➵ Hello and welcome to Generation Two of snoozingredpanda’s yandere ocs! Below you will find a small blurb of each character, and of course I plan to develop each one very deeply! I hope you like them! (as they sure do love you…)
➵ Iris Creeke, a quiet, mysterious university student with a terrible temper and the inability to make meaningful connections. She’s often seen with bruised and bloody knuckles, especially after her darling gets far too close to someone else. She can’t have that, can she?
➵ Forrest Harley, a chirpy and happy-go-lucky farmer with a big heart and an even bigger collection of bear traps and guns. If anyone dares to trespass on her land and threaten the safety of her dear darling, she’ll happily dispose of them. Her crops need more homemade fertiliser anyways!
➵ Jesse Camden, a very dangerous prison escapee with over twenty murders under her belt. On the run, she finds herself in a chokehold of obsession, her darling too pure for her deathly darkness, yet she’s too addicted to let them go, and the murders keep wracking up wherever she goes…
➵ Jason Hellborne, an entity older than the Earth itself. Taking the form of a young man, this demon just can’t leave his precious darling alone, using his smooth-talking, soul-sucking charms to keep them near. Of course, when they find out just what he is, he just has to drag them down to his hellish lair to be his spouse.
➵ Helios de Russo, a seemingly sweet and charming young man with a dark secret. He’s the son of Italy’s most wanted mobster, and he’s joined the family business. A master of manipulation, his darling will be none-the-wiser until they walk in on a deal gone wrong…
➵ I will be taking requests for both SFW and NSFW content. I will not be posting as often as I did last year, as I do not want to experience such a writer’s block again. I will aim for at least one post per week, but I will always try to post requests within a few days depending on the length. As I have previously stated, most content will be with a gender neutral reader, and any smut that has gender specifications will be correctly labelled as such. Do keep in mind that the female OCs are more so intended to be WLW, but no specific pronouns are used unless it says in the content warning. Therefore, for example, petnames are typically on the feminine side (pretty, doll, etc). The male OCs will not be focused on as much as the females ones. Thank you so much for sticking by me, and I hope you enjoy my works!
➵ I will not be writing for Generation One [Benni, Nox, Lockie, Fenix, Rudy, Kai, and Ivy] anymore. I would like to move past that section of my life and continue forwards. Any requests for them will be deleted, apologies.
[Please do not copy or translate my work without permission. All ocs belong to me].
Coming home from a long day at work just to find Jesse fast asleep on the couch with your five-month old nestled on her chest. Holding them so gently, eyelids twitching as if she’s only half-conscious, fearful of their safety.
As you approach, she groans, peeking one eye open. “Left some dinner in the oven, love,” she drawls sleepily, supporting the baby’s head as they stir.
You should’ve never doubted her when she told you she’d always be there for both you and your baby.
will stumbled and mack caught him and they did a little spin while holding each other and smiling and mack tucked his face into the curve of will's neck and whispered in his ear in a way that looked suspiciously like a kiss btw. if you even care
➵ Jesse Camden [cw: gn!reader, manipulation, lies, violence, slight angst with good(?) ending, mentions of possible kidnapping]
- Summary: Tired of Jesse running off, you make a decision.
It was stupid, really, how you managed to fall for her bullshit time after time. It would be different this time, she’d say, I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone. You loved that girl with all of your heart, but she would lie through her teeth every fucking time.
You couldn’t blame her. Jesse was on the run from the entire country’s police force. Jesse had shit to do — God knows what — that would take her out of town for weeks on end. But, every time she came home, holding you so gently and promising such lies, you couldn’t help but fall for her tricks again.
You weren’t scared of her. You thought you could leave her at any moment, yet you were very unaware of the many cameras she had placed around your apartment. She was always watching, even when a hundred miles away. She watched as you wept every night, staring at your phone like you’re expecting a call from her. She never called. She didn’t want any way to trace back to you, she said, but part of you thought she just wanted a break from you. It was far from the truth.
