✎ yandere! killer who was, and still is, a super wanted criminal. literally everyone is hunting him down, his bounty is always on the rise!
✎ yandere! killer who met you after he got fatally wounded by the police. you asked him whether he was alright and even nursed him back to health! when asked about whether you knew his identity you merely shook your head! are you some kind of...sheltered saint??
✎ yandere! killer who falls in love with you during the time when he was bedridden. you took care of him so well! you're like his...tiny and cute little spouse or something... he's blushing just from thinking about it. his cute little nurse. heh.
✎ yandere! killer who watches and adores you from afar. god you're...so adorable?? you are such a homebody! taking care of him like he's some helpless puppy...as if he isn't one of the most feared murderers...
✎ yandere! killer who grows more and more possesive of you as time goes by. well, it looks like you're stuck with him now! should've thought about that before being kind to a random person huh?
✎ yandere! killer who cuts down on his murders and tries to spend more time with you. he should spend time with his favourite nurse, shouldn't he? I mean, not murdering for a bit would also mess with the police too! so it's a win win!
✎ yandere! killer who doesn't hide his murderous side from you. in fact, he even tells it to you! with a straight face, like the straightest face a guy can make while telling their crush that they're a murderer. but you don't even flinch! you just nodded and continued cooking lunch for the both of you! if he didn't love you before he sure as hell did now.
✎ yandere! killer who kills as a form of affection. he'll cut off someone's ring finger, with a ring attached, and give it to you in a gift box, all wrapped and boxed nicely. he thinks it's romantic, you think it's a nuisance. you two are such polar opposites but fit with each other so perfectly!
✎ yandere! killer who loves your relationship dynamic. big scary murderer and cute stoic little nurse. what an unexpected but surprisingly perfect dynamic, don't you agree?
Ya know I pitched Virgil as a cult leader as a joke but honestly I could see it. His fans are basically a mini cult with how obsessed they are with their favorite streamer. Virgil is a good manipulator and it’s no secret that he has a god complex that always needs to be stroked. Just a cute little cult leader that’s totally not having his followers kill people and bring their bodies to him to eat…
As far as darling goes I can imagine two main scenarios.
The first would be a darling that becomes a part of his flock, either by forceful conversion or just generally falling for his tricks. Darling one day is called to Virgil’s chambers and told to help satisfy their leaders desires. Yada yada you find out he’s actually a man and become his personal bed warmer.
The other would be an other worldly darling that takes interest in the little cult leader. Just the god he claims to have everyone worship (he read some book about you and decided on a whim to say that’s who they’re worshipping) and him having to not let it slip that he was bullshitting this whole time. But don’t get him wrong upon your appearance he becomes very devoted! It just so happens that this so called ‘devotion’ is him getting hella horny and not listening to any of your orders to grow your influence.
Long ago your followers would do whatever you asked without question, even dying in your name. They refused to rebuke your name even as it led them to being hunted for their worship of you. Yet in modern times it’s not so simple, see your figure head demands rewards for growing your influence. So although it hurts your pride you give the insulate mortal little rewards for his efforts. After recruiting an entire town you spit in his mouth and you can’t tell if the moan he lets out is from the effects of your godly fluids or his own perversions. (It’s both.) Hours later he’s high as fuck off your spit clinging to you mumbling nonsense. Still be careful, after all give the greedy thing a single inch and he’ll attempt to devour every inch you have.
New idea what if Kenji was a demon under Rowan’s darling…
He took over his father’s position after the man retired and has been serving as your faithful general for awhile now. People call him your dog with how he seems to follow your every word but he doesn’t mind. The truth? He relishes in the title, getting embarrassingly excited whenever you jokily refer to him as such. The poor thing still hasn’t confessed his feelings but he’s getting there! Give him a few more decades and he’ll be ready to ask you out on a date. (He’s lying he’ll never actually work up the courage)
But this plan comes crashing down when a certain human comes into your life. Not only does this lowly being have the nerve to cling to his darling, you reciprocate! The position of your pet is his and he won’t let it be taken without a fight!
After that I’m just imagining him constantly glaring Rowan’s way anytime he has the chance and being incredibly passive aggressive to him. Usually Kenji’s a good boy who likes nothing more than to be obedient but at times like this he can be quite sassy. Tail thrashing behind him and a large scowl on his face it’s not to terribly hard to see the effect your new pet has on your guard dog.
Let’s just say there will be a lot of secret glares and hushed argument that will be held under your nose. At least until they can agree on who’s your bestest of pets and who’s just a clingy whore.
Imagine pirate reader accidentally reeling in a mermaid Emil. Back where he comes from he’s hot shit but right now? Well right now to you all he is an oversized fish. A very cute fish you must add but nevertheless a big fish. You originally thought about selling his ass to the highest bidder but after being with him for a bit you decide to keep this treasure for yourself.
“Let me go.” Looking over at the bathtub you put the man in you spot a very pouty Emil. “Naw I think I’m good.” You walk closer to the tub and next thing you know water is being splashed all over you by his large tail. Slowly you wipe the water from your face as Emil’s smirks at you. Next thing he knows your hand is around his neck with your switchblade already out. “Wanna try that again princess?” “Oh please what are you going to do huh? You already beached me it can’t get worse than this.”
You gaze down at him before with a smirk trace your knife over his pretty scales. “Ah but it can cutie, it can get so much worse~ If you keep being bad I might just be mad enough to chop this sweet tail of yours clean off.” Emils eyes immediately widen and you watch as he begins shaking like leaf. “Y-you… you would dare!” Now that got his attention. “But I would my little guppy.” You trace your knife lower to the bend of his tail. “I’d cut right here making it impossible for you to swim ever again. Don’t worry your upper tail would be fine, I want to keep your cute slit after all so I can still fuck it like the slutty pussy it is.” Emil thrashes in your grip your grin only growing. “You know there’s a rumor that if you eat enough of a mermaids meat it can extend your lifespan. That be nice wouldn’t it? Then you could be my pet forever guppy and I’d always be able to take care of you even after you become a useless fish.”
You hear Emil hiccup and looking up at you with fat tears rolling down his face. The tears as they fall from his eyes become small pearls that you collect with your hand. “P-please don’t…” You wipe his eyes from his expensive tears which only makes him sob harder. “If you behave I won’t have to. So be a good pet and don’t fucking splash me with your pretty tail.” You pat his cheek as you place the tears you’ve collected in a bucket next to you. “Now then the ship we robbed didn’t have enough supplies meaning we’ll have to buy some at the next city. But for trade we need money.” You move your knife under one of his larger scales and smile down at him. “Make sure to cry alot for me okay~”
Why am I continuing this Cinderella Story, Yandere!Prince Drabble? Because I’m in love, and judging from the votes I’ve gotten for a second-part, some of y’all are too. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to keep up the minimalistic style of the first part, but… I’m a sucker for dialogue, I guess.
You’d never given him your name. Of all things, the simple fact that you’d forgotten to introduce yourself was the only thing that gave you hope.
And god, you were thankful for it.
Upon returning home, your step-mother had been furious, just as you’d predicted. The punishment was swift, your dress burnt for having the audacity to be finer than anything either of your sisters owned and a wooden switch taken to your back, leaving scars among the many others that’d already been carved into your back. It was the first time your step-sisters had looked at you with sympathy, rather than envy, or hatred, or any of the other vile emotions they often directed towards you. The younger of the two had gone as far as to offer a roll of bandages, from the medicine cabinet you weren’t allowed to touch, let alone use.
You’d declined. You didn’t need their pity.
You’d survived this long without it.
After that, you went on like nothing had happened, ignoring the rumors of a royal combing over the village, the girls suddenly limbing through the market place, gossip of a traitor hiding among loyal citizens. You never spoke about the ball, keeping your head down and going out of your way to avoid the palace. As far as you were concerned, that party never happened. You weren’t in attendance, and you’d never seen the prince in person, let alone danced with him.
But, your avoidance could only buy you so much time. Weeks passed before there was a knock at the door of your secluded, isolated cottage, so far off the path that even the most lost of travelers couldn’t find your home. Before you could hide yourself away, or even wipe the ash and grime off your face from your earlier chores, your step-mother was inviting in royalty, letting him and his armed guards call down your sisters before leaving you alone, wishing your siblings on the best of luck. And so, so suddenly, you were staring down Nikolai, the very man you’d only seen in your nightmares since the party.
And then, he was taking a step towards you, his mouth open and lips curled into that tight, toothy, predatory smile-
“(Y/n) stayed home.” Your sister was quick to step in, the older of the two, Anastasia. She was lying through grit teeth, to a nobleman, no less, but you were more stunned that she was lying for you. You kept your eyes trained on the ground as she spoke, willing her not to go on. She’d never been great at reading the room, unfortunately. “It was only Eliza and I, and our mother. (Y/n) stayed home.”
Your younger sister nodded along. They’d both seen you stumble through the door, bare-foot and sobbing. “(Y/n) didn’t go, the carriage wasn’t big enough.”
Nikolai stopped, his smile quickly dropping, a light frown taking its place. With a wave of his hand, a guard stepped forward, presenting a poorly reconstructed, fractured glass slipper to the elder sister, his movements emotionless, bordering on rehersesred. Hesitantly, your sister reached out, stopping short of the hazardous item, only chuckling as she glanced down at her own feet.
“This can’t be safe.” Her voice was light, but forcefully so. Like she was about to cry. The guard raised an eyebrow, and her face paled. “I mean, you’re not serious, I wouldn’t-”
Nikolai interrupted her, sighing loudly, dramatically. He didn’t bother explaining himself, his piercing gaze drifting onto Anastasia at his own leisure, like an entitled child who didn’t feel the need to exert himself. “I’ve been to every home, every apartment, every gutter in this god-forsaken town, and this is the only place left that has a chance of housing the person I’m looking for. You can either put on the fucking shoe,” He paused, nodding towards his guard. You watched your sister’s breath hitch as a dagger was thrust into the wall, barely a hair’s width from impaling her cheek. “Or you can cut away until it fits perfectly.”
There was a moment of silence, of stillness, before you took were forced to break it, stepping in front of your step-sister and taking the shoe from the guard’s hand. You didn’t say anything, not trusting your voice to stay strong. The glass was already cutting into your palms, all jagged edges and razor-sharp corners, but you swallowed down the pain, smiling towards the increasingly excited prince.
You didn’t need your sisters’ pity, but they needed yours.
Without looking away, you rolled the object over in your hands, letting it fall out of your grip unceremoniously. You could hear the glass shatter, breaking as soon as it made contact with wooden floor-boards, and you shrugged, catching still semi-solid piece under your heel and pressing down until something sharp dug into your skin. Your smile remained, but it couldn’ve reached your eyes.
