Dex who is manipulative in the sense that he knows what to say to get you gravitating around him. He knows what you wanna hear, that you wanna feel seen, and he'll gladly give you all that while pathetically wishing he could keep you all to himself......
Goddddd 😩 knowing him he's just regurgitating things he's seen and heard before, not like he actually means it. He's just selfish as hell and can't stand the idea of you not being around him all the time. Burrowing himself into your mind every chance he gets is the closest he'll ever be to feeling "normal" so if and when that day ever comes where you choose him? It's wraps
I love pathetic Dex with all my heart and I love it when it's painfully obvioius. He looks at you and he's got that kicked puppy expression, just DYING of yearning, and you lowkey pretend you dont see it just to torture him......
It's that last part that's the most fun to me, pretending not to notice just so he'll do it more and more and more until you finally "give in" which is simply just looking him in the eyes for the first time for most of all day (it felt like the full 24 hours to him) 😮💨 this has fbi Dex written all over it but I need that from ddba dex too. EXPEDITIOUSLY.
dex can't stand it when you laugh at someone else's joke, even if its the barista who's trying to get some extra tips by making small talk, dex is standing beside you staring at him with squinting eyes and a suspicious quirk of his brow, he huffs out when you smile politely and snicker at the guy's puns. when the poor barista ends his shift later that day he finds his car with a flat tire, it's punctured, a knife is sticking out from the black rubber and it has 'keep the jokes to yourself' written on it :(
something something fbi! dex struggles to get it up when you first have sex because he views you like a higher being and feels like by touching you with all his impurities that he's desecrating you.
Theres just something about imagining DDBA! Dex as “Tony” and you eating in the park, on a bench on a nice sunny day and he’s like … ur sub looks good etc after taking a bite of his. You kindly offer ur sub up imagining its a small one but NAH that man CHOMPS and is all like a kid with his boyish smile, nodding and giving a small thumbs up. And then ur like damn okay that wasn’t the bite I had in mind but cool, then he’s like ooo wait look over there that cloud looks funny, just tryna distract u and it works cus then he takes another huge ass chomp cus he can’t bring it to himself to admit u just got good taste and may consider teasing u in the future to ordering double of what u usually get for the both of them (and is smitten over you obvi)
making out heavily that it feels like he’s devouring you until you two are out of breath — you only break the kiss to gasp for little air before diving back in while clinging to each other. then he buckles his hips to press himself against you so he can savour your whimpers. once the roles are reserved and you’re on top of him, straddling his lap and pulling onto his hair, you can drink up his quiet whining. his hands are twitching as the desire to let them roam around your body grows.
dex breaks into your apartment--supposed to be in and out, real quick, he tells himself it's just to get over you.
He did not know you had guinea pigs.
Dex hated your key code door. It was dangerous, it was horribly easy to figure out your door code. Imagine if someone with bad intentions wanted inside, someone that wasn’t Dex who would never have wanted to hurt you.
Sure, you didn’t have to keep track of your keys. Didn’t have to keep paying for a new key after you lost your fifth one, but the oil from your fingers had already begun to wear away at the code. Not super worn, not in comparison to what it could be—just a smudge, but to Dex, you had basically invited him in.
He told himself he would just look—get you out of his system. Dex told himself that once he found out what you liked sleeping, he would let you go. Right, he would be in and out. No one had to know, no one would know.
His gloved hand shook as he typed in the code. Dex liked to imagine he hesitated for a second, maybe two, but as soon as the door clicked open he slid inside.
He had imagined your apartment to smell like a thousand different scents: freshly ground coffee, new books, jasmine, florals, pinesol, cooking spices, that lotion you obsessively used and kept everywhere to always have with you, his favorite—he kept a bottle in his nightstand.
Dex had never expected hay. There was a notch between his brows, hay? Why did it smell like hay? He hadn’t seen any pets, hadn’t heard you talk about any pets either. Hm. A rabbit? Dex leaned down, looking under your couch—vacuumed and mopped, not a spec of dust, or a stray strand of hay.
