This is my sideblog for dark content, particularly yandere stuff, and also just more stuff too intense or sappy for my other blogs. If seeing such content would negatively impact you, please leave. If you are a minor, also please leave. I'm more of a reader than a writer for this stuff but I do have some thoughts now and then.
I have a particular fondness for soft/sweet/sub yandere guys. Also making weirdly specific scenarios I guess.
I basically quarantine my more unhinged fic ideas here.
“if you love this character then you must make him happy in your fics, right?” wrong. the horror. suffering. internal hemorrhage. hospital. immediately
♡characters: Swing (Twisted Wonderland) x Reader | Yuu | The Player | The Prefect
♡warnings: MINORS DNI, Poison, Blood, MINORS DNI
♡tags/notes: no smut and nothing graphic just don't want minors on this blog, could be purely platonic your milage may vary
♡w/c: 700+ | ♡masterlist♡ | ♡ao3 mirror ♡
It burns.
It burns and throbs and every nerve feels stripped like a bare wire and dipped in acid.
It's hard to see through blurring vision, but you can feel it well enough, too well, really- your swollen hand. Until then, you didn't know something could hurt so bad.
Tears prick your eyes as you cradle your limb. Would you have to amputate it? That would hurt less. It didn't make sense. You didn't even feel the bite. You didn't know that skittering, ribbonlike shadow even could-
But blood drips from the open sore on your hand, by your knuckles, the red of it tainted by the same black lacing searingly beneath your skin.
You don't know if you screamed. You wouldn't have been surprised if you did. You must have whimpered, at the very least, because the shape on the couch shifts.
You hear a groggy grunt. A low laugh. Or maybe you're hearing things through the blood pounding in your ears. Maybe you're seeing things through your tears, because you think the fae's smile suddenly doesn't look so sharp.
A clicking sound by your ear, chiding, mocking. "Poor little grub. What a nasty bite!"
The words come honey-sweet and honey-thick and cloying. You think you hear him chide about playing with bugs or surprising Mr. Swing, but you're a little too occupied with wondering if you were dying, if this was what dying felt like, if this was really how you were gonna go after surviving Overblots and a disc to your head and the hell week of exams and-
And why? Because you thought his strange tattoo cute for a moment? Because you saw it swaying from his hood, and you offered it a cookie, as though it were Grim?
Grim would have snatched it from you, beaming.
The centipede had curled around your arm carefully, curious, you thought, as it tapped about. You had smiled, remembering the snake at the zoo you'd seen when young, then-
You can't breathe. You can't-
"Would sure be a shame if this killed you huh, roach?"
You definitely scream when he grabs your hand. Your throat stings from the scratch of it, but the cry is muffled by slate-rough skin shoving your head to the carpet. A massive hand presses its calloused skin between your teeth while his other lifts your blackened fingers to acid green eyes.
The fae hums. Then he smiles so wide, it splits his face as he bares his teeth-
You taste salt and soil and rot as your own teeth scrape his palm and another scream scrapes uselessly from your throat. You see starbursts as his fangs sink into your hand, the pain blinding, but not nearly as much as it is the very next second-
Needles scrape the inside of your skin, tracing your veins and stitching them in knots of agony. There are thousands of them, burning-hot and sharp and awful-
You don't know if you black out.
You blink, and you see Swing.
You blink, and he remains as your vision settles.
His large form sits across from you, towering despite his hunch. Your hand's still held in his, raised to his bowed head. Your fingers feel wet and warm and the hold on your wrist tightens when you try to tug. The distant pain crests in a not-so-distant wave as you feel suction on your sore skin, then ebbs again. Your veins don't look so dark anymore. His throat bobs.
You watch him suck the venom from your hand, the pain leaving with his poison.
At last, he lets go.
Your hand slips from his maw and he huffs, the breath warm against your cooling fingers as draws his hands back to prop his head up on them. You think you see crow's feet at the corners of his arrowhead eyes as you take your hand back and take in the sight of it, grimacing.
It smells of spit. On the back of it, in red punctured skin, is the v from his bug, and the marks from his teeth. They sting like any little cut, itch like any bugbite. You squeeze and only red trickles out.
You flinch at the hand on your head, but it doesn't crush you. It ruffles your head, the the dark shape before you gets up.
The fae licks his lips as he turns. At the doorway, he gives a lopsided smile as he glances back.
"Be a little less sweet next time, hmm?"
He disappears into the hall, leaving your and your spittled, bloodied, bitten hand.
♡notes: first time writing something explicit. Crossposted on ao3 but i chickened out and orphaned that earlier ver so I couldn't fix the typos there.
♡w/c: 6k+ | ♡masterlist♡ |
It starts with a boy on the beach.
You find him at dawn as you walk along the shore, waiting for sunrise. He is nothing but a shape beneath the tangled nets, something too big and strange to be a fish, too small to be a person, or so you thought.
When you manage to lift the green mesh from the thrashing, stranded thing like a veil, you realized it is a person, one only a little smaller than you.
"Now how'd you get in there?"