No, you were much too scared for that.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” You said, hoping the guards would simply kill you on the spot, rather than drag this out for another second. “It slipped.”
Looking back on it, you couldn’t have known how happy he’d be, disregarding broken shards to pull you towards him, practically lifting you off your feet in an effort to keep you as close to his chest as possible. The kiss that was hastily pressed against your lips, though sweet and soft, stung worse than any whips or bullet you could ever imagine. You tried to pull away, Nikolai barely stronger than yourself, but instantly, the muzzle of a rifle was pressed against the small of your back, silencing both your protests and the sobs soon forming in your throat.
“Kill me.” Your voice was more of a whisper than a demand, more of a plea. You tried again without thinking, pushing at his shoulders. “I stabbed you! Execute me! Have my head chopped off and leave my family alone!”
Nikolai laughed, running a hand through your hair, ignoring the way you struggled against him. “You were afraid, darling, and I can’t say that I blame you. Not when I’ve seen why you’re so hesitant.” Another soft kiss, another playful squeeze to your hip, like he was trying to be comforting, of all things. “But, you don’t have to be scared anymore. After our wedding, I’ll make sure you never have to lift a finger again.”
Our wedding.
The thought was more painful than thoughts should be, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Not breaking down completely took more self-control than it should’ve, your grip on Nikolai’s arm growing tighter, bruising. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as he hummed, bringing a hand up to wipe at the ash on your cheek, his white gloves shortly stained grey.
“You’re upset now, but… our love will be a happy one, yet.” Kissing your now-clean cheek, Nikolai pulled away, if only to better stare down your step-sisters. His intentions were more than clear, pleas and apologies flowing from your lips as you begged him not to do this, not to kill anyone. But, if Nikolai heard you, he didn’t show it, only laughing as you tore at his coat. “Please don’t cry, this’ll be over soon.” You didn’t look up, he wouldn’t let you, but you could hear the other two guards positioning themselves away from the prince, your sisters’ voiced suddenly becoming louder, more frantic.
omggggg im so excited! i love your writing so much! for any prompts you might like- what about a demon who met his lover during ancient times, like Mesopotamia, and she gets reincarnated every few hundred years and he becomes more and more yandere? she ends up accepting it because once she gets her memories back shes like "yeah understandable"
I took a more ‘sentimental immortal meet easily-killed human’ approach to this, so keep that in mind if I don’t hit all the details. At this point, soft scenes and sappy dialogue are two things I don’t know how to resist.
TW: Mentions of Death and (Graphic) Violence.
~
You smelled like blood.
He knew that you didn’t, not really, but the memory was always there, lingering in the background and never seeming to waver. With your back pressed against him, hair splayed over your pillow wildly, traces of lavender and fabric softener were free to invade his senses, reminding him of the current moment, of the fact that you were in front of him and resting peacefully and safe, even if it was only for now. He closed his eyes, too, looping an arm around your waist and trying to sleep, but the attempt was useless, as it always was.
As soon as his vision went dark, images he’d tried so hard to repress rose to the surface. Of death and gore and you, always you, a thousand times and a thousand different ways. He’d tracked your reincarnations dutifully, at first, recording birth dates, death dates, threats and habits and behaviors, but he’d stopped, somewhere along the line, deeming it fruitless and burning libraries of useless information. That’s what it was, really, useless. Regardless of how early on he contacted you, how often he took your hand and how much guidance he provided, you’d still die, one way or another, always too early and always so unpleasantly. He couldn’t count on both hands how many times he’s seen you disemboweled, tortured, taken away from him in one way or another. Killed and disgraced and–
There it was again. Blood, heady and pungent and awful. As inescapable as it was insufferable.
Without thinking, his grip around you tightened, his face soon buried in the nape of your neck as he tried to block out anything that wasn’t you, him, or the sheets he’d found shelter between. The world outside was silent, as if giving him its approval. He couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate it, even if it owed him much more than a quiet night.
He must’ve disturbed you, in his distress, a soft groan reverberating from your still form before you began to shift, stretching as you rolled over. You didn’t bother looking at him, wasting no time before situating yourself against his chest, burrowing into his bare skin as if you were hoping to melt into him. He stifled a laugh, letting you position yourself to your satisfaction, only moving to brush the hair out of your face as you began to speak. “You’re restless,” You announced, your voice heavy, weighed down by fatigue. “Another nightmare, Uriel?”
Uriel. Was that his name, this time around? He couldn’t remember when he’d told you it, but it was fitting. Traditional and righteous, a vessel of something holy, as he could be. As he should be. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” He assured, watching as you blinked, blearily, attempting to wake yourself up. “Go back to sleep, love. You shouldn’t have to worry about these things.”
“I want to worry.” You pushed yourself up, just enough to grin down at him before letting yourself fall again, your arms quickly stringing themselves around his shoulders and your smile just as brilliant as it always was, shining brightly enough to rival the small slivers of moonlight that found their way into his bedroom. He couldn’t resist, leaning forward and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to your parted lips, the gesture too fleeting for his taste. There would be time for more, though, hopefully. “You spend so much time worrying about me,” You explained, the sentiment uttered too casually to be ingenuine. “I notice how much you do for me, you know that, don’t you? You’re always picking up the check and making my life so much easier, and… I’d like to do the same for you, if you’ll let me.”
He hummed, gently, leaning towards you ever so slightly. There were more pecks to any exposed patch of skin he could reach, more giggles and hazy attempts at reciprocation before he settled into your chest, his forehead pressed against your shoulder and his mouth still lingering on your collarbone. “It’s rotten work,” He admitted, deflating with a small sigh. If you noticed, you were kind enough not to say anything, only staying quiet as you let him continue. “Some things can’t be chased away by well wishes and gentle thoughts.”
That seemed to catch you off-guard. You shifted, again, but it was no longer in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. No, you seemed nervous, now, anxious in his arms and ready to be let go. He couldn’t bring himself to comply, pretending not to notice until your squirming stopped, the small struggle put to an end by your own suppression. “I’ve… I’ve been having them too. The nightmares, I mean.” You seemed reluctant to go on, but you didn’t pause, continuing unprompted. “I don’t think they’re as bad as yours, but… they’re still so bad. It feels like something’s chasing me, something I can’t see, but I know I have to get away from it. I run and hide and do whatever I can, but it never makes a difference. It always chases me, ends me in one way or another, and then I wake up dreading the next time I have to sleep.”
He tensed, going rigid against you, his fingers twitching as he tried to resist the temptation to burrow his nails into your hips and tear until you stopped talking. Memories were bad, memories weren’t safe, regardless of which form they came in. Would you remember you’d told him if he smothered you, holding something thick and suffocating over your face until you were unconscious? Could he stop you from dreaming? There was a tea that might do the trick, a drug or something he could slip into your drinks. Maybe if he hit you hard enough–
You pulled him out of his thoughts with a chuckle, muted and jovial, a dismissal of your own thoughts. “It’s ridiculous,” You started, more for yourself than for him. “If something wanted to hurt me, really wanted to hurt me, you’d probably whine until it had to give me back.” This time, you were one to kiss him, cupping his cheek and only pulling away when you lost the energy to do anything but stare and grin. “My knight in tear-stained armor.”
He didn’t indulge your faux-praise with a proper response, only mumbling something inaudible and defensive as you rearranged yourself, intent on returning to your nightmares as soon as possible. He wasn’t about to stop you, only draping his arm over your frame and holding you close. Checking that the locks scattered around the room were secured one more time, he resigned to his own weariness, a yawn fading into something he shouldn’t have had the confidence to say. “Move in with me,” He suggested, nuzzling into your warmth. “We’ll stay up all night, drinking hot chocolate and talking about how we died in our dreams, this time. We’ll have marshmallows on decapitation nights, too.”
Your response came in the form of a murmur, incoherent and sympathetic, and just like that, the two of you fell into silence once again, the concerns that’d plagued him now replaced with fuzzy, warm feelings, unbefitting of someone like him. Still, he couldn’t help but be hopeful. You were content, receptive of his efforts to protect you and so happy to be with him, things he couldn’t say for many of his former trails. But, this was going to be different. He knew this was going to be different.
You’d behave. You’d stay complacent and let him take care of you. You’d live. Not as long as he would, sure, but you’d live.
Or, you wouldn’t have to die by his hand this time, at least.
Human Brain: Work on your requests so that you can open your inbox!
Monkey Brain: Vampy vamps sharp teeths chompy chomp.
“This isn’t funny!” You yelled, slamming your palms against the door. The two men who’d dragged you away from your lab and into this cramped, dark cell were out of sight by now, a detail that didn’t exactly help your current paranoia. You stiffened at the sound of chains rustling behind you, trying fruitlessly to dig your nails into the metal. “I have work to do! Let me out!”
“I’ve already tried that,” A soft voice muttered, whimpering as you slammed your shoulder into the reinforced titanium. There was a slight stutter to their voice, to his voice, but that did little to comfort you. Anything dangerous enough to be contained here wasn’t something you wanted to deal with, regardless of how human it sounded. “Please be quiet…” Another whimper, another thud, louder this time. You could hear the chain drag against cement, the boy moving ever-so-slightly closer. “Please, (Y/n), stop it. They’ll use the tranquilizers if you keep making noise.”
You readied yourself to keep screaming, but there was a sharp growl from behind you, just on the verge of being feral. A warning, if not an outright threat. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down. Just enough to take your eyes off the small, slotted window carved in the door. You glanced over your shoulder, catching the glint of someone else’s eyes before forcing your eyes back to the floor. “How… how do you know that? And why am I here?!”
“Your name? Oh, my doctor told me. I’ll tell you the rest if you come over here.” The answer was too straight-forward, said too calmly for your current situation. Gritting your teeth, you turned towards him and took a tentative step forward, still trying to keep your distance. It took you another few seconds to let yourself sit down, your eyes wide and trying to see through the darkness. That didn’t last for long, though. When cold fingers brushed against your leg, you couldn’t stop yourself from closing your eyes. “You smell even better than a few months ago… I thought I’d never see you again.”
You pursed your lips, ignoring the hand now playing with your hair. “Answer the question.”
“You’re here because I wanted you to be.” There was a slight tug, and you batted away his and without thinking. Razor-sharp nails brushed past your wrist. Fuck, were those his nails? “They promised me I could have a prize if I behaved, let them take samples and stuff. And you were really nice to me when I was in minimum-security, so…” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Like causing an abduction was just another unavoidable accident. “I like you, a lot. And you’ll probably like me too, eventually.”
