A/N: Ignore the heart by Sae's name in Sadie and Rin's chats, iforgot to remove it 🥲
@readyblinky | all rights reserved, please do not repost, translate, or claim as your own | steal my shit and i’ll bite your kneecaps | divider by @strangergraphics
A/N: Ignore the heart by Sae's name in Sadie and Rin's chats, iforgot to remove it 🥲
@readyblinky | all rights reserved, please do not repost, translate, or claim as your own | steal my shit and i’ll bite your kneecaps | divider by @strangergraphics
I'm so so in love with yandere trope, so when I found your account, I was thrilled! And I have read almost all of the ff that you write (>_<)
I just wanna ask some questions. How's your thoughts about Yandere character x yandere reader? Probably like the character is so, so crazy to the point that it affects our mental health "In another way" (like abandonment issue or something?) Or maybe crazy since beginning, two peas in a pod I guess?
So, which character do you think could possibly have this kind of trope?
It's okay if you're not into this trope, I just like to hear your thoughts because, for me, it's quite interesting that both are doing bloody or crazy things just for the sake of love♡
I hope you have a nice day ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝
using this as a writing practice since i have a pretty big yan!hsr + genshin men piece coming up, so might as well play out with this dynamic with the characters! also, so sorry i’m so bad at responding to asks 🙃i’m trying to be more timely, but i end up getting assigned to more projects at work + real-life obligations start cropping up the moment i get a fraction of free time 🥲i’ve been clocking in less and less sleep every week 😩
characters mentioned: phainon, aventurine, lohen
tw/cw: typical yandere behavior + unhealthy relationship dynamics -yandere!reader; slight mentions of NSFW (though no explicit smut) - allusions to s&m dynamics (lohen's part); reader is gender neutral
in terms of yan4yan dynamics, i’m not actually a big fan in cases where the reader is a yandere themselves! it’s stated in my don’ts section on my introduction post, but i’ll let it slide here just this once since i find this ask interesting :p
but, while i was thinking about your question, i’ll admit that i did think more outside the box—and maybe i’m just pushing myself out here out of my comfort zone.
in my way, i’d see a yandere! reader to be pushed to that extent because of some kind of mind break, as you say yourself! maybe you’ve been deprived of social interaction for so long, maybe you start to believe the gaslighting, maybe it’s easier for you to accept your captor than to face punishment. either way, down the line, that’s when the codependency starts to hit,, and it gets progressively worse from there.
[MORE RAMBLES UNDER THE CUT]
i’ve talked a bit about a similar situation with phainon in these kinds of circumstances, where you, as his darling, could actually be pushed to this extent—where you “accept” into his whims. but like i said, you could also fall trap to his own obsessive tendencies and begin seeing him as your ultimate lifeline.
you’re so, so incredibly lonely. everyone in your life has left you, abandoned you for good. that’s what phainon tells you. and even if you took your chances with the outside world, went outside of this shared boundary with phainon, the world would only hurt you in return. phainon has scars to show, stories to tell. phainon has always been a soft lover, the good kind that’ll lick up your wounds and keep you warm. he’s given you every reason to doubt everyone else besides him, and well, actions prove louder than words, right?
you soon find yourself getting angsty whenever he leaves for far too long. even if it’s for an hour or less, tending to outside obligations. that envy of him being able to go out freely turns from wanting to escape to being envious that other people can take up his time beside you. it’s just not fair, you think, that he gets to keep you all to himself, confined in his bedroom, while he won’t even stay with you.
phainon swears up and down that’s not what this is—if he could choose, he’d cut ties with everyone else and stay with you until forever. if phainon could, he’d detach himself from
the rest of this cursed world and tether himself to you. but you find it really hard to believe that, even if phainon were to weep in your eyes in guilt, phainon still chooses to leave you.
how dare he?
he justifies by saying he needs to go and run errands—alright, sure. it makes sense. but only slightly. so you make him bring you with him. and he agrees, quickly holding your hand with his so everyone sees that you’re with him, and he’s with you. and yet, every time anyone crosses a glance towards phainon, something burns in you. something evil, white-hot, scorching, a jagged pain digging into the depths of your gut. every time someone speaks an utterance to phainon, you want to scream at them to move away, rip out their tongues, bite their faces off, and lose all sense of reason, as if to crawl back in your own little hole with him and away from everyone else.
the really fucked up and twisted part of you is self-aware enough to realize that this might just be you, falling into his twisted games of conditioning you into depending on him in this way. but when you’ve been stripped down to your bare bones and forced to rely on someone for so long until he becomes the very oxygen you breathe, it becomes hard to remove such a pest, because it might suffocate you if you do. and by then, you know that even a small shred of self-preservation is not enough to save you from your spiralling mind.
