SUMMARY: You have the perfect boyfriend, he's everything you have ever wanted and wished for, he's the man of your dreams. You're also the woman of his dreams, he always makes sure to let you know that and how much he loves you, just that his dreams are different from yours.
CONTENT WARNING: yandere boyfriend : possesive & obsessive behaviour : unreliable narrator : thoughts of non con : controlling behaviour : emotional manipulation : dark thoughts and themes : dead dove; do not eat
You felt his thumb brush past the corner of your mouth, the pad of his thumb wiping away the little crumbs of the avocado toast you were eating, made by him.
You were talking about something and you stopped mid sentence, to give him a huge beaming, radiating smile, your mouth still fully stuffed with the delicious breakfast he had made for you after you returned from the gym.
“So, yeah that's why she won't be coming anymore” you continued swallowing. “Like, that's so scary. Her ex is always waiting for her near the gym, it's for her own good if she changes it, but honestly I am gonna miss her. We had gotten really close the past few days.”
You continued to talk more about that situation as he listened to you, nodding at the things you said. You took the last bite of the toast thanking him for it, it was really delicious and exactly how you liked it.
Since you had moved in with him he always made you breakfast, even on the days he had work, not like you didn't want to do the same for him but he just completely refused, always flirting around the topic when you brought it up and saying stuff like how you can always return the favour in bed only for you to slap his arm.
He smiled, looking at you fondly, his eyes following you as you stood up picking up your plate grinning at him and turned around to put in the sink.
It had only been a couple of months since you had started going to gym. The reason you had given was that you needed to be stronger, what if some bad guys followed you or someone tried to kidnap you and stuff, these days alot of women went missing.
“Babe, I need to be physically stronger plus it's not like it's a bad thing you know?” You had said with puppy eyes, full of hope which you knew always worked on him. Your chin resting on his chest, as you looked up at him waiting for him to say yes, just because you knew he would, he never said no to you.
He had just looked down at you, with a slight smile on his face, his fingers brushing through your hair, “Ofcourse you can baby, you do know that you don't need to ask me right?” He had said with a soft and gentle voice as his fingers combed through your hair, your heart had given a flutter because the way he had looked at you, his eyes full of love. He made you feel so safe and comfortable, so loved and cherished.
Wasn't he just so perfect, a dream boyfriend. He was everything you had ever dreamt for and wanted in a man. You had gotten on your tip toes to give him a quick peck on his lips which had only made him chuckle, fully embracing you, his large arms surrounding you, as he had said something like how he was not going to let you go off the hook that easily, peppering your face with kisses and smooches as you giggled.
He knew you would bring this topic some day or the other, he knew before you had even thought about it, just because he knew you so well.
These days you would always bring up this topic about women safety, and how news was full of them now and then. So, he already knew what was cooking inside your subconscious, he was just waiting for you to finally talk to him about it.
And you were right, women did go missing, a lot of bad things happened to them and that was the reason why he always dropped or picked you up from somewhere, chaperoning you always.
And when he was not he always made sure you were sharing your live location with him.
He smiled at you again, amused at how your brain worked that any of it would help you in protecting yourself, the only thing or more to say a person who was yours could protect you was him.
“Does it hurt anywhere else?” He asked as he massaged your calves as you scrolled through your phone, legs draped over his lap on the couch.
“Nah, that's enough” you murmured feeling drowsy as the ache from the morning excercise had reduced, thanks to him. “Now I feel really sleepy,” you said, putting down your phone on the side.
“Then take a nap” he said, not stopping the massage even when you stretched your arms overhead with a little groan. Following that you stretched your legs too, your calves flexing under his hands.
Slowly you got up into the sitting position and curled up to his side as he lifted up his arm so you could tuck yourself against his chest, and the moment you did, he wrapped it around you pulling your body closer to his.
You pressed your cheeks against his chest, feeling his heartbeat in your ears, his free hand giving short firm press to your aching shoulders as you felt the pain there reducing as his hands worked.
