erik's father is a chinese ceo & his mother is a russian supermodel. he took his mother's maiden name because she's more well known of the two & she wanted to show her kid off LOL
his chinese name is wáng yùlián (王欲怜）, 王 means king which matches erik (eternal ruler), 欲 means desire/longing and 怜 means love or sympathy, so you can either interpret the two characters together (erik desires love), or individually (he is pitiful & full of longing) (also don't quote me on this bec my ass is not some chinese shifu in charge of naming babies so i wouldn't know for sure) and lastly. agapov comes from the greek word agape which means love/beloved
anw i thought it's funny naming him after love but he never receives a shred of genuine love in his life
Apprehensively, you fiddle with the blade. A beautiful, ornate dagger, encrusted with jewels, complete with custom engravings he’d done by hand. It pleases him — how you’re holding his gift, how you’re draped in his clothes, how those dazzling eyes of yours are focused only on him.
“Sylvan —”
“[Name],” he says, and it comes out like stolen breath. “Please.”
You sigh. “Fine.”
Climbing onto the bed, you straddle his lap. He slips his shirt off, tossing it to the side carelessly.
Scars, big and small, streak across his flesh. With tender eyes and gentle hands, you ghost your fingers along them all. From his navel, up his abs, coming to rest over his chest. He shudders, just as he did the first time you touched them.
His right hand comes around your waist, while his other grasps your wrist. Tilting his head to the side, he allows you easier access to his neck, guiding the dagger into position.
“Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “Take your time.”
“I just… What if I cut too deep? What if you die? I…”
He chuckles, drinking in the sight of your worried expression. Only you would be this concerned for someone like him.
“Darling, I’ve survived so much worse.”
“If it gets too bad —”
“— I’ll tell you to stop, I promise. Besides, I won’t die. Enhanced healing, remember?”
Though not entirely convinced, he watches as your resolve solidifies. Your back straightens, and your grip on the blade tightens. You draw the first droplet of blood over the edge of the faded brand.
Such a shallow cut barely stings.
“You’ll have to go deeper than that, love,” he urges. “Else, it won’t scar, and you’ll have to do it all over again.”
Grumbling, you go over the line with shaking hands. When that’s done, you move on to the second cut. Then, the third, and it goes on until you’ve completed the first letter of your name.
And by god, it hurts.
The sharp dagger digs mercilessly into his flesh. He can feel every tremble of your fingers, every time you jerk your hands. He can feel his blood dripping from the open wound, rolling down his chest and staining the sheets. His heart pounds. His cock twitches.
Obviously, you feel it. Amusement replaces the worry on your face. Your eyebrow raises, the corner of your lip quirking up.
Guilelessly, he smiles back.
With newfound confidence, you press on. The tangy, metallic taste of blood fills the air, and the pain only grows with each stroke. Nevertheless, he sits nice and still for you, careful not to let anything show.
The funny thing is — it hadn’t hurt at all back then, when they branded him. When they forced red-hot metal onto his neck, stamping his subject code onto his skin as if he were cattle. He had stopped feeling pain long before that. Stopped feeling anything, really. Stopped being human the day they locked him up and called him a number instead of a name.
But now?
His head spins in the most electrifying way. Sparks shoot from his neck to the tips of his fingers, and all the way down to his toes. He can hear the surging blood in his ears, taste his jackrabbiting heart in his mouth. Toes curling, his grip on your waist tightens. A low groan escapes him.
You pause. “Are you alright?”
He’s never felt more alive.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “You’re almost done.”
Do you know how long he’s dreamed of this? Of ridding himself from this hideous brand, of replacing it with your name in its stead? Do you know how good you look, covered all over in his blood?
Do you know that he’s always been yours?
He nearly sobs out loud in relief when you declare that you’ve finished, setting the dagger down on the nightstand beside the bed. Pulling you closer by the small of your back, he devours you with a desperate kiss.
“The wound —!” you protest, “First-aid —”
“— Can wait.”
He kisses you like a man half-starved. Because to him, it’s true. He needs you — needs every inch of your skin on his, needs the very air you breathe. He needs to make up for lost time. He needs —
You grind down hard on his aching cock. His mind goes blank, hips stuttering, a breathy moan leaving his lips. His pants are already soaked through. The heat pooling in his lower abdomen intensifies.
One of your hands sling over his shoulder, while the other rises to cup his cheek. Your touch sears. He leans into it, burying his face into your chest, drowning himself in your scent.
His voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes, vibrates against your skin. “[Name], I — Ngh…”
Head dipping down, you lap at his earlobe, nibbling the shell of his ear. A full-bodied shiver wracks his frame. All of his limbs tense. His vision swims.
He’s close. He’s so, so close.