if phainon can hurt you all this time and yet you love him all the same, then you expect loyalty as compensation.
as for a character like aventurine, i think such proceedings are more imminent—natural, even. you begin with having a neutral dislike towards the man. surface level, he's your slimy ipc agent with a no-good personality that comes with a wicked smile. he has these thrill-seeking tendencies, often betting ridiculous odds, even with his own life, that makes any sensible person be put off entirely. and you were that, a normal person who’d say they valued their life a bit more than aventurine, and would hope for stability in their romantic plights. aventurine did not seem like a well-meaning bachelor to fulfill such needs.
but are you? are you really?
the thing with aventurine is that he makes it easy, far too easy to fall for such trickery. money can really buy happiness; no price too big for a big man like himself—every material thing you could ever wish to possess is yours before you would blink. because truthfully, past his charming personality is a man so hellbent, so incredibly needy for your approval, that he will literally end up buying your love and affection.
in the process, you’ll get too burnt out by his incessant behavior and constant attempts to thwart your rejections; and by that point, he’s taken you for himself and isolated you for some time, your mind will warp in itself and decide to “love” him back.
aventurine is not too bad, right? he takes care of you as he promises—and speaking of promises, he’s yet to break one, right? if anything, all he does is make more and more and more, and fulfill them all the same. you have more reasons to be happy with him than to be crossed at all.
or maybe it’s the rose colored glasses that make everything blurry. but you really can’t begin to differentiate much anymore.
you learn to get to know him better, much more vulnerably than aventurine has let anyone in his life before, ever since sister has died; and such torch-bearing responsibilities have passed on to you. if you are someone with your own heavy set of burdens, this process becomes exponentially easier…in a simple way of speaking things, you become disproportionately attached to aventurine because of all the inadvertently “trauma bonding” the two of you will acclimate yourselves to.
beneath all screaming and yelling, the pain, the tears, the plates and cups hurled at him, his tight, imposing hands, the rough sex, the nightmares, glitters and diamonds, the luxuries, and the sad little boy tucked somewhere far away within him that only you can bring out when you turn your back on him, your heart somehow melts away the bitter cold. you begin to feel the need to take care of him, understand him, mold him into something better. and in return, you offer yourself to him.
only you can understand him, and no one else in this world could ever begin to understand the two of you. so who dares to come in between the two of you? you don’t listen to the advice of outsiders, nosy outsiders wanting to butt in—he’s hurting you—no, no. no, he’s not. they just don’t see the full picture. they’re blindsided—they just don’t understand how much aventurine loves you. and they’re not willing to really understand him for who he truly is—but you do, you really see aventurine, know him so well. and they especially don’t understand, through all that pain and hurt, you continue to love him back for it, every single flaw of his is yours to keep.
as for lohen, well, he’s complicated. you didn’t start with the same morbid sense of curiosity of his—you actually were of the common belief that lohen was a little off. but having an established relationship with the very same man with a penchant for pain and adrenaline would mean teetering on that edge of sanity, before you fall into his arms.
you never realized that there’s a certain itch to pain, to have fear coiling in your gut as lohen stands before you with eyes blown wide, pulling you in. the trickle of blood from his nose, cracked skin from your knuckles. and there’s this ringing in your ears that sounds like church bells. and maybe then, you realize about yourself that you do agree with lohen—maybe you also have a likeness for pain as much as him. you like the hurt, the blood, the sharp edge of the knife, and the taste of the metal rings on a fist hitting you on the face because of the shock. it’s something new from the monotonous life you lead, and lohen is a hurricane you want to chase after.
what a perfect, wet, little dog, lohen would think of you. a diamond in the rough.
hit a dog enough times, followed up with a nice kiss and apology, and you’ll have a dog trained to see that pain as just another version of love. it’s not really a surprise you find yourself compelled with the same temptation to drag your bare knees across the stony asphalt until peeled raw if it meant to reach lohen, and you do so before you can even internally protest how crude this entire situation is. hurting yourself, letting yourself be hurt at his hands just for a crumb of affection? it just feels too good, doesn’t it?
lohen will be at the edge of the path, no matter what, with arms wide open, ready to pat your head and coddle you as he calls you good over and over again; see how far you’ve come? you used to be so defiant, and now, here you are, an eager little bunny in his arms. that look on your face as you whimper against his neck, complaining that he spends his time with other people for far too long, leaving you abandoned in your shared abode, dry and desperate for master to come back. and if you’re just so mad at him, why don’t you hit him? it makes sense to, if you have a problem with lohen, go on, make him feel it, go slap him, step on him, try and break a bone, point that dagger against his neck—make him feel what you feel. lohen wants you to.