He did so many things without you asking him too, sometimes even you didn't know you needed something but he would have already done it for you. He really was the perfect boyfriend.
You nuzzled against his chest murmuring a soft ‘I love you’ as you heard him say it back, with a kiss on the top of your head.
You hugged him closer, feeling so safe and secure in his arms, that nothing bad could happen to you or even come to you because he was with you. His arms were your safe place, no matter how bad the outside world was inside of these four walls with him none of it mattered or scared you because he was with you, for always and forever.
He saw you lulling into sleep, your eye lashes fluttering, breath slow and even, your body melting into his perfectly, fingers still loosely clutching to his tshirt like even in sleep you wanted him close. So trusting and perfect.
He tucked a loose strand of your hair back to your bun, his hands grazing against the soft skin of your neck.
You were so sweet and so fucking stupid, thinking that getting stronger would be of any help that if you gained a little bit of muscles you could fight back, especially against a man like him, who was twice your size, the kind of man who could pin you down without breaking a sweat if he ever chose to.
He loves you so much, he loves how you trust him, seeing no wrong in him. He wants to see your reaction when he would stop playing this part, the part of your perfect boyfriend.
There would be a day when he would get tired of playing this role eventually and would show his real side, his real face to you. Will you get scared? Will you try to fight him back or worse leave him?
The thought of you trying to fight back one day, using all your strength against him, made him smile for real this time.
It would be so adorable and completely useless.
Though he would protect you, he's your boyfriend afterall, your perfect boyfriend.
He would protect you from the outside world which was full of monsters, monsters like him, the one you lived with inside the safety of your home.
He would protect you from everyone else, just not from himself.
Sappy Yandere was used to everyone fawning over him, giving him everything, obsessing over him. He never knew how it felt to act that way until he met you and you turned his entire world upside down. Suddenly everything is about cherishing you and being without you for even a second just makes him wanna cry. He’ll spoil you so long as you spoil him with attention.
Sappy!Yandere isn’t sure exactly when or how he fell under your spell but he knows he’s only under it because you want him to be. Before meeting you he wouldn’t have called himself an obsessive guy. It was usually the other way around.
People called him charming, effeminate, and tender hearted. But he was also a heavy flirt who used that to always get what he wanted. Yet he’d never get attached. To anyone. They were all toys for him to mess with and see how badly they could obsess over him.
Until things switched in an instant when he met you. Someone equally as flirty in his opinion and furiously unimpressed by his charms. It was like you could see right through his mask of indifference. Seeing the needy boy he kept hidden underneath.
And being seen by you rocked him to his very core. It made him feel warm and a strange urge to submit to you.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you when you weren’t even around. When you were there he wouldn’t stop trying to woo you. Nothing he ever did was enough. He wasn’t enough for someone as amazing as you but he desperately wanted to be.
It was driving him crazy, making him mad. It fractured his entire reality. Till it rebuilt itself around you.
Eventually he had stopped flirting with anyone else. Or giving attention to literally everyone that wasn’t you. It felt wrong. If it wasn’t you then it was as if a hollowness dug deeper into his chest. He couldn’t do it anymore, the meaningless flirting. Not when trying to win you was so much sweeter.
Getting his way was boring, he was used to it. It didn’t give him the same satisfaction anymore. If by the end he wasn’t getting you then he didn’t see the point.
Everything he did now came down to getting you what you wanted instead. Doting on you and cherishing you. Just to see that precious smile on your face and that sparkle in your eye.
It made his cock so fucking hard just to see it. Even worse when you’d reward him. Make him feel all special and seen with your attention. He was getting spoiled by your love. A love that had felt better than anything he felt toward the people he causally used to flirt with.
With you it was special. The slightest hint of affection had his cock twitching with interest. Your eyes on him had him leaking, completely u touched, until he was ruined. Boxers soaked through and he wouldn’t have even cum yet.