“God-fucking-damnit!” She’d hiss every time something went wrong, something or someone came up, delaying her sweet return. She hated every bastard that would stop her seeing her precious partner, so much that she would consider beating the shit out of them. However, she knew you would get quite upset if you found out she’d slit a man’s throat over something so insignificant. So, she holds herself back, as best she can. They often end up dead anyways from unrelated matters.
After a whole month of her absence, without even a fucking warning of departure this time, you’d had enough. With angry tears in your eyes, and a cold, lonely bed to look forward to, you send her a text, demanding to end the relationship. You get no reply, which just fuels your rage. You shove all her belongings into a suitcase, not that she owned much, placing it by the door for when she eventually did try to show her face. You told yourself that this time was different. Jesse wasn’t good for you… and you needed to face that truth.
Several hours after you fall asleep to the lull of rainfall, you’re awoken by loud thuds on the door, someone slamming their palm against the wood repeatedly. You know exactly who it is. You take a deep breath to collect yourself, before heading to the door to open it. A plant pot is smashed on the ground nearby; it’s where the spare key is usually kept, and Jesse clearly threw it in fury when she realised you moved it. The girl herself was barely visible in the darkness, drenched in rain. Her chest heaves as you let her inside, about to relay your anger onto her, to finalise your decision. “It’s over, J—“
Before you can finish, the large, hardened criminal, who had killed so many people, drops to her knees seemingly involuntarily, pressing her face into your stomach. Her shoulders shake — not from the cold, but from sobs, deep, pained cries. One of her large hands grips a bouquet of crimson roses, half-destroyed from the weather. You didn’t really know what to do, heart racing. Flowers? And tears?
After a few moments Jesse peers up at you through thick, waterlogged lashes. “I’m so sorry, my love…” Her voice is rough and wavy. Your anger melts like it does every goddamn time. “I wanted to come home, I really did.” She presses kiss after kiss to your belly, holding you so delicately, as if you ground her sanity. You try to stay mad. You truly do.
Jesse Camden was on her knees for her lover. What a sight to behold. You sigh, the door shutting with a click. As the hallway light comes on, you can see the extent of her distress, deep, purple eyebags sitting under her deep eyes, lips parted and trembling. Her hair is soaked, lying flat on her head. Her clothes are sopping and soaked, hastily pulled on. A sparkly stud sits in her right ear, the birthday gift you’d given her.
You want to argue, you want to tell her to get her stuff and go, but she looks like a puppy, discarded like scum on the side of the road. You can’t bring yourself to do anything but run your fingers through her hair, listening to her muttered sorries. You were a pushover, but this time it truly felt different. She was on her knees, all of her signature pride gone, out the window. She was begging you to stay, begging you for forgiveness. Her chocolate eyes glossy, so fucking dark and full of something unfamiliar.
Reluctantly, you cave, and she shakily stands up a few minutes later, hugging you so tight that you thought you’d pop. She smelled so good, like pine and whiskey. She hadn’t been drinking, though, not tonight. She was sober as she cradled you, promising everything she had before. Unbeknownst to you, this time, she truly meant it.
She’d been gone for so long because she was tying up all her many, many loose ends. She was making sure everything was finally over, after years of criminal activity. She wanted to be clean. She wanted to be with you forever.
She’d spent weeks searching for the perfect home, collecting all her finances she’d spent so, so long gathering. She was going to give you everything, she was going to be the husband you deserved.
“I love you,” she mumbles against your ear, carrying you upstairs to bed. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you so much. You scared the shit out of me.” When you roll your eyes, still quite annoyed, she weakly smiles, “I know. I deserve it.”
It’s the next morning when she hands you the keys to your new house, in a small town you’d always wanted to live in, far, far away. She explains what she can — leaving out any of the not-so-legal details — and convinces you that things will be different. She fully intends on keeping her promise, of loving you until the day she dies.
“Just me and you,” she whispers. “Forever.”
You gently nod, allowing her to press a soft kiss to your temple. You were giving her one last chance, and she was going to make the most of it.
Not that she’d take no for an answer. She much preferred you willing, however. The restraints and chloroform in her car were just a precaution, of course, not intended for use unless absolutely necessary. Thankfully, you were a naive little thing, and Jesse was a very persuasive person. The perfect pair.