“Let me get this straight,” You mumbled, rubbing your temple. Fear was starting to give-way to frustration, and for the first time, you managed to look at him. The boy sitting in front of you was… odd, but not unusual. Sickly pale, chained to a wall, and far too thin to be healthy, but not the monstrosity that you were expecting. Catching your gaze, the boy smiled, revealing two rows of pointed, sharp-edged fangs. You cringed, drifting to his hands. Sure enough, claws emerged where his fingertips should’ve been, forcing you back to his hollow, sunken eyes, brown tones nearly swirling with darker blacks in the darkness. “I’ve been kidnapped, essentially. Because you wanted… what? A friend?”
“A snack would be more accurate,” He corrected, grinning like an idiot. He leaned forward, and you did your best not to shy away. “I guess they expect me to drain you, but I’m not going to. I don’t want to hurt you, if I can help it.” His voice got lower as he spoke, like a mischievous child trying to keep a secret. “I could even get us out of here, if you’ll help me. We’ll bust out together.”
You crossed your arms, leaning forward to meet him. Still, you kept an eye on the chains around him. They were already uncomfortably worn, and you didn’t want to see what’d happen if they broke. But… you didn’t want to die here, either. “Depends. What do you need?”
“Your blood.” Again, that all-too-casual tone. You moved to pull back, but the boy didn’t give you a chance. Two arms lashed out from the darkness, latching onto your shoulders, his claws easily tearing through your sleeves. “It won’t hurt, I promise. I won’t take too much. I’ll be able to break door’s lock, but I need something to eat. And I want it to be from you.”
For a moment, you hesitated. But with a glance to the creature in front of you, you let out a reluctant sigh, offering up your wrist. As soon as you shifted, his lips were on your neck, teeth tearing through flimsy skin and clothes. Save for the initial shock, there wasn’t any pain. As his arms wrapped around your chest, holding your own limbs down with a crushing grip, you found yourself leaning into him, the urge to close your eyes growing every time he forced himself closer. You felt… numb, if anything. A little tired. The boy’s whines kept you awake, needy sounds and an ever-tightening grip as he moved further into your lap. By the time he pulled away, he was practically straddling you.
“I love you,” He whispered, tongue running along the open wounds. You could vaguely feel him kiss further up your neck, smearing your own blood along your skin, but you didn’t care. You wanted out, to get as far away from this creep as you could. “I may’ve gone… overboard, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”
“Open the door.” You tried to keep your tone even, but your head lolled onto his shoulder, the cold embrace of his chest suddenly welcoming. Already, he felt warmer, more alive.
“I don’t want to, not yet.” There was a playful chuckle, before the boy repositioned you, letting you lay against him. And yet, his lips never left your shoulder. “Besides, wouldn’t you run away if I let you go? And we don’t want that happening, not so soon.”
Mm now that we have upset Mu yang I'd like to know about soft Mu yang? In particular how he shows his love for darling, aside from being a general asshole(i love him). Like love language, clinginess, things like that?
Great question!
Mu Yang isn't known for his softness, but he will show affections to his darling. He likes embracing them in his arms, especially laying down, things like playing with their hair or one arm always wrapped around their stomach.
He's quite clingy in bed, most of the time it's unconscious and he himself doesn't realize it. If you need to get up for whatever reason and he's still "sleeping" (more like a trance-like state) for example, his long ass tail will drag you right back into his arms LOL
He's also capable of dishing out baby doses of misfortune if he doesn't feel like being a menacing asshole. Things like stepping on a lego or tripping on nothing. This is saved for someone bothering darling but not enough so to incur his full wrath, but it's also to show darling he's always watching them and he's "got their back." (So why would you ever try to run away, right?)
Commissioner by the very lovely @pale-horse-writing.
Pairing: Yandere!Warrior!OC x Reader.
Word Count: 3.5k.
TW: Dub/Con, AMAB!Reader, Mentions of Blood + Gore, Obsessive Behavior, Codependent Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Past Trauma, and Possessiveness.
He returned from the battlefield only minutes before sunset, bathed in golden light and backed by the crimson sky. From a distance, you could almost trick yourself into believing you didn’t recognize him, that you didn’t know why a masked man carrying enough weaponry to supply the better part of a legion would be approaching your ramshackle home, but you weary mind was not so yet exhausted as to slip so easily into such pleasant delusions. Maybe, one day, you’d be able to find that escape, to allow yourself a world without such gruesome rituals, but for now, you didn’t have the time to be so optimistic, so hopeful.
For now, you had to entertain Hidemasa – lest he find himself craving pastimes less wholesome than vying for your favor.
Today was a worse day than most to be so closely tethered to reality. Even from the stone steps of your cabin, you could see the fruits of his labor, make out the scarlet blood dripping from his blade and splattered across his bare chest. A jagged cut had been carved into his right cheek, visible above the grinning mouth of his wooden mask, but you saw no other injuries save for the bruises and scrapes he brought on himself with his relentless training. Even the cut, as ugly as it looked, had probably been his doing; either a blow taken deliberately or his own work, committed with the shattered sword of a fallen enemy when he realized the battle had left him unscathed. He was many things – brutal, manic, unyielding – but Hidemasa had never been exceedingly strategic. To him, injuries were tokens that could be traded in for your attention. The idea that there would be a wound you couldn’t bandage was as foreign as that of an opponent he could afford to leave alive – something that scared and worried you in equal measures.
With a sigh, you shut your eyes and stood, an age-old injury protesting from somewhere deep within the scar tissue of your side. As you fought to ignore the pulsing ache, a pair of well-toned arms found their way around your waist, lifting you off the ground entirely and hauling you against Hidemasa’s broad chest. Thankfully, he remembered himself before you had to correct him, placing you back onto your own feet as delicately as a man the size of a mountain with the strength to match could. Still, his hands remained on your hips, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck, then the dip of your shoulder as he slotted himself against you. You could only be grateful exposure had left you numb to his constant affection.
Carved wood grated roughly against your skin. With no small amount of hesitation, you brought a hand up and raked your fingers through his long, untamed hair – tangled and matted with gore after such a long fight. You tugged, and with only a slight groan by way of protest, he raised his head, blinking curiously. “I saw the size of their encampment. Were there any survivors?”
There was a delay before his answer, and you reminded yourself to be patient. Speaking was still relatively new to Hidemasa. A well-forged weapon had no need to respond to its commands. “There weren’t.”
“This is not a matter you can take lightly. Warriors traveling in such great numbers might be here on behalf of the shogun, and a single survivor could bring—”
“There were no survivors.” His voice was gruff, his tone clipped, and yet, he practically keened into your palm, more than happy to melt into your touch. “Have I done something to upset you, master?”
It was a question asked with complete sincerity, his earnestness alone enough to lodge a tight knot of guilt in the back of your throat. You pulled away from him quickly, taking a step back. “Never, ‘masa.” You paused, nodded towards the two straw baskets sitting by the door to your cabin. Fruit and vegetation spilled over the sides of each in excess. Personal trinkets had been nestled among the bare necessities, and you saw Hidemasa‘s on a palm-sized plush rabbit before flickering back to you. There was no doubt in your mind that it‘d be added to his ever-growing collection before the night ended. “A group of women from the village wanted to show you their appreciation for staving off the newest wave of invaders. Can you take them inside?”
You watched as he stiffened, cocking his head to the side. “You…” Speech was still new to Hidemasa, you repeated to yourself. He did not have the necessary training to disguise negative emotions so easily. Even if he’d been a better liar, the way his eyes dipped to your exposed chest would’ve given him away. “You spoke to the villagers? Alone?”
“They came while I was fetching water. We only passed each other briefly.” You, on the other hand, were a skilled liar. It would’ve been hard not to be, when Hidemasa provided so many opportunities for practice. Before he could linger on the subject, you beckoned him inside. “If I must, I’ll recite the encounter to you in its entirety later on. Right now, you need to bathe - I won’t have you tracking filth through our home.”
At the mention of ‘our’ home, he immediately softened, any jealous outburst delayed in favor of following after you like an overgrown lapdog. The overflowing baskets were lifted without a trace of effort and carried to your meager kitchen while you found your way to the back porch, where a carpenter had been kind enough to build you an outdoor onsen after Hidemasa saved his family’s farm from a group of pillagers. Your routine was well-defined, and you played your part dutifully – filling the stone basin and igniting the small stack of coal and kindling that laid underneath. Hidemasa didn’t mind the cold, but he’d be unbearable if you caught so much as a chill.
He appeared as you finished, already undressed and, for the most part, unarmed. With a quick glance to you and a nod by way of permission, he collapsed into the basin. Water sloshed over the stone walls, and you took your place behind him, running a comb through his now-damp hair. He let out a satisfied groan, shutting his eyes and settling into place. “Heard there was going to be a festival in town tomorrow,” he muttered as you worked, barely audible. “Wanna go with you, to celebrate.”
You frowned. Handling Hidemasa was a balancing act. He was tolerated so long as he protected the village from greedy warlords and roaming samari, and you were tolerated so long as you were able to keep him in-line; a task easier said than done, considering his own strength had surpassed your own long before you’d ever met him. The fact that he had such a gentle demeanor only complicated things. Trying to read his expression was useless when he could strike down a hundred men without ever letting his smile falter. He didn’t have a taste for civilian blood, but he didn’t have to. A single misstep around you, and every man, woman, and child in the village would be cut down within the hour.
With a hum, you set down the comb and began to braid his hair with a rushed sort of swiftness. “What are we celebrating, exactly?”
“Our anniversary.” He glanced over his shoulder, a slight grin painted across his lips. “It’ll have been five years since the day we met, come sunrise.”
You tugged the final strand into place. “I’d hardly think that’s something worth remembering. It took three weeks before I could believe you wouldn’t die in your sleep.”
“It was the happiest day of my life,” he countered, his tone one of dream-like wonder. “It was the day I fell in love with you.”
Something large and sharp lodged itself in the pit of your stomach. Another sigh, another moment taken to gather your composure before you pushed yourself to your feet and found your way to the edge of the basin. You took a few seconds to reevaluate his injuries (or lack thereof), but again, found only the cut on his cheek. You didn’t think before raising your hand to it, dragging your thumb underneath the thin line of tattered skin. “You were barely alive. You would’ve fallen in love with whoever filled your stomach and gave you a place to sleep.”
“Which is why I’m so happy that it was you.” His grin widened as he melted into your palm. “You loved me too, right? I know you do now, but—” His smile took on a shy lilt. “—did you love me back then?”
It was a familiar question, one he asked as often as he could afford to, and you gave a familiar answer. “Of course.” You leaned toward him, letting your lips ghost over the top of his head and lingering there. “How could I not grow to love such a devoted student?”