you cut off contact with everyone who dares to slight you and question you, which makes it far too easy for lohen. there’s no need to really “kidnap” you—sure, there still is force, but you are far more compliant than he expected you to be. you just make everything fall into place so perfectly; there really is no room to even “hold himself back” from you, as you do all of lohen’s dirty work. the threats against others, the worrying, the stalking, you do it all for him, and he feels nothing but pride and a certain selfish vindication that he isn’t as bad a lover as varka and others bark at him as.
and you certainly don’t question this relationship with lohen, even through the scared glances and worried complaints of bystanders and friends—this is love; the bruises and cuts are proof of his dedication to you.
۶ৎ as abrasive and perverted your step-father is—reprimanding you for the smallest inconveniences, his hands always finding your body whenever he has the chance, his intrusion of your room and space, the harsh and angry tone he'd get with you on occasion—he had a knack for always knowing what was wrong with you, and how to fix such.
⇢ PAIRING step-father!zandik x fem!reader
⇢ CONTENT WARNINGS .ᐟ modern!au , stepcest , AGE GAP, power imbalance , implied underage sex , drug & alcohol mention , possessive themes , mentions of/implied physical & emotional abuse , sexual abuse , infidelity , rape/noncon , kinda?? plot , finger sucking , pussy slapping , vaginal penetration , cervix penetration , daddy kink (kinda) , biting kink , hickeys , scratching , reader is 18 but there's been sexual incidents before , sadistic tendencies , mind break , use of pet names (baby, sweetie, etc.) , creampie , overstimulation
⇢ WORD COUNT 3.4k
⇢ NOTE omg haihi,,, sorry this took so long guys,, i've been binging code geass & lwk working on some other fics.. buyt OMG ive acc only written for dottore a few times, so this was rlly fun to explore what i can.. also sorry if im abusing puncuation lol,, omg and im soz it lwk took a little to get to the smut... i only realized like,, 1k words in and i didnt want to fuck yall up,, im acc nerv to post, too bc i hope this doesnt suck BUT i appreciate all feedback guys (also soz for the long note)
♡ comments, likes, & reblogs are appreciated!
BURNING AS YOUR face was, your demeanour didn’t reflect the same story with integrity. Composed, you tried to be: arms crossed, still expression–at least, as much as you could hold–and no outward fidgeting. However, your stepfather, Zandik, saw through you in an instant. The reddening of your cheeks was a dead giveaway, if not for the small twitching in your hands that you didn’t notice yourself. Fascinated by you, he had always been; you’re his biggest obsession, and he loved exploiting the space the two of you occupied. Busting you for every small thing, even if you are–barely–an adult now: don’t mouth off, mind your manners, don’t bring anyone over without permission, and so much more. He had to keep you in your place, yes? You’re his precious daughter, even if it’s not by blood.
His eyes travelled up your body, observing every quirk you exhibited. The tension in your thighs and arms as both were crossed–it had attitude, and on the outside, you might’ve looked unbothered, if just a little agitated, but he knew you were anything but. The indistinct way your fingers curled against your arms, and when away from your flesh, they were sitting on the plush of the couch cushion beneath you–you alternated between such.
“I’m not angry,” he nodded along to his words, his hand rubbing your shoulder so affectionately it felt violating. His face held the repertoire of that of a psychopath, really: the coldness of the flesh of his hand against yours didn’t feel as soft as he intended, but the gentleness of his voice grounded your thoughts. Although, it didn’t make you feel any less guilty of the crime.
What have you done this time? Throw a party while your mother and Zandik were away? Stolen their money or maxxed out their credit cards? No, you weren’t a woman like that: quite reclusive, actually, despite your insistent attitude. Always upholding your manners, having respect–at times–never going out or staying out too late, and never–to their knowledge–indulging in any “inappropriate” or “dangerous” behaviour, like alcohol or drugs. Zandik knows that you’re a good girl. You always have been, so what triggered this influx of disobedience? The new friends you’re hanging around with, or that boy he found on your phone?
“I’m just…” Zandik almost couldn’t find his words. He was upset, no doubt, but using the stereotypical ‘I’m just disappointed’ line would only reinforce the disarray he’s trying to hide. “I’m surprised.”
“Surprised,” you tested the word on your tongue, replaying his tone, his look–doing everything to analyze how he felt. He was never this calm, and it did all but dispel your worry. “He’s just a friend.”
