hiii how are you?? is it okay if i requests how would yandere disney villains to their darling kissing them softly? like softly, tenderly kissing them (you decide if its out of pity or if darling just loves to kiss to greet on the cheek and they turn so its a kiss on the lips) ANYWAYS THANK YOU I LOVE YOUR WORKSSS
Ahhhh, thank you very much! I'm good, I hope you are too! ♡(´｡•ㅅ•｡`)
- The second your lips brush his, Hook freezes. His eyes go wide, the perpetual smirk wiped clean off his face. For one heartbeat he looks almost… boyish. Vulnerable. Then the madness crashes in.
- His hook shoots up to cradle the back of your head, cold metal pressing just hard enough against your scalp to remind you it could slice if he wished.
- With his good hand he seizes your chin, forcing you to hold the kiss longer than you intended—slowly, deliberately deepening it until you’re breathless.
- When he finally pulls away, his voice is a low, trembling growl: “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done, darling? You’ve signed your soul away with that little gesture.”
- He’ll laugh, but it’s manic, wet with obsession. “No one else will ever feel these lips again. Not any man, not my crew, not even the wind. I’ll cut the mouth off anyone who tries.”
- From that moment on he keeps you in his cabin at all times, humming sea shanties while polishing his hook and watching you like you’re the new treasure he’ll sink entire fleets to protect.
- Gaston’s brain short-circuits the instant your soft kiss lands. His massive chest stops mid-heave. You can actually hear the record-scratch in his mind: “She is kissing ME… voluntarily?”
- He grabs you by the waist with both hands and lifts you clean off the ground so fast the world spins, slamming you gently-but-firmly against the nearest wall, caging you there with his body.
“Again,” he demands, voice rough, eyes wild. “Do it again. Now.”
- When you hesitate, he leans in until his forehead touches yours, practically shaking with restraint. “You don’t get it yet, do you? That wasn’t just a kiss. That was you choosing me. Forever. No take-backs.”
- He kisses you back—hard, hungry, claiming—then peppers softer, frantic ones all over your face like he’s trying to memorize the taste before someone steals you.
- From then on he’s unbearable: bragging to the entire village that you kissed him first, carrying you over his shoulder everywhere, growling at anyone who looks at you for more than a second. “Mine. She’s mine.”
- Jafar’s reaction is chillingly quiet at first. Your soft kiss lands on his lips and he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Only his eyes widen a fraction. Then a slow, dangerous smile curls across his face.
- He cups your cheek with one gloved hand, thumb stroking your lips, as if checking the kiss actually happened. His voice drops to a velvet whisper.
“My dear… you’ve just sealed your fate more securely than any chain I could conjure.”
- With a lazy flick of his staff, the doors to the throne room slam shut and lock with golden magic. The torches dim to blood-red.
- He kisses you back slow, hypnotic, drawing it out until your knees buckle. When he releases you, he keeps a hand collared loosely around your throat, just enough pressure to remind you who holds the power.
- “Such a sweet, foolish little lamb,” he murmurs against your ear. “Did you truly think a single kiss would satisfy me? No… I will savor you for centuries.”
- He never lets you leave the palace again. You become his most prized possession—draped in silk and gold, seated at his feet on the throne, a living trophy that only he is allowed to touch. Anyone who even speaks your name without permission finds themselves transformed into something small, silent, and very breakable.
- Scar’s golden eyes snap open the instant your lips touch his. For a single heartbeat he is utterly still—like a predator that can’t believe the prey just walked up and nuzzled him.
- Then his paw is on the back of your neck, claws pricking just enough to warn you not to pull away.
- He drags the kiss out, slow and deliberate, tasting you with a low, rumbling purr that vibrates through his chest into yours. When he finally releases you, his tongue flicks across his fangs as if chasing the flavor.
“Well, well,” he drawls, voice dripping with dark honey. “It seems the little creature has decided to worship its king.”
- He circles you once, tail curling possessively around your leg. “You just crowned me your god.”
- Hyenas that so much as sniff in your direction vanish overnight. Scar lounges on Pride Rock with you curled against his side, lazily licking your shoulder in front of the entire kingdom to remind everyone exactly who you belong to now.
- Try to leave? He’ll simply pin you beneath one massive paw and whisper, “Run again, and I’ll break your pretty legs so you never stray from my sight. I’m keeping you forever, little one.”
- Ratcliffe is mid-monologue about gold and glory when your soft kiss lands. His words die.
- His gloved hands seize your face—almost bruisingly tight—and he stares at you like you’re a chest of treasure that just opened itself.
- He kisses you back ferociously, teeth clashing, one hand fisted in your hair to angle you exactly how he wants. When he pulls away he’s breathing hard, eyes fever-bright.
“You’ve just become more valuable than every nugget in Virginia.”
- Within hours he has you moved into his lavish tent, dressed in silks and jewels he plundered specifically for you. Armed guards stand outside at all times.
