I am an adult. I reblog 18+ content, so minors get out, don’t traumatize yourself. Currently blogging a ton of fanfiction Despite the title of the blog, if you see your work here, it’s probably because I love it. I am actually the trash, because I’ll read and seek out this stuff like it’s quality literature, and you know what, it’s not. This is better than the “classics” everyone is so pent up about. Still, English teachers would get mad if I wrote my essay on these things…
Monster Jon interacting with an admirer Martin. Martin, who takes care of his monstrous boyfriend. Martin, who will gladly cuddle in Jon’s wings, who writes poems praising Jon’s many beautiful eyes, who kisses Jon’s scales and promises that Jon is perfect.
Feel free to go dark with this one if you’d like. I think Martin would be such an excellent villain if given the chance. Martin luring people with Statements into the archives, placing them in front of Jon, letting them get drained of their Knowledge until they’re nearly empty husks. Martin working with Elias the other avatars to make sure there are a steady supply of quality Statements- Jon should be well fed, after all.
Fuuuuuck oh my GOD yes. Absolutely. I love everything about this - villain!Martin enthusiastically and especially cosigned.
And everybody already knows how I feel about monster!Jon. This was a lot of pure wish-fulfillment for me.
“This is a bit embarrassing for me to admit, Martin. I’m sure you can understand why.” Elias said calmly over tea, during one of their weekly planning sessions. “But I didn’t see you coming.”
Martin paused, cup halfway to his mouth, files and folders spread out across the desk between them. “In…what way, exactly?”
“Any way.” Elias was frank with him these days, and truth be told, Martin rather relished that. No need for vagaries or deception with an equal, or the closest thing Martin suspected he’d had to one - save Jon - in over two centuries. “I thought of you as - disposable, I suppose, but useful. If nothing else, you would slow Jon down, help keep him from learning too much too fast, and in my best-case scenario, you could serve as the conduit through which another Power might touch him. Much like Sasha.” Martin felt his jaw tense slightly. That still bothered him, Sasha’s death; but he didn’t regret how things had ended. When they had realized what had happened, what the NotThem was, when they’d found it in the tunnels, he had urged Jon on. The first time he’d used his powers to kill, that first irreversible step upon the path they walked now. “But even I am not entirely immune to the machinations of the Web, and I failed to see its threads within you.” Elias sipped his tea. “My mistake, though certainly not the worst I could have made. I thought that if you were to find a secondary home with any Fear besides the Beholding, it would be the Lonely.”
“I’m not alone anymore, though,” Martin said, thinking of Jon. He was in the archives, and they were in Elias’s office. But Martin had no doubt he was Watching.
“No,” Elias agreed, expression inscrutable. “You certainly aren’t.”
Martin checked his watch, then said, “I’d better go; I’m expecting a statement-giver soon. Unless you need anything else from me?”
“Not at the moment.” Elias finished his tea. “Was this one sent our way by anyone in particular?”
“I reached out to him, actually.” Martin kept a careful eye on social media, looking out for anyone who seemed to have had a brush with one or more of the Fears. But it certainly wasn’t uncommon for other Avatars to point their victims or even just those they ran across in the direction of the Institute. Martin had been steadily building a more standardized network, one more beneficial to them all but especially to Jon, eater of stories of all other Fears - and they had learned swiftly to cooperate in the wake of the Flesh’s disastrous attempt to attack the Institute, after which Martin had spent hours washing blood from Jon’s feathers and flossing sinew and gristle from between his claws and teeth.
It made sense Elias wouldn’t have known (without making the effort to Know, which Martin knew he found tedious for matters like this) whether or not a gift was on its way. The Lukases, the Fairchilds, the Church, the Cult, Annabelle…these days, they bypassed him entirely in favor of contacting Martin alone.
While Jon may have been Elias’s Archivist, he belonged to Martin. No one needed the touch of the Eye to know that.
“Mm.” Elias set his cup aside. “Do tell Jon I said ‘bon appétit.’”
Leaving him behind in his office, Martin descended to the basement. It looked quite different than it had when he’d first been transferred to the department. Gone were the boxes, the haphazard stacks, the papers and folders jammed in wherever; the archives had been tamed. Meticulously organized, rows and rows of cabinets and bookcases marched off through alphabetized and dated rooms in which the climate control had been fixed.
It finally felt worthy of a god of knowledge’s most beloved servant.
The door that said Head Archivist - Jonathan Sims was closed, as always. The quiet whir of tape came from behind it, the powdery shuffle of wings. Martin felt the weight of Jon’s attention on him like a sunbeam as he gathered what he needed from his desk.
Tim’s, nearby, was empty and quiet. Martin still hadn’t quite gotten used to the absence of him, or his sullen, hateful questions.
Going to feed someone else to that fucking thing, then? Elias must be so proud of you.
You know, Tim, I don’t really appreciate you talking about him like he’s some kind of monster.
Oh, give me a break, he’s not even bipedal anymore. I don’t know how you can stand to touch him, all those eyes - does he even know who he is?
What kind of a question is that?
That’s even worse, then. I would’ve killed myself the second the scales broke through. You and him…I don’t know which one’s worse.
That’s enough.
You’re like one of those people who keep tigers as pets ‘til they maul them.
You think I think he’s a - a pet?! The bloody Archivist -
Well, he’s sure not a fucking person, Martin, maybe never was, definitely isn’t now. Do you think any of us are anything but food to him? Something to drain? You think something like that won’t eventually get tired of you?
I said that’s enough, Tim.
They really ought to hire more archival assistants. But Martin kept putting off bringing it up to Elias; he supposed he was possessive.
Could he really be blamed for that?
The statement-giver had arrived, a man in a suit with an accent from somewhere south of London. Martin did not commit his name to memory; it was in their files, so there was no need, and there had been so many.
Jon would remember him, as he did them all.
“I wrote it down,” the statement-giver said uneasily, pulling a folded packet of paper out of his pocket as Martin led the way back down the stairs. “Or, really, you could just use my post - ”
“We’ve found it works best if you give it directly to our head archivist, in your own words,” Martin assured. “We’ll record it.”
They went through the stacks, past the assistants’ desks, to the door. Martin opened it. The statement-giver balked upon seeing it was pitch black inside, but reluctantly allowed himself to be ushered in. Martin followed him, and closed the door behind them, cutting off the light from the archives.
“Could we - turn on a light?” the statement-giver whispered hoarsely.
“Just give it a moment. It’s automatic.”
“O-oh.” Something enormous moved, padding feet, rustling feathers. Martin heard the statement-giver’s breath hitch. “Is your head archivist…in here, or…?”
“Yes.” Then the tape players switched on.
There were dozens, resting all over the room, and their playback overlapped, each one a different statement. Jon’s voice unspooled, every iteration of it, from the overly-formal tone he’d used when he was new in the position to the soft hiss it’d become last year, statements read while Martin rubbed his back where his wings were breaking through. And above every player, an eye rolled itself liquidly open in the blackness, a thousand different sizes and a thousand colors, each one glowing to illuminate the space, expanded recently to better accommodate the Archivist.
Who was also illuminated, in his full glory, standing where his desk had once been.
The statement-giver screamed. They often did. He backed violently into the door, shaking it in its frame, and scrabbled at the knob. Martin almost hoped he’d get it open, it had been a while since Jon had chased someone through the archives and the enrichment was worth the inevitable mess, but his hands seemed to be shaking too badly.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Our Archivist.” Martin stepped clear as Jon began to stalk forward. He was slow, languid in his movements, savoring the fear in the air. Horror at being seen by such a thing. “Though…I really think you could make the argument he’s an angel.” Jon’s main pair of wings lifted, and an eye opened between them, huge, impossibly green, trained on the statement-giver. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite.”
What Jon did was arguably much worse, but Martin didn’t bother saying so; the statement giver would find out soon enough. As the man’s legs gave out and he slid down to the floor, Martin put a comfortable hand on Jon’s shoulder. He was warm, like a humming machine.
Jon said the statement-giver’s name aloud, the one-sentence summary of the incident, all of which he already Knew. Martin’s breath quickened as he said, “Statement begins.”
And it did.
Once he was finished, Jon turned away from the colorless, empty thing on the floor; it no longer interested him. He nudged Martin affectionately with his great head, and Martin sank his hands into his ruff to keep his balance. Jon was gentle with him, but the size difference made some things a thrilling necessity.
“Corruption.” Jon’s fond, throaty purr clicked in his throat. “You do like to make sure I get a balanced diet, don’t you?”
“Well, someone’s got to.” Martin scratched round the base of his antlers. “You can’t live on Flesh and Stranger statements alone.” Jon growled. Martin felt it in his marrow. “Well, you can’t!”
“Yes, yes. I know.” Jon withdrew after a final nuzzle. “It’s getting late.”
Meaning he wanted to go down. Jon may roost in the archives, but he nested in the panopticon below the Institute, coiled round the central tower that held the corpse of Jonah Magnus like a dragon guarding a desiccated princess. Honestly, Martin could have done without him up there. And without Jon’s steadily-growing magpie hoard of books, tapes, and letters he had to pick his way through every night. But it was worth it to sleep beside him, in his wings.
He’d never suggested anywhere else, suspecting Jon wouldn’t be able to, and not just because he didn’t fit through most doorways. It seemed instinctive, going there. He’d been driven to the panopticon early in his transformation, shortly after he’d become uncomfortable leaving the Institute. Martin had spent countless hours down there in the glow of his eyes, kissing the weeping, half-formed new parts of him, endlessly murmuring You’re all right, you’re perfect, it’s okay, you’re beautiful.
“You go on ahead,” Martin told Jon now. “I’ve still got a few things to do…we’re having a board meeting at the end of the week.”
“Right,” Jon said, a hint of bitterness entering his tone. “So Elias can show off his attack dog again.”
Martin did not point out Jon was less an attack dog than a personal nuclear warhead. “You don’t think you deserve to be shown off?” Jon whuffed. It smelled like old books, vanilla, leather. Martin laughed and kissed what he could reach. “I’ll be down in just a bit.”
“Don’t be too long; don’t make me come and get you. You work too hard.”
Martin left without saying anything else, sure Jon knew what he was thinking: that he was worth it. That glorious, glittering god-thing, all wings and teeth and eyes and fear, that was his lover.
Warnings/Notes/Tags: Reader knew him when they were alive. Yandere?Vox kinda not rly. Human!Vox parts. Power imbalance some parts. Mentions of sex. Unspecified age gap but implied that it's not a big one. Not proofread
W/C: 4.1k
You were juggling papers and coffee in your arms, trying to get past the herd of people fussing over set. With luck and whatever agility you were gifted, you make it to his desk without spilling the coffee. Vincent Whittman. He was an established weatherman, even in the short time he was here, with the confidence of a television industry veteran. You were the new intern, the mistake of asking an overly busy assistant director that you now worked there. In result, he shoved papers to you and told you to deliver them to the main man himself along with his coffee, demanding you make it yourself as well.