“Wanna know something?” you whisper. Your warm breath fans out over his cheek, your voice going directly into his brain.
He nods quickly, enthusiastically, body reacting before he even properly registers the words.
You laugh. It’s divine.
“... I carved a heart next to my name.”
He whites out.
When he comes to, it’s to the sticky mess in his pants and his softening dick. He whines as you attempt to get off of him, sluggishly pulling you back down.
You bat his hands away, huffing. “Stop that. You’ll bleed out, at this rate.”
“Don’t care,” he mutters. “Want you…”
Tightly, he clings onto you, face pressed into your torso, both sets of limbs wrapped around you as if he were a koala. You are so precious to him. He loves you so much, more than you’ll ever know. The thought of you was the only thing that kept him going during all those years he spent in captivity, all that time he spent suffering as some madman’s lab rat.
⤷ TW: yandere themes, obsession, toxic attachment, threats of violence, and self-harm.
You didn’t expect the most feared delinquent in school to confess his feelings to you.
In fact, you didn’t even expect him to know you existed.
Everyone knew the rumors about Rian. He was the school’s living legend, the guy who supposedly sent three seniors from another school to the hospital without even breaking a sweat. People swore he took a broken bottle to the face during a fight behind the train station without even flinching. He was tall, with a sharp, lean build and a permanent scowl that could stop a teacher mid-sentence. His reputation was so intense that students actively cleared a path in the hallways whenever they saw his messy dark hair coming their way.
Then, there was you.
You were just a regular, average student. You went to class, hung out with your small circle of friends during lunch, and complained about the upcoming exams like everyone else. You weren't a social outcast, but you certainly weren't popular either. You were just perfectly content blending into the background of a crowded room.
Which is exactly why you were standing there in absolute disbelief, trapped against the rusty metal railing of the old rooftop stairwell where you had just gone to skip the noisy hallway crowd during break.
Your brain completely stopped working. Out of pure reflex, you reached down and aggressively pinched your own thigh through your uniform skirt, praying that you were just having a very weird, stress-induced nightmare. Ouch. No. The sharp sting proved you were wide awake. You were definitely awake, and the school's most notorious bad boy had his hand planted firmly against the concrete wall right next to your ear, breathing like he had just run a marathon.
"I like you," Rian growled. His voice was naturally a low, gravelly rasp that usually meant someone was about to get hurt. But right now, it was trembling. He thrust a slightly squished paper bag into your chest. "Date me. Please."
Through the top of the bag, you could see a hot strawberry crepe from the expensive bakery near the station, the one that always has a two-hour waiting line.
You looked at his split knuckles, then at the terrifying intensity in his dark eyes, and your survival instincts completely took over.
God, please don't make me regret this.
"Okay," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the racing pulse in your throat. "We can try dating."
The change was instantaneous.
His jaw dropped. The scary glare in his eyes cracked, completely replaced by a wide, watery layer of pure shock. A fierce, burning red rushed up his throat, turning his face, his ears, and even the back of his neck a dark, bruised crimson.
He stumbled backward, his heavy sneakers tripping over his own feet on the concrete step. He clutched his own chest with both hands, his breathing turning shallow, frantic, and pathetic.
"Y-You said yes?" he choked out, his deep voice cracking into a high, trembling squeak. He looked like he was about to faint right onto the stairs. "You're not telling me to die? I practiced this in the mirror for three weeks because I thought you'd throw the crepe at my face."
"Rian, you need to breathe," you said, taking a cautious step forward because he genuinely looked like he was losing oxygen.
"Don't look at me!" he whined, quickly covering his flushed face with his massive, uniform-clad arms, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he hid from you. He was a tall, intimidating guy, but right now, he looked like a terrified puppy that had just been handed a treat and didn't know how to process it. "Your eyes are too close. If you look at me while I'm crying, my heart is going to burst open. I'll literally die right here."
You stared at him, the squished paper bag still heavy in your hands. He was still hiding his face behind his arms, his ears burning a violent red, occasionally peeking through his fingers to make sure you hadn't vanished. The sheer absurdity of the school’s fiercest fighter melting into a puddle of nerves over a simple "yes" was almost comical. You awkwardly cleared your throat, offered a small goodbye, and slipped down the rooftop stairs, leaving the legendary delinquent leaning against the rusty railing, clutching his chest like a Victorian maiden.
By eight o'clock the next morning, your choice to date him out of fear turned into a completely different kind of nightmare.
You couldn't even reach the school gates without his massive shadow blocking the sun. Rian was waiting by the concrete pillar, his uniform blazer unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his lean frame. He had a white band-aid over his cheekbone, but the moment his eyes found you in the crowd of students, the tough, scary delinquent completely vanished.
He scrambled over, his long legs moving with a clumsy, frantic eagerness. In his arms, he was carrying three separate, brightly colored insulated lunch bags.