- He starts calling you “my most precious colony.” Every night he makes you sit on his lap while he strokes your hair and murmurs plans of sailing back to England—so he can parade you before the court as proof of his triumph. Anyone who questions it gets accused of treason and disappears into the wilderness.
- You are no longer a person. You are his ultimate conquest.
- Frollo’s reaction is pure religious hysteria wrapped in ice.
- Your gentle kiss lands, and something inside him shatters like stained glass.
- He jerks away as if burned, eyes wide with terror and rapture. “Witch,” he hisses, but his voice cracks. “You dare tempt a man of God?”
- Then he lunges. One iron hand clamps around your throat—not choking, just holding you still—while the other cradles your face with shaking reverence. He kisses you like he’s trying to suck the sin straight out of your soul: desperate, devouring, praying under his breath between each press of lips.
- When he finally tears himself away, both of you trembling. “The Lord sent you to test me,” he whispers, “and I have failed.”
- That night he drags you before a blazing fireplace in his palace of justice. He forces you to kneel while he recites Latin prayers of purification… then immediately pulls you into his lap and kisses you again, moaning about salvation and damnation.
- From then on you are locked in his private chambers—dressed in white like a sacrificial bride. He alternates between flagellating himself for desiring you and worshipping your body like it’s a holy relic only he is worthy to touch.
- “No one else will ever lay eyes on you,” he vows, pressing a rosary into your hand hard enough to bruise.
“You are will either save me or consume me… and I will burn the world before I let another soul steal you.”
- The Underworld is literally shaking when your lips brush his.
- Hades freezes mid-rant, blue flames flaring white-hot for a split second. Then they die down to a low, trembling flicker, the color of a dying star.
- He cups your face with both hands (careful, so careful, like you’re made of smoke that might vanish). His voice comes out cracked and reverent.
“You… you just kissed the God of the Dead, babe?”
- He yanks you flush against him, flames erupting into a roaring inferno that turns the throne room lava-red. He kisses you back like he’s trying to burn his name into your soul (tongue, teeth, smoke pouring into your lungs).
- When he finally lets you breathe, his grin is unhinged, eyes glowing manic. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You just proposed. In front of every soul in my domain. Ceremony’s tomorrow. Or right now. Time’s meaningless here anyway.”
- Pain and Panic are immediately reassigned as your 24/7 bodyguards (if they fail, they become permanent throw rugs). The River Styx is rerouted to flow around your new obsidian palace suite. Anyone who ever wronged you in life gets dragged in front of Hades so he can personally flambé them while you watch from his lap.
- The kiss lands in the middle of a war council. Silence falls like an axe.
- Shan Yu doesn’t blink. He simply reaches out, seizes you by the throat with one gloved hand, and lifts you until your feet dangle. His golden eyes bore into yours, searching for fear. Finding none, something ancient and predatory awakens.
- A low, guttural laugh rumbles out of him.
- He slams you onto the strategy table and kisses you back with the force of a battering ram, tasting blood where his teeth catch your lip. When he pulls away his grin is all wolf. “You just declared yourself my mate in front of my generals. In my culture, that claim is sealed in blood and fire.”
- That night the entire army watches as he brands a small falcon symbol high on your shoulder with a heated blade—his personal mark. You don’t scream. He looks prouder than when he burned the Great Wall signal fires.
- You ride into every battle at his side now, tied to his saddle if necessary. Enemy soldiers who see the brand on your skin drop their weapons and beg for mercy—because everyone knows touching Shan Yu’s mate means a death so slow the snow forgets your name.
- He still growls “mine” against your throat every single night.
- The second your lips touch his, Facilier goes perfectly still, top hat tilting as his head cocks. A slow, razor-sharp smile splits his face.
“Well now… looks like somebody just paid the ultimate price without readin’ the fine print.”
- Purple smoke coils around your ankles, your waist, your throat—gentle but inescapable. He reels you in until you’re chest-to-chest, fingers threading through your hair. His kiss back is slow, hypnotic, tasting of chicory and dark magic; every swipe of his tongue writes another clause of the contract on your soul.
- When he breaks it, his eyes are glowing violet. “You owe me everything now, cher. Heart, breath, future lives—signed, sealed, and delivered with that pretty little mouth.”
- Your shadow detaches from your feet that same night and follows him instead of you. His friends on the other side start calling you “the Doctor’s living talisman.” Try to run and the shadows themselves drag you back, cooing his name in a hundred stolen voices.
- He keeps you on a velvet leash of voodoo charms, dressed in deep purple silks, dancing for him alone in the back room while he shuffles his cards and laughs. Every reading now comes up the same: the same two faces, entwined forever, with a noose of hearts around them.
“You wanted to kiss the Shadow Man, darlin’,” he whispers, dealing you another losing hand. “Now you never get to stop.”