You hand him the papers, watching as he grumble to himself about last minute changes on the paper. He reaches his hand out with a silent request and you hand him his coffee. Your hand brushes against his, causing him to look up at you from his papers. He looks at you with unfamiliarity, before a sly smile grows on his face, "You're new here, aren't you?"
-
BEEP BEEP BEEP
You groan, shutting off the alarm clock. You get up and get ready for the day, grumbling all the while. Your roommate, Chester, munches on breakfast and you roll your eyes at how he sits there taking his sweet time. He notices you when you get a piece of bread and haphazardly put butter on it before eating like you're in a rush, like you so often are.
"How many today?" He pipes up while you put on your shoes
You shrug, "Three? More if they feel like it."
You were a freelancer, one of your most frequent clients was a lackey of an overlord or whatever. Basically, you killed, threatened, got information about, any sinner they wanted. You would think when in hell, people would have nothing to lose but power is power no matter where you were.
Your client right now, someone who works for those wild west weirdos, cowboy looking overlords, asked for you to collect loans from three people today and to maim them if they refused. It paid pretty well, however you did work mostly on commission so if they didn't pay you would just have to take some of their belongings for yourself. They would usually have a designated time until debts were to be collected but sometimes they would ask you to collect early if their patience ran thin.
You were about to bid your roommate goodbye before saying, "Oh right and I know you work for Voxtek and all but you don't have to take everything you can from them"
"Why not? We get good tech for free" He says with a full mouth
You sneer at him in disgust as crumbs fly from his mouth, "Well that alarm clock has to go. Annoying as fuck" You mumble the last part as you walk out the door.
-
"Ahh there she is. My favorite intern." He purrs as you walk in with his coffee. You blush, setting down the tray that hold both your drinks. He started insisting on also getting yourself something from the coffee cart, it becoming a ritual to sit with him while he reads over scripts.
You sit next to him in his couch in his private dressing room, drinking from your own cup and trying to wake yourself up for the day. He got here early before the makeup artists and stylists did, and you also made it a habit to keep him company and get him what he needed in the mornings. You were aware that you were an intern for whoever asked for anything done, but the way everyone respected him let him ask for your assistance all the time.
"Have I ever told you how much it means to me that you get here early?" He glances up from his script as he speaks
Your eyes widen in attention, shaking your head a little, "No, Sir."
He shrugs, "Well I appreciate it very much. I got a promotion from weatherman to news reporter and you're still a barely-paid intern. Unfair isn't it?" He muses
You chuckle nervously, not wanting to complain. You agreed though, now dealing with more work and it not reflecting in your salary, but you did not want to seem ungrateful. "I mean, your new position was pretty abrupt with the previous anchor's death but I think you deserve it. I'm just happy I can help with your new workload"
He grins, placing a hand on your thigh and leaning closer, "And that's why you're my favorite, so humble. Tell me, (Y/N), would you like to be my personal assistant?"
-
When you get home, your roommate is way more stressed than he was this morning. He's muttering while alternating from his tablet to his laptop to his phone.
You slump onto the couch with a huff, "I see we both had long days"
He barely spares you a glance, "Yeah."
You take his busy silence as an invitation to complain, "I got the money from the first guy which is rare so I thought today was gonna be good but the other two had nothing. Not only that they were BOTH hiding. They know that never works. It was a bitch to track them down then I roughed them up AND THEN that Hatchet guy had one more guy on a leash who also tried hiding. I had to shut that down and haul his ass to the overlords themselves so they could torture him or whatever. God, this job is a bitch sometimes"
Saying that last bit somehow got your roommate's attention. His head snapped at you with a weird hopeful look in his eyes.
You furrow your brows at him and look at him weird, "What?"
He reaches for you, cupping you face and you push his hands off with a laugh, "Spit it out, weirdo"
"How would you like to have a job where you don't have to run around hurting people... as much" He offers
You scoff, "What you want me to be a saint now? Might as well send me to that weird hotel with the bad marketing"
"No, no, just think about it. All you have to do is bring coffee, print papers, send emails-"
"Wait wait, what job is this? Is this in Voxtek- you know I refuse to work there" You say in slight anger, shutting him down
"And you won't tell me why! C'mon please! The new guy I was supposed to be training was a clutz and got ink on Valentino's jacket. I need to find a replacement and if the Vees find out we're understaffed I'm gonna lose out on my promotion. I'm this close to becoming one of their journalists!"
You raise a brow at him, unamused, "So you want me to save your ass and take a position where if I make any mistake they'll kill me?"
"How'd you know that? I didn't tell you they killed the last guy" He nervously mumbles
"They're the Vees, I know how they are" You roll your eyes.
"Please! I don't know anyone outside of work except you and I don't trust any desperate rando to be competent. If I lose another one who knows what'll happen to me!"
You shake your head, leaning back and trying not to give into his pleading.
"If I die or get demoted you can't afford this place"
You pause.
He got you there.
You look at him with a 'please don't make me' look before sighing in defeat. You hear him cheer when you do, already filling in paperwork about your employment with a plethora of 'thank you's coming from him as he does so.
You sigh exasperatedly, "Your lucky I have no clients queued up right now."
-
"Mr. Whittman, I have your script. Your guest on friday is the actor from that new movie" You smile, happy to be in his dressing room away from the hustle of producers and writers and other interns running around.
He smiles and holds out his hand, you place the script in his hand and the two drinks in your other hand down on the short coffee table in front of the couch.
"How many times do I have to tell you, dear, call me Vincent." He smirks, looking up at you.
You giggle, "Sorry, I'm just not used to it," you say as you sit next to him, body tilted to face him slightly. Your arm was on the back of the couch and you tilt your head, looking at him
He chuckles, putting his hand on your thigh and leaning in to kiss at your neck. You sigh and tilt your head the other way to open your neck up more to him. Your hand falls to rest on his shoulder and you shift closer to him when his other hand presses against the smal of your back. He kisses up your neck to your ear and whispers lowly into it, "You sounded very used to it when I had your legs over my-"
"Vincent! My gosh!" You squeak, hitting his chest and hiding your flushed face in his shoulder.
"There you go," He purrs, satisfied with hearing his name from your mouth. "Good girl"
-
You enter V Tower, Chester blabbing his mouth off on your duties which wasn't much outside of 'Go where you're needed and do whatever anyone asks.'
You roll your eyes and try to keep your head down. It was unlikely you were going to encounter Vox but you did not want to risk anything. Chester gets called somewhere and he gives you a quick 'Good luck' and directs you to a room. You enter and there, to your relief, was a lineup of clothes and models for Velvette.
The rest of the week was spent on rotation between the three Vees. You fluttered around, delivering notes and doing literally anything no one wanted to do that you were capable of. At some point you did pass by him but with your different Hell appearance, he didn't notice.
You realized you quite enjoyed it. You were still running around but instead of everywhere in the pride ring it was limited to a building. You also had to reprimand people but instead of beating them up for money, you just had to threaten them with losing their jobs due to incompetence. Even as an intern, bottom of the food chain in a corporate setting, you knew how to get stuff done for higher ups.
Today, you found out that this week's staff member who was in charge of the shark tank was once again fed to the sharks. You roll your eyes, knowing if no one was going to feed that damn shark, Vox himself was going to feed it another employee that your roommate was now in charge of replacing. You did not want to hear his complaining. So, you suck it up, take in a deep breath, and go up to the room where the top of the tank is. You were not sure on the cleaning process but the food was there in a bag in the freezer. You take the bag of raw meats and a pair of thick gloves and with a look of disgust on your face, you pull out whatever unspecified meat was in it.
"Here, sharky, sharky" You try standing back enough that you could escape if it tried to eat you. You hold out the meat and after grabbing one of the sharks' attention you drop it in.
You could make out a few figures bite it from the bottom. You then continue to drop it all but grow worried at the big shark that hasn't eaten anything. You try to 'sharky, sharky' it again but it doesn't pay you any mind other than a glance.
You huff and pull back, you were worried that you might get eaten alive if that big one wasn't fed, literally. You remember that there was another opening in Vox's office that the shark might be more used to, considering all the people tossed through there. You sigh, making your way down to the office.
-
"Vincent?"
Your voice racked with fear, your body frozen as your fight-or-flight response fails you. You can barely feel anything, your body cold with chills and refusing to move.
His head snaps to you, hands letting go of the wire that drops one of the producers body. His hands shoot up, palms open, trying to reach out and calm you down, showing you he won't hurt you. A panicked smile is on his face, "(Y/N), sweetheart-"
"You— you killed them? All those people?" You shakily let out, stepping back away from him in small steps, almost stumbling.
He pauses before stepping towards you even slower, not wanting to spook you, "I needed to, okay? They were in the way"
That statement scares you all over again. Were you in the way now that you found out? You try to glance behind you, preparing to run before he speaks up.
"Not you, okay, you're not in the way, are you? My favorite assistant, sweetheart, c'mon!" He slowly but surely steps closer to you until he gets you in arms reach. His sweet words and his warm but bloody touch are enough to calm you just a little bit. He takes this as a sign to pull you into his arms, getting the blood of one producer all over your clothes as well. He rubs your back, encouraging you to breathe which you eventually do.
When you're relaxed enough in his arms, he cups his face and you look at his very handsome face that seems to calm you down more somehow. He looks at you with an encouraging smile, "Nothing bad's gonna happen, okay? You trust me right?"
You meet his eyes, gulping to try and relieve your dry throat. Finally, take a deep breath and nod.
-
You look around, double checking the schedules in your hands. Once you're sure Vox isn't in his office you slowly open the door. When you don't hear anyone reprimand you, you take it as a sign to enter.
You quickly do so, not wanting to get in trouble. With the bag of meat or whatever's left in it, you try to find a way up to the opening and how it even opens. You try to find a storage room or something with a ladder but walking around with a chilled bag of raw meat was kind of annoying.
You finally do find a ladder that goes up to it and make your way up. You find that it's some kind of smart door that opens and closes quickly so you can quickly throw the meat it and voila! The shark finally eats. You let out a sigh of relief, and start stepping down.
Before you can get down the step ladder, a voice calls out, irritated and on the brink of killing again, "What are you doing here?"
It makes you freeze, but you hate the way that the familiar voice doesn't make your blood run cold in fear.
You glance up but without meeting his eyes, you act like you're in a rush and go to put away the step ladder. "I'm sorry, Sir, the big one wouldn't eat up there. I'll be on my way" You gesture to the big shark and wave your hands dismissively.
You try to miss the way he freezes. Choosing to abandon the ladder, you try to rush out before he can realize anything.
But you are too late.
"(Y/N)?"
You're almost out the door but you falter. You try not to stop in recognition of your name but hearing him say it in his voice makes you pause just for a split second.
In the second half of that second, you catch yourself.
"Who?" You ask, pretending to not know, even lowering your voice to make it sound not like you. You don't turn, trying your damnedest to not seem like yourself.