He says nothing. Beneath messy locks, he only looks at you with wide, wet eyes dark with fear. A runaway? Was he trying to use the net as a blanket?
You frown at his silence and terrified expression. Light trickles soft and dim from the sun creeping over the horizon. There is blood on the sand.
You get to work freeing him. There must have been hooks in the net. He must have gotten stuck. You coo softly, promising to get him free. You get pricked only a few times, and stray fishing wire digs into your hands as you pull, and there seemed to be a big fish stuck in there squirming too. Through it all, the boy shivers, but seems to listen when you said to stay still. He scratched you only at the start of your efforts, with nails so black and long you wonder if they've ever been cut.
"There we go," you say softly, a sharp rock helping to finally snap a tough knot.
As you grab a fistful of the net, the boy must sense his freedom. He flings the rest off himself, and there in the sunrise, you see him in his entirety- a boy with a tail where his legs should be, its scales shimmering in the dawn's pale light.
What can you do but stare? You are young enough to have heard and seen and read stories of mermaids. You are old enough to have stopped believing in them.
Yet here one lies. A small one, but with scales that glimmer like pearls. His eyes too seem like pearls now that they're not in the dark. He is, quite simply, a beautiful thing to look at. You wonder what he'd look like without the scales. How it would feel beneath your hand. Even so, even so-
When he moves towards you, the animal part of your brain sends you reeling backwards.
You stumble on the net and fall.
The creature crawls up to you. Its teeth are sharp as its black claws, and there are simply too many of them. What of the pearl-eyes aren't gemlike are dark as ink. It doesn't blink. It doesn't say a word.
As your hands curl beneath you, you become quite cognizant of the pain-
Now that you aren't busy or distracted, you've really cut yourself quite a bit freeing the fish. You remember stories of wild animals, and how you can't know what they mean. You think of sharks and blood, and hands sting.
As though it can read your thoughts, its gaze drifts to your hand. It takes your hand in its claws, and you could have sworn its eyes grew blacker at the sight of blood. You don't struggle, wary of being scratched and leaving more red around. It holds its hand up to your own. They would be the same size, if not for the claws. It would be less strange if the creature's fingers weren't webbed, and so, so cold.
Its hands can't quite lace through yours, what with the membrane between them, but it tries. It moves your joined hands to and fro, and scales on the back of its hand shimmering. It stops when he sees the cut on the back of your own hand, the result of its claws when you started the work on the net.
The blood on it has smeared. You think of piranhas and sharks, and shudder when it lowers its head to it, and licks it.
Somehow, that's what breaks you from the trance.
You yelped, and you don't know if its the sudden sound or how you jerk your hand back, but it startles and shifts away.
You manage to get to your feet. You grab the sharp stone on the way up. You glare at the thing and it stares at you.
"If you eat me, I'll kill you."
It blinks. You wonder if it even knows what you said. It simply lies there, looking pretty in the light.
"Go away."
It tilts its head.
You gesture at the sea and its waves. "Go. Shoo."
It seems to understand then. Slowly, it drags itself down the wave-smoothed slope. It gives you one last look, then the sea carries it away.
By the time the fishermen see you on the beach, the blood on the sand has long since washed out. But the tattered net remains, and so do your cuts, every single one but the one on the back of your hand that's already faded into a smooth, pale scar.
You find shells on the shore sometimes. Big ones, like conches or stacks of scallops or oysters cleaned of their flesh, leaving only pearls. Sand dollars fill your pockets. Bottles without messages somehow make it to the beach while corked and full of colorful bits of coral and sea glass.
You find find scales, too big for any fish you know. They shimmer pearl-like in the light. Like the brittler shells, like the bottles, like the butterflies you've caught-
You break them.
You scratch and scrape and bend and tear.
There's no particular malice in it. You do think they're pretty. You just want to know how they're like inside.
You liked your music box. That didn't stop you from opening it up to see all the gears and the little metal cylinder that spin inside. You like butterflies. You still tore open a cocoon once, to see what it looked like in between being a chunky caterpillar and that delicate, fluttering form. You like fish. You think some are beautiful, even the ones at the market. You eat them anyway, and pick their sweet, flaky meat from their bones.
You think sometimes, of the strange boy and that morning that seems almost like a dream. It's a shame mermaids don't have anatomy books about them in class, the way there are for people.
The next time you see him, you're far from home. You've almost forgotten him when you see his pearly eyes, the pretty boy with a fishtail having long since been written off as a child's dream.
It still feels a little like a dream, seeing him now, covered in red as he looks at you.
You're all the way across the ocean from that beach and first meeting. You're no longer a child, but a fresh graduate who knows how to tear pretty things apart much better now. The figure is pretty in the light, despite the red. The drunken boy who had dragged you away from the party off a secluded part of some other classmate's private beach was pretty too. Pretty and forceful, and you had been wondering how to return the favor when something else came and did it for you.
You look at the familiar figure. He's bigger. Still the same age as you, if you had to guess. A rate of maturity comparable to a human's, perhaps. Claws and teeth just as wickedly sharp as they were back then, if not more so.