Having that burner phone of yours wasn’t a good idea in any sense. In what world is it for anything? Mistakenly, you had left it in your room–a bit too open, just hidden in your bedside drawer–while you were out. Zandik, as the protective and authoritative figure that he presents himself as, had to go through with such an intrusion, and to his surprise, he found the phone. Just an old one, really. He thought you would have done away with it by now, but teenagers are always so slick. It’s never been your pattern to lie or hide things; however, catching an attitude was more frequent. Is this you being petty, to get back at him for his supervision? However, one thought plagued his mind for your recent behaviour: that boy.
“By the way you two conversed, I wouldn’t paint the picture so soft.” His words were heavy, and they added invisible weight to your hands; that unbothered image you held shattered in an instant.
Is it so wrong to indulge oneself? Zandik had always been so strict, and you did not doubt that, now, his advances wouldn’t stop. That earlier leniency he gave you–all those outings with our friends, those small shirts he didn’t say a word about–had been crushed instantaneously, alongside his trust. The years you’ve spent side-by-side have been in vain in this moment. The rendezvous that the two of you would sneak off to in the name of “bonding,” to your mother. On the exterior, Zandik was quite harsh: yelling at you and disciplining you in front of your mother; however, between the two of you, your punishments would be far more taboo. Before, if you were out too much, he’d have to remind you as to why you don’t scurry off; he’d fill your cunt full of his long fingers at night, whispering the sweetest and most degrading things to you in time simultaneously, or maybe he’d keep his fist balled in your hair, keeping your mouth full of his dick.
You’d much rather a smack to the face than that fake, soft tone he’s giving you. You know this is the calm before the storm, and out of every possibility, you’d rather bruises over disappointment. Your body ached at that fake tone; you wanted the real thing, that sweet, sweet affection that he’d cherish you with when the two of you are alone; that sweet ache in your chest, rather than the dread you felt with keeping your arms in place. Your breathing didn’t quicken or slow, but it was a bit ragged–your tongue didn’t even stay in place–it was just off-tempo. Is it because you can feel your heart pounding throughout your body? The noise of it flooding your ears, too?
“Come here,” he beckoned you nigher, and his hand held a firmer grip.
You, of course, obeyed without question. He kept a resolute grip, hoisting you up from the couch. Zandik led you from the living room–a place far too open, too easy for others to see, especially your mother. While the humiliation on your part would be entertaining, and even arousing, he didn’t intend to have your mother hate him–at the very least, not yet. He needed his fixation around, and that included keeping it in place. He never wanted to find out that you needed–no, you wanted more; all you needed was him. He wasn’t going to take such disrespect lightly.
Zandik schooled past your mother without suspicion or even a glance–too occupied with whatever she was saying on the phone in the room adjacent to the living room. She never paid the two of you attention when he bid that he wanted to “learn more about you,” or the all-too-familiar lie of him wanting to spend time with you. He led you upstairs and into your bedroom, locking the door behind him before he turned too cruel.
He kept a zombie pace as he led you down to your bed. That soft, manipulative smile he kept made you shiver. As much as he said he wasn’t mad, the way he handled you–no matter how sweet–told an entirely different story: that too harsh a grip he held, the clench of his jaw and aching of his fingers, his nails that involuntarily dug into you–it all told a story much too familiar.
“Zandik, I–he’s not even–we haven’t done anything!” You stumbled over your words as you tried to explain, “There’s… nothing is going on!” Zandik had every right to smack you so hard a tooth could pop out, but he didn’t.
He knew you were lying, so why be merciful? Did the divine above give you grace? He read every last text, start to finish, so he knew you had sex with another man. He knew you cheated on him. Softer than before–he didn’t let his grip go tight or firm, giving you the leniency to move away–he laid you down. You resisted the urge to wiggle out of his grip, but you shut up and stayed still. The sheets felt almost too silky, the pillow beneath your head too soft–it was all too neat, too nice.
“What does he have that I don’t, hm?” Zandik questioned, as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, sitting beside you.
“Nothing! Nothing. Really,” you nodded as you spoke, almost as a reassurance, but to no avail. Before you could plead again, Zandik pressed his pointer finger against your lips.
“Ah-ah, shh,” his tone was almost pitying then, but it grew condescending, “if you really did ‘nothing,’ then why are the receipts on your body? Do you think I would not have noticed the hickeys you came home with? Or maybe the scent you had?”
Zandik pushed his finger inside your mouth, and you obediently sucked.
“See, I don’t appreciate when these other… boys have what’s rightfully mine,” he sighed with a small laugh.