You almost step out but get pulled back by wires. Now the panic starts. You try to squirm but he brings you to sit in his chair. You then try to keep your head down but he grabs your face, making you look at him. His hands are bigger now, rougher and adorned with large talons that skillfully angled to not cut you.
His eyes examine your face. It was different, definitely not human looking, but still definitely you. You see his eyes trail each feature, his shoulders slump when he confirms that it is you. You were here.
"Darling..." He breathes out
You give a sheepish smile, "Vincent." You give a nod as if in greeting
He pushes away from the chair, hand on his head and the other on his hip as he tries to reel himself in. "You— You're here. In Hell-!"
You roll your eyes, "Well, thanks for reminding me"
"-And with an attitude!" He chuckles in disbelief
You shrug, "Well if that's all," you say as you get up.
"Wha- No, no, no. All these years and you were here all along. You are going to explain why the hell you didn't come back to me, and how the hell I never found you" he demands.
"What is there to explain? I've been surviving here on my own. I didn't even wanna work here but I had to do my roomie a solid." You cross your arms and grumble, clearly not wanting to be here.
He sighs, stepping close to you and resting his hands on your arms, then moving them to cup your face. You give him a side-eye as he does so.
"What happened you? You were so sweet, so devoted..." He asks with a twinge of disappointment in your new personality.
You scoff, "Yeah and look where that got me"
You couldn't lie to yourself. You were so sweet and you really did like him, loved him even. However, that loyalty to him landed you here, in Hell. You figured covering up his crimes and helping him further his 'movement' was on you as well, regardless of how deluded with love you were.
-
"The other studios wanna feed you the same boring crap everyone's seen before. You want newer, you want bigger, you want brighter!"
You sigh dreamily as he gives a rousing speech to all his loyal devotees, you his right hand woman at his side. He was preaching and you couldn't help but notice how crazed he looked; like he was almost at the height of his dream, able to reach out and taste the victory of his goals. It should scare you but the familiar expression on his face stopped scaring you long ago.
"Now, who's ready to be baptized into a new era of entertainment!?"
It happened all in a flash, people rallying closer, a wire snapping, the sharp pain shocking everyone and next this you knew... you opened your eyes to a dirty, red hell.
-
You watch him pace around, bored and inching closer and closer to the exit. He keeps scooting you back closer with his wires as he mumbles to himself about why you didn't come back to him. The things you picked up from under his breath could be read as insecure, but you knew better. You could tell he was crazed and trying to reason why you weren't his perfect little trophy wife anymore.
"Can I go now? There's quite literally nothing to do about this situation anymore, it is what it is" You make an attempt at getting him to let this go even if it was an unlikely chance
His head snaps up as he chuckles darkly, "You... you think I'm just going to let you go?" He all but cackles
"This is great, I found my most loyal follower, my favorite intern, an intern once again! You know what this means? We could start over, or pick up where we left off, whichever just as long as your mine again"
You shove him off, more pushing yourself away than him, "Woah woah, it's been decades! We're very different, I don't want to go back, Vincent"
He laughs once more, this time an eerie feeling creeping up your spine, a feeling somewhat nostalgic against your best interest.
"You think you have a choice?"
Your hands go to hold yourself in a protective stance, more to hold yourself composed as much as you can "Vincent, don't do this"
His claws caress your face, then stroking a strand of hair, "C'mon, Babydoll, you know you won't resist. Now that I found you, you can stay with me. Move away from what I assume is a cheap room in the slums"
Fuck, his voice was doing it again. Making sweet sweet promises you knew he could keep. Promises he always kept.
You close your eyes, shaking your head and stepping back, holding yourself tighter. You felt him step closer, following you, and placing his hands on your waist in the way you both knew he used to do. He tilted his head the same way he did to kiss at your cheek, down to your jawline.
"C'mon, you know you want to give in. I could make your life so easy here. Think of how much struggle you've had to put up since getting here. Come back to me and we can be like we used to"
The offer made you reflect, how much harder it was before working in V Tower. You remembered the dates he took you on, the flowers he always got you, the pretty dresses he always bought. You remembered how despite how feral he acted chasing his dreams, he was always gentle with you.
But you couldn't guarantee that this time, you were so different and he probably was as well. You had to keep your guard up. You weren't the same ditzy, easily flustered, person you once her. You didn't know how he would take to that. Who knows, one sassy retort could get you killed or worse.
You pull back slowly but surely, looking him in the eye and seeing his widening smirk, "You don't want me anymore, trust me. I know how to live on my own now, I'm not as easy as before"
He brings his hand up to condescendingly pat you head "Mmm, I can work with that. Might be interesting with a little bite from your end"
You roll your eyes, slightly annoyed but amused by his determination to keep you like a possession. You knew you could make the most out if this like you had been doing the whole time living down here. You'd pretend to give in wholly, keep your wits about you, and worst case scenario, keep an escape plan in mind.
You couldn't lie, he still attracted you like he once did, and you could see a good path ahead if he treated you like more of an equal. You could play this. You could act like a possession while making demands, you knew you could.
"If you're sure. I do have a condition though," You tested, wanting to see if he'd give you what you wanted
He rolls his eyes in annoyance, "Depends, what is it?"
You grit your teeth and bear it, you'd deal with his attitude later
"The only reason you found me is because I did a favor and started to work here. You have to give my friend a raise, you owe it to him"
"I owe NOTHING- okay, y'know what? Fine. It's done" He stopped himself from raising his voice at you, raising his arms in surrender
"But you can't talk to him anymore"
You wave your hand, "Yeah, yeah" You agreed, knowing you probably wouldn't end up listening anyway.
Even in life, no matter how much power he had over everyone, he was always wrapped around your finger when it came to your relationship. You were a trophy wife and he was a picture perfect husband, it even helped with his public image.
Your thoughts were interrupted when he claps loudly, an excited smile on his face, "Perfect! I'll show you to my room and you can stay there. I'm assuming you don't own any valuable shit so you can move in right away. Of course, you won't need to work, not in that stupid lowly position anyway. I'll just have you the same way you used to work for me; by sitting by my side, or on my lap, lookin' real pretty"
You couldn't but in as he rambled and fussed over you, letting him sweep you up to his room, you both abandoning your responsibilities for the day.
˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
A/N: Omg this was like 80% done sitting in my drafts for months. I forgot where I was going with it when picking it up again so I made it an ok ending. Thanks for reading
Oh yeah baby! Thats the kind of design that inspires some sexy writing:
I grab him by the tie, yanking his face close to mine. “You want my vote, baby boy? You wanna be a good little public servant?” I smirk. “You might’ve been the commander in chief… but I give the commands now. On your knees, mister president.”
I really like the idea of Duke being inducted into the Batfam as into a cult. Like, I enjoy imagining him getting lovebombed by Bruce Wayne and then finding out he's been assigned a room in Wayne Manor. Make it kinda creepy, but in an endearing way.
The Batfam are all platonic yanderes, and are completely oblivious to how fucked up their relationships are until Duke is there explaining it.
Steph is an exception. She realizes things are messed up, but doesn’t care enough to confront the issue if it’s benefiting her. She even appreciates the attention sometimes.
“Wow, how did you know what kind of eggs I wanted?” Duke was smiling, trying to hide the fact that something about the bats was terrifying. If anything, they were scarier outside the masks.
“I made a deduction based on your file, Master Duke,” Alfred said. He was sipping tea as he said it.
“My… file?” Duke hadn’t been with the bats for long. He’d heard they made files on crime-related things. He didn’t know those notes extended to ‘favorite breakfast foods’.
“Keeping records helps document changes over time,” Tim noted. “And if there’s cases of impersonation or mind control, it can be rather useful.”
“We’re family,” Dick laughed. “Of course we know a lot about each other ther.
Duke had only been working with the bats for a few months. He just moved into the manor yesterday.
Steph stole a bite of the eggs on Duke’s plate. “Everyone living in this house is a freak. You get used to it.” She winked.
Both would electrocute you for sexy reasons. They’d both make you wear a shock collar while going about your daily business, and then the shock collar goes off unexpectedly.
…I think I may have discovered a new one of my kinks.
Hope you don’t mind a continuation, because I absolutely adore Yandere School. It’s so funny.
You leave the Gym Teacher’s office, frustrated tears building in your eyes. You try desperately not to cry. How will you be a successful Yandere if you keep crying like this, and not even for your emotional manipulation classes?
Unbeknownst to you, every one of your classmates has seen your tears.
Your closest friends are at your side immediately, dragging you into a more private space. It’s as private as it can be, what with every other student leaning in and trying to listen past the closed door.
“Is something wrong? The teacher didn’t hurt you, did he?” Your friends are always so caring.
“If he did, I say we get revenge. What do you think, baseball bat or chainsaw?” Your delinquent friend is caring in his own way.
“No, I’m just being too sensitive.” You sigh. “He said my jacket didn’t fit the dress code.”
Your mother always told you to keep covered in public in case pervs were looking at you. Now your arms are exposed to the world. It’s basically nudity.
“You can take my jacket,” your friend offers. They thrust it into your hands before you can refuse.
“You don’t mind?” It amazes you that people are willing to go out of their way to help you.
“Of course not. I’d do anything for you,” your friend is so kind.
Your delinquent friend nods along, stoic as usual.
You walk back to class with your friends at your side. You don’t notice all the jealous glares your friends receive.
Meanwhile, one of the students has explained the situation to your homeroom teacher. That gym teacher made you cry. What are they doing?
Your friends walk you to your desk. The teacher has to force them to take their seats, all too aware that a fight would break out if the person sitting next to you wasn’t equally rotated based on the seating chart they update every other week. You’re always closest to the teachers desk.
They start class, not wanting to upset you further by bringing up your friend’s dress code violation- he isn’t wearing the school jacket, since he gave it to you. Any targeted attacks on your friend while you’re present always make you furious and defensive, while bringing you two closer emotionally.
As soon as you get out of class, your parents are on the phone. They also know about your recent brush with the gym teacher, and inform you that they’ll be talking with the principal about it, and that it won’t happen again.
Not only do your parents talk to the principal, they visit the gym teacher in his house that night.
The gym teacher is absolutely terrified. Over the weekend, a dozen different people threaten to break his bones. Another dozen threaten to get him fired. His boss calls and warns him not to pull another stunt like that again. His car has been hit with a baseball bat and keyed. His house is covered in toilet paper. Until he makes it up to you, the gym teacher will not be having a good time.
Some of you girls out there are such obvious daughterbait btw. You may think your need for a momma is internal, that it's something you can hide or be subtle about at the very least, but no. When a girl is motherable, it's obvious.
In social situations on your own, you may try to play up your confidence. Do your best to seem sociable, and brave, and independent, but there's always an inescapable need in you that shows through.
The need to be coddled, to have the small of your back rubbed while you talk, to be told you're doing so well at making friends, to have your hair pet and your head held in the quiet moments, to be teased and toyed with when nobody's looking. It's okay baby. Mom knows what you need.