Dex moved silently through your apartment, he knew where your room was based solely off from his nights spent looking into your bedroom window from the opposing building. Your bedroom door was closed, but Dex wasn’t worried. He was careful as he opened it: slowly, soft enough that the door didn’t even creak as it was opened and Dex stepped inside. He spent a few moments standing in the doorway, your curtains blocked out the majority of the light from the city outside, but small sections where the light seeped in allowing Dex to make out some details of your bed, just some of your features poking out from underneath the heavy green comforter.
Dex stepped closer, vibrating with excitement. Finally, everything was as it should be, it was all falling so perfectly into place. He tensed when he heard a rustling, he shot a glance over his shoulder but saw nothing—the corners of your room too dark to make out details.
Another step forward, he was almost hovering over your bed, over you.
He had only ever been this close to you in passing: brushing against you on a train, an accidental touching of your hand when Dex had returned a wirebound sketchbook he had pilfered from the bag you had tucked under the cafe’s table while you were in the bathroom.
The rustling, again, then, a worp, worp, wheek! What?
You stirred at the sound, Dex was mid turn when the hundred alarm bells went off: Wheek! Wheek! Wheek! Wheek! A chorus of loud animal noises from behind him.
You stirred again, fuck! He didn’t get the chance to hide before your eyes were saucers, looking towards him. You saw the shape of him in the dark, you saw something, that had you sitting bolt up right and screaming, “Get the fuck out!” Dex immediately stepped back—he hadn’t expected the vitriol. You were so nice, you essentially bounced through the world, you left behind sparkles instead of footsteps.
You weren’t done, “You hear me, motherfucker?” You were shoving off the covers, grumbling, groggy as you shuffled out of bed, slamming your feet against the floor.
Dex was backtracking, the rejection stung. It was unexpected, Dex had thought that when he inevitably introduced himself to you, armed with his months of research that you would’ve warmly welcome him— you were nice to everyone. He was going to be perfect for you.
He was turning, listening to you shuffle behind him, then, a pillow, colliding with the back of his head and bouncing immediately off. Dex paused, your throw was like weak water pressure: disappointing, predictable but it had done the trick, wasn’t sure why that had grounded him, why it was what had reminded him who he was—fucking Bullseye.
“Did you just throw a pillow at me?” He asked, turning to face you. What the fuck would that do? Huh? You think that was gonna protect you if Dex wanted to hurt you?
You had still been rushing at him and since you hadn’t expected the sudden stop, you smacked right into his chest. “Motherfucker—“ you cursed, falling backwards and clawing at his arms, blood beading in the aftermath of your fucking talons. Dex roughly snatched your arm, stopping your fall and leaving you awkwardly bent in front of him. There was a crazed hatred in your eyes—no longer were you sleepy, you were wide awake and furious—how dare this motherfucker? Breaking into your apartment? Trying to scare you? Trying to rob you? it blinded you, it gave you courage that would’ve otherwise not had, had to you glazing over the important details—like he was dressed like Bullseye, just missing his mask.
The persistent wheek! wheek! wheek! Growing louder with the commotion the two of you were causing.
You were trying to tear your arm away, “Get the fuck out of my apartment!” You shouted, uncaring that he had stopped you from falling. You were smacking at his hand, scratching at his face, kicking at his knees, then, as if a strike of lighting, you aimed for his crotch. You had been hitting Dex with such ferocity, that there had been too many places to pay attention to, overwhelming, yet so deeply and horrifically satisfying that you were trying to fight him.
Dex cringed as your knee made contact, the shock of it causing him to loosen his grip and you immediately took advantage of the opportunity to smack the top of his head, “Get!” Smack! “The!” Smack! “Fuck!” Smack! “Out!” He raised his arm to shield himself, only half-trying to get away as you half-herded him from the apartment and then fumbled with something on the table near you, then you were smacking him with a solid object, it wasn’t painful, but it was fucking sturdy.
It was then he managed to step away, just a little bit of distance, maybe he would explain, maybe he would—the object hit his arm.