➵ Personal Rating: 6.5/10
[Please do not copy or translate my work without permission. All ocs belong to me].
- Note: Perhaps I’m getting addicted to writing again… (I have a day off work tomorrow and a lot of ideas 🤭)
MDNI!
Forrest’s hands were large and rough, palms calloused from long days working on the farm. They dwarfed yours, able to completely envelop your dainty little digits like wrapping paper on a gift box. She loved holding your hands, loved holding you in general. She was so, so big in comparison, your eyes barely reaching her shoulders. Hugs were her favourite, naturally, big, greedy ones that lasted entire minutes. She’d get very sad if you ever pull away prematurely.
Of course, her hands were good elsewhere. Forrest had no experience in intimacy before she captured you. She never understood what any of it meant, having been sheltered like a convict by her mother. Even TV shows depicting intimate scenes went straight over her head. She’d smile and comment that the characters must love hugs just like she did. It was painful, but you couldn’t find a way to bring it up.
Obviously, being a farmer, she was aware how reproduction worked. She knew where babies came from, and she knew how sex worked. Yet, she also didn’t. She didn’t understand that sex was also an activity to gain pleasure from. In fact, she thought two women could not make love, and she was content with that, because she loved you so very much. Introducing her into it was a challenge, but one very well rewarded, as you’d find out.
Her fingers were so fucking huge, and they filled you up so damn much. Her cute little hazel eyes would be so curious, watching as your greedy cunt swallowed her middle and ring fingers repeatedly. “Are you sure ‘bout this, sweet’eart?” She ask every few minutes, slipping them inside with such ease because you were so goddamn wet. Your slick pools in her palm, fingertips prodding that spot so deep inside you repeatedly.
“J—just like a machine, remember?” You’d mewl, reminding her of how you taught her to see your body like a machine that needs a daily oiling. She nods gently, nuzzling into your neck. She’d do anything for you, even ‘fix you up’, as she had worded it.
You guide her thumb to your swollen, slippery clit, and she sloppily rubs it, making you gasp and arch your back. You grind down on her fingers, eyes rolling back in utter ecstasy. Her fingers were better than any cock you’d had before. You can only imagine how beautiful she’d look with a strap. Her breath tickles your skin, lips parted as soft pants leave her mouth.
Her pace suddenly slows as your walls flutter, and you whine in frustration. “I don’t wanna hurt you, darlin’,” she mumbles, pretty pink lips grazing your ear. You shiver. “Don’t like how you’ cryin’.” She brushes off a single stray tear that had fallen down your cheek, one of pure pleasure.
“It feels good, I promise,” you respond, chest heaving against hers. She looks unconvinced, pulling her hand out. It’s shiny and wet, bubbles beading around the base of her fingers. You shudder at the sight.
She perches on the edge of the bed, the lamplight low. She glances towards you with those damn eyes, so loving and sweet and worried. Strands of dark blonde hair fall into her eyes, making her gently push them away with the back of her wrist.
Taking her hand, you slowly guide it back to your needy, throbbing pussy. There’s no resistance. Two fingers find their rightful place in your gummy walls, curling so brilliantly against your g-spot. A soft, “Oh,” leaves your lips, hands coming up to grip her broad shoulders. “Thats it, oh, yes.” You ride her fingers slowly, whimpering quietly in her ear. She watches you like you’re an angel, lips wet and cheeks flushed. Her thumb finds your clit again, such a good girl.
Your thighs begin to burn, but you continue to grind down on her thick digits. “Oh, I love you,” you spill against her neck. She cradled your head so delicately, as if you’re a flower just about to bloom. And bloom you did.
A sharp moan falls from your lips as your orgasm crashes down, vision tearing white for a split-second. You clamp your thighs around her hand so she can’t pull away, nails digging into her skin. She holds you gently, nuzzling her nose into your neck. “Sweet girl, pretty girl.” You don’t know whether its you or her whispering these words.
You clean her fingers up with your tongue, her cheeks a soft pink and her eyelids hooded as she watches you like a hawk. You giggle, pressing kisses to her sticky palm. “See, baby? Nothing to be scared of.”