TW: Implied neglect, implied abuse, yandere, parental yandere, forced age regression, death of family (not main characters), light violence, kidnapping
If there's any more trigger warnings I should add, let me know!
...
The cold gnawed at your bones, breath visible in front of you as you made your way through the thick snowfall. The chill bit into your skin, but you pressed on.
"Monster!" "Witch!" "Cursed!"
Their words echoed in your mind. The entire village thought you were some kind of monster, all because you were different from your peers. You were used to the kind of horrible treatment you received at their hands, and had long since learned not to fight it; no matter what you said, they never listened.
It got lonely never having friends, though. Even the people who weren't scared of you were ridiculed for being seen with you, sometimes even being called a witch just because they associated with you.
Your own family became embarrassed and ashamed by your reputation, to the point where they would go days ignoring your existence.
Sure, you had thought of running away before, but given you had nowhere to go, that'd just be a dumb idea.
Only when you overheard the church speaking of burning you at the stake did you realize just how little you actually had to live for there.
Either way, it seemed like your chances of death were high, so either way, fuck it, right?
You could barely feel your feet beneath you, wading through the snow.
How long have you been walking now? Hours? Days?
It feels like years. You felt tears burn at the edges of your eyes as you tripped over a root, collapsing into the soft cushioning of the snow.
A snarling noise behind you causes you to get back up and run, stumbling blindly and weakly through the snow.
You could barely tell what was going on behind you, but all you knew was that a vicious growl from some sort of animal was definitely not something you should just stand around for.
In the distance, you see a structure, probably the first one you've seen in days.
With some sudden rush of adrenaline, you sprint towards it, almost rolling down the hill leading up to the old building.
The steel gate in front of it makes you curse in frustration, looking up to assess how likely it is you can climb it. Your hands curl into fists around the bars, shaking violently as you pull. Not a chance.
"Help!" you scream, hoping whoever is inside can hear you. "Please!"
When there's no response, you turn back, seeing glowing yellow eyes approaching you. Fear courses through your veins, paralyzing you as you look on in horror. The shadowy beast prowls closer, standing tall on its four paws and staring you down hungrily.
Just as it stalks forward, ready to jump, it pauses. You squeeze your eyes shut and prepare for the inevitable. When the sharp fangs never come sinking into your flesh, you hesitantly crack an eye open. The beast whines and scampers off.
Only when the sound of its footsteps disappear completely does a breathy laugh escape your lips. What a weird twist of fate.
"My goodness! Are you okay?!"
You whip around to see a tall figure with piercing green eyes and long dark brown hair. He's wearing some kind of old-fashioned clothing that looks like it hasn't been touched in centuries.
Before you can say anything, you promptly pass out from exhaustion.
...
"You poor thing. I wonder where you came from..." A hand reaches down to caress your face, the gloved fingers ice cold against your flushed skin. "Seems as if you were meant to find me."
When you finally stir awake, your brain feels like it's rattling in your skull. Blinking slowly, you bring your hand up to rub at your temple, sighing and looking around. You're lying in a large canopy bed, soft red velvet sheets encompassing you.
Sitting up, you take note of the grandiose bedroom, decorated in similar deep shades of red, gold, and black.
There's antique furniture lining the room, with a large painting above the mantlepiece directly across from the foot of the bed. An embroidered carpet is spread on the floor, its design weaving into the same complex, golden filigree that is the headboard of the mattress.
Your gaze drops, noting that you aren't wearing the same clothes you were before.
Now you're wearing some kind of tunic, reminiscent of pajamas but far too fancy and extravagant to be called something so simple. The silk hugs your frame, falling delicately across your lap as you cross your legs and take a look around.
Then you meet his gaze.
He looks surprised that you woke up already, pulling his hand back quickly from where it was about to rest on your shoulder.
He had been watching you sleep, it seems.
The man clears his throat and smiles down at you. "Oh good. I thought for sure you'd sleep through dinner." His voice is deeper than you'd expected, but still gentle. He gestures to himself. "I am Octavian. What's your name, precious?"
"Uh–" You hesitate, caught off guard by the nickname. "I'm (Y/n)."
"A sweet name," he says simply, the corner of his mouth quirking up even more. Octavian reaches down to brush a strand of hair out of your face before straightening back up again.
You watch him cautiously, unsure why he's so comfortable touching a complete stranger.
Then again, you suppose most strangers don't magically appear outside of someone's home, either. Besides, he did just save your life; he deserves at least this much courtesy after helping you.
"It's been a very long time since I've seen anyone out here, let alone gotten any visitors. What on earth were you doing out here all alone? You certainly aren't a traveler, you barely were carrying anything with you." He looks almost ready to scold you.
"Well, uh..." You awkwardly tug at the sleeve of your nightgown, thinking how best to answer his question without opening the door for him to judge you or ask more questions. But he did save your life... "My village doesn't like me. Thinks I'm weird. And when they started talking about killing me, I figured it'd be better to get out sooner rather than later."
Octavian sucks in a sharp breath, concern written all over his features. "Killing you?" He puts a hand over his heart. "You poor thing. You must've been so scared," he coos.
"Yeah... I was," you admit. "I'm glad I ran into your place, at least."
The tall man gives you a soft smile, sitting down at the edge of the bed. It dips beneath him under his weight. "I am too. Stay right there, I'll go get you some dinner."
Before you can say anything else, Octavian slips out of the room.
You think back to when he found you. That animal chasing you acted scared when it saw him. Why? Sure, he's pretty tall, but the guy clearly wouldn't stand a chance against the teeth and claws of that thing. So why was it so spooked by him?
He reenters with a golden tray in hand. On top of it sits a bowl of soup and some bread.
"I'm afraid that's the only thing I have available at the moment," Octavian sighs, setting it down next to you and handing you a spoon. "It should warm you up though." He watches you eat with an adoring smile, one you miss, too busy ravaging into the food. "My Gods, you must've been starving. When was the last time you ate, sweetheart?"
You scarf down a piece of bread. "I haven't been keeping track of time. Maybe three days ago?"
Octavian almost appears on the verge of tears. "You poor little angel..." He hesitantly reaches his gloved hand over to wipe away a stray droplet of broth dribbling down your chin. "You won't ever go hungry again, I swear it."
"What do you mean?" you mumble while chewing on another piece of bread.
He gently wipes at your cheek. "You got some on your face. Messy thing," he tuts. His green eyes glow brighter. Unnaturally so. "I'll go refill your bowl. More bread?" He watches you nod, then takes the tray from you.
It was weird how he avoided your question, but you shrug it off. Seems like he's a little weird too.
...
After having four bowls of soup and God-knows-how-much bread, you finally start to feel full for the first time in ages. Octavian watches with pride as you polish off each meal, praising you for cleaning your plate every single time.
In the middle of him gushing over you, you interrupt him.
"So... Do you think I could use your horse tomorrow morning to head back into town?" you ask shyly. "Assuming you have one."
Octavian freezes, brows furrowing as if in confusion. "(Y/n)... surely you don't think I'm just going to send you back to the people that are trying to kill you?"
"Well, not mine... just a town nearby," you shrug. "Anywhere with people, really."
He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "There is no other civilization for miles. No. That'd just be a death wish."
You try not to raise your voice, reminding yourself it's thanks to him you're even alive. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
He opens his mouth to argue, but snaps it shut before taking a deep breath. "You need some rest. Let's discuss this later." You frown in frustration, knowing he's avoiding talking about it. Though he has a point. Sleepiness settles within you, a yawn bubbling past your lips. He bends down to kiss your forehead. "Sweet dreams, little love."
He's so weird.
...
The next day, you venture from the room he put you in, looking around. As to be expected, everything is beautifully furnished, from the wallpaper to the ceilings to the marble columns holding it all up.
In your searching, you stumble upon a portrait.
There's a tall man holding two children, with a woman standing next to him. It takes you a minute before you realize the man is Octavian.
He looks exactly the same in the portrait, except now his hair is slightly longer and he's wearing different clothes. Something in his appearance also seems happier.
You squint at the picture, wondering what's up with it.
"That's my family."
You jump, turning to see Octavian standing beside you, eyes glazed over as he gazes at the painting.
"Oh. They're beautiful," you whisper. You can hear him suck in a shaky breath. "Are they here?"
A melancholy smile pulls at his lips, though it doesn't meet his eyes. "No. My wife and my son and daughter... they're no longer here." His voice is far quieter than before.
Your chest grows heavy when you realize what he means. "I-I'm so sorry..."
The last thing you were expecting was for this to be so sad. Here you thought the picture was taken recently. Guilt pools in your belly for thinking that, especially now that you know the truth. Poor guy.
Octavian places a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Don't apologize. I think my loneliness streak is nearing its end." He guides you away from the painting and to the stairs. "Let's go eat. Breakfast should be ready by now." You're silent, not sure how to respond.
Walking down the ornate staircase, Octavian keeps his hand placed firmly on the small of your back.
Once you both reach the ground level, he removes it, walking ahead into the kitchen area. Following, you sit down across from him, watching as he places food in front of you both.
"It feels nice to cook for someone else again," he hums, beginning to dig into his own plate of food.
It smells really good, which you suppose you shouldn't be surprised by given the fact that everything else in this house seems to be perfect in its presentation.
"Thank you," you mutter, picking up the silverware and eating.
The two of you talk idly throughout the meal, Octavian being mindful of what you like and don't like to eat for future reference.
He asks you about yourself, appearing invested in every little tidbit you drop. Eventually, you're finally satiated, leaning back against your chair with a pleased sigh.
You watch him do the dishes and leave into what you presume is the living room. Curiously, you follow after him.
He's holding an open book, reading glasses perched on his nose.
The fire flickers and crackles, providing heat to the otherwise chilly space.
Sitting down next to him, you catch his eye. Octavian smiles at you and scoots closer, putting one arm around you and shifting his eyes back to his book.
Unsure of how else to react, you lean into the embrace. He's very cold compared to most people, you find.
The gesture is welcome though, regardless of the cool chill of his skin. Even through his gloves, you can tell his body temperature isn't normal.
If he came from your village, the villagers would definitely think he's some paranormal beast too.
Maybe that's why he lives so secluded from society.
...
A few more days pass. He gets a little more odd, but it just makes you more comfortable to show your own quirks too.
One morning, you wake up next to a teddy bear placed between your arms. He must've put it there last night.
It's almost like he senses you're awake, because he strides into the room not even a minute later.
"There's my sweet little angel," Octavian coos. "Did you sleep well?" You yawn and rub at your eye with a closed fist. He gives you a bright smile at that and sits on the edge of the bed. "Do you like your toy? I figured it might keep you company while I'm gone. Does it help?"
"Yeah, but..." You frown. "How'd you get it? There's no nearby shops, right?"
Octavian nods. "It belonged to my son." At that, you stare wide eyed down at the stuffed animal, moving to give it back to him.
"I-I can't take this from you–"
He grabs your hands and holds them in place around the toy, shaking his head. "Nonsense, I want you to have it." His eyes burn with such intense emotion, so much so that you're unable to resist the pull to listen to his request. "Keep it, please. When this winter is over, I'll go get you some of your own stuffies and clothing. Do you have any clothing preferences? Any favorite animals?"