He didn’t laugh, this time, but purr – the sound reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. Before you could draw back, an arm caught you by the wrist and dragged you into the scalding water, into his lap. Out of instinct, you made a weak attempt to straighten yourself, to pull away from him, but your pride crumbled quickly under Hidemasa’s strength and, with only a thin scowl and a half-hearted glare by way of protest, you settled against him, his chest against yours and his face once again buried in the side of your neck. Without his mask to act as a barrier, he was free to latch onto you, his teeth gazing over the curve of your throat before he found the target of his harsh affection: the tender patch of flesh underneath your jugular vein. His canines pierced vulnerable skin without resistance, and he groaned as fresh blood washed over his tongue, as he lapped over the fresh puncture marks as if in apology. Again, you fought the temptation to push him away, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as his fell to your waist, then lower – his calloused fingertips digging into your ass through the now-soaked material of your yukata.
With his face buried in the dip of your shoulder, he rutted into the knee that’d fallen between his legs, his agonizingly stiff cock grinding against your thigh. You’d been fortunate enough not to notice his arousal before being pulled into his lap, but you could only imagine he’d been hard long before he’d gotten into the water. Since he got home, if not from the moment he departed from you that morning – his head full of thoughts of victory and his body already aching for the reward he’d come to expect from you. Distantly, you heard him whine, saw a dark flush begin to spread over his pale cheeks, and for a moment, you could almost believe that this was not the bruised, battered, half-staved boy you’d taken in, but someone else entirely. For a moment, you could almost believe that a monster had crept into the home in the dead of night and taken away your poor student, leaving only this unsatiable beast of a man in its wake. For a moment, you could almost believe that you didn’t truly hate Hidemasa, but only pitied the creature he’d become.
Then, one of his hands fell that much lower – gazing over your hip before curling around your limp cock, and once again, you were freed from such juvenile delusions.
“Need you,” he muttered against your shoulder, beginning to pump his fist over your shaft in stunted, hasty movements. You weren’t hard, let alone excited, but if Hidemasa could tell the difference between his eagerness and your suppressed dread, if he minded the pained look that came across your expression as your cock begin to pulse against his palm, then it would’ve been impossible to tell. As always, he was more than happy to do the work himself, to grind the heel of his palm into your base and swipe the pad of his thumb over your tip until you were leaking in his vice-grip. His technique was sloppy, his pace prone to waning whenever his attention drifted to nipping at your throat or nuzzling into your chest, but he knew your body well. It was almost endearing, his clumsy passion, how whole-heartedly he devoted himself to your pleasure. It might’ve been, had you been more willing to endure that pleasure.
“Been thinkin’ about you all day.” A hitched breath, his cock jutting against your thigh. “I never wanna be that far from you again. Thought I might—” He drew back, allowing just enough distance between your body and his to slip an arm between you. There was a moment of relief, then a renewed pressure as he took his cock up along with yours, pumping his fist over both in tandem. His gaze softened, and your skin began to crawl. “Feels like I can’t breathe when I don’t know where you are. Think my heart might stop beating if I ever have to be away from you for that long, again.”
His pace grew more erratic, this grip tightening to a nearly painful degree. You winced, moved to tell him to be more careful, but a ragged groan cut you off as his mouth crashed into yours. Kissing, too, was an art he’d never taken the time to perfect, despite all the time he’d put aside to practice it. His tongue forced its way past your teeth as his lips moved against yours, teeth clashing against teeth as he did his best to suffocate you, to leave you entirely pliable under his touch. He wouldn’t. As far as you could tell, his greatest desire was not unrestrained pleasure, but mutual pleasure – for you to be as obsessed with him as he was with you. If something were to happen to you, if you told him to stop and truly meant it, he would. You had to believe that he would.
Not that you would ever get a chance to try. Hidemasa had not been taught to endure rejection, and he sought your approval so relentlessly - you could only imagine what your refusal would do to him. You could only imagine what his anger would do to you, after that kind of—
His hand flexed around your cock and for a blissful moment, your thought blurred and distorted before blotting out completely. Moaning into Hidemasa’s mouth, you came into his hand and, although he’d only received half the stimulation, he did the same – the evidence of his satisfaction splattering messily against your stomach. You would’ve been content to sit in the lingering pleasure, to let the aftershocks fade with his body pressed against yours, but Hidemasa was less lethargic; winding an arm around your waist and hauling himself upward. The basin was forgotten entirely, and with a clumsy haste, he carried you into your home, into the bedroom you shared with him. You were laid unceremoniously onto your unfurled futon with another messy kiss, another hitched whimper that seemed to fall from Hidemasa’s lips in fractured pieces. Hands that you’d seen crush skulls and split open rib cages came to rest on either side of your head, and for a moment, he hovered above you, dark eyes boring into your skin, kiss-bruised lips ever so slightly parted. For a moment, all you could picture was the blood on his chest, the battlefield’s worth of bodies the villagers would be burning long into the night.
Your hand found its way back to his cheek. You shouldn’t have asked, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself – the question slipping out before you could so much as attempt to swallow it back. “Does it ever bother you?” His head lulled to the side inquisitively. “What we ask you to do, I mean. I know it’s gruesome work.”
His answer was delayed, and you ran your thumb over his cheek by way of encouragement. “I don’t like anything that takes me away from you,” he admitted, eventually. “If I could, I’d like to fight by your side again, but that’s—” His gaze fell to the scarring stitched into your side, and he shook his head. “Sometimes, I think it’d be better just to get rid of everyone else – everyone but me or you. That way, there wouldn’t be anyone left to fight, and we could always be together.”
You weren’t surprised. You couldn’t be, not he’d always worn his twisted heart on his sleeve. “That’s a rather callous solution.”
“Oh.” For the first time since his return, his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry, should I… should I have said something else?”
He remained steady, but his voice shook, his hands curling into fists on either side of you. Of course, you rushed to comfort him and of course, he embraced your sympathy with enthusiasm – allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, to draw him that much closer to you. “No, ‘masa, of course not – I shouldn’t have asked at all.” It was your turn to kiss him, now, although your affection was much more delicate than his own. You stopped yourself from pulling away until you were breathless and he was distracted, his concentration once again centered on rutting his cock (still hard, still leaking, you noted with more than a drop of despair) against your thigh. You couldn’t help but laugh, the noise more weary than amused. Still, it didn’t seem to make a difference to Hidemasa. “Do you want to take care of me, tonight?”
This time, there was no hesitation, his immediate answer coming in the form of an eager nod, an abrupt desire to paw at your clothes. Your sash gave out with a single tug and the damp material of your yukata was shoved aside; disregarded in favor of leaving you completely and entirely exposed. You let your head roll back, your eyes fall shut, but Hidemasa was far more proactive – straddling your waist as he aligned your cock with his entrance. There was only a moment of solace, of anticipation, and then, you were fully sheathed inside of him.
You’d tried alternatives, before, when Hidemasa was younger and you had yet to fully grasp the weight of your responsibilities. You thought it might be a more passive role, that you might just be able to close your eyes and allow it to pass over, but Hidemasa’s size made that impossible; even after hours of preparation, a single thrust had been enough to leave tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you begged him to pull out. You’d been unable to walk the next day, but this – his body on top of yours, your cock buried inside of him, the walls of his tight canal clenching around your length – was hardly better, only slightly less overwhelming than the feeling of him tearing you open had been. His back arched as the head of your cock brushed against something soft and sensitive inside of him, knocking his braid loose and leaving you trapped within an impenetrable curtain of pitch-black hair that smothered the world around you, swallowed everything that wasn’t Hidemasa, Hidemasa, Hidemasa. “Been thinking, and—” His breath hitched, and he rolled his hips, immediately falling into a steady but unrelenting pattern of rising and falling, grinding and rutting. “—I wanna marry you, master.”
For the first time in months, you felt your blood run cold. You only barely managed to stop yourself from shaking your head, from letting your revulsion show. It was a useless precaution – in his fervor, you doubted he would’ve noticed if you’d screamed, doubted he was capable of acknowledging anything save for the feeling of your cock fucking into him, of your nails biting into his scalp as your hands shot to his hair. “…think it’d be nice just to be able to call you my husband.” he went on, voice airy and concentration clearly elsewhere. You felt him clamp down around you and drew back sharply, only for Hidemasa to catch your wrist, to press your limp hand against his cheek, against the proof of his devotion to you. “Think it’d be nice to hear you call me your wife.”
“No, ‘masa, that’s not—” You were cut off by a ragged whine from Hidemasa, his hands soon braced against your hips as he started to ride you properly. The pleasure was rough and invasive, that sudden spark of heat enough to turn your body unbearably hot, and whatever you might’ve said was lost to the pure heat that coursed through your form. He’d caught you off-guard, last time, but you could feel him dragging you toward your second climax, see it on the horizon despite your best efforts to hold out for that much longer, to spare yourself the guilt of coming undone so easily for your former student. He was relentless, though, determined to split himself open on your cock, never happy unless you were buried as deeply inside of him as was humanly possible. He was warm, and tight, and you couldn’t stop your hip from snapping against his ass; your eyes clamping shut and your body going stiff as you came undone inside of him. Hidemasa wasn’t far behind you, his hand wrapping around his cock and pumping once, twice before you felt something thick and searing crash onto your stomach, your chest. You didn’t let yourself look at the damage, you didn’t let yourself look at him – letting your head roll to the side and keeping your eyes shut, even as you felt him shift, even as he leaned over you, your cum leaking out of his ask and spilling onto your thighs.
His tone was so light, his voice so innocent, you could almost believe it was a question posed out of love rather than obsession.
Almost.
“We’ll always be together, right, master?”
You couldn’t think, but you didn’t have to.
There was only ever one answer you could give, when it came to Hidemasa.
TW: Imprisonment, Psychological Abuse, Forced Codependence, Invasive/Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Death/Injury, and Distorted Reality.
This was, by far, the most fucked you’d ever been.
Not by much. You’d gotten yourself stuck in chambers with that shrunk into nothing if you took too long to find the exit, stumbled into corridors filled with snarling clockwork creatures you didn't recognize, nearly drowned and burnt and gutted yourself a dozen times over, but this was the closest to death you’d ever felt. The adrenaline had long-since cooled, leaving alone with a deep, gnarled ache coiling in the open cut now stretching from your left shoulder to your right hip, a snaking line that grew a little wider with every tiny, stumbling step you managed to take. You weren’t sure why you even bothered to move forward at all. It wasn’t like climbing that much higher would do you any good.