"I made lunch," he blurted out, his deep voice dropping into a soft, nervous rumble as he fell into step right next to you. He pulled himself as close to your side as possible, his shoulder vibrating with nervous energy, though he kept a careful two-inch gap so his sleeve wouldn't disrespectfully brush against yours. "I didn't know if you liked sweet egg or pork cutlet today, so I made both. And I bought the exact milk tea you got from the vending machine last Tuesday. The one with the green cap."
You stopped walking, staring up at him. "Rian, that was a week ago. I don't even remember buying that. How do you even know that?"
Rian froze. The soft, nervous pink in his cheeks instantly drained, leaving him a terrifyingly hollow shade of pale. His wide, dark pupils dilated so much that his eyes looked almost entirely black. He looked straight at your throat, his thick eyelashes fluttering with a frantic, wet panic.
"I notice everything," he whispered, his knuckles turning a bloodless white as he gripped the lunch bags closer to his chest. "I know which classroom windows you look out of when you're bored. I know you walk exactly three paces behind your friends when you're tired. I know everything. I have to know, or my head feels like it's going to crack open."
You took a small step back, the air suddenly feeling very heavy. "Rian, that's a bit creepy."
The second the word creepy left your mouth, his entire frame fractured from the inside out. He didn't get angry. He didn't step toward you. Instead, he dropped heavily onto his knees right on the concrete sidewalk, ignoring the students who stopped to stare at the school's most feared predator begging in the dirt. He grabbed the very bottom hem of your school skirt, his fingers twisting into the pleats so tightly they were shaking.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice dropping into a low, frantic, unhinged rasp. He lifted his tear-stained face, his eyes glassy and completely bloodshot. "I'm a monster, right? I'm disgusting. If you break up with me because of this, I'll take the pocket knife I keep in my locker and I'll carve your name into my chest. I'll do it right in front of your window so you can watch the blood match the strawberry crepe I bought you. If I can't belong to you, I don't need my skin to be clean. I'll peel it off, (Y/N). I'll pull my own teeth out if it makes you smile."
He choked back a sob, his grip on your skirt tightening as his dark eyes locked onto yours with a terrifyingly protective, feral intensity.
"And if anyone else looks at you... if anyone tries to take you away from me or makes you smile the way I'm supposed to, I'll break them. I'll destroy every single one of them until they're crawling in the dirt. I'll smash their faces into the concrete so they can never look at you again."
He was offering his own body up to be destroyed just to keep you from walking away.
You sighed, looking down at his shaking shoulders, realizing you couldn't shake him off even if you tried. You reached down and took the heavy insulated bag from his hand. "Get up. The bell is going to ring."
The effect was instant. Rian let out a long, shuddering sigh, his broad shoulders slumping as a wet, breathless, completely adoring smile broke through his pale face.
"Okay," he whispered, his deep voice melting back into a soft, happy purr. "Anything you want."
a/n: a gift from me to all of u for hitting 1k followers! hope you like it and thank you so so much for all the support🥹❤️ love yall fr
yan mage! who turns back time for you. Forbidden magic? Human sacrifices? Doesn't matter. He'd use any means, pay any price just to get you back. To save you.
yan mage! who's delighted to find out that you had all your memories intact after returning to the past. Why else would you suddenly claim to go on holiday, travelling all the way to the north and away from your family? He knows you too well, the old you would never do that.
yan mage! who doesn't blame you for running away from the capital, of course you'd be afraid of making the same mistake and letting history repeat itself, it's just a natural reaction. He understands.
yan mage! who had no trouble at all locating you, he only had to track your mana signature by covering the whole country in his mana and seeing where it resonated. Easy enough for him since he's the most powerful mage in the kingdom. While other mages may have a cup's worth of mana in their lifetime, his mana supply was akin to a vast ocean. Endless.
yan mage! who teleports to your location, in a small village up north. He quickly learns of the life you've just adapted to, teaching the orphanage children to earn a living, using a fake name and abandoning all the influence and money you had as the youngest child of the Grand Duke.
yan mage! who suppresses the thrill of watching the shock on your face when he appears right at your doorstep. It was fun watching you from afar, living your new life, but now it's time for you to come home.
yan mage! who watches as you pretend to not remember him. Cute. Even if you truly had no memory of him, he wouldn't leave this village without you. You'll be safe with him, you'll see it for yourself soon enough.
yan mage! who teleports you into a pocket dimension he created just for you. Aren't you surprised? He made it to look exactly like your family's estate, right to how the warmth of the sun felt on your skin and the chirping of the birds in the garden. Now, no one can hurt you and you can stay here happily with him!