"When winter is over, I'll be leaving," you correct him.
He stiffens. "Right. Of course. Silly me." His emerald irises flash with something unreadable.
The rest of the day, he becomes even more overbearing.
He pulls you into his lap whenever he has the chance, insisting you rest your head against his chest while he reads to you (all of which are children's books). He constantly is giving you random little hugs, or complimenting you for whatever little mundane things you do.
You only allow it because you feel pity for him.
Each time you even try to pull away slightly, he looks so heartbroken and hurt, as if you stabbed him in the chest.
And it's not like you dislike it. You're so starved for attention and touch that it actually feels kind of good, having someone hug you and hold your hand and read to you.
It makes up for all the times you've been neglected.
Each day, he gets even more coddling and babying with you. You wonder why he's like this.
Then it hits you.
His kids are gone. He's never going to have another chance to hold his babies again.
This behavior... is this just him projecting his loss onto you? Trying to relive the feeling of caring for a child?
It breaks your heart for him, making you feel more guilty for wanting to leave.
...
As the snow begins to melt, Octavian gets more antsy. He constantly holds you in his arms now, rambling about anything and everything, bouncing and swaying side to side.
It reminds you of how mothers soothe their babies.
One day, he stops to give you a serious look, gripping your face in his hands and kissing your cheekbone.
"Please," Octavian whispers, desperation seeping into his tone, "please please please stay." Tears drip down his pale skin. "You have no idea what these past few weeks have meant to me." The grip on your jaw tightens and he shakes his head with a dry laugh. "God, I can't imagine living without you anymore! Don't make me go through that agony again! Don't abandon me! You're happy here!"
Your hands hesitantly grab his wrists, not pulling him away but letting him know your boundaries. "These past few weeks meant a lot to me too. But I don't want to live alone out here, forever."
He sniffles and glares down at you. "What do you mean? You wouldn't be alone. I'm here. You'd have me!"
"But I want more people than that!" you cry out. "And in the end, you're still basically a stranger..."
That last sentence was the wrong thing to say.
All color drains from his face, shock freezing him in place.
"A-A stranger...?" Octavian scoffs, betrayal seeping into his broken voice. "After all this time together?! After all the things I've done for you, all the things we've talked about?!" You tremble and try to move away. "Why can't you love me back?! Your parents don't want you, but I do!"
You shake your head. "You're freaking me out..." Never before had you been so scared of this man. Never did you think he'd act this way, even with how affectionate and caring he could be. This is on a whole new level. "I'm not a kid. Just because you lost yours doesn't mean you can make me yours instead!"
Octavian doesn't say anything.
The silence that hangs thick in the air between you is deafening. It makes you want to scream, break it somehow, just so you don't have to endure how tense this is.
Tears pool in his eyes. He hesitates, then yanks off both of his gloves and drops them to the ground.
You notice his fingernails are long and sharp. Like claws. Not human.
"What...?"
"I've never been normal either." Octavian lets out a choked sob. "My wife died trying to protect our children from vampire hunters." He bares his teeth, revealing pointed fangs. "She couldn't. They all died before I could save them."
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight.
A mix of fear and sympathy swirls in your gut, making you feel nauseous and disoriented all at once. You step backwards, putting distance between you and him.
His eyes grow dull. "I couldn't save them. But I could save you." Octavian reaches out with those strange hands and cups the sides of your neck with a featherlight touch, holding your gaze despite your attempts at averting it. "You may think of yourself as big, but to me? You're just a baby."
A pitiful whine leaves your lips as your eyes begin to water.
"They said the same things about me. Aberration. Monster. I know how you feel; how lonely and awful it is. That's why you need to stay with me," he insists. "We understand each other. We're the same."
"No! You're crazy!" you exclaim, backing up further until your back hits a wall behind you. His form looms over yours ominously, casting a shadow across the floor beneath him. "Stop fucking touching me!"
"Maybe I am crazy," Octavian humorlessly chuckles. "But anyone would become unhinged from losing everything dear to them." Without warning, he moves quicker than lightning, picking you up and holding you close to his chest. He curls himself over you, shielding you from nothing as if to protect you. His body completely engulfs yours, swallowing you in his presence. It's unnerving. "Everything will be okay now. Papa will keep you safe. No one will ever hurt you again," he promises softly. "You won't be like them."
"No, no, stop," you beg pathetically. "Let me go."
"Shhh... this will hurt a tiny bit, but only for a moment. It's necessary for us to always be together," he hushes you. "I was going to save this for when you've settled in more, but I can't have you run away."
Octavian kisses the top of your head before pulling the collar of your shirt down just enough for his mouth to hover above your bare shoulder.
"Nonono, please, don't!" you cry. "I don't wanna be a vampire!"
"I know, sweetheart," he laments. "I hate seeing you in pain, too."
Before you can say anything else, Octavian sinks his teeth deep into the flesh of your exposed shoulder blade.
You shriek in pain as you feel fangs digging into muscle tissue and sinew alike. Tears stream freely down your cheeks now, uncontrollable sobs wracking your frame as blood runs freely down your back and stains your clothes crimson red.
"Shhhh..." he hushes again, caressing your hair even while he drinks away your humanity. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."
By the time he's finished drinking, you feel woozy from blood loss and adrenaline. Octavian lifts you up, grip looser now that you're too tired to struggle, and dampens a cloth under the faucet, using it to clean up the excess blood.
Then he takes you back to the bedroom, tucking you underneath layers upon layers of warm bedding.
You try to speak, but your throat hurts so badly and you can barely move. Everything feels heavy, including your eyelids which threaten to shut due to exhaustion.
"Get some sleep. It's bedtime for little ones," he murmurs giddily. He adjusts the blankets covering you. "Oh, I knew I was missing something." You hear him shuffle around the room before returning. Suddenly the familiar feeling of the teddy bear is pressed against your torso, its fur tickling your nose.
"Papa..." you croak deliriously, thinking of your own father.
"Yes," he says. His face splits into a manic smile. "That's right." Octavian crawls under the covers next to you, dragging you towards his cold figure. He combs through your hair and cuddles you tightly, as though if he lets go, he might lose you. "Say it again. Say 'Papa.'"
You don't reply, far too exhausted to even care anymore. All you do is slump against him and close your eyes.
Octavian squeezes you tighter.
He buries his nose into the top of your head and breathes deeply.
"My baby..." His words sound distant as slumber overtakes your mind and drags you into darkness. "You're back home where you belong."
Here's the inverse of the Vox with Celebrity/Streamer! Darling fic! This is where you're the demon influencing Vox >:) First time writing human Vox so I hope you enjoy! I originally finished this but then @okchijt gave me the idea of making Darling a previous entertainment demon... so I added some extra lines in to follow that narrative combined with the one I originally had!
❗️SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL SEASON 2 BELOW❗️
Yandere! Vincent Whittman with Demon! Darling
Pairing: Romantic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Religious themes/Demonic rituals, Deals with demons, Possessive behavior, Murder, Blood, Violence, Jealousy, Mature themes (Mentioned Vox is sleeping with you), Dubious relationship.
So here's the reverse of the HCs I did before with Vox.
In Vox's backstory we see him start as a weatherman before making is way up by killing those more popular than him.
This allows him to create a cult with his broadcasts.
But... what if he had help to get his notoriety.
Demonic help....
Vincent's jealousy and ambition is an emotion that attracts you to him.
So the second he decides to conduct a ritual to consult the dark forces for popularity... You answer his call.
You're amused by his goals... He's quite the ambitious mortal.
If you're an Overlord... perhaps you can relate to that certain ambition.
You're a demon who happened to also be one of the first TV hosts in life.
You were addicted to those cameras... to the audience listening to your voice.
And it seems you were an inspiration to a certain charismatic mortal.
He tells you what he wants... to captivate the hearts of mortals to give himself more fame, more power.
You know such goals all too well.
Upon learning the demon he summoned was his long dead inspiration... He pauses.
He expected a demon, yes... but you?
You claim you're the very same TV host that took television by storm... The very person he yearned to be.
Now you're here... changed yet still as charismatic as ever.
This could be the deal of the life time...
He asks for your help, he asks you to cut him a deal.
When he dies he wants to be considered a god… but while he's still alive he also wants to be granted the power to control those under him.
You're amused and do quite miss the TV life... so you agree.
He's killed hosts before out of jealousy already and even has quite the following.
You as a demon essentially help Vincent go from weatherman to cult leader.
You're a mostly invisible force that lurks behind him and suggests actions.
Actions you would've done in his place.
Someone's getting too smart about his actions... so you give ways to either herd or cull them.
Someone's dissenting? You'll accept them as sacrifice.
You help the people see him as a god... you give him the power he needs.
In return all you ask for is his soul in Hell when he dies.
Vincent accepts such terms eventually... although part of him does wish to surpass you when he dies eventually.
He's just using his idol... right?
Yet at the same time he finds himself yearning to have your praise... what a strange thought.
You're never seen by his flock, even those closest to him who he hired for his broadcasts never sense the demonic presence of you behind Vincent.
The only person who communicates with you is Vincent... your chosen mortal.
I feel like Vincent originally doesn't enjoy the idea of you owning his soul at first even if you are his idol.
He definitely tries to steer it in his favor... to make it seem like he owns you more than anything.
He has an ego, your pet radiates pride.
But you're quick to remind him that he asked you to help.
He wants to impress his idol, doesn't he?
With a quick tug of a chain made from his soul... you remind him that he's yours.
He hates the idea initially.
You make him strong and feel like a god, sure... You allow him to control the masses and prove he's a leader...
But in the end you're waiting in Hell for him to fall... to catch him with a grin.
He'll be a great successor
He'll always be tied to you... yet Vincent is an opportunist.
So he'll make the most of it.
Imagine your surprise when your pet keeps contacting you.
He wants to talk with you more, wants attention...
Wants affection.
He can't help but yearn for his idol's approval as time goes on.
The cult he makes is originally for others to view him as a god.
Yet as time goes on he makes your name legend.
He tells others that he's chosen by you... an already infamous name from the past...
He's your second coming.
Vincent is just full of sin too, isn't he?
He's displayed pride, envy, greed... and with you?
It appears he even expresses lust towards his eternal partner.
If he's going to be stuck with you... He'll use everything you have to offer.
You already have his soul.
You might as well belong with one another.
Vincent exudes charisma towards his loyal followers.
He speaks with a hypnotic effect and everyone is at his beck and call.
Meanwhile behind the scenes you're the only one he drops the pride for... You've managed to break him down.
Late nights he summons you to lay with him in bed... your supernatural warmth strangely pleasing.
It's probably even been a dream for him to imagine being this... intimate with someone like you.
He grumbles when you fidget with the glowing chain that binds him to you... but he probably doesn't even care anymore.
Not when he's been looking up to you for so long now.
