... maybe I’ll remember you next time I’m in town. Hell, I might even slip the writers a note to throw in an extra explosion or two. Just for the real fans.”
He reached over and ruffled your hair with one big, gloved hand—careful not to smear too much paint on you, though a little white streak ended up on your forehead anyway.
“Don’t let anybody tell ya different, alright?"
As you waved goodbye from the doorway, lunchbox and poster tucked under your arm, Krusty leaned back in his chair, watching you disappear down the hall. He didn’t smile exactly—Krusty didn’t do soft—but there was a flicker in his eyes that wasn’t just the fluorescent lights.
“hmph..” he muttered to the empty room, already reaching for another cigarette. His eyes flickered to the floor..there laid a banana peel. He dropped the cigarette and furrowed his mouth and brow. "Why..why is that even in here?"
Outside, the gymnasium lights were starting to dim. But for you, the day still felt lit up by greasepaint and laughter. Krusty the Clown had noticed you. And in his own loud, grumpy, flawed way... he wasn’t about to forget.
Can you do a platonic yandere Billy Hargrove while he's possessed by the Mind Flayer??
Labyrinth
Yandere platonic mind Flayer billy Hargrove + reader
The mall was a tomb after closing, the kind of silence that pressed in from all sides like the Upside Down itself had leaked through the cracks in the world. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in dying flickers, casting long shadows across the empty food court tables still sticky with spilled soda and forgotten fries. The neon signs—Scoops Ahoy’s ridiculous pirate hat, the glowing “Hot Sam” pretzel logo—hissed and sputtered like they were fighting to stay alive. You’d slipped in through the side service door you’d jimmied weeks ago, heart pounding with the same reckless hope that had kept you chasing answers since the nightmares started. The Mind Flayer’s shadow. The rats. The people who weren’t people anymore. Billy Hargrove—your Billy, the one who’d once dragged you out of a party brawl and called you his only real friend in this shitty town—had been acting wrong for too long. Too still. Too watchful. You had to know if there was anything left of him to save.
You didn’t expect him to be waiting.
He stepped out from the shadowed alcove behind the shuttered Scoops Ahoy counter like he’d been carved from the darkness itself. His boots scraped slow and deliberate across the tiled floor, each step echoing like a heartbeat you couldn’t outrun. The black veins were worse up close—thick, pulsing cords snaking up from under the collar of his half-unbuttoned denim shirt, branching across his collarbones and disappearing into the hollow of his throat. They moved like living things, feeding on him, rewriting him from the inside out. His eyes, once that sharp, storm-blue that could cut you down with a single glance, were wrong now. Pupils blown wide and glassy, swallowing the color until only a thin ring of icy blue remained, ringed in something ancient and starving. But the smirk? That lazy, crooked Hargrove smirk was still there, twisted into something possessive and hungry.
“Hey, kid,” he drawled, voice low and rough, like gravel dragged through the tunnels of the Upside Down. It carried that familiar California edge, but layered underneath was a wet, echoing timbre that didn’t belong to any human throat. “Been looking for you. Figured you’d come sniffing around eventually. You always were the stubborn one.”
You backed up a step, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. Your flashlight—stolen from Dustin’s gear bag—shook in your grip, the beam dancing across his chest where the veins throbbed in time with some invisible pulse. “Billy… whatever this is, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t have to what?” He cut you off with a chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest, stepping forward to match your retreat exactly. Not rushing. Not yet. Just closing the gap like he had all the time in the world, because the Mind Flayer did. “Don’t have to keep you safe? Don’t have to make sure those little Wheeler brats and their flashlight club don’t drag you into the meat grinder again? C’mon. You know me better than that.”
The black veins crawled higher, feeding into his jawline, making the muscles there twitch like they were arguing with whatever was riding him. But his posture was still Billy—broad shoulders rolling loose, one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket like he was about to light a cigarette and call you an idiot for worrying. He tapped two fingers against his temple, right where a thick vein pulsed under the skin. “Billy’s still in here. Right here. Just… got a new roommate. The Mind Flayer sees everything now. Sees how you’ve been running yourself ragged. Sees how you’re the only one who ever stuck around when the rest of this town treated me like trash. You’re mine, kid. Always have been.”
The word landed heavy, carved in stone.. Absolute. The same way he used to claim shotgun in the Camaro, or the last beer in the fridge, or your spot on the bleachers during his basketball games. You were his person. His ride-or-die. The one he’d thrown punches for at Tina’s parties, the one he’d let see the cracks in his armor after Neil got too loud. And now the Flayer had latched onto that like a parasite on a lifeline.