It'd been a pit trap. Nothing complex, nothing intricate, just a few cobblestones designed to give out underneath the slightest bit of weight and few metal pikes at the bottom. It hadn’t been the pikes that’d gotten to you, but the rubble, the jagged rocks that’d proved to be just as damning as the trap they were meant to camouflage as you scrambled to avoid the more obvious threat. Looking back on it, you would’ve been fine if you’d just stuck to the walls, or paid more attention to where the spikes were laid, or taken a moment to investigate a suspiciously safe corridor at all, but you hadn’t, and this was the price of your negligence. The bloody, grisly, painful price. The feeling of your own organs slipping through your finger, the sound of your blood dripping onto the stone floor, the dark colors swimming in your vision as your knees buckled and body turned to dense, hollow lead—
“What did you do to yourself, princess?”
Fuck.
You must’ve already been dead.
It was your entire body, now, throbbing, pulsing, something bright and electric running through your veins, simultaneously bringing you back to life and pushing you further into the darkness. You were vaguely aware that you were lying on the floor, now, on your back, your head resting on something soft, but solid – someone's thighs, you realized, after more time than you’d like to admit, someone’s lap. You could feel hands gliding over your shoulders, your chest, moving your shredded tunic aside and skirting over the edges of your wound. It hurt less than it should’ve, the pain dulled by something warm and numbing. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt at all, but it was no longer unbearable, no longer excoriating. The fact that you were still breathing was already a small miracle, let alone that you were able to do so without feeling every bruised rib, every ruptured blood vessel.
You willed yourself to open your eyes, but your vision was still blurry, it was still a struggle to focus on any one thing. You could make out the bottom of a chin above you, scattered pieces of armor shining gold in the torchlight, curly hair streaked with blonde bright enough to rival the color of her gear. Absentmindedly, fueled by paranoia and blood loss in equal measure, you tried to push yourself up, but she was quick to catch you, to ease you back down, tugging and hushing until it was all you could do to let her pull you back into her lap, to blink wearily at the ceiling while she continued to work. “Try not to move. I’ll take care of you, but you have to stay still for me, alright?”
You managed to nod, to let yourself go limp against her. If she wanted to hurt you, she could, you weren’t in a state to stop her, but she didn’t seem to have any ill-intent, any goal beyond making sure you didn’t bleed out and leave a corpse for the next prisoner to find. You couldn't say you wanted to trust her, but you had to. You didn't have much of a choice.
You could see it, now, her magic – transparent golden threads, weaving in and out of your chest, encouraging torn muscle to mend and bones to straighten and skin to stitch together until only the lightest scar was left. Progress was steady, but excoriating; the needle intangible, but just as piercing as any other. By the time she was done, you were left drawn out, exhausted, too tired to do so much as lift a hand. Still, you managed to speak, even if the words came out slowly, quietly, nearly inaudible to anyone but yourself. Again, it was a small miracle that you could say anything at all. “Is… Is it safe? This isn’t—”
A slight hum to cut you off, a small smile. “I said I’d take care of you, didn't I? This hall’s safe, for the time being.” She moved to rest a hand on your shoulder, but fell short, only letting her fingertips graze past your bicep. “This one likes to flood at dawn and dusk, but we’ve still got a couple hours until then. Plenty of time for you to rest and recover before we move on.”
A rookie mistake. She must’ve been new, still getting used to the dungeon and the ways it liked to spur its victims forward. A hall that flooded one day might burst into flame the next, then collapse entirely if anyone was still stubborn enough to try and wait it out. Constant movement was the only way to stay safe, constant progress. If you played by the dungeon’s rules, stayed on your feet more often than not, then your slow, painful death would go from ‘certain’ to ‘more than likely’. “What floor are we on? How long have we been here? Is this new, or are you trying to backtrack—”
“That’s not something you have to think about, right now. Stress will only reopen old wounds.” She paused, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “Or, new wounds, rather. Either way, I’d like to avoid having to fix you up again so quickly. For your own safety, of course.”
You began to sit up, again, to straighten your back, but stopped soon enough, doing your best to comply. Her voice was sweet, cloying in a way that would’ve made it difficult to listen to if you were anywhere else, if there was anything else to listen to.
Her hands were soft, too, calloused but careful, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been around another person for long, let alone touched another living, breathing creature that wasn’t attempting to tear out your throat. It was nice to lean into her, to close your eyes. You didn’t mean to push any further, but another question slipped out before you could swallow it back. A result of both your curiosity and your delirium, but one more so than the other. “Who are you?”
She only smiled, and you slipped into unconsciousness.
~
Celia. A paladin, taken straight from the battlefield. You’d been right – she was new, fresh enough to still have the sword she’d been carrying when she woke up in the dungeon, alone and confused. She let you drink from her canteen and gave you a silver dagger she was carrying on her belt when you admitted that you’d dropped your own weapon on the last floor.
She was nice, if a bit too trusting. That, you weren’t surprised by. She’d grow out of it quickly. They always did.
She was strong, too. For all your time here, all the many hours you’d spent biting and clawing your way forward, you felt clumsy next to her, reckless, a stumbling fawn attempting to fight beside a lion in its prime. In your current corridor alone, an endless upward spiral of white marble and mosaics of colored tile based on myths you couldn't name, she’d taken it upon herself to slay eight of the ten mechanical gorgons who slithered down from the corinthian pillars dotted around every turn, beheading them with no more flourish than it took to bring her sword down on their twisting, twitching necks. You tried to pay attention. You hadn’t much of a fighter before the dungeon, let alone a seasoned warrior, and you rarely had an opportunity to learn by example here.
“We should be close to the end,” You called as she stabbed her sword through the last gorgon’s chest, letting its hissing body fall to the floor before kicking it aside. Its tail curled into itself, the snakes sprouting from its metal scalp snapped upward once, then it went still, and you tried to focus on the mural above it, instead, a scene of a man in a feathered helmet standing below a castle tall enough to scrape against the ceiling. “Straight-aways never last any longer than a floor. That makes this too fast and—” You paused, listening for the clicking of turning gears, the gnashing of iron teeth against iron teeth. When you heard nothing, you went on. “Whoever’s in charge of the dungeon must’ve decided it’d be too easy if we were actually allowed to make progress.”
She took a moment to respond, still on-guard, still waiting for the next attack. “…you think we're in a dungeon?”
“I mean, yeah, obviously.” You’d never really stopped to think about it. There were no windows, no skylights, and you’d heard that if you managed to chip away at the thick stone walls, you’d just find a layer of dirt and earth too deep to dig through. There wasn’t anything to suggest you were necessarily supposed to be climbing upward - everyone woke up on a different floor, everyone had different ideas about why they were here and what they were supposed to be doing – but a dungeon made sense, to you. An eternal prison designed to hold and dispose of those unworthy of ascending to its peak. A torture chamber meant to make it as easy as possible to slip downward, into its depths, and to never find your way out. “Do you think it’s not?”
Another long, quiet second, a glance towards you over her shoulder. “I’m not sure what to make of any of this, honestly,” She admitted, sheathing her blade, waiting until you’d found your wat to her side before starting to walk, again. “There’s just so much to take in. I’ve never seen anything like this, before, and I’m not sure why I’m here, and it’s all just so much—”
“Hey,” You cut her off, resting a hand on her shoulder, doing your best to take on a reassuring tone. You’d gone through the same thing, spent days trying to convince yourself that the dungeon couldn’t be as big as everyone seemed to think. It was an understandable (if not the only appropriate) reaction, but letting yourself go stagnant wasn’t just foolish – it was dangerous. You didn’t want to see someone as strong as Celia crushed under rubble as a chamber or a corridor caved in on itself, or dropped seven stories when a part of the dungeon that used to exist decided it didn't want to, anymore. It was already hard enough to get by on your feet, with a weapon in-hand and a sense of what to do, where to go. Standing still for any longer than a few hours, any longer than the dungeon let you, was a death sentence. You didn’t want to see that happen to Celia, to anyone. Not again. “You didn’t do anything. None of us did, and even if we are here for a reason, it's not because we deserve this. All we can do is push forward. You'll see that, when you escape.”
You dropped your hand to her arm, below her pauldron, and squeezed gently. “Just promise to give me another couple of weeks, when you do. If I take any longer than that, you have my full blessing to leave me out of the story you’ll tell when you get out of here.”
Her smile was small, but there, and you were grateful for it. You were grateful to see someone else’s smile at all, honestly. “You make it sound like you won’t be with me, when I do.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to will yourself to smile, too. “It’s better not to climb in groups,” You started, slowly. No matter how many times you said the same words, repeated them to yourself or another stray prisoner, but they still felt stiff, awkward. You hated it, hated being alone, but it was safer. No one made it with anyone else, not for very long. Granted, most people didn't make it on their own, either, but the odds were better. It was safer for the people who could. “There should be a fork at the end of this corridor, actually. It’d probably be for the best if we split up there.”
Stilted, tense, unnatural. She eyed you warily, with as much suspicion as she let seep into her voice, when she responded. “You want to part ways?”
Something felt tight in your chest. It was better to be alone. It was easier. “I don’t want to, but we should.”
You pulled away, letting her go, but she caught your wrist, holding it just tightly enough to keep you from putting any more distance between you and her. “I don’t think that it would be wise to proceed on your own.”
You tried not to glare, tearing yourself out of her grip and turning away from her, taking a step forward. “That’s not your—”
Before you could finish, another gorgon dropped from the nearest pillar, undetected in the midst of your conversation. It attacked immediately, its curved talons darting for your neck, and you froze in your panic, unable to reach for your borrowed knife, to dodge, to move at all. But, before the gorgon could find its mark, an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a metal-plated chest. By the time you realized that she’d drawn her sword, by the time you processed the golden arch flashing across your vision, the gorgon’s head was on the ground, its body twitching at your feet.
“I don’t think,” She repeated, still holding you against her, still holding you so tightly. As if it hadn’t yet crossed her mind to let go. “that it would be wise to proceed on your own.”
You only nodded, and didn’t attempt to protest again.
~
And you did. Until the end of that corridor, until hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, until your remaining objections dwindled into nothing more than the occasional frown and a sense of discomfort whenever you lingered in one area for a little too long. She was a difficult person to argue with, rational when she had to be, practical to a fault, stubborn in such a way that made it feel like you were arguing with someone who couldn’t be proven wrong. Not that you argued with her, anymore.
Not that she'd ever been wrong.
“Princess,” Celia called, drawing you out of your thoughts. She was already on the other side of the pond, already waist-deep. Already smiling, but she’d been smiling. She rarely stopped. “Don’t tell me that’s as far as you’ll go.”