She weakly nods, cuddling up to you as you lay down in the soft blankets. Your smaller body fits against hers so well; it was almost as if you were made for each other.
➵ Personal Rating: 7/10
[Please do not copy or translate my work without permission. All ocs belong to me].
No one knew how Iris Creeke managed to be so damn powerful. She was quiet, observant, never once putting her opinion into the open until she knew she had every last person in the room wrapped around her finger, without a single word or grunt of acknowledgment. It was as if the world truly did revolve around her; everyone wanted to know what she thought on a situation, yet she kept them hanging, waiting, begging for an answer she would never give. She wasn’t that special on first glance — a peculiar look, perhaps, but she was truly just a girl. Taller than average, lean yet strong. Her hair stood out, a short cut, shaved at the sides, however her dark, jet-black hair was infested with streaks of snow-white. Piebaldism, but she never commented on it. Her pale skin had faint splotches of olive, only visible in certain lights. It was her eyes that most people were drawn to, though. Blue, like the ocean, so deep and mysterious, holding a thousand secrets with a key lost for centuries. They were addictive, tools of manipulation. A hint of approval in them could send someone spiralling, so fucking effortless. No one was safe from her tricks — she always got what she wanted.
Creeke had no friends. Most people liked her, worshiped her, followed her like devout puppies, but she preferred to be alone. Helped her think. She got annoyed easily at little sounds: breathing, chewing, swallowing, even blinking. It pissed her off so much she convinced the professors to let her take her exams alone, away from the rustling of other students. In class she wore headphones, never once paying attention to the lecture. She didn’t need to. She was considered a genius.
She was on the university’s track, football and ice hockey team. She didn’t care for either, but it gave her great connections that she certainly used to her advantage. She was the captain, of course. She didn’t often show up to practice, but when she did she somehow still came out on top. It confused the coaches. Was she even human? Naturally, it was all mind games. Little comments she made that threw others off their game. They never stand a chance.
Creeke had never had a lover. It was common knowledge that she fucking hated everyone. No matter how much someone was convinced they were ‘in her good books’, they weren’t. They were being used, and they would be discarded when she was finished with them. It would end in tears, but she never felt regret. Listen to the warnings, she would muse. No one ever did. This was Creeke’s castle, her throne. Everyone else were just servants to use and abuse.
The first thing you were told when you transferred to Eastwood University was that silence was respected. The corridors were dead, classrooms were stale. Students moved around as if a flesh-eating monster was stalking around. Why? You’d asked. Your guide avoided the question.
Creeke didn’t like change at all. She made it her duty to know what was going on everywhere, so when she was told that you had arrived, she began to watch you, contemplating how she could use you to her advantage. You were terribly dull, nothing special or beneficial about keeping you around. So, she began to ignore you as she did with all of the other insignificants. You slowly learned about who she was, what she was. It intrigued you. How had a simple — albeit very handsome — woman taken control of 2,000 students and a body of staff?
Naturally, your paths would cross again, this time in detention. Of course, Creeke would never be sentenced to time after class like any other student. She had arrived to sneer and quietly growl insults at another student for something so insignificant, a few droplets of water spilt on a library book, perhaps one of her favourites. You sat silently, watching as she mutters such ferocious words so fluently. She was angry, no, furious, over something that truly did not matter. Once the student was in tears, she straightens up, fixing her salt and pepper hair, before turning to the door. Then, your eyes lock.
There was no fireworks, no love at first sight. Just a strange, subtle darkening of those cerulean eyes that made your heart drop. You felt as if you had witnessed a murder. Yet you could not look away. Creeke didn’t seem angry, but she could hide her emotions well, you’d learned. Her nostrils flare ever-so-slightly, before she looks back at the student. “Replace it by Monday. If I ever see you in the library again, you’ll regret it.” Her voice is almost hypnotic, smooth yet rumbly.
Then, she walked out, boots thudding against the floor like tiny explosions.