You hit the wall behind you, cold tile biting through your shirt. Billy didn’t stop. He planted one big hand flat beside your head—crack—the tiles splintered under the force, a spiderweb of fractures blooming out from his palm like the vines back in the tunnels. His other hand came up slow, almost gentle, brushing a stray hair from your face with fingers that felt like ice left out in the snow. The touch lingered, thumb tracing your cheekbone like he was memorizing it, or marking it.
“You keep sneaking around with those kids,” he murmured, leaning in until you could smell the ozone crackle on his breath mixed with something sickly-sweet, like rotting flowers blooming in the dark. “Harrington playing hero. Byers with his drawings. Wheeler’s little science experiments. Trying to burn me—us—out. Trying to ‘save’ the world. It’s cute, really. Real cute. But you’re not leaving me behind again. Not like last time. Not when the Flayer showed me what happens if I let you go.”
His grin sharpened, all teeth and shadow. The veins in his neck surged upward, pulsing faster, and for a second you swore you saw something shift behind his eyes—tentacles of darkness tasting the edges of your mind, cold and invasive but almost… curious. Fond, in the worst possible way.
“Remember when we ditched school and drove out to that quarry?” he went on, voice dropping to that low, conspiratorial tone he used only with you. “You bitched the whole way about my music, but you stayed. Laughed when I did donuts in the dirt. Told me I was the only asshole worth knowing in Hawkins. That was before. Before the Flayer made it clear. You’re too good for them. Too loyal. Too ours. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep everyone away. The cops sniffing around the old steel mill? Handled. That mouthy Harrington punk trying to play big brother? He touches what’s mine, he ends up mulch for the vines. Simple as that. No more running. No more hiding. Just you and me, like it used to be. Best friends forever. Till the end of the goddamn world.”
You tried to shove him back, but his shoulder was like iron under your hands—unyielding, humming with that otherworldly strength. His grip slid down to your upper arm, fingers locking like a vice. Not bruising. Not yet. But the promise was there: he’d snap bone before he let go. The Mind Flayer’s presence pressed against the back of your thoughts like cold tentacles testing, probing, whispering how easy it would be to just… give in. One little cut. One taste of the shadow. And you’d never be scared again.
“Billy, this isn’t you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “The real you wouldn’t—”
“It is now,” he snarled, but there was that flicker again—something almost like the old Billy, buried under layers of black rot and alien hunger. His free hand came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb pressing over your pulse like he was counting the beats to make sure you were still here. Still his. “The Flayer agrees. You fight dirty. You don’t quit. You’re the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t just some rage-fueled burnout. We’re better together. Stronger. I’ve got a place ready. Out past the old Hawkins lab—sealed up tight, vines for walls, shadows for guards. No one gets in. No one gets out. Not until you understand you’re never leaving my side again.”
He started walking then, towing you along without waiting for an answer because Billy Hargrove never waited. Not for permission. Not for anything. His boots echoed louder now, the black veins glowing faintly in the dim light as the Mind Flayer fed on his conviction. You stumbled after him, the flashlight clattering to the floor and rolling away, beam spinning uselessly across the tiles. Outside, the Camaro waited under the flickering streetlamp, engine already purring like it had been idling for hours. Waiting for its driver. Waiting for its passenger.
“Missed you, kid,” he said softly as he yanked open the passenger door, almost like the old Billy—the one who’d toss you the keys and call shotgun yours for the night. Almost. But the grin he flashed over his shoulder was all teeth and shadow, eyes too dark, veins crawling like they were reaching for you too. “Don’t make me miss you again. ’Cause next time? I won’t ask nice.”
He slid into the driver’s seat, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the empty lot. The radio crackled to life on its own—some distorted heavy metal track bleeding into static—and Billy’s hand found yours on the console, grip iron-tight and ice-cold.
The mall lights faded in the rearview, swallowed by the dark, and all that was left was the road ahead, the shadow in the driver’s seat, and the promise that this time, Billy Hargrove wasn’t letting go. Not for the world. Not for the Upside Down. Not even for you.
Please could I request a romantic Eddie Yandere x fem reader.
The reader shows up to Eddie’s band playing at the hideout, and she gets friendly with one of his band mates.. Eddie doesn’t like it and well, I’ll leave that to you!!
Touch-tone telephone
Yandere eddie munson x reader
The Hideout was packed tighter than a sardine can, the air thick with cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and the metallic twang of feedback from the amps. Corroded Coffin was midway through their set, and Eddie Munson was in his element—wild hair flying, fingers tearing across the fretboard like he was summoning demons instead of Metallica covers. His voice growled through the mic, raw and unhinged, and every girl in the room had her eyes glued to him.
But yours weren’t.