You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. The chamber itself was made to seem organic, natural – a crowded forest dotted with things meant to catch your attention, things like idyllic ponds, lined with cattails and filled with water so clear, you could see the bleached sand underneath it, too white and too perfect to actually be real. You were probably supposed to restock your supplies, pick fruit and refill your casks and dig for edible roots, but Celia said it could wait. She said that this one felt safe, that you’d have time to search for an exit after taking a few minutes for yourself.
You’d left your clothes on the grass, your dagger at the water’s edge, but you still had to fight the temptation to cross your arms over your chest as you waded deeper, until your hips fell below the surface and you felt comfortable letting your posture slacken, your arms fall stiffly to your sides. You started to lower yourself into the water, but Celia caught you before you could, wrapping her arms around your midriff and pressing her chest against your back. You tried not to pull away, but you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid as soon as she touched you. Luckily, she only laughed, letting her chin come to rest against your shoulder. “You’re so tense,” She drawled, her tone playful, light-hearted. “I thought you’d start to trust me, by now.”
“It’s not that.” Too quick, too hasty. Her fingertips brushed over your stomach, tracing the shape of nearly-forgotten scars, and you kept your eyes on the artificial horizon. Out of your peripheral, you could see golden strings coiling around her wrist, splitting off to snake over the back of her hand and form small halos around each of her fingers. She’d never explained her magic to you, its source, its effects, but you’d never asked, either. “I’ve been… I was alone for a long time. Before you rescued me.”
She hummed, lightly. You could feel her breath fanning over the side of your neck as she spoke, warm, but not unpleasant. “How long, love?”
“I’m not sure. Most of the corridors are so dark, and it’s so hard just to—” You could feel her lips against the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. You couldn’t call it a kiss, she’d never be so indirect, but you could feel it, and you tried your best to stop. She didn't make it easy. “I think it’s been eight months. Maybe more. I don’t know. It feels like I’m not allowed to know anything, here.”
Blunt nails, grazing over your diaphragm, then the midline of your chest, leaving a trail of golden dust in their wake. Your skin stung where she made contact with it, the feeling sudden and shocking, the ashes of a fire that'd burnt like ice. You raised a hand to stop her, but dropped it just as quickly, gritting your teeth and doing your best not to show your discomfort in your expression, your stance.
“It must’ve been unbearable.” She didn’t sound cold. She’d never sounded cold. If anything, her delivery was just a little too pristine, too perfect, never any more or any less than what you could ask of her. “And you were really on your own for all that time?”
You thought for a moment, then answered. “I was.”
“But, now, you have me.” She was cooing, openly, unabashedly. Her strings dissipated as her hands fell to your hips, then your thighs, and the water turned freezing, the air around you even colder. “You’re not going to be alone, anymore.”
You didn’t say anything, to that, and her grin pressed deep into your flesh.
~
It took you a moment to realize where you were, when you finally made it.
It took you a moment just to see where you were, to be fair, the light intense enough to blind you as soon as she open the aged, unsuspecting door, as soon as you were hit with something brighter than dim torchlight and Celia's luminescent magic. You flinched back, shutting your eyes on reflex, but it was a temporary aversion, gone as soon as you felt warmth on your skin, as soon as you heard her gasp and realized just what you were shying away from.
Sunlight. Real, natural sunlight.
The outside world.
The way out of this fucking dungeon.
You dropped your dagger, still in your hand from the last floor, and sprinted forward, towards where the sunlight was filtering in – a window along the far wall, an actual window, carved out of the stone wall, tall enough to lean out of as you soaked up the open sky, the endless horizon, the downy layer of clouds below you—
Wait.
Below?
Your throat felt dry. Your thoughts turned distant, hazy around the edges, unable to comprehend why you couldn’t see the ground, why the dungeon just kept spiraling downward, downward, downward with no end in sight. You couldn’t see the exit, if there was one. When you turned around, barely glancing over your shoulder, the door you’d come through was gone, too. As if it’d never been there at all.
“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?” Celia’s voice, as pristine as always, as perfect as always. She sounded eager, almost excited, and you had to swallow down the temptation to scream, to let her rest her hand on your back without lashing out, without starting a fight you knew you wouldn’t win. “I was tempted to tell you when we met, but you seemed so determined to climb, and…” Her touch slid to your shoulder, then your bicep, squeezing gently. “You were always going to end up in the same place. I thought I’d let you have your way, while I could.”
“I don’t—” Your chest hurt. Everything hurt. You’d been exhausted for the past eight months, since the moment you woke up in this awful place filled with awful things. You’d staved it off, kept it away with hopeful thoughts and continuous progress, but you felt like you were on the verge of collapse, now, like you could lie down and never get up again. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I’d lead you downward, to the very depths of my tower,” The word jutted like a blade into your stomach, like the pikes of the trap she’d saved you from. The tower. The tower. It was a tower, and you’d willingly climbed to its highest point. “That’s where all my favorite floors are, with all my favorite creations. I figured you’d make it a few days before you broke down, asked me to take you somewhere, somewhere safer. But, you seemed so determined to come to me on your own, and I couldn't take that away from you, could I? You should’ve seen your expression when you saw the skyline.” A bark of laughter, breathy and quick. You felt her let go of you, lean against your side, instead. This time, you pulled away, but she didn't try to stop you, letting you turn your back to her with little argument. “Are you mad at me? You’re allowed to sulk, if you have to.”
You hadn’t taken the time to look around the chamber when you first rushed in, you hadn’t thought to. There was a bed against one wall, dressed in satin sheets decorated with elaborate embroidery, and a dresser along another, paired with a vanity crowded with personal aspects, things that wouldn’t be out of place in a normal household, put together for a normal person. A bedroom. It was supposed to be a bedroom. She’d led you into a bedroom.
You felt sick. Your vision spun, and your body felt weak, drained of everything vital and sustaining. You started to stumble, to trip over yourself, but Celia was there, suddenly in front of you, suddenly close enough to let you fall against her chest, to wrap her arms gingerly around your waist. You hadn’t heard her move. You couldn’t hear anything, not over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. “Oh, you poor thing. Was that a little too much? Need to sit down?”
“Don’t—” You forced yourself to move, to shove at her shoulders and put just a hair’s width of space between you and her. She didn’t let you go, obviously, didn’t budge, but you kept trying, kept thrashing against her, kept resisting when it would’ve been so much easier just to close your eyes and let the dungeon, the tower, whatever it was, swallow you up entirely. “Don’t touch me! Stop—”
Another airy laugh, a slight shift in her posture. You were off your feet in less than a second, thrown over her shoulder then onto the bed, onto your back. “You’re angry, right? You feel like you hate me, don’t you?” You tried to get up, to run, but she was already kneeling between your open legs, already grinning wildly as she took you by the hips, pinning you down without a trace of effort. Without a trace of care. “I think I’m going to have fun with you, princess.” A hand slipping under your tunic, another clamping down around your waist. “I don’t think I’m going to want to let you go.”
You could only fall back, staring blankly at the ceiling as she did whatever she wanted.
You’d never noticed how dark it was, away from the city.
You were used to light, to brightness, to lit windows and neon signs and billboards with blinding pallets that hurt to look at after the sun went down. Even when you stayed out a little too late, decided to take the wrong shortcut home, there were still buzzing streetlights, glowing storefronts, a sky so polluted and so starless, it was hard to tell whether or not the sun was still up, sometimes. You never thought you’d be without it, even when you strayed hundreds of miles from the city, even when you strayed from your basecamp without a torch or a lantern or any of the things you would’ve taken, if you’d ever realized light didn’t come naturally to wilderness so dense. It would’ve been easier to find your way back, if you had a little light to guide your way. It would’ve been easier not to panic, if you could see where you were going.
It would’ve been easier not to get yourself so lost, if you had something to go on, not to let what lingered in the darkness find you before you could find it.
It’d be easier to run, now, if you had anything to go on.
You were barefoot. You were barefoot, in an unfamiliar place, and you couldn’t see where you were going, but you push yourself forward, regardless, tripping over gnarled roots and stumbling down steep ledges as they came, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest, the throbbing in your heels. Something cut into your bicep, the resulting scratch thin but deep, and you hissed, slowing down for a fraction of a second before thinking better of it, breaking back into a sprint. You couldn’t—
Too late. You were on the ground before you could take another step, but the fall was painless, all blunt force without a collision behind it. Something cool and smooth wrapped around your ankles, the bend of your knees, your waist, binding your legs together and pinning your arms to your side. You could feel hands on your shoulder, long nails burrowing into your skin – straight and dull, made for climbing, not hunting, as you’d been reassured a thousand times. A bare chest was slotted against yours, and curved fangs pressed into your neck, too sharp for you not to imagine puncture wounds, draining blood, unhinged jaws and a poor, trapped creature ready to be devoured. They pulled back, dragging against your skin, the filed points coming to rest against your jugular…
Then, Sai laughed, pulling away completely, and you lost any faith you might’ve had that he’d be kind enough to kill you so quickly.
“You got yourself lost, again.” His voice was soft, breathy, nearly lost under the sounds of the jungle’s nightlife. He wasn’t angry, but he was never angry, with you. He didn’t think you were capable enough of anything to think you might be capable of doing something that’d make him mad. “I was scared you might get hurt.”
“I… I just wanted to get some fresh air.” It hurt to speak. You didn’t realize he’d knocked the air out of your lungs until you tried to inhale and found the action rigid, too tense to be comfortable. “I’m sorry. I’m still not used to being somewhere so… dark.”
He smiled, tilting his head to the side and letting a mass of long, braided block half your vision. It was jarring just to look at him, sometimes, his features humanoid but off, mirroring your own in a way that was just distorted enough to draw your attention. He only had two eyes, but his pupils were slit, narrow lines that reflected more light than they took him. His scales tapered out around his midriff, and his skin was soft, but it was cold, too, thick, difficult to bruise. Everything about him was too long, too lean to be so strong, and when he looked at you, when he made it impossible for you to look at anything else, it was hard not to shut your eyes, not to wish you’d spent a little less time pouring over eye-witness records and analyzing skeletons and glorify the day you’d finally get to see the subject of your research in-person. It was hard not curse yourself for ever idolizing a creature so monstrous.
“That’s why you’re supposed to stay in our den. It’s dangerous out here, especially when you wander off on your own.” His den, right. That towering, suffocating cave with low ceiling and damp air and so many furs, so many pelts from so many beasts so much stronger than you could ever be. That’s where he’d drag you back to, after this, where he’d fuss over your minor injuries and keep you trapped in his arms until the sun rose and he slithered out to bask. It made you miss your shitty, tiny apartment that was never warm enough in the winter or cold enough in the summer. It made you miss everything you used to take for granted, before your life was whittled down to your beastly captor and his smothering affection.