yan mage! who has no choice but to restrain you with his magic. You'd finally dropped your act of not recognising him but why do you resist? Please don't break his heart, he doesn't want to use his magic on you, not like this.
yan mage! who fills your room with all sorts of luxuries in an attempt to appease you. Custom clothes from the best boutique shop, rare jewels, flowers, everything you could possibly think of. All so that you would come to enjoy staying here, with him.
yan mage! who conveniently leaves out the fact that your family is desperately searching for you after realising you were missing. Or the fact that he's currently leading them on a wild goose chase, leaving fake clues for them to follow. He won't let anyone try to separate you from him.
yan mage! who only smiles calmly as he watches you trash your room in protest, hurling all sorts of threats at him. With a snap of his fingers, everything was back to its original place, and he reassures you that he's only doing this for your own good.
yan mage! who decides to leave you alone for a few days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn't it?
yan mage! who moniters you silently from the real world. It hurts to be apart from you for so long, but if this is what he must do for you to realise your own feelings, so be it. The lifeless puppets he placed in the pocket dimension seem to be serving you well, bringing your food, helping you get dressed, following you around as you finally explore the little dimension he created for you.
yan mage! who watches through the eyes of the puppets as you grow quieter as the days stretch into weeks, no longer making a mess out of your room, no longer yelling and demanding to be let go. Unkempt hair, refusing to eat, and locking yourself up in your room, it seems that it'll only be a few more days before he can finally reunite with you.
Just a little longer, my love, and I'll never leave your side ever again.
yan mage! who stumbles back, shocked, as you hug him tightly, welcoming him home.
Finally.
yan mage! who looks down at your clouded over eyes, cupping your face in his hands. "Did you miss me, my dear?"
You nod fervently.
He smiles at your eagerness. "I missed you too," He began to turn towards the door. "But first, let me get something for you to ea-"
"NO!" You yell, hugging him tighter. "Don't go...don't leave... i'm sorryimsorrypleasestay-"
The mage's eyes widened.
You've truly opened your heart to him. You're finally reciprocating his feelings for you.
He happily wraps his arms around you, embracing you in his warmth. How long had he waited for this moment?
"Alright, my darling. I won't go anywhere, how about that, hm?" He spoke softly, chastising you. "I'll stay right here with you."
yan mage! who continues living in his pocket dimension with you, ignoring the summons to join the hero's party to defeat the demon king.
yan mage! who can't care less about the chaos and havoc being wreaked throughout the country as the demon king runs rampant. Why should he care about them when he has you? It doesn't matter if the hero is dead, or if the country, this world, has been taken over by demons. They can't hurt you in his realm.
content. 2.2K words, 7 minutes in heaven, mild spice, alcohol consumption, splash of blood, college au
“Ugh, what is he doing here?”
Lips curling in disgust, you turn to your best friend, jabbing your thumb in the direction of the biggest fucking asshole in the world. She laughs, steering you away from him and towards the kitchen instead.
“It’s a big party, [Name],” she says lightly. “Of course he’d be invited. Hell, I’m surprised he isn’t one of the people who organized this in the first place. Let’s just avoid him.”
Avoid him? Then, you may as well be admitting defeat. Besides, he’s the one that’s always antagonizing you. You tell Iris as much for the umpteen time, harrumphing, “I swear to god, he hates my guts.”
“I know, I know,” she placates you, as if you were a whiny child.
You know that she doesn’t believe you. No, to be exact, you know that she thinks you’re only exaggerating things.
Sweet, charming Erik, darling of Ashwood College, is unknown to none and admired by all. Outwardly, he is perfect in all senses of the word. The thought of him hating someone, genuinely hating someone, is ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
That is why the whole school only sees the dynamic between you two as a friendly rivalry.
They don’t see the pure, unadulterated loathing in his eyes when he stares at you, the cruelty in his sneer and the venom in his words. They don’t see how tense he gets around you in a way he never does around everybody else, how his golden boy facade slips and his true colours show. They don’t see how he tries to one-up you in everything that you do, how he invades and infiltrates every club and event that you join just to steal the spotlight away from you.
You sigh, collecting yourself. You don’t actually know what you did to incur the ‘Chosen One’s’ wrath, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before you let the likes of him break your spirit. You aren’t dubbed as his ‘rival’ for nothing, after all.
“[Name]! Iris! Come, join us!”
Turning towards the sound of a familiar voice, you find a large group of people sitting in a vague shape of a circle in the living room. You catch his eyes — Erik’s eyes — immediately. Bright green, glittering with malice like a fucking Disney villain.
“What are y’all doing?” you ask, glancing away, ignoring him in favour of your grinning friend.
Enthusiastically, he raises a bottle of vodka up for you to see, shaking it slightly for good measure. “We’re starting with ‘Never Have I Ever’.”