Creeke seemed to notice you a lot more after that moment. If she glances around a room, her gaze would halt on you, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched. She never spoke to you, never even interacted. She sat as far away as she possibly could, as if you smelled like a garbage bag. Yet, she always seemed to be in the vicinity, watching and waiting, calculating something only she could understand. Others noticed too, and many were jealous. Creeke could’ve been plotting your fucking murder and they’d still be jealous. It was pathetic, yet you felt proud to have that over them. You weren’t just a random student anymore. You were Y/n, Creeke’s… target? You would worry about what she had in store for you, especially at times where she looked so damn angry under her layers of indifference. Never once would she let that out, though. Not a raised voice or sly comment. Not a single word.
However, one rainy Thursday morning, something seemed to shift. Creeke was absent from Ancient History, which wasn’t unlike her, but usually the professor would be alerted. She felt ill, or she had a big game coming up, was her usual lies that worked every time. This day, the professor called her name and was met with silence. The university’s ruler was nowhere to be seen. Rumours spread. She left the school to hunt down an arch enemy, she got expelled for attacking a teacher, she had been in a car crash on the highway. Each one was more extravagant than the last. You weren’t particularly worried, or at least you tried not to be, but a nagging feeling in the back of your mind made your heart race. Someone else was missing too: Kory Carlson. He was an asshole to everyone, especially little loners like you. He’d tripped you just the day prior, sending you tumbling down the science building’s staircase, landing in a teary heap. Only one person had witnessed this — Creeke. She didn’t seem to care much, watching as she silently ate a tangerine. It was as if she didn’t just watch someone almost break their neck. Kory had laughed loudly and walked off, but Creeke had stayed, watching, waiting, staring. Until she followed Kory.
Your train of thought was broken by the door opening. A ripple of gasps washes across the lecture hall like a Mexican wave. There was Creeke, looking worse for wear. Her eye was swollen, cheek bruised. Her lip was split, dried blood sticking to her chin. As she walks to her seat you catch a glimpse of her knuckles — bruised and bloody. You knew the person she fought had come off a lot worse. She says nothing, sitting down and hastily cleaning what she could up. No one dared look at her directly, however she turned her head to stare at you. You felt like you were on the executioner’s block, like you were next.
Until she faintly smiles.
It’s a smile that no one had really seen before. Creeke’s smiles were always mocking, ungenuine, disgusted. Never real. Never… soft. Your heart does flips, and you quickly look away. When you glance back up, she’s got her headphones on, staring out the window. Her reflection is beautiful, not as scary as she usually is. You start to realise there’s a lot more to Creeke than what you first thought.
Over the next few days, word spreads that Kory is in hospital with a broken jaw, six fractured ribs, and a bruised liver. Creeke isn’t reported. Kory tells everyone he fell down a flight of stairs. Part of you relishes in his karma, but a bigger part of you begins to fear Creeke a lot more. She was dangerous. She had far too much power.
And, it seems, she’d found something worth abusing that power for: you.
➵ Personal Rating: 8.5/10
[Please do not copy or translate my work without permission. All ocs belong to me].
- Summary: You and Jesse get married, what a beautiful day…
- Note: Is this… another post? In the same week? How scandalous. I know its not long, but I’ve been having a lot of fluffy thoughts that I’d love to write about :)
Jesse’s breath tickles your ear as the two of you slow dance to the melody of an old love song. Her polished leather shoes squeak on the floorboards, your heels clicking softly in time with her. She looks so brilliantly handsome in her black suit, white shirt so neat and crisp, tie fixed so neatly around her neck. Even her cuff links are shining, her hair freshly buzzed just the day before. Her entire image was unlike the often rough and rugged woman you’d come to love so dearly. Of course, though, you were the star. The white gown had cost a month’s worth of rent; it was so effortlessly beautiful and elegant, hugging your body just right, flowing like an icy waterfall into a river, veil peeled back from your face. Your eyes shimmer with glitter and mascara, lips soft and glossy. Your h/c hair was pulled into the most pretty updo — but Jesse couldn’t look anywhere but your dazzling eyes. They were so gorgeous and e/c, so effortlessly sweet and alluring.
It was just the two of you, at home in your shared apartment, but neither of you care. You’d signed the papers; you’d written all the necessary vows. You were officially hers, and she was officially yours.