“I’ll have to take you back, soon,” He went on, drawing you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Another group crossed into my territory, yesterday. I should—”
The question slipped out before you could swallow it back. “Are they human?”
If Sai was bothered by it, you couldn’t tell. “There’s only three. I’ll be alright, I promised, and I’ll bring you something back, too.”
You weren’t worried about him. You didn’t have to be. You’d tried to point him towards expeditions, early on, hoped and wished someone would come along with more than a machete and peaceful intent, but he’d come back to you with bullet wounds, before, guided you to campsites with too many tents and too much blood for him not to be outnumbered, and it never made a difference. He was a hunter, made to choke and to crush. You could only be thankful he didn’t have much of a taste for blood.
Things already got gory enough, without it.
You squirmed, slightly, attempting to pry yourself out of his hold, and he accommodated you, unwinding his tail ever so slightly, giving you just enough room to free your arms and reach up, cupping his face with both hands. You did your best to make yourself smaller, weaker. To make yourself what he saw you as, whether or not would say as much out loud. “You’re going after them tonight?”
“I have to,” He said, but he was already leaning into your palm, shutting his eyes. He was cold to the touch, in a way that made you feel cold, too, like he’d already sapped the warmth out of your body. Like he’d made you just as wrong as he was. “They’ve already spent to much time here. I don’t know what I’d do if I let anyone else find you.”
“But I can’t go with you.” A lull in your tone, a thumb running over his cheekbone. He repositioned himself completely, coiling underneath you, instead, bringing you closer, close enough to recognize how tall he was, how wide his eyes here. You rarely touched him willingly, even if his hands were almost always on you. He must be trying to savor it, now that you were. “I hate it. I don’t like how quiet it is, or how empty the den feels without you. I… I don’t like how dark it can get, here.”
You didn’t have to force the dread, the shake in your voice. Sai hummed lightly, his concern visible. For what it was worth, he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t like watching you suffer. “I shouldn’t wait any longer than I already have.”
“Please?” You tugged him forward, gently. He didn’t budge, didn’t recognize the gesture, but it was worth a try. “I don’t want to be alone.”
It took a moment. He spoke slowly, meticulously, pushing his instincts further down with every word. “I’ll take care of them tomorrow. While you’re asleep.”
You brighten, instantly. It wasn’t much time, but it was as much as you’d be able to bargain for, and most expeditions tended not to linger longer than a few days. You tried to thank him, but you didn’t have time before you were pulled flush against him, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder, your hands left to pet through his hair, rub circles in the nape of his neck. “I’ll take care of you,” He muttered, nearly inaudibly. You could only grit your teeth, nodding.
You could only try to ignore how dark his eyes were, as he stared up at you, unblinking.
Synopsis: There’s no way to fight a dragon. Once they find something that captures their attention, they become obsessed, and once they become obsessed, it’s impossible to stop them from taking what they want. Onyx is no exception, when he sets his eyes on you.
TW: Imprisonment, Dehumanization, Possessive Mindsets, Slight Bondage, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Starvation, and Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms.
Your body felt heavy.
All weight with no support behind it. A shell without a skeleton, a statue that’d been hollowed out and coated in iron to make up for the soul it lacked. It was the jewelry, most likely, bands of solid gold around your ankles and your wrists, a collar around your neck with strings of pearls and gems that draped over your bare chest and back, earrings hung from rushed piercings and a belt that bit into your hips, as many jewels and precious metals and stolen treasures as could be fit on one body, however reluctant you were to dawn them. You should’ve tried to take pride in it. It was your armor, however humiliating, the only sword and shield you had to slay the beast. You should’ve been trying to make the best of it.
You should’ve been, but it was difficult. It was so, so difficult.
Everything was difficult, when he was watching you.
You thought it would take him longer to track you down. His lair was sprawling, a series of caves and caverns to house his many shiny, precious things, from goblets you’ve never seen him use to fine silks he’d never wear to gold coins, pillaged from counties new and old, thriving and so long dead, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce the faded names etches into their tarnished surfaces. You’d chosen one of the more crowded spaces to hide in, today, one of the few with torches still burning low on the walls, the center of the room the only area spared from your captor’s obsessive hoarding. Right, your captor – you could hear his footsteps, his talons scraping against stone, solid and so much more stable than you were, than you felt. Always more stable. Always so much stronger. Always—
“You’ve been avoiding me, my love.”
Always so serene, even when you were on the verge of falling apart entirely.
requests are open!! a yandere little merman please? like the one who gave up his voice to become human to be with his pirate princess darling :3 thank u !!
I never thought I would end up writing about, what is essentially, a gender-bend disney one-shot, but I love desperate mermaids struggling to show their love for their hesitant human Darlings too much to pass this up. Consider this a version of the ‘mermaid drags a drowning royal to land only to discover they’ve fallen in love with the person they think saved them’ trope. I’m a sucker for the classics.
Title: The Little Mermaid.
TW: Violence, Blood, Emotional Manipulation, Mentions of Drowning, Implied Lasting Trauma, and Jealousy.
~
Rielle liked to visit you, at night.
It’d been a habit since the first day he spent in your palace, when bruises were still spattered across his pale skin and he carried the smell of sea-salt and sand as if it was a second-nature, the latter of which took much longer to fade than the former. You couldn’t say you blamed him. He’d been rattled, and he was still in a state of shock, unable to utter a word about his home, his tragedy, anything beyond a few disjointed syllables you’d been forced to assume were his name. He hadn’t asked to sleep in your bed, nor had the curled up on your rug like a puppy still getting used to its new owner, but he’d tentatively rested his hand on your shoulder and listen to your stuttering attempts to fill the silence until he saw fit to return to his own chambers, thanking you for your time with a smile and a boyish blush. When he’d come back the next night, you hadn’t refused him. You were fond of him, and of his nightly visits, too. And even if you weren’t, he wouldn’t be turned away.
You’d never had the heart for that kind of thing, not when it came to Rielle.
He didn’t even knock, tonight, he didn’t really have to. Even if you were the heir to the throne, your kingdom was small and peaceful, and any guards you employed were more to soothe the minds of your weary parents than out of any genuine paranoia of your own. Rielle slipped in without a sound, only bothering to announce himself with an arm wrapped around your chest and a face buried in the dip of your shoulder, as much of a hug as your chair and desk would allow. He didn’t seem to mind, though, only letting a mess of violent, auburn hair linger in your vision as he slumped against you, the energy he’d had during the day just beginning to fade. It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, only a few meetings with your advisors and a trip into town to break up the monotony, but when Rielle clung to your side and approached everything with the same determined, prying amazement, it was hard not to let him take you by the wrist and lead the way, even if that ended in missed appointments and sore feet more often than not. It’d taken as much of a toll on you as it did on him, but while he’d be free to collapse onto the comforter of your bed as soon as he pulled away, you had paperwork to toil over, letters to write and bills to sign and corrections to make to plans you could swear you’d corrected the night before. The work of an heir, not a boy who’d washed up on their kingdom’s shores little more than a week beforehand.
“You couldn’t sleep?” You asked, if only out of formality, because it was what you asked every time he came to visit you. He didn’t try to sleep, not when you weren’t around, not when he couldn’t yawn at the lecture of a councilman or rest his head on your shoulder in the back of a slow-moving carriage. Out of routine, he shook his head, and in a merely performative response, you sighed and reached up, running your fingers through the hair that cascaded over your collarbone, as a result. “I suppose that’s my problem, isn’t it?”
A nod, this time. Non-committal, but in the eager, restrained way that lent credibility towards the contrary interpretation.
“And I suppose I’ll just have to let you distract me until you’re tired?’
This time, he didn’t play at coyness, only squeezing you toward his chest and pulling away, a grin painting itself over his lips as he made himself comfortable propped against your desk, seated on the spot you left unoccupied just for him. He took a moment to survey your arrangement before plucking an unused quill from its inkwell, twirling the tip against the center of his palm and smearing back across his skin. That, in particular, earned a half-hearted frown and a lax effort to wipe the excess on the dark material of his pants, but the inconvenience was forgotten as his eyes found what you were working on - a nearly blank piece of parchment, only a name and scrawled out greeting marring its barren surface. You’d have to start over, but you’d have to figure out how to start, first. Rielle tapped a finger against the corner, leaving an unignorable blot of ink in his wake, but you didn’t scold him for it. You could never get mad at Rielle, not without feeling too guilty to stay mad at him.
“It’s supposed to be a letter,” You explained, leaning back in your seat as you stretched, working the kinks out of your spine. You were empathetic to Reille’s situation, anyone would be, but part of the reason you were willing to offer a supportive hand has to do with a more personal type of sympathy, one that wouldn’t belong to just any shipwrecked man you happened to discover. “While sailing here, about a month ago, my ship was caught in a storm. It was a bad one, too, and… I was thrown overboard. The rest of my crew was alright, but for all they knew, I’d drowned.” You paused, biting down on the side of your cheek, as you always did during this part of the story. You were uninjured, so the incident shouldn’t have bothered you nearly as much as it did, and yet, Rielle’s presence alone was enough to prove that you weren’t fully past it. “I hadn’t, obviously, but by the time I washed ashore, there was more water in my lungs than air. It’s like... those fairy tales about mermaids swimming sailors to land. Have you heard them?”
Rielle winked, gesturing to his chest, and you chuckled. Of course he had, who hadn’t? Every child born along the coast was raised on that kind of story, and you couldn’t say you hadn’t considered it, when you first awoke, delious with fever and desperate for a plausible solution.
“I’m just lucky there was a temple nearby. One of their acolytes had to nurse me back to health. I just…” You trailed off, this time, closing your mouth completely. Rielle rested a hand on your arm, urging you gently to continue. It was all you could do to nod, sending a small smile in his general direction. “He’ll never know how thankful I am,” You admitted. It was more than that, but you couldn’t seem to force yourself to voice what exactly more meant. “I want to make it up to him. I want to show him that I haven’t just forgotten. I… I think I’d like to see him again, if I’m being honest.”
Rielle went tense, and somehow, quieter than he usually was. Curiously, you glanced in his direction, only to wish you hadn’t. He wasn’t grinning, anymore, and his eyes were wide, but they weren’t full of amazement, they weren’t full of anything.
Suddenly, they were empty.
Suddenly, he was empty.