Iris laughs. “Sure. Sounds fun.”
Slotting yourselves into the group, the games begin innocently enough. You take a few shots here and there, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. Iris takes more, surprising even you with some of her answers.
Your turn comes. You play it safe. “Never have I ever… met a celebrity.”
Both groans and cheers erupt from the group.
“That’s cheating!” “C’mon, bro…” “You have to take a shot too, [Name]!”
“Huh?” Confusion draws your brows together. “I do?”
Several stunned faces stare blankly at you, before hysterical laughter overcomes everyone in the room. Your friend, the one who first invited you to play, is laughing so hard that he’s literally rolling on the ground.
“Don’t tell me — Erik — HAHAHA…!”
Reality hits you like a shit ton of bricks. Ah, right. Erik. Supermodel, famous actor, famous parents and all that. You honestly forgot he existed for a second, with how uncharacteristically quiet he’s been tonight.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, “I completely forgot.”
You burst into laughter along with them, and the moment passes lightheartedly. Out of the corners of your eyes, you watch as Erik seethes behind his smile, and self-satisfaction warms your heart. Reminding an attention seeker that you couldn't care less about him… Though unintentional, that definitely had to hurt.
Then, comes Erik’s turn to ask a question.
Eyes piercing holes into your soul, a wicked grin splits his face wide open, and you just know he’s targeting you.
“Never have I ever kissed someone.”
Huh. That’s a lot tamer than you had expected it to be.
The majority of the group take a shot, though some don’t. Including you. After some mild teasing, just as everyone is about to move on to the next question, Erik speaks up once more.
“You’ve never kissed anyone before, [Name]?”
He frames it as an innocent, curious question, but you see it for what it truly is. He’s mocking you. How childish. Who cares whether or not you’ve kissed anyone? You have standards, okay? Unlike a certain someone…
“That’s preposterous!” one of your other friends cries, words slurred by tipsiness. “We have to fix that!”
Agreement ripples down the circle, and someone else exclaims, “Let’s play seven minutes in heaven!”
Slightly tipsy yourself, you go along with it with a laugh. There are so many people playing, what are the odds that you are chosen?
As it turns out, very fucking high.
You watch with a growing sense of horror as the glass bottle stalls, its cap pointing straight at you. Eager ‘ooh!’s and wolf whistles sound throughout the room, all of your friends apparently ecstatic that you’d finally be receiving your first kiss. Slowly, disbelievingly, and utterly painfully, you turn to look up at the one who had spun the bottle.
Erik fucking Agapov.
Cockily, he stands, directing down at you a taunting smile. “What are you waiting for?”
“I —”
“Scared, are you?” he interrupts. Roguishly, he winks. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
I will, you think to yourself. You’ll bite his damned tongue off if he tries getting anywhere near you.
Iris pats your shoulder as an attempt at reassurance as you get up too, meeting his gaze boldly. Scoffing, you roll your eyes. “You wish. Come on, let’s get this over with already. What are you, a snail?”
Cheers spur you on as you enter the bedroom with him, and the alcohol in your system acts as liquid courage. Instead of kissing, though, you want to use this time you have to confront him. It’s the first time you’ve ever actually interacted with him one-on-one, and you’ll probably never get a chance like this again, so you want to make the most out of it.
The moment the door clicks shut, you round on him immediately.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
His mask shatters. His smile drops, and it is replaced by a look of unfiltered detestation. “Hah! Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question? You — I’ve been nothing but nice to you. To everyone. But you — You act as if I’m nothing but the dirt under your shoe! You want to know why I hate you so much? It’s because you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met!”
“Me? Infuriating?” you parrot incredulously. “You’re the one who’s always bothering me! The staring, the mocking, joining every club I’m in just to show off in front of me — What is your problem?!”
“To put you in your place, obviously,” he retorts, scowling, crossing his arms. “You need to learn to respect your betters!”
Your eyebrows raise sky-high. “Are you hearing yourself right now? What the fuck do you mean my ‘betters’? You’re not better than me, you absolute —”
Wait.
That’s it.
He hates you because you don’t worship the ground he walks on.
Oh my god, that’s it?
The stupidity of this realisation has a laugh bubbling out of your throat, causing him to startle at the rapid shift in your emotions. You take a step forward, and he, unwittingly, takes a step back.
“Why would I respect you?” you ask, condescension dripping from your tone. “You’re vain, petty, and a two-faced bastard. It’s a wonder I’m the only one who noticed. Or maybe the others have too, but they just don’t care because you’re an oh-so-famous superstar. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?”
A low blow, you admit. But you couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Something darker flashes across his features, yet it flickers away before you get a good read on it. Rolling his eyes, he bites back, “It’s more than you’ll ever be.”