“I’m sorry,” she rumbles against your ear, one large, rough hand sliding down to firmly grip your silk-clad waist. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Her apologies confuse you. Using your index finger, you tilt her head to face yours. “Whatever for, baby?”
“Everything,” she whispers, chocolate-brown eyes glassy with tears. “For what I am, for who I’ve wronged… I dragged you into this hell of a life, and you’ve been too good to me. You deserve the world, not a secret wedding with a shady marriage certificate. I want you to be happy, Y/n. Safe..” She’s sobbing now, hot droplets of tears spilling down her peachy cheeks. Her bottom lip quivers. You’d never seen Jesse cry like this before. Only a few times had she shed a tear when she thought you weren’t looking.
“Jes, I don’t need a big wedding,” you murmur, thumb swiping across her cheek. “I don’t need a hundred guests, or a live band, or a fancy cake.” You gesture to the pitiful one tiered disaster she’d attempted to make on the kitchen counter — terribly burned and inedible, but you were grateful nevertheless. “All I need is you. My Jesse, my lover, my husband.”
Her cheeks turn a soft pink hue. “Husband…” She repeats the word. “We really are… married.”
You nod softly. “Yeah, baby. I’m your wife. Husband and wife, isn’t it beautiful?” You smile, leaning up to capture her lips in a slow, loving kiss. The track skips to the next one, a soft jazz song from the 50s. Fingernails scratching the nape of her neck, she pulls you closer, chests flush against each other.
“I love you so much, doll,” she rasps against your lips. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you leave me.” It was a threat, maybe, but you had not a single intention of leaving the sweet woman. She was yours, now and forever.
“I love you too, darling,” you respond, giggling as she dips you and kisses you again.
“Maccas?” She mutters against your glossed lips.
“You know me so well,” you laugh, knowing you’ll spend your wedding night eating fast food and watching bad comedies. You wouldn’t have it any way — just a wife and her fugitive husband.
You don’t notice how her eyes darken so dangerously when you collect the food from the delivery driver with a bright smile. It was for the best you were kept in the dark; you didn’t need to know how twisted your husband truly was, at least not until the honeymoon.
➵ Personal Rating: 7/10
[Please do not copy or translate my work without permission. All ocs belong to me].
➵ GN!Yandere!Bullfighter x afab!Reader [cw: yandere behaviour, bullfighting, non-descriptive animal death (yan changes their ways), feelings of guilt and inadequacy, kidnapping, smut, dirty talk, praise, degrading, oral, choking, orgasms]
MDNI!
- Note: Both characters use gender neutral pronouns, however Reader is afab and therefore has female anatomy, and Yan!Bullfighter’s genitals are describes as a ‘cock’ and ‘dick’. However, this can be interpreted either as male anatomy or the use of a strap-on. The smut has been separated with the use of a divider such as the one below.
Hundreds of bulls had fallen before El Rojo, each earning minutes of applause from their eager spectators, crimson roses littering the ground, covering the thick, red blood that mixed into the dusty sand beneath their leather boots. Pairs of horns were mounted against the wall of their expensive house in the Spanish countryside, bloodstained muletas hung up like festive banners. El Rojo was proud to be a bull fighter, proud to be a Pérez. Until you came along, of course.
Yandere!Bullfighter who falls head over heels for the pretty young spectator that shows up one sunny afternoon. It's one of their biggest fights yet, and they go the extra mile to put on a show for you, winding up the bull until it confuses itself and trips. They expect applause, cheering, even perhaps a lovestruck kiss, yet as they go to finish the fight, they witness your horrified expression, one so full of terror and disgust. Their swing halts, blades held high in the air as the dazed bull teeters around. The crowd is confused and annoyed, but El Rojo can't bear to see you cry. They shove their swords into the ground dramatically, storming out of the arena.