Your former classmate lies limp and bloody on the sand beside you. He wanted to do it on the beach. He taunted that it would wash away your blood. You suppose the blood will wash away his now. And yours too, after all, if the barely human thing looming above you has come to finish you.
Your heart has not stilled since the fellow beside you pinned you down. You think it pounds for a different reason as the merman, because that is what he is as strange at that sounds, comes closer.
You hold your breath, waiting for those claws to sink into your stomach, or the fangs to tear into your throat.
Instead, the bloodied figure crawls close enough to reach you. His gaze settles on your hand, the pale scar upon it, then he lays head upon your lap. He looks up at you with bright eyes, and you find yourself bringing a hand to wipe away the blood on his cheek.
He makes a sound a like a dolphin's clicks, like your dead cat's purr.
He smells like the sea, of course. But not rotten. His head isn't too heavy, and the spines of the finlike ears peaking out from his tangled hair aren't sharp enough to be uncomfortable.
". . .I suppose I should thank you."
That purr, again. And a different sound, pretty as the rest of him, that doesn't sound quite like anything marine but that seems quite pleased.
You glance at the body beside you. It definitely smells worse than your savior, reeking of whatever's been in his intestines.
The head on your lap growls, but purrs when your gaze settles back upon him. His eyes slide shut in contentment as you weave your fingers through his hair. You wonder what it's made of. Keratin? Some kind of ganoin? Something for later.
You think of wild animals again. This time, of rescued creatures. Pets. Animals that fancy humans due to exposure. You were both quite young during your first meeting. To have followed you all the way here. . .fascinating.
"Can you understand me?"
An eye cracks open.
"Well, even if you can't, I can find a way to do this myself. But I would like it if you helped."
He tilts his head. You think he must comprehend language and tones to some degree, if not words. You keep your eyes on him as you nod at the corpse beside you.
"I need to get rid of that. Will you help me?"
He looks at you. He blinks by a membranous third lid sliding past his eyes. What a strange creature. What a strange situation you're in. Fear is absent as you stare into the unknown though.
You point at the corpse, then bare your teeth before biting the air.
Intelligence glints in those dark eyes. Slowly, he nods.
You grin.
Despite the death, life pushes on. What a shame to lose such a promising young man. What a shame he was devoured by vicious animals of the deep.
A part of you feels a little bad for perpetuating the stereotype of killer sharks, but better them than you.
When you return home, you find gifts on the beach once more, a bottle of bone fragments among them.
You smile as you catch familiar fins peeking out from the waves. Soon, your not-so-little friend lifts his head from the water. He sounds out his usual greeting, some melodious low-frequency tone like a whalesong.
You walk out to the deck of your little boat and lean against the railing. "Good morning to you too."
He swims below you as you unlatch the small gate, and you step aside as he promptly launches himself on board. He drops a whole fish from his maw and grins. You return his cheer. The teeth aren't so frightening anymore, not after he's stayed still and let you poke around his mouth when you asked.
"That's certainly a big mackarel. Good job."
He practically preens as you ruffle his hair. After a good minute or so of praise (you have to compliment him for giving a reasonable amount, or he might try giving you a seal or a whole net's worth of meat again), you pick up the solitary fish.
"I'll go cook something up with this, yeah?"
He likes when you cook. He seems to enjoy herbs and sugar, tastes foreign to the sea. But he also enjoys company. He whines and clings to your leg before you can get far. You roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. Needy thing.
"Alright, alright-"
You sit cross-legged on the deck, and he immediately places his head upon your lap. You've gotten used to your clothes getting soaked through. Still, you think you expected it to be from research, and not a clingy fish.
Oh well, you suppose this is a kind of research of its own.
His eyes sparkle as they look up at you adoringly. His tail sways idly to and fro, catching the light. There's a patch where the scales are thinner, newer, where you took some scales to be analyzed. There's a mark on his arm where you've taken his blood. When he smiles, you remember how you stuck your fingers in his mouth, and he happily tore out the teeth you picked. He'll heal soon enough. He heals rather quickly in general. Sometimes, you wonder if he'd heal if you take his eye.
You take the knife from your pocket out and you grab the fish. You know the waves well enough to have a steady hand as the ship bobs gently in the sea. You fillet one side of the fish, and cut that strip into tiny chunks. How fortunate, that he's learned to kill his catch just as he comes aboard. It keeps the fish fresh but still, and some day, you'll have to see if the lack of any parasites is the result of skill or chance.
The tail sways faster. You wouldn't be too surprised if there's dog somewhere in his genetics.
He eats the raw fish from your fingers, careful as he always is. His tongue and breath are always warm despite his skin being so cold. Piece by piece, the fish disappears. He ends up eating the whole thing, save for a scrap you swallow at his behest. It makes a convenient excuse for him to leave and catch more, to visit again
Your knife clicks shut. "Come on, I have things to do."
He pouts. You sigh and lean close to him.
"Come on," you croon, nose practically bumping into his. "Don't be unruly now."