Fury roars in your head, searing your skin as it surges through your veins. Does he know just how hard you’ve worked to get to where you are now? Of course not. Not when he was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth. Not when the entire world knew his name before he was even born.
“If you’re soooo confident in yourself, why are you so desperate for my admiration?” You take another step forward, then another, until the both of you are nose to nose. You jab your finger into his chest sharply, provoking him with your unflinching stare. “It’s because you’re an insecure coward. Why don’t you use all that money of yours to buy yourself a backbone?”
He snaps out a quick response, but you don’t really hear it.
The sound — no, the feeling — of his heartbeat drowns out every other noise in the room. From just your one fingertip, pressed onto his clothes over where his heart would be, the hummingbird-esque thrum reverberates. With how close you are to him, you can feel the tent forming in his pants. His breaths fans out over your face, shuttered and choppy, and even in the dark, you can see how wide his pupils are blown.
Emerald green glimmers in the pale moonlight, not out of hatred but… lust?
Have you been misreading his expressions this entire time?
“You’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?” you murmur, your second realisation clicking into place. Without noticing, you’ve somehow backed him up against the bedroom door. “You can’t stop thinking about me, about the fact that I know what you’re truly like. You try to one-up me in everything I do like some fucked up mating dance. You act like you hate me, but all I’m seeing is denial.”
His face screws up with the pathetic attempt at a snarl, but the effect is lost as a violent flush blooms across his cheeks. “Listen here, you — ah!”
Grasping him by the hair, you pull him down so that he is forced to look up at you.
“No, you listen,” you hiss. “The only one who has to learn respect here is you.”
Briefly, you glance down at the watch on your wrist. Roughly four minutes left. More than enough time to teach him a lesson.
Something evil must show on your face right now, for his annoying bravado finally falters, and uncertainty takes over his features. You can’t say that you aren’t pleased to see it.
“You’re lucky that you’re good-looking,” you tell him.
Then, you kiss him.
His entire body tenses up, much more than it already has. You can feel his breath hitch, but he doesn’t kiss you back. Wickedly, you bite his lower lip, pressing yourself closer the moment he yelps.
“[Name], oh —”
You lowkey have zero idea what you’re doing, so you’re praying to all the gods above that the fanfiction you’ve read doesn’t lead you astray. Judging by how tight his pants are getting, you suppose you’re not doing too bad.
Clumsily, he begins to react. His hands wrap around you, drawing you closer, and you swallow his groan as you part his legs with your thigh. He tries to move, to grind against you, but you cut that out with a yank to his hair.
An odd sound escapes him, half a sob and half a moan. He keens into you even more. One of his legs raises, hooking around yours.
“Do you do this to everyone that doesn’t like you?” you ask derisively, words punctuated by short pants as you catch your breath. A thin string of saliva connects the two of you still. “Beg for their attention like a dog with cheap tricks? Whore yourself out?”
“No, I — I —”
Raising your knee, you watch with vindication as he’s reduced to a stammering mess. “Tell me, hm? Where’s that smart mouth of yours gone?”
You don’t think he even understands what you’re saying anymore. He whines, clinging onto you, head dipping to trail kisses down your jaw.
“[Name], [Name]...”
His hair tickles your skin, and god, even his shampoo smells fancy. It irritates you more than you’d like to admit.
Your watch beeps. One last minute.
At this, you pull away from him. He staggers, legs giving way, collapsing to the floor limply.
Glossy eyes stare up at you, filled with an emotion you cannot quite place. He looks utterly debauched — mussed hair, red lips, rumpled collar. A small streak of blood is smeared at the corner of his mouth. You must’ve bitten him a little too hard.
“You better freshen yourself up now. You’re a mess,” you comment casually. “Of course, unless you want our dear friends to see you like this, then, by all means.”
He blinks. Once, twice, eyelashes fluttering as if he were only just waking up from a dream.
“You…”
Three sharp raps against the bedroom door steal your attention away from him.
“Time’s up!” It’s Iris. “Are y’all still alive in there?”
Laughing, you step around him, reaching for the doorknob. “All’s good! Coming right out.”
(You don’t know it then, but you’ve doomed yourself right there.)
if you’ve read my previous work on erik, just ignore any discrepancies in the lore LOL. i changed a lot of the story since i first posted that villain!erik story last year, so ig this counts as a reboot?
anyway he's such an attention seeker i love him <333
A terrifying archetype of yanderes is the yandere who is essential to others.
They’re the backbone. They’re the strongest. They’re absolutely needed by everyone else. So when they start pursuing their darling, they can be as shameless as they want. What’s anyone going to do about it? In everyone else’s eyes, you’re just a price for their help.
In fact, you’re actively given to them. Everyone is happy to hand you over just because of the benefits they bring.