Being your toy behind closed doors isn't even that bad anymore.
It's like giving into sinful temptation.
You're addicting... and deep down he probably knows he did this to himself.
It's ironic, one would assume you'd be the jealous one when you see Vincent mingle with other mortals in flirtatious ways.
Yet... no. Vincent's actually the one to feel upset at the idea of you toying with others.
You're just meant to be a source of power for him... a tool to chase his goals.
But instead he's falling for the demon he signed himself away to.
Whenever he kills to get others out of the way of his goals... he finds himself preening when you praise him.
You like that he's ruthless... you like it when he saturates his clothes in blood to become stronger.
You appreciate his ambition...
Now he finds himself doing every action in an attempt to impress you.
He can't believe it.
He's finally with his idol!
He just wants to impress you... to earn your favor...
He really IS just a pet to you, isn't he?
Here he is... a popular host and cult leader... doing tricks for a his predecessor just for some praise.
He technically doesn't even need your praise!
His followers praise him enough whenever he's giving speeches on screen.
It just... feels different when it's from you...
Maybe it's because you encourage his darker motivations... or the fact he looks up to you?
You play along with his constant summons... it gives you something to do other than sit around Hell all the time between broadcasts.
You enjoy it when Vincent invites you to the real world.
You let him invite you to his private quarters for dinner or more private endeavors.
Afterwards he asks for your company... and you oblige simply because he amuses you.
Vincent practically worships you as his soul owner and idol.
He tells himself he's pathetic... that he's meant to be the god here.
But as long as he has your eyes on him? Well... it doesn't really matter.
Your time to collect ends up coming faster than expected.
An accident occurs involving a TV falling on Vincent's head, the incident causing him and many of his followers to be electrocuted.
Vincent dies that day... and when he wakes up with his head a TV.
You're kneeling beside him with a devilish grin... an eager look in your eyes.
"You ready to be a god, Vincent?"
From that day on Vincent calls himself Vox.
You're often doing your own thing... yet check in with Vox and help him whenever he needs anything.
Perhaps you even come onto his broadcasts for interviews.
He's surprisingly submissive to you... perhaps because you're now in your element.
Any plans to backstab you are seemingly tossed in return for your affection.
You like watching him grow and make partnerships, no doubt some made due to your tips.
You help him make a name for himself... you watch as he creates VoxTek.
You even compliment him when he gets his upgrades in the later years.
Vox gets the attention of many Sinners in Hell when he puts together The Vees.
He acts confident, his charisma back again full swing.
But the second you come into view?
He's dragging you into a more private area... Then immediately submitting when you pull his chain.
He originally hated this... hated not being the one in control.
He really owes this to you though... He's extremely ambitious but has the attention he wanted.
He keeps your deal a secret... but he's always yours no matter who he's with.
He seems to prove that to you when he still makes an effort to gain your approval... rambling about success while getting frustrated when you're with other Sinners.
For once when you're the demon... Vox is a submissive yandere.
He acts tough, makes it seem like he owns you...
Yet behind the scenes?
He's still your ambitious little pet... and with that chain around his neck there's NO questioning who owns who.
What’s kind of fascinating about this is how it plays with the typical dynamics of a Yandere piece.
Uneven power dynamics is a stable to Yandere / dark romance writing. They often rely on the horror of a person being an inescapable force- whether it’s through physical power, wealth, or severe emotional manipulation. Most Yandere pieces have the Yandere exerting near total powers over their darlings life. Maybe the darling is compliant (or forced to be compliant). Maybe they don’t fully understand the situation they’re in, oblivious to the level of control the Yandere has over them. Ultimately, the power dynamic is still there horribly unbalanced in the Yanderes favor.
What’s fundamentally different about this piece is the fact that the reader has total power over their Yandere.
You own his soul. You could order him to stop. There’s nothing he could do that you wouldn’t be able to prevent him from doing.
It’s just very interesting to see how the power dynamic is changed with this piece. It’s truly inspiring. It’s subversive. I love it.
Can I request platonic yandere Vox with prompt T1?
I'm quite surprised by the amount of platonic Vox content I'm getting... But sure! Here's Vox trying to convince you to join The Vees but you've been refusing him. You're a DJ good with tech and that impresses Vox.
Sorry if it's a bit cobbled together. I didn't have a lot to work with but I found something! This is Vox "nurturing" a new Overlord essentially.
Prompt Found Here
Yandere Platonic! Vox Prompt T-1
"We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It's up to you."
Pairing: Platonic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Coercion, Threats, Unhealthy power dynamic, Stalking, Dubious companionship.
Vox has been looking into you for a long time now.
You're a new Overlord that's been taking over the music industry of Pentagram City lately. Many demons speak your name with admiration and praise. You've even been showing up on social media by performing at nightclubs.
You're primarily a DJ but are relatively well known around the city. Your music is captivating, entertaining, and you even collaborate with other Sinners. However...
You never expected The Vees of all people to take notice.
Let alone the head Vee to get obsessive about you joining their ranks.
It started when Velvette called Vox over, holding her phone lazily. Originally Vox isn't interested, he has broadcasts to do.... But then she shows him a video of you.
You're an electricity based Sinner, one closely linked to technology just as he is.
Not only that but you do have a captivating quality to your work. The audience seems utterly in awe. You're a small Overlord... but with how other Sinners look at you?
You have some potential if Vox can get his hands on you quickly enough.
It... surprises you when you then receive a message from a VoxTech agent. You had just come off from a set and were preparing to go home. Yet you're then shown a tablet and your eyes widen.
You're being invited to play at a nightclub sponsored by VoxTech....
The offer is surprising, almost too good to be true. However... like every Overlord you're willing to take any way to get your name out there. How could you pass up an opportunity like that?
It's great for Sinners to get in good graces with The Vees when it comes to success.
Things go as planned when you enter the club. It's big, crowded, and you didn't even have to bring your own tech. All you needed to do was bring your songs... and play.
It's easy enough despite your nerves. You just play as you usually do and the club continues to go about their activities. You're so focused on your set...
You don't even notice Vox in the club, the TV watching you carefully as camera drones scan across the room.
He's quiet, observing you curiously. A little thing like you is really making a name for themselves as an Overlord. He remembers being in your shoes... looking up to stronger Overlords while planning ways to make it big...
He plans to give you a chance... unlike how a certain radio demon treated him years ago.
Once you finished your gig and came off stage... electricity crackled in front of you. Suddenly in front of you stands a much taller Overlord, his grin flickering as he looks down at you. Your heart nearly stops when you realize who this is...
Vox himself.
"Hey, kid... You did great back there~" The TV purrs, watching as you perk at his praise.
"Oh! Thank you, sir! I'm honored you even invited me...." You admit, nervous you'll say something wrong in front of the TV demon. Vox merely chuckles... wow... you really were like him.
You just need some more ambition....
"Oh please, I've heard about you. You have such a way with crowds. I could use a talent like you." Vox praises, grin still glowing as he watches you stare for a moment.
"You... You want me to—" You struggle to speak. This is going a bit fast.
"I'm planning to sponsor you, kid. You've got talent I want mainstream~! So what do you say, sweetheart? Want to work for me?" Vox puts a clawed hand on your shoulder... yet another opportunity is presented to you on a silver platter... and you bite.
Vox is careful when speaking to you. He mentions nothing of soul deals. He mentions nothing of making you a Vee. Instead he offers a partnership to grow you into the talent he wants you to be.
He'll make you officially VoxTech property later.
Vox's intentions start as just using you as another way to gain popularity in Hell. He gives you interviews, lets you perform in chosen nightclubs, dresses you in VoxTech colors. He connects you to The Vees... all yours fans filtering down to him once they see you both together.
But... Vox also can't stop seeing himself in you.
It's a weird feeling. When he sees such a new Overlord like yourself working to make a name for themselves... It reminds him of when he went looking for partners. Except... He vows to be better than Alastor in every way...
Alastor rejected his attempts at a partnership... but you? No, you can't afford that. You'll be too reliant on him to refuse any offer he gives you. He'll keep tempting you... keep giving you offers until you can't go back to a solo career...
Then he'll make you his little star, his apprentice, another Vee who he'll spoil as long as you follow orders.
Working under The Vees is an... overwhelming experience. There's constant interviews and praise... a camera is always pointed at you. Your music is always tuned to perfection and Vox always seems to be watching.
But it really was too good to be true, huh?
The longer Vox watches and supports you... the feeling he gets towards you gets stronger. It's as though he likes being your mentor, your boss. He likes that you need him to get anywhere in this business.
He wants to keep that feeling forever... So maybe it was time for a proper deal.
Being called to Vox's office is always... unsettling. You never quite know what to expect since it's not often you're called to meet with him. Usually he just comes to you...
This time... he doesn't want an audience.
You cautiously knock on the door to Vox's office, readjusting your outfit anxiously. A camera on the wall clicks to you... then the doors immediately slide open. Taking a deep breath... you enter.
The room is covered in monitors, all linked to cameras around Pentagram City. Vox sits in the middle of it... that eager blue grin on his face. You hear the door slide shut behind you before Vox leans forward.
"Oh good, you came! You see... I've been watching your progress, star...." Vox hums, clicking a remote to show recordings of you. It's unnerving to watch... sure, most of them were all work related like interviews or performances. Yet... some others were just of you doing daily life.
"Yes...?" You answer quietly, hoping he'd continue.
"I've decided to give you an offer I don't give many..." Vox purrs, leaning his screen on his hand. "You should feel honored for such an opportunity, know that?"
"And... what's this opportunity, sir?" You ask, slightly intrigued... yet also concerned. What else could he offer you?
"The opportunity to become a Vee, sweetheart~!" Vox perks, his tone dramatic as his red eyes scan you over. "You see, you remind me of myself... so eager to get your name out there. By my side... You can have that!"
He... He can't be serious, can he?
"Really, sir? Me? A Vee...?" You stammer, nervous. You... You don't know if you should be going this far. You can't even imagine such a thing...
"Of course!" Vox hums, tapping at an electronic tablet. "All you need to do is just one thing..." Vox then spins the tablet to face you.
A contract glows at you... your skin turns pale.
"I just need you to make a deal with me... give me your soul and I'll make sure you get everything you want."
You freeze... no, there's no way you can do that, right? There's gotta be a way to decline. Surely you can decline this new promotion, right?
"A-Aren't I loyal enough, sir...? I don't think I'm ready for such a proposition—"
"Oh, kid... You aren't truly loyal until I have that soul of yours. Can't have you running off on me, right? Plus... This will only benefit you. You'll be great for my team...." Vox encourages, yet you can tell his tone is forced. "Just sign and you'll excel in this career of yours...."
"I'm sorry, sir... I have to decline—" You try to say, only for Vox to cut you off.
"You turn down this opportunity and I'll ruin you, sweetheart."
You freeze, Vox's eyes blazing with frustration.
"Oh don't look at me all doe-eyed... You know how much you need me, right? Nowadays you rely on me. If you say 'no'... I'll pull the plug on you. All your fans will hate you once I spin a story of how you betrayed me...."
