Being a fan of a morally grey character is frustrating because people will try to reduce them to either being an innocent little angel or a completely heartless monster and both of these interpretations just take away what makes the character interesting
hello, I thought of posting here too. Maybe the quality isn't as bad? 😭
My art style and design for these characters are inconsistent (especially Chandler, her hair color changes so much lol). So far I'm still unsatisfied with how I interpret their design in my art. 🤕
. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [How do "Psyco Babys" react when their partner being possessive??] ࿐ྂ
a/n: SORRY for the first pne,idkn if add ayano,toga and chara now but i probaly do it jeje,bt+w i replace them por my favorite yandere girl,Allie
Type: Reaction/One-Shots,Romantic
Warning:...none?
══💞══╡°˖✧💌✧˖°╞══💞══
Billy Loomis
Billy is used to being the possessive one. It's his role, his comfort zone, what he controls. So the first time you get jealous — really jealous, not as a game — he's completely thrown off.
You were at a party. Some girl got too close to him, put her hand on his chest, laughed at something that wasn't even funny. Billy was about to push her away with a cutting remark — that's what he always did — but you got there first. You stepped between them, removed the girl's hand from Billy's chest, and said, "He's with me. Can't you see? With me." Your voice was cold, your eyes darker than usual. The girl walked away muttering something. And Billy just stared at you.
"What?" you asked, still frowning.
"Nothing." Billy smiled, that half-smirk of his. "I've just never seen you like that." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "I like it."
From that day on, Billy deliberately provokes you. Not because he wants to hurt you, but because he loves watching you react. He lets other girls approach him just to see you push them away. He watches you from across the room, eyes gleaming, waiting for the moment you snap.
"You're such an asshole," you tell him after shooing away another groupie.
"I know." He grabs you by the waist and pulls you close. "But I'm your asshole. And you're my favorite crazy person."
In bed, your possessiveness turns him on like nothing else. When you tell him "you're mine" while riding him, when you dig your nails into his back, when you leave visible marks on him — that's when he comes undone. "That's it," he murmurs against your neck. "Let everyone know I'm taken."
Billy Loomis, the boy who never submitted to anyone, melts when you claim him as yours.
Stu Macher
Stu is a golden retriever on steroids. He's already possessive by nature — he follows you everywhere, hugs you in public, growls at anyone who gets too close — so when you return the gesture, he enters "absolute happiness" mode.
The first time happened at school. Some senior girl walked up to Stu in the cafeteria, ruffled his hair, and said something about him "looking really cute lately." You, who had been sitting across the table, stood up, walked around to Stu, and sat right down on his lap. No permission asked. No words said. You just sat, draped an arm over his shoulders, and looked at the girl with a smile that wasn't friendly at all.
"He's busy," you said.
The girl left. Stu stayed frozen, eyes wide as saucers. Then he burst out laughing.
"Dude! That was incredible! In-cre-di-ble!" He hugged you so hard he almost cracked a rib. "Did you see her face? It was like she'd seen a ghost! And you! You just sat on my lap like it was your throne! I loved it! Do it again! Please, please, please!"
Since then, Stu unintentionally provokes you. Literally unintentionally: he doesn't flirt with anyone, but his personality is so big that people gravitate toward him without reason. Every time some girl crosses the line, you appear. And Stu welcomes you with open arms.
"Here's my owner!" he announces loudly, pointing at you. "Yeah, that one right there! The one who possesses me! Legally! Well, not legally, but almost!"
"Stu, shut up."
"No! I want everyone to know! I'm your lapdog! Your slave! Your...!"
"Stu!"
"...your snookums!"
In bed, Stu is an adorable disaster. He loves it when you tell him "you're mine" while you're on top of him. He loves it when you grab his hair and force him to look at you. "Again," he begs, eyes shining. "Say it again. Tell me I'm yours."
He's chaos. But adorable chaos.
Jennifer Check
Jennifer is fire. She's always been fire. And when you, her partner, get possessive, she burns even brighter.
The first time was at a bar. Some guy approached Jennifer, offered her a drink, whispered something in her ear. Jennifer was about to reject him with a sharp comment — it's her specialty — but you got there first. You stepped between them, placed a hand on the guy's chest, and pushed him gently back.
"She's not interested." Your voice was firm. "She has a girlfriend."
The guy left. Jennifer looked at you with gleaming eyes, a slow smile curving her red-painted lips.
"Well, well." She leaned closer, her warm breath against your ear. "I didn't know you had that side. I like it. I like it a lot."
From then on, Jennifer deliberately provokes you. Not because she wants others — she doesn't give a shit about anyone else — but because watching you burn excites her. She laughs when you clench your fists. She licks her lips when you growl at someone.
"You're so sexy when you're jealous," she tells you, twirling a finger in your hair. "Why didn't you show me this sooner?"
In public, Jennifer hangs off your arm and looks at anyone who approaches you with an expression that says "she's mine, find your own." But in private, when you're the possessive one, she becomes soft. Only with you. Only when the door is closed.
"Tell me I'm yours," she whispers against your lips. "Tell me no one else can touch me."