His face flushes with blood, and you think you can feel the warmth of it before you draw back. He obediently untangles himself.
You pat his head. "Good boy."
He whines a little, then slips back into the sea.
Part of the fun of having a sapient aquatic creature around is being able to find places like this.
You stand in a cove, its only reasonably-reachable entrance hidden underwater even at low tide. Light streams in from a cavity much higher up the cave, letting in the warmth and air that must have allowed the flora around here to thrive. There are some swallows up above, and a few tidepools full of smaller marine organisms.
It's a delightful little place, and you spend too long looking around, taking pictures and making notes. In between the documentation, you head to the water where your aquatic assistant waits. You smile and praise him in gratitude, showing him the sketches and notes, then return to your observations. By the time you finish, the tide's rolled in. While you aren't at any risk of suffocation, you are definitely stuck for the time being.
Your companion doesn't look particularly bothered by the predicament. He happily brings you fresh fish. Somehow, he even got into your boat's kitchen drawers because he brings up the candies you had stashed away in a ziploc bag, the sweets only a little waterlogged. He lays idly by as you roast some fish for your dinner, then clambers over afterwards for the sweets.
"You're so spoiled."
He merely tilts his head in a way you've said was cute before. You're not sure he knows what it means. You're sure he knows what praise is.
"Fine, fine, you earned it."
As usual, he points at one of the candies with a grin. His beam promptly disappears when he tastes the sweet.
You laugh at his scrunched-up face. "Don't like lemon?"
He pouts. Maybe he thought it was mango like the last yellow candy you'd given him.
"Your loss," you chuckle, "I think lemon's rather nice, actually."
He blinks. Then, he reaches up a hand to hook around your head, and-
Oh.
You taste lemon as he pushes the hard candy past his lips and through yours. His face is warm and flushed as he lets go. He beams, looking quite pleased with himself. . .and the smile fades as you watch him silently, tasting the tangy sweetness as the candy melts.
You suppose you know his intentions. You've known since your reunion. Still. Considering his intelligence, his age when you met, the ideas of puppy love and childish affection, perhaps you thought he might grow out of it yet. His affection is useful, but surely it will pass. If he's an animal, then he should be looking for an actually-productive end to his courtship and gifts. His affection is useful to you, but it will lead to nothing for him.
And yet, as you look at him grow small and sheepish, embarrassed even, under your gaze, you can't help but feel so terriblyfond of the creature.
He's looking away already, evidently disheartened by your lack of reaction. It takes you taking him by the face to notice your grin.
He's frozen as you kiss him, but he parts his lip after a quick nip of your blunt teeth. It doesn't taste nearly as much like fish as it does of sugar and lemon. Beneath that, between the tongues and the teeth and the bit of blood you're no longer sure is just his anymore, he tastes a little like salt.
When you two pull away, trailing saliva and panting, his eyes are dark and wide. You think you see tears glimmering from their corners.
"You're so pretty," you murmur, smiling, stroking his cheek, and he nuzzles his feverish face into your palm.
You frankly still don't know if he is more fish or mammal. Maybe you never will. Your near-constant companion's gone missing after escorting you back to your boat, and you doubt its because he's been killed or injured. The former, because he's been clever enough to live this long and if he does age at a human's pace, he should be at his prime. The latter, because if he were injured, he'd come climbing aboard and whine for treatment, no matter how small the injury.
As it stands, he's been gone long enough for you to return to shore to ship samples and resupply. You're starting to think he might be closer to fish as far as reproduction is concerned though. Some of your recent specimens have been heavy with roe and milt. Hormones could explain the sudden disappearance. Despite some cetacean vocalizations, the presence of scales and his lower half is more fish than mammal. If it's spawning season for his kind, then he's probably busy finding a female to mate with. You are not entirely sure how that works with him, you haven't seen any genitalia nor have you been inclined to check. Perhaps he'll be busy protecting his brood and spawn from now on.
It's a little unfortunate to lose something so useful to your studies, especially when he's been an object of interest himself, but you aren't too torn by the absence.
You awaken to the familiar lapping of waves against the boat, the vessel rocking to and fro.
You also awaken to something lapping at the space between your legs.
You blink, only half-awake, at the sight before you.
Iridescent irises and pupils blown wide beneath half-lidded eyes. Dark hair cascading upon your bed.
Your bed is damp from seawater and the slick pooling beneath you. A too-long tongue laves at you again, sending another jolt of heat trickling into your stomach, waking you in earnest. You seize the chance to grab the knife beneath your pillow and lock your legs around a neck and twist.
You're not that strong compared to him, mass-wise the winner's no contest, but you have surprise and he's not nearly as dextrous out of water as he is in it.
Soon you have your places switched, the fish beneath you as you straddle him, knife at his throat. Fluid drips from your thighs and onto him, then your bed. Ugh.
Fond as you are of him, relieved as you are to know he's alive, you aren't very glad about the sudden awakening.
You hold the blade to his throat. "Now that was very rude, don't you think?"