You could feel small hairs sticking to your forehead, already matted with sweat, solely from your worry. Zandik’s aura was intimidating, predatory, almost horrifying if you weren’t already accustomed. Your clothes stuck too tightly to your skin, and you could almost feel the tension in the air–especially with how Zandik pushed his finger further to your throat, his middle finger joining. You gagged. Bile almost rose, but Zandik pulled away before you ruined his hands, and, much less, your clothes and sheet; however, he kept his fingers grounded inside your mouth.
You made a noise of surprise, protest, and fear all in one when you felt his other arm pull you up–your head, now, resting against your headboard rather than your pillow. It trailed back down to your top–a small, low-cut one you often wore out, like today. He went further, though, and, with a sigh, he unbuttoned those tiny jean shorts you loved to wear, too.
“I don’t understand why you parade yourself around like this. First, your attitude,” he kept a disappointed tone as he took his wet fingers out of your mouth, using them to hoist up your thighs, slipping the shorts off of you. “Second, these sorry-ass excuses for clothes,” he said, each word with such disdain, “and third, you fuck a boy.” He smacked your thigh while scoffing, “I mean, really, baby?”
You whimpered at the contact while flinching at his tone, and your face reflected the fear your body emitted. You were his prey, completely cornered, scared, and most of all, his to have, and that’s in whatever way he wants; although, you already knew what, and you weren’t a fan.
The small burn of a ‘click!’ rubbed against your skin, where Zandik smacked your panties against you. You elicited a weak, “ow,” but Zandik didn’t care about hurting you; in fact, he wanted to.
“Awe,” he cooed at you, mockingly, “did that hurt?”
You attempted to push his hands away, off, safe from you, but to no avail. Zandik didn’t care, and you couldn’t resist anyway. Zandik overpowered you any and every day of the week; his weight crushed yours as he moved atop of you.
“Is that it now? You want to be a brat? A bitch to me?”
He seized your wrists and pinned them above your head, before slipping one away. He could keep you compliant with just one hand–it’s not like he hasn’t done it before, if not worse.
Small, black lace panties shimmered in the scarce light of your room–solely emitted from your not-so blackout curtains. That set you were wearing, the Future Mrs. one that Zandik specifically bought for the two of you. You wore them out, and better yet–not-so for you–they were wet, all in your slick, or maybe it was the leaking of another man’s sperm inside you. Zandik didn’t entertain the latter.
“You like this, huh?” Zandik solidified a smack against your pussy through your panties to prove his point, and your whimper–involuntary or not–availed.
One set of his fingers slipped underneath your panties, while the other kept your wrists in place. The comforting sensation that it gave you was almost uncanny. Your eyes squinted, and your mouth lay agape as his middle finger circled your clit. He drew strings of moans from your mouth, while you writhed against his grip.
Before you could form a comprehensible retort, Zandik leaned in and kissed you, his tongue immediately invading the comfort and softness of your mouth. You mewled in his mouth, and your writhing grew with the second. Your body twitched and your back arched with each move of his finger, and your moans grew less secluded as he pulled his mouth away, leaving a signature trail of saliva. Right as he felt your nails dig into his hands, the insistent movement made him know you were close, and he deliberately pulled away from your clit.
That casual push-and-pull he played with you: the resistance he made you keep, before you begged for more. However, he plunged his fingers into you, not even minutes after. Your back arched in response to his movement. You so, so badly did not want this, but you needed it. Sweat built up intensely, and your body felt filthy all over, and it wasn’t because of the violation. That odd quirk and habit you always upheld the standard of being clean—and Zandik always infringed upon that.
“Come on, sweetie,” Zandik cooed, his voice patronizing with the pet name, “you can cum for Daddy.”
Your body was weak for him, even more so than your mind. Zandik truly commanded your body, and when he told you to cum, you did; your almost-orgasm hit harder than any smack he’d made or would make you endure. Was it the adrenaline of trying to pry him off you–no matter how futile–or was it the arousal your body substantiated? Either way, your reaction pleased him.
A compass broke in your mind, going in all directions, and you couldn’t even formulate a proper thought. The earlier sensations were still in effect, and you barely registered Zandik letting go of your wrists. They held a deep red, showing how harshly he restrained you. He gave you the illusion of choice earlier, and you decided to be a minx: teasing him with your reluctant submission. It’s only natural that he’d take and do as he pleased.
Blinking, you started to discern your surroundings, and your brain registered Zandik slipping your panties off, and the prodding of more against you. His weight fully enveloped you, now, much closer than before. His thighs were on the inside of yours, and his hands held your hips up, and your legs automatically wrapped around his lower waist. Had he let go of your wrists, too? Your submission and weakness had led him to believe you wouldn’t resist anymore.