Do not throw it back, do not throw it back, the object bounced off his arm and smacked right onto the floor as you began searching for something else to hit him with.
Aw, did your hand sting? Let him kiss it bet—the flipflop smacking his cheek pronounced a sound more similar to a ‘crack!’ you had found your object and it was a tropical themed flipflop, complete with palm trees and all while, “Fucking cunt!”
Your flip-flop smacked his ear, his cheek, his neck, his hands that were mindlessly grabbing at you that slightly softened your blows. Each time his hands were met with the ‘thwack!’ of the flipflop, often in rapid succession.
“Jesus, stop—” Dex dropped to his knees, half as an attempt to avoid you and half blindly searching for the object you had thrown at him. When he found it, he didn’t hesitate, gripping onto the the crumpled paper and worn cover like a lifeline.
You had been hitting him with a damn book, had likely meant to throw it at his head. He had been letting you attack him and his patience was waning.
Do not hit them. Do not kill them. Do not hit. Do not kill. He was already throwing it, cringing at the ‘thunk!’ Of it hitting your forehead, but you stopped hitting him with your flip flop, at least, well, not by choice, you were falling backwards now.
In dramatic fashion, the flipflop was falling from your hand.
Dex lunged forward, tightly gripping the neckline of your camisole and using it to keep you upright, but limp, arms swinging loosely at your sides.
There was momentary silence, your cheeks were flushed, there were tiny droplets of his blood on your face, arms and chest, dripping from your hands and onto floor. He wanted to pull you closer, to really look, but the loud sound of fabric tearing tore him from his daze.
Your top! Dex watched the taunt fabric of the shoulder straps straining, ripping thread by thread.
He let go before the straps completely snapped, rough hands grabbing your limp arms to pull you towards him, into his chest. Your camisole was ruined, stretched out and one strap hanging off your shoulder but Dex was thrilled: the proximity, your sweat melting into the fabric of his clothes, the reddened marks your hands had left on him soothed by the soft fabric of the camisole, the knowledge that his blood was seeping into the fabric.
Your pulse was a wild flutter, your breath heavy from the exertion of trying to beat Dex out of your apartment with household objects. He was jarred—that could not have gone any worse.
The side of his cheek was bleeding from where the paper of the book had cut him, blood smeared from subsequent blows. Still, he slid an arm under the bend of your knees, one arm flat on your back as he hoisted you up, heading back towards your bedroom, where the wheek! Wheek! Wheek! That had given him away was still going.
He had to pause in the threshold of your room. He would not kill your pets, he would not kill your pets, he would not—they were an extension of you. He was good now. He was going to be better, you just needed to get over this tiny little blip in your relationship. Fuck--he was calling it a relationship. It was not, it was not, okay, well this was a meet-cute, no?
You would be be mad, worse than you already were. That was normal, you would understand him. He just had to explain himself, that you weren’t supposed to wake up: he was just gonna take a quick look at you, a quiet perusal, a brief glance from the interior of your apartment, rather than the window.
Dex was somehow starting from a position below the starting line, essentially in hell. Still, he switched the lights on, looking towards the source to a giant enclosure, all soft quilted bedding and beds that could’ve belonged to cats, yet seemed to belong to the four guinea pigs standing on their hind legs at the square bars, a long haired one chewing at the bars, another two sliding down to begin arguing amongst enough other while the fourth bumped against the wall, repeatedly.
In which your coworker ruins your life, and the lives of many others.
Warnings: stalking, obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
He perks up when he sees you. His breath catches in his throat. In that courtroom, he feels the same way he felt the first time he saw you at the crisis call center. His compass. His north star. The last living person he could rely on, aspire to.
You were never a couple. You were barely friends. Coworkers, at most, you said.
That stung.
Your statement is a simple one, short but deceptively sweet. Your words weigh him down with emotion he doesn’t know how to hold, doesn’t know how to carry. Out of everyone in that room, out of all the victim impact statements he’s forced to sit through, yours is the only one that moves him, truly moves him.