He doesn't look particularly repentant. He swallows. Swallows you, you think, from the slick on his chin. His skin is warm, and flushed beneath you, even as you draw blood.
(How annoying, that there's something beautiful about him even now, even after what he's done, even looking like such a mess.)
He whines softly at the knife in his flesh. It sounds weak and vulnerable and unreasonably pretty. You want to hear it again, you want to ruin him, but that may be whatever oxytocin or other chemical he's managed to wring from your brain talking.
"I should gut you for coming in here without my permission." You've gutted plenty of fish already, in no small part due to all his former gifts.
He's seen you play with his food. He's seen you cut live, squirming things with nothing but your hands and the same knife you hold to him now. He only keens at the threat. He only shivers at your touch.
"I suppose you're not entirely to blame, if it's the hormones. . .but if you're going to be like this, it would be safer if I just did away with you."
You speak softly, calmly. He hasn't moved much, his clawed hands digging into your mattress instead of your vulnerable flesh. His tail too has enough length and muscle in it to throw you off, if he wanted, but he stays still.
"You've been quite helpful though. I wonder. . . If I cut the problem parts out, would you behave again?"
The gasp he makes when you press the knife in sounds less like a dying, tortured creature and more like a man on the verge of breaking. A pretty sound, but not quite what you want. Perhaps all touch is just pleasurable to him right now.
. . .there is a dampness that isn't you or the sea, but that flows from him. You trace it to a divot in the ventral side of his tail, right in the center of it. When your finger brushes past, his breath catches in his throat.
Curiosity trumps your irritation. You press a finger in, and he whines. Those lovely sounds increase tenfold as you nudge yourself deeper. It's all softness and warmth within, not unlike the feel of his mouth's flesh. When you curl your finger, his back arches.
Later, you'll have to fix this mess. His tail knocking things away, his spines piercing your covers. The laundering to be done because of him too. His behavior, when he's in his right mind, will need correction. For now, you slide in another finger, and another, and watch as he squirms around you. A curl of your fingers against his walls draws a particularly desperate sound from him, and he sounds positively gone when they glide past a point hot and deep within him. His hips roll forward, trying to fuck himself on your fingers.
"So needy," you mutter, when you draw your fingers back and he keens in the emptiness. Your digits are coated in slick. It's viscous. Thicker than what you recall of his spit, sweeter too. The blood from the earlier cut's dripped down to his vent. It adds a different sort of salty tang as you lower your fingers to him and stretch him apart to have a taste from the source. There's not much you can say other than it tastes like sweetness and like the sea. Expected. A little odd, but not unpleasant.
You distantly think of grabbing vials when you wipe his fluids from your mouth, to see what it's all made of. But your thoughts are interrupted by a hand at the back of your head and the pointed teeth at your lip. This union is nowhere near as gentle as your first kiss, or even the second. His head must still be addled by his nature, because it feels like he's trying to devour you the way you had just done to him.
Rude. Clingy. Troublesome. Even so, you reach down. He moans into your mouth as you slip your fingers in again. This time, they don't go in nearly as deep. Something blunt and tapered meets them halfway. When your finger swipes over the point, he shudders. You have a hand at his throat then, and you push him down.
"Be good, won't you?"
He makes a soft noise that seems affirmative. Still, he locks his arms around your neck, his clawed hands holding each other to hold you close without scratching you. It would be better if you see him from a little further back. You'd like to see him in his entirety, observe every little twitch and tremor, but for now you can settle for his expressions. As one hand strokes at his walls and what emerges from them, the other brushes past his hair to settle around the curve of his chin. Its thumb wipes away the spit and slick and slips through his lips. You feel the warmth of his breath, the tips of his teeth that you've seen shatter bone.
"Eat me, and I'll kill you."
He has enough sense in him to listen. His jaw goes slack as his tongue swirls around the digit. The muscle slips between his teeth. To bite you would be to bite off his own tongue.
You smile at the bit of clarity in his lust-addled eyes, and kiss the tears that well up when you slide your other thumb over the tapered tip below.
His noises are softer now, a strained kind of soft as you toy with him. You chuckle. "You're so cute. You don't have to be quiet, I like it when you sing."
And he does sing. Pretty little sounds drip past his lips as he rolls his hips beneath your deft hand. No matter how he twitches, or snaps, his jaw remains slack, and your hand remains whole.
"That's it," you coo, kissing him. His neck, his lips, his eyes- "You're so good, aren't you? Such a good, pretty boy-"
He twitches then, violently, with the loveliest cry yet as you feel something hot and thick coat your hand. He's quite the sight after, his body glistening in the moonlight, spit pooling from his mouth as tearful eyes stare at you adoringly. He feels so warm as you withdraw your thumb, not as much as an imprint upon the skin.
You caress his cheek with a soft smile. "Good job."
He turns his head so his lips are upon your palm. He presses his face against your hand. Your skin must feel cool to him, if he feels this hot. Your other hand is coated in white, but it's his own fault really, so you don't care much as you take his face his both your hands to kiss him deeply.