You’d shown up late, slipping in through the side door in your ripped jeans and that oversized band tee you’d stolen from a thrift store. The second Gareth spotted you from the drum riser, his face lit up like a damn Christmas tree. He’d always been the friendly one—easy smiles, quick laughs, the kind of guy who remembered your name after one conversation at the last show. During the break between songs, he leaned over the edge of the stage, drumsticks twirling in his fingers.
“Hey, you made it!” he called over the noise, voice warm and genuine. “Saved you a spot up front last time, but Eddie hogged it. Beer?”
You laughed, stepping closer to the stage edge. “Only if it’s not the watered-down shit they serve here. How’s the new kit treating you? Sounds killer tonight.”
Gareth hopped down for a second, grinning as he handed you a lukewarm can from the cooler. “Better than the last one. You should hear Eddie bitch about it later—he’s convinced the snare’s possessed. Stick around after? We’re grabbing pizza at Benny’s. My treat.”
You clinked your can against his, chatting easily about the setlist, the new riffs he’d been practicing. It was harmless. Friendly. The kind of easy banter that made a dive-bar night feel less lonely.
But Eddie noticed.
He always noticed.
From the stage, his dark eyes locked onto you like a predator spotting prey. The smile on his face didn’t reach those eyes anymore. The last chord of the song rang out, and he didn’t even wait for the applause to die. He ripped off his guitar, shoving it at Jeff without a word, and vaulted off the stage in one fluid motion. The crowd parted for him instinctively—Eddie Munson had that effect.
You felt his presence before you saw him fully. That familiar mix of leather, smoke, and something sharper, like ozone before a storm. Gareth was mid-sentence when Eddie’s hand clamped down on your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that there was no mistaking the claim.
“Gareth,” Eddie said, voice low and velvet-smooth, the kind that usually preceded a threat wrapped in a smile. “Pizza sounds great. Why don’t you go ahead and order for the guys? We’ll… catch up later.”
Gareth blinked, catching the edge in his bandmate’s tone. He knew better than to push. “Uh, yeah. Sure, man.” He shot you an apologetic glance before melting back into the crowd.
Eddie didn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, he tugged you through the throng, past the bar, and into the narrow hallway that led to the back room—the one the band used for “storage” but was really just a dusty closet with a busted couch and a single flickering bulb. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the bar noise to a dull roar.
You turned to face him, heart kicking up. “Eddie, what the hell? I was just talking—”
“Talking.” He repeated the word like it tasted foul. He stepped closer, crowding you back against the wall until your shoulders hit the peeling paint. Up close, he was all sharp angles and intensity: those big brown eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the irises, his breath coming a little too fast. “You were smiling at him. Laughing. Letting him buy you a drink like he has any right to.”
His free hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw with a gentleness that contrasted the iron grip on your wrist. “You don’t get it, do you, sweetheart? I’ve been watching you come to every single show for months. Sitting in the front row, eyes on me. I play every riff like it’s a goddamn prayer to you. And then tonight… you’re over there with Gareth. Like he could ever make you feel the way I do.”
You swallowed, pulse hammering. This wasn’t the playful, chaotic Eddie from Hellfire Club. This was something darker, hungrier. Yandere-sharp. “It wasn’t like that. He’s just a friend—”
“Friend.” Eddie’s laugh was soft, almost broken. He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, nose brushing yours, his breath warm on your lips. “No. No one gets to be your friend like that. Not when you’re mine. You’ve been mine since the first time you mouthed the words to Master of Puppets back at me from the crowd. Since you stayed after the show last month and let me walk you to your car. Since you looked at me like I wasn’t just the freak from the trailer park.”
His thumb traced your lower lip, slow and reverent. “I’d kill for you, you know that? I’d smash that pretty drum kit of his into pieces if he ever touched you again. I’d make sure no one in this shitty town even glanced your way if it meant keeping you safe. Keeping you here. With me.”
The words should have scared you. They did, a little—enough to send heat flooding through your veins instead of pure fear. Because underneath the obsession, the possessiveness, there was something raw and real: Eddie looking at you like you were the only thing in his upside-down world that made sense. Like loving you was the only song he’d ever need.
You reached up, threading your fingers into his wild curls. “Eddie…”
He shuddered at your touch, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you feel it too, or I swear I’ll drag you out of here right now, take you back to the van, and never let another soul near you again.”
Your voice came out steady, even as your heart raced. “I’m yours, Eddie. I came here for you. Only you.”
The tension snapped. His mouth crashed into yours—desperate, claiming, all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. You tasted the adrenaline from the stage, the faint copper of a split lip from biting it too hard during the solo. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, breathing hard.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “My girl. No more friendly little chats with the band. Next show? You’re right here—” He tapped the edge of the stage with one finger. “—where I can see you. Where everyone can see you belong to me.”