Yandere!Bullfighter who changes everything about themselves. They throw away all of their horns and swords, even their beloved traje de luces, the one their dear papá had gifted them on their eighteenth birthday. It all went straight in the bin, chest heaving with fury. Why did you have to be an animal cruelty activist? Why couldn't you have been a… a… butcher or something?! Yet, as they begin to follow your every movement, the feeling of guilt begins to build deep in the pits of their stomach
Yandere!Bullfighter who hates themselves for every bull they've ended. They can't believe how cruel they had become. They spend night after night berating themselves, eyes glossy and lips trembling. How could they? Those poor, poor animals. They begin to obsess over every little post you make on your anti-cruelty blog, rereading the paragraphs as if they’d found their new religion. El Rojo had become the laughing stock of the bullfighting community, the Pérez who fell. Their papá would be so disappointed. A legacy lost to weakness of the heart, yet they could not bring themself to care. They would never make you cry again.
Yandere!Bullfighter who begins to volunteer at your own animal shelter. Of course, you were disgusted to see their face, pretty e/c eyes cold and unforgiving. But upon watching them care for a tiny, motherless kitten, you begrudgingly allowed them to volunteer for an hour a week, supervised. This quickly turned to whole days as they proved themself repeatedly. El Rojo wasn't there for the animals, though. Not really. Naturally, they were there to watch you, love you, even from afar.
Yandere!Bullfighter who begins to get very, very jealous. No one in particular, just anyone who dares come into your vicinity. Another volunteer, perhaps, or even a person adopting a new furry friend. They would glare, dark eyes so stormy and cold, lips pulled into a scowl. That person didn't deserve a handsome flower like you, no, you needed a big, strong hero to save you. They would be that hero. It takes several months for you to trust them enough to allow them to get close enough to make a move, but when they do, they make it count.
Yandere!Bullfighter who lures you to their house on a Saturday night, on the guise of showing you the cat they adopted. There’s no cat, of course, just a luxurious, beautiful room with silk sheets and gold-stitched pillowcases. You can scream and shout, yet no one can hear you. The Pérez family fortune was still theirs, and they'd been putting it to good use. For weeks on end you scream and cry, cursing their entire existence. How foolish of you to trust a murderer, you had screeched, sending such sharp daggers into their devoted heart. “Please, hermoso/a, I wish for nothing more than your love. I am that person no more.” Yet their pleas fall on deaf ears.
Yandere!Bullfighter who takes such good care of you, despite each punch, kick and bite you send their way. No matter what you do, this beast of a human will always overpower you. Besides, you're in the secluded Spanish wilderness. No one was around to help you. Over the months, El Rojo brings you more and more of your belongings. They have to be smart, though. The police are looking, and your old apartment is constantly under watch. They even bring you your beloved pets, and so graciously provide for them to keep you happy. They are still a changed person, after all, no longer the monstrous killer they once were.
Yandere!Bullfighter who’s so happy when you begin to let them in. Small things at first: soft touches and whispered affections. Soon, you're letting them brush your hair, and read to you as the sun sets. You begin to come to terms with your kidnapping, even enjoy it, in a sick and twisted way. Was it love, or Stockholm Syndrome? Either way, El Rojo was your lover, your protector, your hero. You do see how sorry they are that it had to come to this, how much they'd done to change their ways. That they regretted their past more than anything on this earth.
Yandere!Bullfighter who’s on their knees when you finally tell them you love them. Tears fill their beautiful eyes, their Spanish ramblings falling from their lips like sweet honey. They’ve waited for this day for so long, rough hands caressing your smaller, soft ones. You’d finally learned to look past their surname, realise they'd been bred to fight in the ring just like every bull they'd so mistakenly felled. They eventually return to the arena with you by their side, no longer killing the beasts, but becoming the gentle yet extravagant showperson they had always been inside. And they just so happen to help you open a reserve for older and mistreated bullfighter bulls.
Yandere!Bullfighter who enjoys coming home from a long day to their sweet darling in the kitchen. Without a word, they'll scoop you up and retreat into the bedroom. Before you can even squirm, you're naked, so beautiful and soft, curves smoother than soft serve, nails tracing their facial features. They enjoy these little moments, as the lust builds up in their body, quiet sighs of content leaving their full lips. They could kiss you all day and night, worship your body like you're their god/dess.