“You may have stalked me, terrorized me, ruined my life. But the truth is, Ben, I pity you.”
You pitied him. Not empathized with, but pitied.
Dr. Mercer had taught him the difference many moons ago.
He can vividly recall all the times you went out for coffee. He told you about his childhood. Dr. Mercer. All the obstacles he was trying to overcome. He was vulnerable with you. He trusted you, and in that courtroom, you looked at him like he was some kind of monster.
And maybe you were right.
A part of him hated you for that.
The anger, the shock, it hits him like a tidal wave.
It’s more intense than he expects, manifesting physically. His head aches, his eyes burn, the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His posture stiffens as he starts to shake. From then on, the anger is searing and everpresent, but it is nothing compared to the pain.
It hurts. It fucking hurts.
The stalking charge should be the least of his worries, a drop of water in the ocean. For his other crimes (of which there are many) he gets life without the possibility of parole.
It doesn’t matter. Not really.
His mind has always been a prison, so his new surroundings aren’t much different. It is your absence—the lack of proximity—that eats away at him, that causes him distress. As far as Dex is concerned, without you there is no sun on the horizon, no silver lining to be found, nothing left to hope for.
Until one day, opportunity strikes.
You receive a phone call in the early hours of the morning.
“Escaped?” you ask, your words practically inaudible. You double over, placing a shaky hand against your chest. “What do you mean, escaped?”
Suddenly, a hand covers your mouth from behind. Another reaches around to wrap around your torso. As your phone hits the floor, the screen shatters. Your eyes widen in shock. You can’t breathe, can’t move.
“Don’t scream.”
“Ben!” you whimper, your voice muffled through his hand. It is not a question, it’s a statement. You know exactly what’s happening here.
The anger, the shock, it hits you like a tidal wave.
“Don’t!”
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. “Would you believe me right now, if I told you I pitied you, too?”
A/N: Here’s my own self-indulgent prompt fill for my 100 followers event. I always find it fascinating how Frank seems to viscerally hate being called crazy, and I wanted to play around with that a little.
Frank Castle + “Listen, I’m giving you two choices…” AND “I’m sorry that I keep you in here…”
CW: Kidnapping, Threats of Drugging, Starvation, General Yandere Things
Your eyes dart around the small room for what must be the thousandth time since you woke up yesterday. The contents of the room are still the same, of course: a small bed and not much else. You keep hoping that the next time you check you’ll find some hidden weakness, some tool you can use to escape.
As if the Punisher would be that sloppy.
You’re exhausted. The bed had felt far too exposed last night, so you dragged all of the blankets into the small closet instead. Unfortunately, the hard closet floor wasn’t exactly conducive to restful sleep. If anything, you feel worse than you did before sleeping - your mind dull and clouded with fear. Maybe that’s why you don’t notice Frank enter the room.
Frank moves slowly, setting two things down in front of you: a plate of food and a syringe. After a moment he speaks, “something wrong with the bed, doll?”
You answer his question with one of your own, “what’s up with the needle? You gonna drug me?”
“I don’t want to. It would be better for both of us if you just ate.”
You retreat further into the closet, “not hungry.”
Frank follows as you try to hide, keeping the distance between the two of you constant, “it’s been two days since you’ve eaten anything. You need to eat.”
“No.”
“No isn’t an option,” Frank sighs, “listen, darlin’, I’m givin’ you two choices. Either you start to eat willingly, or I’ll force you. There’s no way I’m lettin’ you starve yourself to death.”
God, even when Frank is threatening you, he’s so goddamn calm. Ever since you woke up here, he’s been talking to you like you’re the one who’s being unreasonable. It’s infuriating. No matter how much you scream and cry and fight against him, he just keeps talking to you like you’re a child.
“I’m not leavin’ without an answer, doll.”
Oh, that’s it. You’re tired and scared and you just Frank to do something - anything - other than his whole calm and controlled act. You reach for the one thing you haven’t tried yet, “I’m not gonna answer you, psycho.”
Frank stills, “what did you just call me?”