Vox then gets up from his seat and leans closer to you.
"We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It's up to you, kid."
You hesitate yet unfortunately Vox has a point. He practically owns you already. If you turn down his opportunity, he can squash your career. He's successfully backed you into a corner...
You have no choice but to let him leash you.
"... Fine, sir... I'll become a Vee... I'll give you my soul...." You admit, not able to accept losing everything you've worked so hard on.
Vox laughs at your compliance. He's absolutely giddy at the fact he's locked you into being his apprentice. You yelp when he grabs you, shakes your hand, and places it against the tablet.
"Good... I knew my little star would see my way eventually. You just needed some encouragement, didn't you?" Vox coos, patting your head. Then, as though to prove his point... He summons a blue chain around your neck.
"Now you're all mine, aren't you?" Vox hums, clearly smug he's managed to force you to rely on him as your mentor and boss. He even keeps that blasted glowing grin as you frown.
"Oh don't look so upset, dear~!" Vox coos, tugging you by his side as he spins you both to look at the monitors still displaying you and your career....
Oh no, the Evil TV man has done the evil things! Who could’ve seen this coming?
I legit love this so much. I’ve read it twice, and it hasn’t even been out for more than a day. I have a problem
Author, Your writing inspires me to consider a terrible continuation to your lovely work: featuring depression and drugs. Very depression. Very drugs. You have been warned.
You become less enthusiastic about your work now that you’re literally owned by another demon. For you, music was at least partly about the freedom. You wanted to have fun on your own terms. Now Vox owns your soul, music isn’t nearly as fun anymore, and you can’t escape.
All of this weighs on you, of course. Over a few weeks, your smiles become faker. You feel no inspiration at all, going through the motions when it comes to making new songs. You try your best to not let it affect what the public sees- you don’t want to know what Vox would do to you if you let things get bad- but it’s getting harder and harder.
Velvette is helping, sort of. She takes over your social media feeds, producing multiple posts a day which all vaguely sound like you… maybe. Is that how you used to feel? She makes you seem happy. You wish you could be the person she’s presenting you as. Instead you just feel empty. Velvette does your makeup, your hair, chooses clothes. The public can’t notice you’re falling apart.
Vox is lost in the story he’s created for you. The public loves you, you’re famous, everyone is watching- how could you possibly be upset? He’ll hypnotize you a bit before you perform to help with the nerves. That’s just the right thing to do as your partner.
It doesnt last forever. Eventually, your productivity slows down enough that even Vox can’t delude himself into believing it’s okay. You’re burnt out, depressed.
He can’t motivate you. He tries bribery. He tries hypnotism. He tries threats. Will a controlled shock motivate you to work harder? Well why the hell not?
You won’t smile anymore, and it makes him furious. Vox takes you off the air, letting people speculate wildly as to where you’ve gone. You’re trending for days. You hardly care. They’re not really your posts.
Vox is desperate to have you back the way you were before. He also doesn’t understand what went wrong in the first place. Even if he gave your soul back, you wouldn’t smile the same way you used to. So, logically, he has to take other steps: cocaine, mostly.
With the right stuff in your system, you’re back on top, baby! Sure, it’s expensive, and the side effects aren’t pretty, but he’ll always support you.
His Last Light (Yandere! Darth Vader x GN! reader)
Summary: The evil Sith Lord Darth Vader gains an interest in an officer after a rare act of kindness.
Warning: Yandere / dark themes. violence, manipulation and power imbalance.
I hope it’s okay. I’m trying to find more ideas but it’s difficult. I missed Vader.
Being an officer of the Empire was not an easy job. The Academy on Coruscant had demanded everything from you, your time, your effort, your home. You had left your planet behind to pursue the uniform, hoping to make your family proud.
But the longer you served, the more you saw. The Empire was not the shining order it claimed to be. Its officers were relics of the Republic or men and women desperate for a steady income. Most starships functioned not through loyalty but through fear.
Especially the one where you were stationed now. The Executor.
The colossal Star Dreadnought was both a rare honor and an immense challenge. Its bridge was similar in design to other destroyers you had trained on, but everything here felt heavier, more advanced, more suffocating.
And then there was the commander of this vessel, the most feared enforcer in the galaxy. Lord Vader.
Whispers of him spread through the crew like a sickness, officers executed without hesitation, subordinates strangled for failure, entire ranks living in quiet terror of his presence. You resolved to do everything possible to avoid his notice.
Your first day had been spent shadowing another officer. He gave you curt instructions, answered your questions, but there was something about him, about all of them, that unsettled you. They moved like ghosts, hollowed out by fear. You swore to yourself you would not become one of them.
You had been raised to believe in cheer, in optimism. A positive outlook could push you through the hardest times. So you carried that light with you, even here, even on the bridge of the most dreadful warship in the galaxy.
You did your work diligently. You smiled. You tried to speak with the others, to spark conversation. Most dismissed you with a glare or a flick of the hand.
And that was when he noticed.
The Sith Lord’s attention was subtle at first, the weight of his gaze pressing on your shoulders, the red lenses fixed on you longer than they should have been. You showed him respect, did your duty, and carried on with your day. But your refusal to let the gloom consume you stirred something deep within him.
He had not felt true kindness since he had been sealed in the black coffin of his suit. Your small courtesies, your polite words, so unremarkable among others, were to him utterly alien.
It was a quiet day when it happened. You were alone on the bridge with only a datapad, poring over the ship’s schematics. His shadow fell across you before you heard him.
That sound. The mechanical breathing, steady, relentless, filling the silence.
You looked up. Darth Vader himself loomed there, crimson eyes locked onto yours.
Your throat tightened, but your voice was clear. “Greetings, Lord Vader!” You saluted.
He did not answer at once. His breathing filled the cavernous bridge, slow and unbroken. Then, in that deep, resonant voice that seemed to split the air itself.
“You are unfamiliar with this vessel.”
Your datapad trembled faintly in your hands. “Yes, sir. I was searching for the communication link, I couldn’t locate it in this layout.”
He turned his head, the heavy helmet angling toward the console in question. He moved with deliberate slowness, as though testing you with the silence that stretched between each sound of his respirator.
Finally, he said simply. “There.”
Relief rushed through you. “Thank you, Lord Vader.”
The words left your lips without hesitation. A genuine smile tugged at your mouth as you looked up at him.
And for the briefest moment, he stilled. It had been decades since anyone had spoken those words to him without fear, without calculation. Your smile lit something long buried within the charred remains of his heart.
From that moment, you were no longer just another officer. You were different.
A blooming flower among the withered.
He admired your courage. Your kindness. And he would not allow it to be crushed.
Vader’s interest revealed itself in subtle ways at first. His gaze lingered. His imposing form drew closer to your station on the bridge more often than coincidence could explain. His presence became constant, a weight you carried with every report and every datapad.
You began to notice how he treated you differently than the others. He listened when you spoke. He tolerated mistakes that would have meant death for anyone else.
Why?
You didn’t know. And you could not know the truth, that behind the lenses, behind the mask, a wicked plan was forming.
Vader would not allow the galaxy to taint you. He would not let innocence be poisoned. He would claim you for himself.
His wrath was legendary. But his interest? His interest was far more dangerous.
The bridge had grown colder in the weeks since his first notice of you. Not in temperature, but in atmosphere. Officers whispered behind closed doors, casting furtive glances at your station. You had assumed it was admiration, or perhaps envy. You began to realize it was fear.
Vader’s presence was omnipresent now. Even when he was not physically on the bridge, you could feel him in every corner, in the hum of the systems, in the subtle shifts of the Star Dreadnought’s rhythm. You began to adjust your behavior automatically, careful not to provoke a reaction, careful to remain always within the parameters he had unconsciously, or deliberately, set for you.
It started small. Extra attention to your reports. Questions that seemed benign, but lingered long enough to measure your reactions. Occasionally, he would appear at your door without announcement, and you would jump at the sound of his respirator, only to find him silently observing, studying, weighing. His approval became a reward more intoxicating than any commendation the Empire could give.
But then the boundary began to shift.
Your meals were subtly controlled, trays left at your quarters contained exactly what he deemed appropriate, as though testing whether you would eat or refuse. Your quarters were “cleaned” with his eyes in mind, no disarray, no trace of chaos that could touch you. Even the officers around you became more cautious, treating you with a combination of reverence and suspicion.
He began speaking in quiet, deliberate tones that no one else heard. Occasionally, at night when you returned to your quarters, a datapad would be waiting with a brief message: “Do not endanger yourself. I am watching.” It was polite, protective… and terrifying.
You noticed, too, the way he would intercept orders or tasks that might place you in danger. Another officer would be reassigned, a mission rerouted, always before you knew you had been at risk. Sometimes you suspected coincidence. Other times, you were sure he had engineered the outcome.
And the looks. Oh, the looks. Behind the mask, behind the crimson lenses, there was an intensity you could feel, fixation that bordered on obsession. When he observed you, it was not curiosity or mere inspection. It was ownership. Possession.
Then came the first moment you realized just how deep his intent ran.
You had been sent to inspect the lower decks, accompanied by two other junior officers. A minor systems failure caused a small explosion near the reactor chamber. Alarms blared. Smoke filled the corridor. Officers panicked.
Vader appeared moments later, seemingly from nowhere, sweeping through the chaos with lethal precision. His attention was immediately on you. He reached for one of the panicked officers who had shouted your name in alarm, and with a flick of the Force, threw him against the bulkhead. The man crumpled silently.
“You are unharmed.” Vader stated, his voice calm, almost tender, yet carrying the weight of threat that could crush entire fleets.
You nodded quickly, swallowing the terror that bubbled in your chest. And for the first time, you truly understood, his devotion was not abstract. It was absolute. Protective. Deadly.
That night, in the quiet of your quarters, you could almost hear him outside your door. The air seemed to carry the weight of his presence. And though fear prickled along your spine, a strange comfort settled in your chest. He would not allow harm to come to you. No one would.
But at what cost?
Vader’s obsession was a shadow over every aspect of your life. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been. But the freedom you once took for granted, the ability to choose, to move, to interact, was slowly being eclipsed by his relentless guardianship.
And you knew, deep down, that once someone captured his attention like this… there was no turning back.
Because Darth Vader always gets what he wants. And he had already decided, you were his.
I know it was about a year ago when you posted this, but would you have any more ideas about yandere Plastic Man? I just love him sm and can't find any other people who are freaks about him like me 😔
Ah, a fellow Yandere enthusiast!
You mentioned not being able to find other writing. Anxiousnerdwritings has a piece on Plastic Man as does Your-regular-toast-enjoyer. They have a lot of great yandere content, not just their single piece on plastic man.
But of course, you asked for me to write a follow up, and who am I to deny you, my lovely reader?
Yandere Plastic Man x Reader
It's hard for him to stay still for so long. He's trained for it with the justice league, he knows how to ignore the impulse to shift while on an infiltration mission, but it's just so much harder around you.