He kissed you again, softer this time, but no less possessive. “After this set… you’re coming home with me. Trailer. My bed. And I’m gonna show you exactly how much I’ve been holding back.”
Outside, the crowd was chanting for an encore. Eddie ignored it, lips curving into that signature devilish grin against your skin.
“Let ‘em wait. I’ve got my own music to make tonight.”
And just like that, the yandere storm in his eyes settled into something warmer—still obsessive, still all-consuming, but wrapped in the kind of love that would burn the world down before it let you go.
You were his. And Eddie Munson was never letting go.
Can you please do a yandere steve x reader x yandere billy.
Aishite
HELP THIS WAS THE ONLY GIF I COULD FIND OF THEM TOGETHER AHHEJDVEO THEY LOOK LIKE THEY FUGGIN ANYWAYS..
Yandere steve Harrington and billy Hargrove x reader
The party downstairs had thinned out, but the heavy bass still vibrated through the floor like a dying heartbeat. Steve’s bedroom door was locked with a solid click that echoed too loudly in the quiet. The only light came from the single lamp on the nightstand, throwing sharp shadows across the walls and over the two boys who had you trapped between them.
You sat rigid on the edge of the king bed. Steve knelt directly in front of you, one hand gripping your thigh just above the knee, fingers digging in with quiet possession. His other hand rested on your other leg, keeping you still. Billy stood behind you, close enough that his belt buckle brushed the back of your neck when he shifted. His knuckles were split open and still bleeding from the punch he’d thrown earlier.
“You shouldn’t have smiled at him,” Steve said, voice low and even. He stared up at you with those familiar brown eyes, now flat and unblinking. “You know exactly what that does. We’ve talked about this.”
Billy’s hand slid into your hair from behind, fingers twisting tight enough to make your scalp sting. He yanked your head back slightly, forcing you to look at the ceiling for a second before he let you lower it again. “Smiled? She laughed at his shitty joke. I watched her mouth move. I watched his eyes light up like he had a chance.” His voice was rough, edged with violence that hadn’t fully burned out. “I should’ve dragged that fucker into the woods and ended it right there. Would’ve saved us all the trouble.”
Steve’s grip on your thigh tightened until it hurt. “We agreed—no bodies tonight. Not where she has to step over them later.” He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his mask in place, but you could see the fracture in it. “But if he comes near you again, I won’t hold Billy back. I’ll help him. I’ll hold the bastard down so Billy can take his time.”
Billy laughed once, short and humorless, the sound vibrating against your back as he pressed closer. “Listen to that. King Steve finally admitting what he really is underneath all that perfect hair and charm.” His free hand came around to grip your waist, fingers pressing hard into your ribs. “You don’t get to flirt. You don’t get to be nice. You don’t even get to exist outside of us anymore. Every look, every word, every fucking breath you take belongs here. Between us.”
Steve rose slowly from his knees, never breaking eye contact. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs pressing into your cheeks just under your eyes, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it. His touch was careful but unyielding. “We watch you constantly. Did you know that? We know who talks to you in the halls. We know who lingers too long at your locker. We know the exact tone of your laugh when someone else makes it happen.” His voice dropped lower. “It eats us alive. Because you’re not theirs to look at. You’re not even yours anymore. You’re ours. Mine and his. Every part of you.”
Billy’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. You could feel the heat of him, the tension coiled in every muscle like a predator ready to snap. “Try to run,” he said against your ear, lips brushing skin, “and I’ll bring you back with blood on your clothes. Try to pick someone else—anyone—and I’ll make sure they never breathe again. I don’t care who it is. Friend. Ex. Teacher. I’ll do it slow if I have to.”
Steve leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, breath warm across your lips. “We love you. That’s why it has to be this way. No one else will ever understand what you need. No one else will burn the world down to keep you safe like we will. No one else deserves even a second of your time.”
The room felt smaller, the air thicker. Billy’s heartbeat thudded hard and fast against your spine. Steve’s hands stayed on your face, thumbs now tracing your cheekbones in slow, obsessive strokes. Neither of them was willing to let even an inch of space exist between the three of you.
Billy’s grip in your hair flexed. “Say it.”
Steve’s eyes bored into yours, dark and unrelenting. “Say you’re ours.”
They waited, bodies pressed close, the weight of their obsession pressing down until it was hard to breathe. There was no softness here tonight. No gentle promises. Just the raw, ugly truth of what they had become—and the terrifying knowledge that fighting it would only make everything worse.
Your pulse hammered in your throat. Part of you already knew the words they wanted. Part of you had known for a long time.
2087
tangentwithtanner
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