“I called you a fucking psychopath, Frank! You’re insane and I’m not going to play fucking house with you!”
That gets a reaction. Frank closes the distance between you in a moment, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him, “don’t you fucking say that! Not you!”
You jerk back, instinctively trying to shield yourself, “I-I’m sorry! I’ll eat!”
“Shit,” Frank lets go almost instantly, stepping away from you like he was burned , “I shouldn’t have done that, darlin’. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”
You sniffle, holding back tears, “wh-why are you doing this to me? Why…why can’t you just let me go?”
Frank sighs, “I’m sorry that I keep you in here. I know this doesn’t make any sense to you , but I promise this was necessary. You’re too pure and innocent. I’m scared this world will break you, like it…like it broke everyone else I cared about. I’m only protecting you…”
CW: Blood, Serious Injury, Implied Cheating/Betrayal, Captivity, General Yandere Things
The Deal (Part 2)
Six months.
Six months, five days, and seven hours.
When you first struck your deal with Frank for a chance to live without his interference, he said you wouldn’t last more than three months before you went back to him. You had taken pleasure in proving him wrong. In hindsight, maybe a little too much pleasure.
You’d gotten so caught up in your newfound independence that you failed to notice the growing danger. The way Matt was gone more frequently and for longer periods of time. The way he would sometimes come home smelling of someone else’s perfume. The way he didn’t even bother to answer you when you asked him about it. You had made so many excuses for him, but the simple truth is that Frank was right. Matt was always going to put you second.
You swallow your pride and dial Frank’s number.
He picks up on the second ring, “where are you? Red’s place?” No need for pleasantries, he already knows why you’re calling.
“No, Clinton Church.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, don’t move.” You hear the sound of his truck starting before he ends the call. You shift positions and immediately regret it as pain shoots through your side. You just hope that your shitty bandaging holds up, you don’t want to get blood on the pews. Father Lanthom might not mind, but Sister Maggie definitely would.
You thank a god you don’t believe in that neither of them are here right now. You couldn’t hold yourself together if they started asking questions, and you’re terrified of what might happen if you unravel.
Time stretches into uncomfortable anticipation and you allow yourself moment of mourning for what you will soon lose. After a small eternity, the door to the chapel bangs open and Frank enters like a force of nature. His eyes go straight to you and his mouth sets into a thin line.
“…I can explain?” You offer weakly, well aware that you look terrible.
“Did Murdock do this?” Frank’s voice is far too controlled. You can practically hear the barely contained anger simmering beneath his words.
“No! No, Matt didn’t hurt me. His…well, his kinda sorta girlfriend did?” You pause before adding, “she had a sword,” as if that helps.
It doesn’t. Frank still looks pissed.
“Look, Frank, you can go murder Matt’s hot ninja girlfriend later. Right now I need someone who is slightly better at first aid than me to deal with all of this.” You gesture vaguely at your stomach and the blood that is rapidly seeping through your bandages.
“Shit. Of course darlin’ ‘m gonna pick you up, okay?”
You nod, allowing Frank to carry you out to his truck. You lean against the door as he drives, closing your eyes. Now that Frank’s here, your adrenaline is starting to wane. You feel so tired.
“Hey, doll, you can’t sleep yet. Gotta stay awake for me darlin’.”
You whine weakly, “tired,” closing your eyes again.
Frank shakes you, “no, darlin’. Please, show me those pretty eyes, come on. Can’t lose you too, doll. Can’t let you leave me.”
You force your eyes open and manage to remain conscious for the rest of the drive. Unfortunately, you can’t say the same for the trip into Frank’s safe house. Somewhere between the truck and the door, you fade into a comfortable blackness.