“I don’t–Zan–” Your pitiful attempts at swatting him off, away–anything but on or near you, right now–with your hands and your words–completely intercepted by him–contributed to nothing.
He chuckled, and one of his hands, just for a moment, cradled your cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty, little head about this. It’s nothing new, you should know,” he spoke too softly for a moment, before placing his hand back onto your hip.
Unapologetically, he thrust and sheathed himself inside you, bottoming out with a groan of his own. Raw, as always–when had he ever bothered with protection? He always pulled out on time, anyway, and if not, Plan B was always available.
That burning, familiar stretch of his cock wasn’t consoling or sexy this time. The forceful nature of it, truly, had you a bit turned off, or was that your fear speaking? Hadn’t you just almost cum on his fingers? Your body opened up to him, letting him slide inside with little resistance, so why did your mind do everything to fight it? Before you could reason or justify your wetness, Zandik experimentally moved his hips, eliciting a moan out of you–and that immediately stopped any train of thought. That sensation–your hands, as blind as it was immediate, reached for him, and your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, holding on so closely. The feeling of fabric, silk, cotton, made your face heat up more and for that pit in your stomach to go deeper. How humiliating it is to be debauched while the other doesn’t even have the decency or respect to undress themselves, too.
He thrusted again–deeper, more intentionally to hurt, and it did–your fingers kept their stead and grip on him, your legs tightening with each snap of his hips. Your eyebrows were tightened and squinted with each thought you tried to coerce, which was jumbled, and your mouth stayed open, stringing out moans and mewls alike. You didn’t care to be loud.
Each snap of his hips was as excruciating as it was arousing. On any usual occasion, you wouldn’t have cared to be full to the brim with his cum plastered on your thighs, stomach, or even in your mouth. But with circumstances today, you wanted anything but; however, were you even thinking that, now? Can you think? Zandik didn’t care for either, though. Punishment was in the settlement, and he intended to charge full.
“Nngh… See? This isn’t so bad?” he chuckled as he spoke to you, with that same, disgusting tone as he lifted his hand–that same one he used to cradle your cheek–to clutch your hair in his fist–so harshly, too.
The feeling of his jeans–old and rough–against your skin only served to flush you further.
The familiar and deep sensation inside you reconstructed the half of pleasure-and-pain to full ache; that bump, the burn of his cock stretching you so widely, and–fuck, did he just go under your cervix?
“I–I–Ah…” Barely able to form a coherent thought–let alone words–your body would only let you muster up a weak, pained moan, and you felt your consciousness flicker.
Zandik moaned as he went deeper inside you, his thrusts becoming longer and in-between. He watched as you blinked in response, with your pitiful moans.
He smiled, enjoying the pain he was giving you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he cooed. His fist, balled in your hair, turned firmer as his thrusts became rougher, harsher. “You know,” he dragged out every syllable, “I was lying when I said I wasn’t mad.”
If you were able to think, you would definitely agree.
Your hands were stationary on grasping his shirt, but your nails dug in more, and he could feel the slight pain of it. With the little strength you had, your hands moved to grasp his neck–almost embracing him affectionately. You dug into his skin, though, drawing blood and gripping harder with the movement of his hips.
The intensity with which you were gripping his cock only turned him on more. He jerked his hips more erratically and with more intensity as he lifted your thigh, then over his shoulder. He breathed out with each forceful movement, conquering your autonomy in a more violating way than the last.
He enjoyed the squirming and the struggling–the battle that you were putting up. Despite your fucked-out mind, he could feel the defiance in the way you squeezed him.
“What’s that, hm?” he almost-purred at you, feeling the inconsistent squeezing of your walls around him.
He knew you were about to cum, despite how much you tried to hold out.
“Mmph–! Ah-ah!” you bit your lip–or tried to, just a scrape of your teeth against them–as you moaned.
Your tummy bulged with each deep thrust of Zandik’s hips, going under your cervix, pushing further. It’s no secret he was large in both girth and height, and every time he fucked you, he destroyed you. With each moan that was exiled from your mouth, Zandik’s movements became faster. He wasn’t going to waste such precious time on showing you who you belong to.
His hand fell from your hair, and your head fell back just enough until he reached and smacked you. You could only whimper in response.
His penetrating your stomach alongside the smack felt almost overwhelming.
Zandik leaned down and scooped your neck up–flailing you, really–as his mouth connected to your neck–a rather sensitive spot that served your overstimulation. He bit down and sucked while fucking you perfectly. He moaned around your skin; that familiar, sweet taste of it made his cock even harder.