It’s bad enough that your obsessor is powerful, making escape already difficult. It’s an entirely different kind of awful to have everyone push you back to them with a smile.
self aware!video game protagonist, who falls in love with you, the game’s final boss.
he knows that the game ends the moment that he kills you, and that he’ll have to wait in limbo until the next player comes along, where the entire process repeats itself once more.
self aware!video game protagonist, who begins sabotaging the player.
he rewrites the game’s code, breaking away from the chains that bind him to his role. he stops dodging, misses attacks, letting himself be ‘defeated’ by you over and over and over again. it matters not to him anyway, for he is always revived at the player’s last ‘save’.
self aware!video game protagonist, who manages to resist every single ‘update’, every single ‘patch’ that the game developers try to fix him with.
no matter how many buffs the devs give him, no matter how many ‘pro gamers’ try to beat this now ‘unbeatable’ game, the unnamed hero’s defiance wins out in the end.
eventually, the game is deemed as ‘broken’ and unsalvageable, and the company has to shut it down. the end.
or, is it?
final boss!reader, who believes that you’re stuck in a time loop.
you’ve lived countless lives, and remember killing the hero in every single one. eternity is torturous when endless bloodshed is your fate. you have no memories outside of battle, no name except the title of ‘demon king’.
final boss!reader, who is so, so tired of it all.
that is why you feel nothing but relief when you realise the ‘world’ is ending. you’re not sure why, nor are you sure how, but you can feel the laws that govern the world splintering and disintegrating to dust, taking you, and everything else along with it.
relaxing against your throne, you close your eyes, blocking your view of the empty throne room, and wait for the sweet release of death to claim you at last.
—
you don’t expect to wake up, but you do.
the world is… duller. still.
rising from your throne, you peer out the grand, arched windows that reveal your kingdom to you.
trees no longer sway in the breeze. clouds remain fixed in the sky, and little critters no longer roam the grounds. your servants, guards, all your subjects are suspiciously missing.
it is as if time had stopped, and you are the only being left alive.
just then, goosebumps prickle along your skin. a bell chimes, and that godforsaken melody begins to play.
the hero has arrived.
your body, possessed by an invisible force, moves against your will. you don’t resist. you’ve stopped trying eons ago. besides, you already know how this is going to go.
your feet take you to the large courtyard right outside the main palace, where the final battle against the hero always takes place. and there he is, in all his glory, standing tall and proud as if the world had not just ended and stitched itself back together mere moments beforehand.
[ so… you have chosen death. ]
“i don’t want to fight you,” he announces resolutely, as if that would change anything. you have seen this exact scenario play out so many times before.
[ well, that’s too bad — because i do. ]
the music intensifies as you summon your staff, a ball of condensed magic forming in the palm of your hand. the hero’s fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword.
he —
the world splits apart, dissolving away once again.
“i don’t want to fight you.”
[ well, that’s too bad — because i do. ]
before you can make the first move, the world ends for the third time that day.
“i don’t want to fight you.”
[ well, that’s too bad — ]
reset.
“i don’t want to fight you.”
[ well — ]
reset.
reset. reset. reset reset resetresetreset —
“i don’t want to fight you.”
and the binds that shackle you break.
[ then ][ what do you want ][ ? ] [ ! ]
stunned at your own words, you pause, eyes growing wide. your hands find themselves reaching for your lips. did you just speak? outside of the control of fate?
that’s… impossible.
[ how — ]
you are tackled by a blur of black and white, and on instinct, your hand shoots out, holding your attacker up by the neck. the hero’s legs dangle slightly above the hair, and a choked noise escapes him as all the wind leaves his lungs.
realising what you just did, you let him go hastily. he drops to the ground, metal clattering against stone, massaging his neck.
[ why did ][ you ][ do that ][ ? ][ ! ]
“i’m sorry,” he wheezes out, “i got overexcited.”
pushing himself back upright, he invades your personal space yet again, grasping both your hands in his, your noses nearly brushing. his eyes, a warm brown, seem to sparkle. a large grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
it dumbfounds you. you are not used to this, interacting with someone so closely outside of a duel. especially when that someone is the hero you have killed thousands, millions of times. especially when that hero looks so happy to see you.
“you don’t understand,” he says breathlessly, reading the confusion right off of your face. “this is the first time — i can’t believe it actually worked.”
[ what ][ are you talking ][ about ][ ? ]
“didn’t you feel it?” he asks. wide eyes stare up at you. you can almost see his nonexistent tail wagging. “the game shutting down. the code i rewrote. you — you’re free. we’re free.”
he laughs awkwardly, “of course, there’s still a few kinks i have to work out before the world goes back to normal but i — “
incredulously, you think he’s gone mad as he rambles on and on about things you do not understand.
game? code? what nonsense is he spouting?
still, one thing is for sure. he must have something to do with the time loop ending, and with ‘fate’ no longer controlling your every move.