When you wake up, you’re greeted by exactly three things: a pissed off Frank Castle sitting at your bedside, a metal cuff around your ankle, and the vivid memory of the deal you made six long months ago…
“I’ll let you have your little adventure with Murdock, darlin’, but if you come back to me, you are never leaving again.”
shitty baby daddy ♱ | imagine yandere aerion targaryen being your shitty baby daddy.
magic words ♱ | you use magic words on benjamin poindexter too many times.
lavender ♱ | domestic life with simon "ghost" riley.
daddy's girl pt.1 & pt.2 ♱ | domestic life with leon kennedy.
monster in the ribcage ♱ | leon kennedy as a yandere.
xavier absolutely hates your plushies.
paper cut ♱ | manjiro sano/mikey as a yandere.
parasite ♱ | dick grayson as a yandere.
childish dream ♱ | robin jason todd as a yandere.
damian wayne doesn't like eating with you.
i want to rip your pretty little heart out ♱ | satoru gojo as a yandere bully.
✶ various characters
such a good boy ♱ | your yandere's love language is acts of service.
he's a good boyfriend ♱ | your yandere get off on you crying.
want you back honey ♱ | yandere akotsk men when you want them back after the divorce (modern au).
let it go honey ♱ | yandere akotsk men when you want a divorce (modern au).
pretty teats ♱ | yandere akotsk men when you hug them with your boobs.
dead lover ♱ | the way daredevil men cope after your death.
would you die for me? ♱ | when you ask yandere daredevil men "would you die for me?"
why so fast baby ♱ | nsfw. when yandere daredevil men cum too fast.
run, rabbit run ♱ | when you try to escape from yandere daredevil men.
a man who can slap ♱ | the worst thing yandere love and deepspace men has done.
run, rabbit run ♱ | when you try to escape from yandere devil may cry men.
run, rabbit run ♱ | when you try to escape from yandere tokyo revengers men.
booby attack pt.1 pt.2 ♱ | yandere blue lock men when you hug them with your boobs.
don't you love me ♱ | yandere batboys when you think they don't love you anymore.
lesbian panic ♱ | yandere batgirls + genderbend batboys when you do something that makes them question their sexuality.
daddy's little rapunzel ♱ | yandere batboys doing your daughter's hair.
fabulous boys ♱ | yandere batboys when you want them to try your skincare.
we're just friends ♱ | yandere batboys when say they're just your friend.
monster in the closet ♱ | yandere batboys when you find out about their sick obsession.
good for nothing ♱ | yandere batboys when they're insecure.
father in law ♱ | yandere batboys taking you to meet bruce.
birthday boy ♱ | yandere batboys when you forget their birthday.
flower boy ♱ | yandere batboys when you put a flower on their hair.
two can keep a secret ♱ | yandere batboys when you see something you shouldn't had.
a man who can slap ♱ | the worst thing yandere batboys has done.
blocked number ♱ | yandere batboys when you block their numbers.
pick me ♱ | yandere batboys when they act like a pick me.
pearly tears ♱ | yandere batboys when you kiss their tears away.
just a scratch baby ♱ | yandere batboys when you physically harm them.
✶ series
slap at the face that eats me | yandere aerion targaryen & psychopath reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: aerion sits in his doctor’s office holding himself together with threadbare control, every word carefully rehearsed while his body betrays him in small, restless tremors. the news that you are returning fractures something already unstable inside him—turning therapy into interrogation, silence into pressure, and memory into a living thing that won’t stop breathing against his ribs. and as questions continue to land like quiet blades, it becomes painfully clear: your coming back isn’t just an event… it’s a pressure point waiting to break him open.
part 1.
pink bracelet | yandere benjamin poindexter & barista reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a lonely, socially isolated benjamin poindexter becomes unexpectedly fixated on a small pink bracelet worn by a kind barista. What begins as an awkward misunderstanding turns into the first genuinely warm interaction dex has had in years, when you gifts him the bracelet and treats him with a kindness he doesn't believe he deserves.
part 1 + part 2 + part 3 + part 4 + part 5 + part 6
my beautiful sea boy | merman rafayel & yandere reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you are the sickly daughter of a duke—trapped in a lonely, golden cage. every day, your father brings you rare and beautiful things to try and keep your spirit alive. animals. relics. “treasures.” but you want none of it. you’ve stopped wanting anything at all.
until one day he brings you a beautiful merman.
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
titsay