The bulbous tip kept that acquainted bulge in your stomach with each erratic thrust. Zandik littered your neck in bite marks that just-almost gave blood and hickeys. Your hands moved upward to grasp his hair, and your legs tightened around his waist. The further movement caused him to fuck you even rougher.
“Shit,” he let the curse fall out of his mouth, and his mouth bit down on you hard–you mewled in response with a harsher tug of his hair, and just then–
You felt his cock twitch inside you, as his movements became slower, before still.
He breathed heavily atop of you, pulling his mouth away from your neck with a sliver of saliva following. Zandik pulled out, watching his cum leak out of you.
People have really forgotten that yandere is literally a horror trope. No I don't want a "green flag yandere" I want an endless pit of dread in my stomach and also a sense of arousal that shouldn't be there
ılıılı marc snuffy watching you with don lorenzo and being nostalgic
request by: anon (specifically asked for platonic)
snuffy often watches practice from the sidelines, arms crossed, expression neutral, but his eyes soften when he notices you and lorenzo messing around between drills. lorenzo is loud, animated, impossible to miss. you match his energy easily, laughing, nudging, challenging him to dumb competitions that have nothing to do with football.
to outsiders, it looks like wasted time. to snuffy, it looks like something precious. he remembers how football once felt heavy, how joy disappeared before he realized it. seeing you both laugh so freely makes him breathe easier.
lorenzo treats you like a sibling he chose. he trash-talks you relentlessly, steals your water bottle, throws an arm around your shoulders mid-run. but the second someone else steps out of line? he’s in front of you without thinking.
snuffy notices how you ground lorenzo. you laugh at his theatrics but don’t encourage recklessness. when he starts spiraling, you pull him back with a joke, a look, a reminder. snuffy clocks it immediately, you’re stabilizing each other.
sometimes snuffy remembers his old teammate, the one he lost, when he watches you both. the way you play with heart instead of ego, the way lorenzo lights up when you succeed, like it matters just as much as his own goals. it hurts. but it also heals something.
during breaks, you and lorenzo sit on the grass arguing about food, music, or whose fault a failed drill was. snuffy pretends not to listen. but when he later adjusts the training schedule to include more recovery time, it’s because he heard you complain about exhaustion.
snuffy never interferes directly in your dynamic. he believes in autonomy. but he protects it quietly, shutting down media distractions, setting boundaries, ensuring you both stay mentally safe.
lorenzo thrives under snuffy’s guidance because snuffy doesn’t try to tame him. he gives him structure without crushing his spirit. you see it. and you mirror that same patience when lorenzo pushes too far.
there’s a moment after a particularly good practice where snuffy catches lorenzo slinging an arm around you, both of you grinning like kids. for a second, snuffy allows himself to imagine a future where football didn’t destroy what he loved.
where players could stay human.
snuffy never says it out loud. but when he watches you walk off the pitch together, tired, laughing, alive, he feels something close to pride, as someone who learned too late what truly mattered… and is determined to protect it for you.
summary: calling them your husband, this was a tiktok trend a few years ago, and it been on my mind.
characters: hugo, loki, sae, kaiser
c/n: fluff, may be ooc (I don't trust my characterization), suggestive if you squint, implied fem reader, mentions of food(?)
ೃ⁀➷vivien hugo
you and hugo were lounging on the couch lazily. you were mindlessly scrolling on your phone while hugo was lying on your lap, "reading". very mundane. except for one thing, you both were hungry but to lazy to cook so you had to find other options.
“okay so clearly since none of us are willing to cook, lets order pizza” you swiftly dialed the number and stated your usual order and then— “yes and for my husband he'll have anything that doesn’t have avocados…okay thank you”
hugo froze. his blank book slipped out of his hand and fell flat on his face. he sat up straight and looked at you wide eyed. the cogs in his brain turned trying to process that just came out of your mouth so casually. my husband. your husband. He kept on repeating the phrase as if he was tasting it, letting it settle in his chest. a faint blush started to form.
you looked over at him, with a little grin, noticing his shocked expression. “what?”
“husband?? me...but we’re not—” he paused. “well...at least not yet” he looked down. You could tell he was thinking so much about this. “husband” he whispered under his breath rubbing his ring finger. he looked back at you and gave you a little smile. he liked it.
when the delivery arrived, you went to get it and hugo tailed you. once you retrieved the bags, out of nowhere hugo looked at the man dead in the eye and said, “I am her husband” “vivien??”
the delivery man just chuckled and left.
you threw him a light punch at the chest. “what the hell was that?” “no take backs. marriage is legally binding.” oh God what have you done.
that night, after you fell asleep he silently measured the size of your ring finger, making a mental note of your ring size.
oh and his team DID NOT hear the end of it. he practically made it his entire personality
“who you texting” “my wife” “youre married??” “almost”
ೃ⁀➷julien loki
you scoured the menu for something you liked. Loki was a bit distracted on his phone. he didnt really need to order, you already knew what he wanted so you were going to order for him. "so I'll have the Coq au Vin and my husband will have the Boeuf Bourguignon and for dessert we'll have the Guimauve Chocola." loki smiled at his phone and looked up at you. the waitress jotted down your orders and left.
and so the night proceeded. loki didn’t say anything significant. he just smiled at you while you blabbered about your day. he didn’t want to make it obvious that what you said gave him the biggest ego boost. after the meal it was time to pay the check, loki took the bill.