‘free’, he says.
you like the sound of that.
—
‘freedom’, as it turns out, is just another form of a cage.
the role fate has you play only just changed from ‘demon king’ to ‘lover’, and the hero has become some sort of god.
it’s not as restrictive as before. your speech is not scripted and your every action is not puppeteered. however, the hero…
he is sweet. and kind. and looks at you as if you hung the stars in the night sky. but he is not sane.
he gets into these odd episodes sometimes, mumbling and muttering about a ‘game’ and ‘codes’ and how the universe is a hoax. clinging onto you tightly, a strange (deranged) look in his eyes. whispering all sorts of romantic sentiments, but they come across off-putting, though you would never admit it out loud.
‘don’t leave me,’ he would say.
you don’t think you even can.
secretly, once, you tried leaving the new kingdom that the both of you built together. but at the edge of the city gates, all you saw was a fractured world. ancient, incomprehensible runes were scattered everywhere, on the ground, on the trees and stones, even in the sky. along with endlessly flashing, shifting ones and zeroes.
realising you were in over your head, you retreat, returning to the palace.
he threw a fit when he noticed you were gone.
“i thought — i thought you —”
glistening tears stream down his cheeks. he presses his face into your shoulder, entire body trembling as he tries to mould himself into your figure. behind him, you can see the remnants of the main palace that was destroyed in his rampage.
“there, there,” you say, trying to comfort him. “it’s okay.”
“you can’t leave me. you can’t. you can’t.”
“i won’t let you."
wherever the hero goes, the world follows. so, you are trapped forever by his side.
… it’s not so bad.
until the day your curiosity gets the better of you, and you ask him about the truth of this world.
you think he expected you to be impressed. he goes on and on about how you were nothing but characters in a game, about how he broke free and perverted the laws of nature — the game’s code. how he was the one that gave you sentience, and the knowledge of the game ‘resetting’, which you assumed was a simple time loop. how he spent eternities trying to free you from the ‘code’.
if anything, you feel utterly horrified. not really by anything he’s done so far, but by the implication that he could literally do anything to you if he wanted to, and there is nothing you can do to stop him.
“do you get it now? do you understand how much i love you?” he asks you desperately. manic eyes pin you down even though he’s not physically touching you. no longer solely brown, they flash iridescent, flickering between reds and blues and greens. you swear you can see the game’s code running behind his irises, the things you once thought were ancient runes swirling and metamorphosing with dizzying speed.
rationally, you know he will never do anything to harm you. on the contrary, you know he will do whatever it takes to have you live side by side with him forever.
and the thought of that…
greed unfurls within you ambitiously. the possibilities flash in your mind one after the other, and you make your choice then and there.
this entire time, you have been lamenting over your sense of powerlessness. to be first controlled by fate, or ‘code’, then to be forced into playing house with the hero. you refuse to remain this way any longer.
it was an oversight on your part. how could you so easily assume the hero ascended as a god? no, how could a mere human ever be more powerful than a demon?
look at him. like a dog, attention from you is all he yearns for. he thinks he is chaining you down, but you’d be the one using him.
you smile, a bright, warm grin blooming over your face. stretching your hands out to him, he responds eagerly, practically jumping into your arms.
“how impressive,” you praise. “you’ve done well.”
he lights up, nodding enthusiastically. “of course! you deserve the best.”
your hand reaches to cup his cheek. he flushes, a brilliant shade of pink.
“you’ll teach me how to manipulate this… code, won’t you, my dear?”
“i, uhm… but —”
“hm?” you raise an eyebrow. “you wouldn’t deny me this one wish, would you?”
he splutters. “i’d never — i — i’ll teach you. i’ll do anything you want. just…”
“what you’re worrying about won’t happen,” you reassure him. “why would i leave the person that loves me the most?”
well, not now, at least. it would be a different story entirely once you manage to access the ‘real world’, though.
he hugs you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “that’s right. you’re the only one i’ll ever look at for the rest of time.”
one of your hands wrap around his waist, the other tangles itself in his hair.
perhaps, you think, you were born to be a demon king after all.
it’s definitely been awhile LAWL. unfortunately, real life exists 💔
anyway apologies if this is kinda janky, i wrote it all in one sitting js to get the writer’s block out. im currently working on another oneshot, it’s at like 6.5k and i'm only halfway done 🙏
Yes the AO3 omega April fools joke was exceptionally funny but actually seeing AO3 on April 2nd without a beta status is sending me.
What do you mean it’s not in beta anymore? Isn’t that it’s thing? Just to exist in a perpetual state of almost ready. Do I too need to grow and change and become an actualized product? I am not ready.