He makes a happy little sound, and you think you can hear the creaking from how his tail sways. You break away and your cool hands remove the arms he keeps around you. Blood drips down where he scratched himself, joining everything else below you two. Such a mess this will be in the morning, but first, you examine the cuts, and give a reddened stripe a tentative lick. The skin seems to stitch together, but whether it goes by any faster than it usually does from the traces of him on your mouth is hard to tell without records or equipment. In any case, for once, the cuts seem to scar like your hand. Perhaps his own teeth or nails leave traces of some compound that prevent perfect healing? Or maybe it would all disappear by daylight.
The sudden presence of a warm head at your shoulder takes your attention. His face nuzzles into your neck, his breath and hair ticklish.
"I was busy."
He click-purrs and petulantly stays there. It's cute, but you think you'd prefer him cute and indisposed to let you do as you please.
"Since you're misbehaving, I guess you don't want a reward after all."
That makes him draw back. He looks at you with a curious face that holds more affection then lust, though the gaze is no less intense.
"Should I clean you up, or would you rather do it?"
Your hand reaches over to play with a lock of his hair still beaded with his spend from the earlier kiss. You lick your finger after, and it's saltier than you expect. Possibly because it's been on his hair, and you've seen the white of salt crystals fleck his locks before. Your gaze drifts down, and he blushes darkly at your ministrations and implications.
But instead of staying put, he shifts. You find yourself on your back, his tail curling to provide some support from behind as clawed hands gently part your legs. The sudden chill makes you shudder. You're still damp from earlier, from him, and he's likely the cause of still being so warm there what with him looking and sounding like that. He makes a low, pleased sound and exhales a hot breath that has you feeling warm. Then, he dips his head down.
He laps and he laves with that damnably-long tongue and you think, in the pulses of coherent thought between his eagerness, that this counts as disobedience and that you'll kill him for it in some way later, but for now there are worse ways to indulge such an otherwise-obedient thing.
You kill him with words and a knife and denying him easy release over the next few instances that he comes to you like a dog in heat. You don't tire of his easy affection, of his noisy, teary, pleading form, but you don't miss it when he's calmer either, and you can wholeheartedly focus on what you've come out to the open sea to do. Which is only partially him, much to his envy whenever your eyes are set upon your papers or other smaller oceanlife.
You remember those lovely faces though, and whatever expression he wore weeks ago pales in comparison to how he looks now.
You know he can understand speech to some degree. You're fairly sure he has a warm-blooded heart in his chest. You know whatever he does have in there breaks when you tell him to stop coming to you.
He tilts his head, as though he misheard.
"You should leave me alone," you repeat slowly, brushing the hair from his wide, shimmering eyes. "I'll have to do something terrible if you don't."
Your voice is calm. You say it plainly. Yet his tail curls close and the hand he holds your other one in tightens.
You lean down at your lap. "You're quite the specimen, you know. Your bodily fluids have some regenerative compound in them and your scales can be quite resistant to damage. If the structure of either could be replicated, it would a breakthrough in several fields. You're very valuable."
He knows words. He may know what each of those words mean individually, but still. What he knows is limited to the sea and what he's caught from watching ships and sailors and you.
"Basically, the institute I work for- they want to cut you up. I'd rather like to cut you up myself too, but that would be cruel, wouldn't it?"
He looks so, so confused.
You smile as you let go of his face. He leans forward, chasing your hands, but you're busy. One hand props you up as you lean back. The other, you place upon his neck by its pointer finger and drag it along the soft skin of his throat.
"Cut. You. Up. And see how you go back together, if you even can. They'll take you apart. Every little bit. Would be fun for me. You? Not so much, I'm sure. So you should go."
He makes a noise like no.
"Hmm?"
He makes the sound again. A deep, desperate rumbling in his throat.
"I don't really mind doing the work, but I don't think you'd like it. So, this is where we should end things. Swim off, stay somewhere nice and hidden."
A noise. How long? You've asked him to hide before, when other ships were near your vessel or you had a colleague on board.
"Forever," you reply simply.
You're on the floor before you realize it, back against the deck. Large arms cage you on either side, and you think his claws are splintering the wood beneath them. As the sun sets in the distance, you think he looks beautiful even now, snarling, his pupils mere pinpricks. His eyes are wide and wet and dark and you feel dampness drip upon your cheeks as he looms over you.
It should be terrifying. Maybe it would be, if you haven't seen how he looks at you, bends to you, falls at your feet at every scrap of attention.
You reach a hand up to hold his face. You smile as your thumb brushes away a tear.
"You're always so pretty. . . You know, I've always loved beautiful things. Are you that upset? I don't think I'd mind dying to you, if you are."
You're not lying. It's certainly one way to go.
The fury in his eyes subsides. His tenseness disappears, and he lowers himself. There isn't any teeth, or claws, or anything sharp at all. He buries his face in your neck as his arms encircle you.
Your arms wrap around him too, and toy with the spines upon his back.
"If you don't want to go, can I keep you?"