He tries so very hard to only focus on the positives. He drinks in the sensation of you touching him while it lasts, and whenever he's acting as your clothing, the sensation lasts a long time.
Still, he fantasizes about having more. He imagines a relationship together like something out of an old sitcom. He imagines you greeting him at the door, dinner ready when he gets home, swooning at his flirtatious lines and letting him kiss you over and over again. Of course, he's imagined the roles swapped as well- you coming home and letting him feed you things he's cooked, letting him massage your tensions away.
But it's too soon for all of that. Plastic man is aware that he's not the most popular superhero out there. You'd swoon for superman, but he has to take things slower with you. He's fine with that, of course! You're worth it, you're so very worth it.
He manages to keep himself from transforming for quite some time. The thing that manages to snap him out of stalking you would be you being in danger- which would eventually happen.
He's a scarf when it happens, relishing the feeling of your lips on him whenever you duck into his folds to protect yourself from the wind. You're cornered by a thug on a side street, a switchblade pointed in your direction, when your scarf slips off, turns into a man, and punches the thug in the face.
Logically, you scream.
He's at your side in an instant, trying to reassure you. The thug runs away, and normally he'd chase after the bad guy, but you're so very much more important.
You're stuck wondering how exactly your scarf turned into a guy- has your scarf been a guy this whole time? How long has this been a possibility? Nothings impossible- you've seen villains in the newspaper capable of all sorts of things. Did the thug cause this with magic or something?
The man's reassurances aren't helping you figure out what's going on. It's an endless stream of "you're safe, you're always safe with me, I'm here for you," and so on.
Eventually you calm your breathing enough to ask him who he is.
"I'm Patrick O'Brian, or Plastic Man! I'm your boyfriend." He adds the last part as a fact- the sky is blue, and he's your boyfriend.
"I've never met you before," you explain.
"Yeah, our first official meeting! Let me take a picture for the scrapbook!" He morphs his arm into a polaroid camera and prints a picture of your confused expression. "This is so exciting. We should go on our first real date tonight! We could go to a restaurant, or a coffee place, or a museum- what would you want to do?"
Your internal 'Stranger Danger' alarm is going off. This man claims he's a superhero, but you've never heard of him. He claims he's your boyfriend, but you've never met him. You want to reject him at first, but you've seen the news before. This is an unidentified shapeshifter. Rejecting him could lead to your death, or disappearance, or being held hostage on top of the tallest building in the city.
So you agree to head to a relatively popular restaurant with him.
You're unable to back away before he coils you into a hug. He doesn't let go until you remind him that you're getting hungry, so it's time to get going.
"So you're a superhero? That's so cool! What are your powers?" You try to hide how nervous you are. It's a blatant attempt at manipulation for more information, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"I can turn into anything. I'm stretchy, and flexible, and nearly indestructible. I'm like, the toughest guy on the Justice League," he brags, and you have no idea if that's true or not.
You act impressed. You're not a great actor, but it's enough to fool him. Really, you're terrified. How long has he been acting as objects around you? How long have you been secretly watched by this guy? Had he seen you naked? Had he touched you while you were sleeping? You didn't know.
"Yeah, I could take any of them in a fight," he continues for some reason. He's flexing, showing off muscles he didn't have three seconds ago. Despite your terror, you feel lucky that even if you're being held hostage by a lunatic, at least he's an idiot.
"Even superman?" you inquire, starting to form an idea. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Why does everyone think Superman is so great?" Plastic Man's skin shifts, and you watch him become a perfect replica of Superman in seconds. "Look at me," even the voice is the same, "My weakness is a rock. My arch enemy is bald! I think I'm smarter than you because my brain runs on super speed!"
You laugh, a hysterical thing. This guy could become anyone or anything, apparently. Would you ever be safe again? Villains tended to target the same civilians over and over whenever they escaped- even if you managed to get away from him, it would only be a matter of time before he found you again.
"I knew you'd love my jokes!" He's himself again, smiling wider than humanly possible.
"But if you're a member of the Justice League," you start, hoping this insane plan will work, "that means you could bring one of them here, right? You could show me how strong you are!"
"I dunno," he deflates a bit. "They're always busy with emergencies and whatnot."
"Please?" You have to make this work. "It would be really... sexy of you." You try not to gag.
"Okay!" Plastic Man pulls out a communicator- he apparently wasn't lying about being a member of the league- and types things in.
Might be a bit generic, but might I request some Jon/Elias with possessive behavior? Elias obsessing over Jon, constantly watching his archivist whenever he can, worshipping Jon’s more monstrous features as they arrive. Elias collaring Jon? Elias being manipulative with his archivist?
I do not care if this is generic, it is my absolute jam. I like this so much and was so inspired that even though I only got this prompt two weeks ago, I am filling it now.
(Sorry in advance if this isn't quite what you asked for, I got carried away. 😭)
I just really like monster!Jon and Elias obsessing over him.
My Archivist. Elias finds those two words on his tongue and in his mind more often than almost any others these days. Thought fondly in the solitude of his office, as he Watches Jon; dropped in conversation with employees, colleagues, donors. Murmured as he runs his fingers along new-broken feathers and chrysalis chitin.
It has been some four months, nearly, since the explosion at the House of Wax in Great Yarmouth. Since Jonathan Sims made his slow way back across the country to London, to the Institute, to Elias, a half-ruined thing running on instinct, a salmon swimming upstream to be reborn. Since he fell to charred knees before Elias, and laid his head in his lap with a wet and dreaming sob, and Elias stroked what was left of his hair, fingers dancing around the pale eyes that had long been growing inside him, laid bare by the loss of skin and subcutaneous fat. Since he whispered to Jon’s whimpering Let it happen, let it come, you’ll feel so much better soon, aren’t you so glad you went?
My Archivist.
The door with the plaque that says Head Archivist has remained closed and locked ever since. Elias is the only one that goes in…Elias, and the occasional statement-giver he accompanies, they who file out white-faced and shocked and somehow thinner, as if wrung of everything they had to offer. If asked, they would not remember quite what they saw, but they will dream of it tonight, and every night after.
This isolation is by Elias’s order. He likely did not have to give it; no one even descends into the basement to enter the archives anymore, leaving materials piled at the top of the stairs for Elias to bring down with him on his frequent pilgrimages, spooked by the noises, the cries, the movement…the occasional weeping, despite Elias’s best efforts. But it is one he jealously and enthusiastically enforces.
Jon is delicate, right now. His blooming cannot be interrupted - and Elias, frankly, relishes the chance to keep him all to himself.
My Archivist.
Elias cannot spend every single moment with Jon, much as he may want to. He has gotten used, in his long life, to using his powers sparingly, only when absolutely necessary. It takes a special sort (a sort he incubates now in the basement of his Institute, in a nest of paper and magnetic tape dragged from the guts of players) to handle absolute awareness, and if Elias knows nothing else, he knows himself. Delving too deep…that way lies madness.
But with Jon, he indulges. He cannot help himself. He Watches his pacing and his panting as he schedules, he Watches him read statements as he fills out spreadsheets, he Watches the fearful, awed way he touches himself with changing and trembling fingers when he believes himself alone. Elias even Watches when he must fall into his own bed, allow the body he has taken its rest.
He dreams of weeping sores that roll open into great jeweled eyes, and inky venom, and the Beholding itself framed and held by a crown of glossy horns. He dreams of wing-dust and black talons and the distant, heaving shore of a new world that grows closer by the day.
My Archivist.
The collar is a beautiful thing, custom-made, hand-stitched green leather, an eye-and-feather design worked into it, studded with opals the color of Elias’s eyes. The tag is stamped with the Institute’s logo. The owl, the motto. Audio. Opperior. Vigilo.
Jon growls as Elias fastens it around his neck, a sound like pinch rollers grinding against twisted tape.
“What are you - no.”
“Not everyone Sees as we do,” Elias responds calmly. “They need to know who you belong to.” He flicks the tag. “And I need some way to keep track of you…just in case.” He sighs. “This will do for now, but…we’re going to need a new one quite soon, aren’t we?”
My Archivist.
“Behave,” Elias tells Martin, “or I will feed you to him.”
“Behave,” Elias tells Jon, “or I will let him see you.”
And he tastes the thrill of fear that is braided with excitement on one side and desire on the other, drawn like a skein of honey over his tongue.
My Archivist.
The office, the den, is dim, the overhead lights off. Jon’s eyes are still fresh, and still far too sensitive to bear anything but the soft green glow of the banker’s lamp on the desk. Elias has just seen out a statement-giver and returned to Jon, where he lies digesting, eyes half-closed, adrift on the warm ocean of his sated hunger. Elias touches him gently, and feels the heat rising through him like a machine that has been running for hours, and he looks at him from every angle with hunger of his own.
Jon shines, he glows, iridescent powder and lacquered scale. Amber and amaranth, azure and jade. Wine, saffron, celadon. Pearl and ash and frost amid sable. When he speaks his voice hums, hisses, clicks, but none of that can strip away the thick, slow quality of the pleasure in which he is mired.
“I don’t want this.”
“Do you really think,” Elias murmurs to him, “that I can’t tell when you’re lying?”
My Archivist.
“And just what is it you plan to do with that great beast of yours, now you’ve got him?” Peter asks after a board meeting, with the same detached affability with which he says everything. His feelings are stunted, fetal things, strangled in the womb, as is only right and proper for an avatar of the Lonely and a son of the Lukas family. Elias has spent enough time with him to find the trepidation anyway, where it lies trembling in its socket of fog and brine.
“That’s for me to know,” Elias replies pleasantly, “and you to find out, I think.”
Speaking of knowing, Elias Knows they are all discussing him. Them. Simon, Annabelle, Peter, Jude, all the others he cannot be bothered to name because he’s seen a dozen of them before. They have theories, they wonder if they ought to make plans, as they talk about Jon.
His Archivist.
Soon, someday, to be seen and Seen in all his glory. For now, he is Elias’s and Elias’s alone…which he shall remain no matter what.
Oh gosh, evil manipulating boss who’s rich and has mind control powers, it’s a combination of things I’m into.
Some very hot work from the author here, I’ve already read it like 3 times.
If you can’t tell by all the Yandere tags on this blog, I’ve a thing for Possessive behavior. This is a fairly soft one compared to the absolute depravity I tend to sink myself into (hence the title of my blog), but it’s still fairly good.
Heck, I don’t post on this blog very much (I forgot it existed for a few months) but I read a whole lotta fanfic.
The possessiveness, manipulation, and stalking here is right up my alley. Very hot.
The collaring, gosh the collaring. Not sure why I’m into it, but I am.
Maybe it’s just me projecting, but I think Martin would still date Jon and find him attractive, even if he’s a full on monster now. Elias is going to need to control Martin as well, or the two will run off and get married. Maybe Elias would give Martin to Peter Lukas. Martin can’t be a problem if he’s stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean. :)
prguitarman
stormborns
annaxmalina
andulkaphoto
2087
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