“I'll pay the bill” flashing you a smile with a hint of amusement in his eyes “I am your husband after all”
you looked at him. oh he liked it. perhaps a bit too much. you. you ordered an Uber back to your hotel. he teased you relentlessly the entire drive. "so does your husband get some special loving tonight?" "oh my gosh, enough with this already"
the Uber driver thought you both made a cute couple. "are you two married?"
you sat up looking at the driver in horror "no! we are—"
"yes we are. I'm her husband" loki interrupted, proudly announcing a title he unofficially just earned a few hours ago. he then looked at you. "isn't that right, mon amour?"
that night, while you were preparing for bed, loki walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing kisses on your nape. “someone’s awfully pleased with himself ” you teased. he pulled you closer. his lips grazed your ear and he whispered “why wouldn’t I be? You introduced me as your husband today”
“puhlease” you huffed. “it just slipped” you lied; you did it on purpose.
“did it?” he smiled, “but—” he continued “I liked it. It suited our status”
those words caught you off guard and you became flustered. you are screwed.
ೃ⁀➷sae itoshi
sae wonder how you managed to get him in this situation; fastfood drive-thru. “this is very unhealthy for you” he said, condescendingly. he could smell the greasy food that was escaping the kitchen through the vents.
“I'll be having the burrito and fries, extra sauce please” you turned to sae “anything you’d like?”
he looked at you with dead eyes “I don’t eat unhealthy filth”
you sighed and turned back to the intercom. “...and my husband will have a salad with spicy wings I guess…”
sae’s head shot back at you, his eyes wide and pupils dilating. he was so shocked that his stoic nonchalant, demeanour faultered for a second “what”
“husband? me?” he muttered in disbelief pointing at himself.
“did I say something?” you raised a brow towards him, with a flirty smile.
“no, I—” he let out a slow breath, regaining his demeanor “… you didn’t”
at the payment window, you volunteered to pay but sae wouldn’t let you. he intercepted, handing the cashier his card without even glancing at you. “I am the husband I'll pay”
on the way home, he didn’t want to face you,he couldn't. but you knew he liked it. his cheeks were lightly flushed while he focused on the road. and he kept his hand firmly on your thigh the whole ride home.
ೃ⁀➷michael kaiser
michael was concentrated on driving, his hand on the steering and his other alternating between the gear shift and your thigh, on the way to an expensive dinner reservation. you were occupied on a call with your friend. as you were approaching the destination you had to end the call:
“okay babe I have to go now, my husband and I are on our way to have some dinner—”
the car suddenly swerved just enough for you to have a mini heart attack and grab the dashboard.
“MICHAEL WHAT THE HELL!”
he regained his control over the wheel, a devilish grin forming from his lips. he kept on replaying those words in his head the rest of the way. once parked outside the restaurant he turned to you, with the biggest grin. “husband huh. I like that, say it again”
“uh wha—”
“no” he cut you off, rubbing his chin. “say it in german, ja?”
“michael we have reservations we need to go”
“that shit can wait” he scoffed “I want to hear you say it. I need to hear you say it”
good god you have created a monster.
“mein Ehemann” you eventually say.
music to his ears. “mhm yes I am Schatz. that sounds so good.”
he definitely did not let that go.
at the front desk he spoke out to the young lady. "good evening, she made reservations under her husband's name, my name" you shot him a 'stop that' glare.
oh he wouldn't shut up about it during the dinner as well, introducing himself to the wait staff as your husband.
you kept on nudging at him to stop. "shut up about what? being your husband??" and he said this loudly attracting the attention of all the patrons
a/n: I do intend on making a part two because I want to add nagi, reo and yukki. just didn't want to make this post too long. if you want anyone else added, please let me know!
first draft. I proofread the hell out of this and kept on becoming longer. dividers from @dollywons
pardon if there are any mistakes. english is in fact my first language, but I'm still on the learning curve of actually writing.
thank you for reading and feedback is appreciated🩷