And you tell her. And she burns.
Amber "Allie" Guzmán
Amber isn't used to being wanted.
Amber is usually a mess, but you still love her, although if you press the wrong button, you can unleash one of her many personalities. One day she's a lone wolf, and the next she's the life of the party, especially when she's been drinking.
She's spent so long being the life of the party, the girl everyone desires but no one keeps, that when you get possessive for the first time, she's left speechless.
It was at a party, of course. Some guy approached her, touched her arm, said something with a double meaning. You appeared out of nowhere, pushed the guy's hand away, and said, "She's taken, cabrón. Back off." The guy left. Amber looked at you with wide eyes, the plastic cup trembling in her hand.
"I'm taken?" she repeated, her voice softer than usual.
"Yeah." You looked at her. "If you want to be."
Amber set the cup down on the nearest table. She grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you. Right in front of everyone. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining.
"I want to," she said. "Quiero. Mucho."
Since then, Amber becomes incredibly affectionate when you get possessive. She curls up against you, hugs you, kisses your cheek. "Me gusta when you say I'm yours," she murmurs. "It makes me feel… special. Like I'm worth something." Sometimes she slips into Spanish without noticing — "Eres mía, ¿verdad? Dímelo otra vez" — and you always answer her. Always.
In bed, Amber is intense. "Again," she begs. "Tell me again that I'm yours. Dime que soy tuya, por favor." She clings to you like she's afraid you'll disappear. And when you mark your territory — a bite on her neck, scratches down her back — she smiles with satisfaction the next morning.
"Mira lo que me hiciste," she says, pointing at her neck in the mirror.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry." She grins. "Me encanta."
Carrie White
Carrie doesn't know how to react the first time. She's so used to being the one who doesn't matter, the one no one wants, the one everyone ignores, that when you get jealous of her, Carrie freezes completely.
It was at school. A boy made fun of her—something about her clothes, her hair, the way she walked—and you turned away before Carrie could react. "Say it again," you snapped at the boy. "Go ahead. Let's see what happens." The boy left. And Carrie looked at you as if you were a miracle.
"Why… why did you do that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Because you're mine." You looked at her. "And no one messes with what's mine."
Carrie burst into tears. Not from sadness—from happiness. No one had ever stood up for her. No one had ever claimed her as their own. And now you were there, standing in front of her, saying she was yours. The most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her.
From that day on, Carrie blossoms. Your possessiveness gives her security. It reminds her that she is valuable, that she is loved, that she is not alone. When you are out in public, she holds your hand and looks at anyone who approaches you with an expression that says, "She's mine, don't come near her." It's awkward at first, but she learns quickly.
In private, Carrie is incredibly sweet. "Am I yours?" she asks you in the dark. "Really? Forever?" And when you say yes, she snuggles up to you and cries a little. Good tears. Tears of relief.
"I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Carrie. Forever."
Jason Dean
JD doesn't flinch. At first, at least. He's so used to manipulating, to controlling, to holding the power in the relationship, that when you get possessive, he analyzes it with cold detachment.
"You're jealous," he says, his voice neutral, watching you.
"Yeah." You don't deny it. "Got a problem?"
JD looks at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiles. It's not his usual sarcastic smirk. It's a real smile, small, almost surprised.
"No." He moves closer to you. "No problem at all. It's... nice. Knowing you care enough about me to feel jealous."
JD has spent so long feeling invisible, being the weird kid nobody notices, that your possessive attention becomes almost addictive. He likes it when you tell him "you're mine." He likes it when you grab his arm in public. He likes it when you glare at anyone who gets too close to him.
In bed, JD becomes incredibly vulnerable. "Don't leave me," he murmurs against your skin. "Don't ever leave me." Your possessiveness gives him something he's never had: stability. The certainty that someone truly loves him.
"You're mine, JD." You bite his shoulder. "And I don't share."
"I wouldn't ask you to." He closes his eyes, resting his head on your chest. "I'm yours. Only yours."
Ethan Landry
Ethan is a puppy. Literally. He's shy, nervous, and blushes easily. So when you get possessive for the first time, he has no idea what to do with himself.
It happened on campus. Some girl approached him to ask for notes — just notes — but she leaned in too close, touched his arm unnecessarily, laughed at something that wasn't even funny. You appeared behind Ethan, wrapped an arm around his waist, and rested your chin on his shoulder.
"Everything okay, baby?" you asked, looking at the girl.
The girl left. Ethan turned red as a tomato.
"Was that... was that...?" he stammered. "Were you... jealous?"
"Yeah." You kissed his cheek. "You're mine, Ethan. Let everyone know."
Ethan melted. Literally. He just stood there, face red, a goofy smile spreading across his lips as he processed what just happened. Then he grabbed your hand and squeezed it.
"I like that," he said, his voice small. "I like when you say that."
Since then, Ethan has grown a little more confident. He's still shy, but when you're out in public, he's the one who reaches for your hand. "Just in case someone doesn't know I'm yours," he murmurs. And when you tell him "you're mine" in private, he closes his eyes and smiles.