Yandere!Bullfighter who can’t get enough of your perky tits, so warm and kissable. They take one nipple into their mouth, sucking as if they expect something to leak out onto their tongue. They’ll switch between them, large hands groping and grasping at whatever flesh they can access. Each breathy gasp you make is music to their ears. Cheeks flushed and eyelids hooded, you’ll beg for more, which they’ll gladly provide.
Yandere!Bullfighter who’s favorite place to mark with love bites is your thighs. So plush and sweet, so close to your forbidden delicacy, just enough to tempt them with every desire they could possibly have. Dark, angry hickeys will litter your skin, patterns of their worship so blindingly clear. Perhaps they’ll kiss down to your knee, watching your body respond so beautifully with each touch.
Yandere!Bullfighter who digs into your pussy like it's their last meal on earth. Their dark eyes roll back in utter ecstasy as your honey-like slick graces their tongue, soft moans tumbling out against your sex. Each vibration is heaven, their wet lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with just enough force to draw out a long whine from deep in your chest. Thighs clamped around their head, they groan, in heaven. You're their weakness – this cunt is their Kryptonite. Tug on their thick curls, their hips rocking back and forth into the mattress, unable to control the buzzing in their abdomen. Everyday was worth it if it meant returning home to you sprawled out like this, singing their name like a dove.
Yandere!Bullfighter who kisses you so deeply and lovingly. You can taste yourself on their tongue, feel their thick fingers beginning to prepare your slippery, aching hole. They rub your clit in figure-8s, occasionally deriving from the pattern to spell their name out on your sticky pussy, murmuring praises against your lips. They're so in love with you; they're so utterly helpless without your love and touch. Their fingers reach so deep inside of you that you worry your cunt will swallow them, devour them like a hungry beast. They can think of no better way to die.
Yandere!Bullfighter who finally, finally, loosens their slacks, thick, hard cock springing free. It's mouth watering, but you have no time to fantasise. They're already lining up, pushing in as that familiar stretch burns so deliciously good. All you can do is cling to them, their thumb rubbing small, tight circles on your clit. Tears bead in the corners of your eyes, bottom lip quivering – how pretty. Their loving smile turns to a cocky smirk as they murmur, “Too big, mi amor?”
Yandere!Bullfighter who sucks a soft mark just under your ear, grinning as they pull back, just to slam back into the hilt. Your squeal makes them chuckle, the bed creaking loudly as they begin to fuck you with feverish desire, all gentleness gone. Your tight, gummy walls are too much for them to be sweet and kind — an animal has been unleashed, one addicted to your cunt’s nectar, one that will stop at nothing from claiming and using your pussy. They groan in your ear, cock kissing your cervix with each snap of their hips, the familiar plap plap plap of your lovemaking filling the room. If you had neighbours, they’d complain, the headboard slamming against the wall repeatedly. Neither of you care, not when your lover’s dick is so deep in you. You swear you can feel them in your throat, belly bulging ever-so-slightly, pulling them into a trance. “See that, paloma? See how deep I am inside you? This cunt’s begging for more, isn't it?”
Yandere!Bullfighter who wraps one large hand around your throat, unable to help themself. Your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling back. It's a sight they will never forget, one that's etched into their mind like a tattoo. “'Good. Fucking. Whore.” Each word is accompanied with a sharp snap of the hips and a soft squeeze of your neck. Sweat drips down their body, the silver chain around their neck swinging, bouncing against their clavicle. They look like a deity, one so utterly in love with you.
Yandere!Bullfighter who whispers dirty in your ear, a mixture of Spanish and English that makes your heart melt and your cunt throb. It just rolls off of their tongue unintentionally, their hips rolling so brilliantly against you. It doesn't take much more to tip you over the edge, sobbing their name loudly as your body convulses. They grin to themselves, praising you for being such a good slut for them.
Yandere!Bullfighter who finishes themself soon after, chest heaving and body aching. They provide all of the aftercare you can ask for – a bath, water, snacks, cuddles, even singing a quiet song their mamá would sing to them as a child. They’re so, so grateful to have you, to own you. They'd give up everything just to keep you safe.
➵ Personal Rating: 6/10
[Please do not copy or translate my work without permission. All ocs belong to me].