He seems to pause. You tip your head to his ear.
"I can't give you the ocean, but I'll make sure you have a good home. We have to keep you alive for as long as possible, after all. I'll pull some strings. They don't have any lead but me, and even if they did you'll only ever listen to me, won't you? I found you, so you'll be mine. Would you like that?"
His hold tightens. You're unsure if he's nodding or nuzzling, but you know he'll never let you go.
You smile into his skin.
"Alright."
"You think they would have learned by now."
Your voice has him rising out of artificial depths. He grins at your presence. You smile back as you sit at the edge of his tank, letting your legs dip into the bloodied brine. You run a hand through his hair, the dark tangle much shorter and neater now.
"I shouldn't be surprised that people keep trying to capture you, but they're really stubborn about it, aren't they?"
He merely hums.
"In any case, could you give them to me? Even if they trespassed, we shouldn't let them rot in your reef."
He gives you a nuzzle before darting away. He returns with corpses bloodless-pale and torn into parts. You have to balance the praise with the chiding each time he surfaces with another piece, or he'll tear them into smaller parts just to have more attention.
The two would-be thieves come up in a total of seven parts piled up beside you. You glance at them quickly enough to register the pieces and composition- almost whole, but with a few bites in their flesh for their trouble first- then turn your attention back to their devourer. Between the praise, you make a gesture to have the facility send in the cleanup crew. He doesn't snap at the cleaners anymore, but he eyes the white-suited figures who come in and cart the bodies away regardless. It's only natural after one of the pilfering attempts had the intruders sneak in as custodians, and he abhors all who try to draw him from his new home's waters, any attempt that could take him away from you.
You click your tongue so he'll focus. "Have you been good?" A pointless question with all the cameras, but routines are structure. You should provide him with all he needs since you're responsible for him now.
He nods. Good means he stays here in the facility. It means he doesn't maim the other researchers or drown any employees who think he's pretty and soft enough for a quick lay. He's a fast learner, maybe faster than your coworkers. After the first week of hiccups and stupidity and unfortunate incidents, even the supervisors acknowledged it was best to leave you two be.
You smile at him as the door to his enclosure slides shut. He pulls himself out of water then. He takes his usual spot on your lap, and you brush the hair from his face.
If there's one thing that seemed to bother him about his new home, it was that he couldn't give you anything. You'd picked out everything in his reef from the plants to the stones to the fish both decorative and edible to give him enrichment and he knew it. Your scolding had stopped him from giving you the trinkets and bones of trespassers and less cautious researchers now too.
He had nothing to give but himself, so he does.
He offers his song when he hasn't been distracted by a bloodbath. He tore at the webbing of his hands to be able to hold yours more fully, and regularly did so until even his quickened healing couldn't fix it. He'll gladly give up his blood and scales and teeth if you only ask, and he's as content to have you cut him open on a table for any experiments you require as he is lie upon you.
Most recently, you had given him cake. Your birthday had passed, and you described it to him, the celebration of trinkets and sweets. You shared your gifts with him, the snacks and baubles, and the next day, he came up to you beaming.
Within his palm lay one of the lovely eyes you so loved to look at.
You smile at the stupid, beautiful creature in your lap. His ruined hands holds yours as you hum softly. His tail shimmers dully under the cold florescence. His good left eye looks up with you with as much fervor as it always does.
You lean down to kiss the hollow of his right socket, and he happily hums along
Yandere!Bodyguard isn’t actually a yandere; he’s just a man running on four hours of sleep, three energy drinks, and pure cortisol because of you. He doesn't want to lock you in a cage, he just wants you to stop treating the stage like a playground. He’s permanently gripping his earpiece, eyes wide and bloodshot, watching you skip down the stairs without looking at your feet.
Yandere!Bodyguard has developed superhuman reflexes entirely because of your antics. You’re the type of idol who likes to lean way over the barricade to high-five fans, or sit on the very edge of the stage with your legs dangling into the pit. Every time you do it, his heart stops. He’ll physically slide behind you, grabbing you by the back of your belt or your jacket just to anchor you. "Please, just sit back," he’ll mutter, his voice shaking with pure stress. "You're going to give me a heart attack."
Yandere!Bodyguard hates the "aesthetic" outfits your stylists give you. High platforms? Loose ribbons? He views them as literal death traps. When you tripped over your own gown at an awards show and almost face-planted down a flight of marble stairs, he caught you by the waist before the cameras could even flash. He didn't let go until you were safely in the green room, where he stood over you, rubbing his temples. "No more platforms. I'm telling management tomorrow."
Yandere!Bodyguard is the only reason you haven't been banned from your own concerts for safety violations. When you suddenly decide to climb up on a speaker box to get closer to the upper balcony, he’s already moving. He will stand directly underneath you with his arms half-extended, looking like a stressed-out parent waiting for a toddler to jump off a couch. He doesn't care if it looks unprofessional on the livestream; he’s not letting you break your neck on his watch.