You flinched back, moving to voice your concerns, but for all his naivety and reckless abandon, he’d always been faster than you, always been stronger. In less than a second, his hands were in your hair, his nails digging into your scalp as he rooted you in place. With his free hand, he gestured furiously, but his motions were senseless, frustrated, mad, all sharp angles and pounds at his chest without any meaning to be found. His features contorted, scrunching into something irritated and unpleasant, the kind of ugly seriousness you’d begun to think Rielle wasn’t capable of. Again, you tried to interrupt him, tried to reach out and soothe him, but as soon as your attention shifted away from his abrupt outburst, his grip tightened, clamped down, ripped and clenched and tore until something hot and vibrant was running over his fingers, dripping down his forearm until you could see it pooling on your lap, staining your clothes with a mixture of red and black, blood and wet ink.
Your blood, Rielle’s ink.
That was when you screamed.
You decided that, in the morning, you’d request to have a guard posted outside your door, maybe two, maybe three, if they had that many to spare. Maybe you would, but maybe you wouldn’t. Having guards outside your door probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference, not when the sound was cut off so quickly, your breath hitching in your throat as you were wretched out of your seat, thrown to the floor without a spare moment to catch yourself. It was all you could do to catch your breath, to remember how to inhale as something heavy slotted itself against your chest, lean arms wrapping around your torso as another body settled over yours, holding you, clinging to you, pulling you so close, you could feel Reille’s cold breath against your neck, his warm tears against your skin, a shapeless mess of auburn hovering in the corner of your vision, unwilling to move. Not wanting to move.
You could’ve pushed him away. You wanted to. You were stunned, but you knew you should yell, you should fight, you shouldn’t let him cry into your chest like you’re the one to blame. He’d hurt you, he’d lashed out and he’d hurt you, but...
You could never be mad at Rielle. Above all things, you could never bring yourself to be mad at him, not when you could’ve so easily been in his place.
You’d just have to remember to lock your door, tomorrow.
Includes: yandere monster x fem reader, strangers to reluctant friends to lovers, evil villain wannabe monster boyfriend x sensible don’t-kill-people reader, murder, slight smut..?
You are Yandere Monster's master and creator—conjuring him to life the moment your pen—yes, your pen—leaked onto paper. The ink created a blob with a single, long, winding arm. He looked like a poorly drawn B.O.B from Heros and Villains coming to life, popping out from the page, and awkwardly flapped about on your white apartment floor. He had left ink blotches here and there, staining parts of your carpet. And when he tried to push himself up on his one arm, he landed face or body first, right back onto the ground—causing tiny splatters to fly onto your clothes. It seemed as if the monster's arm couldn't support his asymmetrical top-heavy shape, and he let out a small whine. Slinking himself back into a corner, his form now vibrating as he bundled himself back up. He was ugly and inhuman—an atrocity and a mistake. So, you scream, of course. You yell at him to get out, throwing your couch pillows at his scared form. However, the monster surprisingly responds with quick swiftness and dodged each and every one of them.
Yandere Monster loves to fight back. You were forced to run around your couch as he began to chase you, using his one good arm to propel himself. On your fifth lap, you managed to grab your pen off the table. Letting out a battle cry, you hurled it at him with all of your might. The pen soared into the air, shooting upward towards the ceiling before finally arcing back down to him. In your mind, you imagined it piercing whatever passed for a heart in his body, followed by the gruesome task of disposing of it. Oh, you’d have to scrub your hands raw. But instead, he caught the pen effortlessly— and crushed it within his palm. Black ink oozed out, slithering as if it had a mind of its own, creeping up his arm to his shoulder before disappearing into two narrow slits. He snorted the essence.
Yandere Monster grows in size. He screeches out of agony. The walls trembling in response. You watched him double—no triple in height! With the extra ink, he gained more limbs that tore through his oblong body. Four arms, two legs, and a face that was void of anything besides two blinking eyes. His nose and mouth hidden, only appearing when he takes a haggard breath and his long slimy tongue wets his lips. You thought it was over until he dove for your stationary gel pens. Chewing on a glittery bubblegum pink ink that permanently gave him cute kawaii blush on his cheeks. He then moved on to the grays and blues, the mix of them adding color to his iris.
“…are you customizing yourself...?” you ask out of astonishment, only getting a snarl from him in response.
The monsters head then swiveled around to stare at one of your windows, sizing it up. Surely, he could jump out of there. He slowly backed up and got into position. "Mrrrg?!" he tensed up when he felt your arms wrapped around his torso, already dragging him away. It was like you could read his mind and it was frustrating to no end.
Yandere Monster becomes your roommate. He didn't know why he had explained his evil plan to you with the very limited vocalizations he had. But with short grunts and simple hand movements, you caught onto it right away. You could see it now: the city crumbling and burned to ash, people screaming as he grabs them all with his huge hand before tossing them into his mouth as if they were a light snack, and the worst of all, he'll find every pen in the world and rid of its ink. Yandere Monster wanted to get bigger, stronger, and more lethal. All qualities he deemed he needed to take over the entire world. When he finished playing charades with you, he couldn't help but to notice the horror etched on your face. All of the life drained from your eyes, and you took a step away from him. He tilts his head, now watching the way you paced back and forth. You were distraught and went on a tyrant about your loved ones. It sounded like garbled noises to him. The English language was something he still had to get used to, and he scratched his cheek. Even a brow was quizzically raised.
He was starting to get the sense that you cared a lot about a lot of things. The earth, what would happen to the animals after he got rid of every single human, and your friends and family. The monster could only bite his inner cheek now, slumping against your wall despite your protest, and pondered for a moment. Maybe you were right. He looked down at himself. He wasn't made to be a killer. He wasn't even made with any purpose at all! He didn't have to go that route and can actually contribute to society in a meaningful way.
You were… right.
He nodded along to your words after you had calmed down, and to his elation, you had offered an olive branch to him.
Yandere Monster watched you slime proof the house. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended by how grossed out you were from his goo. You would scrub at your sheets and floors for hours before he could permanently stain your residence and belongings. You had even bought plastic covers, but that too, needed constant maintenance. In the end, you needed to nip the bud of the issue. You wrapped his body up in plastic saranwrap, making him twirl around like a pretty little ballerina. He was also given a life-sized ball so he could freely roam the house without leaving a trail.
It definitely didn’t annoy you whenever he kept bumping into your desk for attention. Thud. Thud. Thud. It also didn’t irritate you at all when he would launch himself at you for a laugh—bouncing right off you and barreling into your more delicate items.
Yandere Monster was the naughtiest roommate/friend you have ever had. He, however, did revert back to his coward self when you raised your voice at him. Your scolding tone brought back memories of his non-existent mother, and you just knew how to instill fear into him. “Hss!” the Monster would scream, shielding his eyes from the picture you held in front of him. How dare you! How dare you make him stare at children having fun and laughing! His skin crawled at the sight of their smiles. Yandere monster had to run away, slinking into the bathtub, and curled up in a little ball. Despite this, he continued to wreak havoc on you and the poor morsels that had unfortunately crossed paths with him.
Pranks were sort of his specialty. You had an egg sandwich in your fridge, and he scooped out the filling just to switch it out with potato salad instead. You brought strawberry jam last night and had it on the side cabinet. He picked it up, silently and carefully, and hid it behind a huge jar of mayo. It took you a good minute to find the jam, and he hehe'd the whole entire time.
Yandere Monster hated human customs. He hated learning in general and did the complete opposite of everything you did. If you opened a door for a man, he would intercept and slam it back in their face.
“These people don’t deserve your kindness!” he often hissed at you, “They don’t even deserve a second look and should be holding their breath around you!”
And yet all you heard was, “Eergh! Mrrph. Gaaah! Grrr! Hissss!”
He also never said “good morning” or “good night” to anyone, and he never said “hi” when picking up the phone for you either. He would be silent. Dead silent—making them repeat themselves over and over again before eventually hanging up. He would purposefully jam his finger into the “close door” button in the elevator, smiling condescendingly at the disgruntled and now very sweaty person. The sounds of their fists slamming into the metal echoes as you two went down to the garage.
Since he’s not allowed to kill people, he’s going to greatly, greatly inconvenience everyone!
Yandere Monster was introduced to your family for game night. He was squished between your father and a little boy you called “nephew” and “Henry” on the couch. Even if he barely spoke to the older man next to him, the presence of him was enough to make his skin prick up. He was cold, only charming when he needed to be, and yandere monster was afraid to even breathe near him. Monopoly was the game you chose, and smartly as well. You were the richest amongst all of the players. And the monster was completely stumped! As the game went on, he was drained of all of his money and assets, and the hotels he earned early on was easily swiped from his hands by the aggravating kid next to him. And now he was in jail?! Oh man, this sucks! He huffed, cheeks puffing out as he crossed his arms and defeatedly looked away from the board.
"Here, have some of my cash." You offered, sliding a couple of colorful bills across the table. He oddly felt...warm inside. Tingly. A deep rouge appeared on his face, his eyes darting away from yours when he grabbed for the paper. It crumpled. He gripped it tightly and kept it close to his chest.
When the little boy tried to steal from him once more, he hissed.
Yandere Monster upgraded to your fuck buddy. You regarded him as nothing more and nothing less. Only letting him get a taste of you whenever you felt like it. You two could be making out everywhere with your lipstick being sucked off your face to being nothing and distant strangers all at once. You would be on top of him during your lonely nights, grinding onto him with reckless abandon, and say that you "really needed this." And after your short, euphoric high, you never seemed to be reaching out for him again.
Yandere Monster wished you were more punctual. He hated how his presence became easily forgettable to you the moment he wasn't a threat no more. He needed five meals a day, y/n, and that wasn't up for negotiation. Meat upon meat with very minimal veggies on the side was his go-to. Although, he wouldn't mind getting a treat and eat ice-cream before dinner. He growled again, crawling towards your feet. He learned that if he made himself as small as possible, you were more open to listening to his demands. One time, you had let him in your bed after you found him curled up like a dog on the ground besides you. He insistently nudges your leg with his head, whimpering the word "food" he learned from you.
His face now travels toward your inner thigh, disappearing underneath your nightgown. His breath was warm and steady, brushing up against your panties. "I'm hungry..." he mumbles, a hand placed on your knee to keep yourself spread from him.
Yandere Monster preferred the warmth and subsistence your body offered—craving it quite more often than he should. He can’t help but to whine and pant, voicing his frustration while holding your legs to his chest. Being with you was great and he'll take whatever you'll give him. However, he had dreamt of the days when you would finally bestow him the honor of being inside your cunt. Your thighs are painted with a sticky dark purple slime; his pulsing and throbbing manhood are nestled in between them. His nails dug into the skin around your ankles, now pulling your legs apart into a wide v. You look absolutely adorable beneath him. Your gown pushed up to your chest, showing just a sliver of under boob. And then... there was your torso. Marred with stinging red claw marks and love bites. He's a little rough, the quivering bottom lip of his turning into a full taunting shit-eating grin. Staring at you as if he was still starved.
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