Yandere!Bodyguard handles your "careless" attitude with a mix of exhaustion and deep affection. When you laugh off a near-fall by saying, "Oops, clumsy me!", he doesn't find it cute. He’ll grab you by the shoulders, force you to look at him, and say, "It’s not funny. If you fall, I fail. If you get hurt, I'm the one who has to carry you out." He treats your safety like a sacred vow, and your lack of survival instincts is slowly killing him.
Yandere!Bodyguard gets incredibly hostile toward your management team when they overwork you. He knows that when you’re tired, you get even more clumsy. If he sees you stumbling during a rehearsal, he’ll physically step onto the stage, block the choreography coach, and call a mandatory break. He doesn't care if he gets fired, your safety is more important than the schedule.
Yandere!Bodyguard has a very specific "romantic" realization when he realizes why he’s so stressed. It’s not just about the paycheck anymore. When you finally fall asleep in the back of the van after a long show, he’ll carefully adjust your blanket and watch you breathe, his heart finally slowing down. He realizes he’s not just protecting an idol, he’s protecting the only person he actually cares about, even if that person keeps trying to accidentally jump off a stage.
Yandere!Bodyguard is the star of a viral 10-minute TikTok compilation titled "Mr. Bodyguard vs. [Reader]’s Zero Survival Instincts" that currently has 5 million views. The entire edit is just zoomed-in clips of his face in the background while you’re doing something reckless, and his expression is always pure, unfiltered panic.
Yandere!Bodyguard became a meme after an awards show where you were walking up steep marble stairs in five-inch heels, waving to fans without looking down. The fan-cam focused on him at the bottom of the steps; his knees were literally bent, his hands were out like he was ready to dive-tackle the stage, and his jaw was clenching every time your heel wobbled.
Yandere!Bodyguard nearly crashed your backstage livestream when you leaned all the way over a balcony railing to show fans the view. In the reflection of the glass doors, you can see his shadow immediately appear. He didn't want to interrupt the stream, so he just stood in the frame, gripping the door molding so hard his knuckles went white, ready to yank you back by your waist.
Yandere!Bodyguard looked like a meerkat sensing a predator in a famous concert clip where you suddenly decided to hop onto a giant subwoofer. The second your foot touched the speaker, his head snapped around so fast you could practically hear his neck crack, followed by him bolting over to stand directly underneath you with his arms half-raised.
Yandere!Bodyguard was caught on camera pacing back and forth in the wings like a nervous father in a hospital waiting room during an outdoor concert in the pouring rain. The stage was slick like ice, and every single time you did a dance move that involved jumping or spinning, he would visibly flinch and cover his mouth.
Yandere!Bodyguard completely threw out the professional boundary rulebook in the fandom's favorite looped clip, where you actually did slip backward over a stage wire. He lunged out of nowhere, caught you mid-air, and wrapped his arms around you so tight your face buried into his chest, letting out a massive, shaky exhale into your hair that the high-definition cameras caught perfectly.
Yandere!Bodyguard is the sole reason the comment sections on every fan site are filled with people yelling, "Give this man a raise or a sedative." The fans have turned his high-stress reactions into a massive shipping meme, pointing out that the way he looks at you like you're a fragile glass vase about to shatter is lowkey the most romantic thing they've ever seen.
It would be the most high effort low-effort long distance sadistic domme activity. Making your sub use their brain when they are the least capable of it, in order to see a titty.
there's something so good about a character who hasn't had enough comfort and warmth in their life and now has weird complicated kinda sexual feelings about being treated with actual basic respect and dignity and they feel like an awful gross pervert for it. i like those wires getting crossed
genuinely i don’t think it’s possible to easily explain the explicit part of online friendships to people who don’t Understand. i don’t mean like, explicit in the sense of “oh you’re sexting” or whatever. no. i mean when you and your friend start gleefully making up explicit sexual scenarios for your shared blorbos and you get giddier and giddier as you add more detail and you’ll be grinning at your screen as you type away at mach speeds. and it’s entirely nonsexual in an interpersonal sense, you’re not really getting Into it, but ohhhhh it’s soooooo fun and satisfying. and you can NEVER tell someone who doesn’t also do this that your mood is actively improved like fivefold because you and your friend played Sexual Tuoys together because they’ll go “what the FUCK.”
M'kay, so, monster bf idea. An ancient, feared, IMMENSELY powerful monster with hypnotising powers that can break the will of even the most tough humans. Unfortunately for him he falls in love with a sweet little blind lady, and since his hypnotising powers come from eye contact, he now has to TRY in this relationship cause unfortunately he can't just make her fall in love with him. Also p.s have a great day!
local weird ass snake wizard man fumbles when his one flirting tactic (hypnotism) doesn’t work
(idk man i wanted to make a little more context for these two but I’m. So Tired. but basically, snake wizard guy starts crushing on a blind girl and once he realizes his hypnosis won’t work on her, and he can’t impress her with visual magic, that he has to actually try in their relationship)
my favorite kind of character is the kind who deep in their soul is constantly screaming LOVE ME LOVE ME LOVE ME and outwardly expressing literally anything else
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