Another thing he’d experienced since falling under your spell. Not even needing stimulation when just the thought of sliding into your slick warmth, of being gripped so tightly it bordered on suffocation, was enough to have him explode inside his boxers.
The actual sensation of your affection was better than anything he ever could’ve imagined though. When you finally gave into him, just a little bit. Gave him a taste. Let him treat you how he’s always wanted.
Right then and there he knew he could never be without it again. And when you withdrew a few minutes later it was like being separated from a limb.
Tears had sprung to his eyes and rolled heavily down his round cheeks as he blubbered like a fish. Begging and pleading for you to not draw away from him. He needed you. More, he just needed a little more. Then he’d totally be fine.
Now he starts sobbing, tears gathering in his lashes whenever you don’t kiss him quick enough when you guys meet up to hand out. If you’re at a party with your friends and he can’t see you he’ll start whining for you. He’s tried getting you to wear a teacher but you keep saying no, no matter how much he pouted.
He’s also always the one carrying your purse. Not only because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do but also so that he can snoop through your things and look in your phone. Deleting dick pics and other guys’ numbers to replace them with his own.
Of course you still dated around. It’s not exactly like you two were together. At least on your end. Meanwhile you were it for him, he had no interest in anyone else. He’d just have to slowly get you to only see him too.
As much as he’s in your bed nearly every night making you cum on his cock, his tongue, his fingers, and even his thighs. Still you continue to draw others into your orbit. You’re the only thing he needs, why can’t it be the same for you? The thought nearly had him crying again.
To distract himself he’ll spend hours with you; hands gripping your hips and slamming your spent body down his shaft over and over again. Bringing you to climax more times than he can count.
Fucking you all around your home. On every piece of furniture and in every position he can think of. Probably creating a few moves in the process.
His favorite moment is when you reach that point, too fucked out to even stand. So he’ll hold you up by the throat, your back pushed into his chest as you both watched yourself in the mirror.
Making sure that when you squirt for him it sprays all over the clear glass till you’re blurry. Desperately watching for every and all signs of your pleasure. It’s one of the main draws of the position, obviously.
When he could no longer fuck you on his cock he’d bring you down onto his mouth, adding in his fingers till his jaw ached and his digits cramped up. He lied. It will never be just a little more, he could never get enough.
Even as you’re both cuddling and coming down from the next dimensions your pussy has sent him into he rocks you against his thigh. Keeping those sparks of pleasure tingling throughout your body. It’s all he wants to do.
You’ve completely broken him into a million fragile pieces. Only to put him back together exactly the way you want him to be. And he loves every moment of it.
CW : insecurity, gentleness, yan! Gamer is a LARGE sub, praise kink, yan! Gamer implied to be bisexual, short smut scene (no sex, just erections!), not edited. HC ONLY (unless you send ideas!)
- pre-yan! Gamer, who grows up playing Gameboys and playstations like they're his life. He's a pro at basically any types of games, but does kinda bad academically.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who starts gaming by stealing one of his older brother's gamepads. He's oddly good at it, and he spends his time playing every time he goes back from school.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who gets forced to join the football team by his parents. He's obviously the cornerback because he utilized his body size and weight very well.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who decided not to pursue university because he thought he'll only waste his parents' money and his time. He doesn't really have a talent aside for smashing buttons and raging, but he's sweet, genuinely.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who starts working in his parents' farms and helping around to make sure his younger sibling gets better education than him.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who met you in one of his time chasing a bull that had escaped the barn. You're new to town and are practically lost. You've been moved to the new branch of company near his town.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who is confident and yet shy at the same time. He thought he was saying something smart, but he's just funny and goofy. He's way too honest, and yet cute at the same time.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who starts spending time with you. You're actually the one shooting your shot and asking him to show you around when he's not busy. Thankfully he agrees! So you two have a date every Friday where he'll bring you somewhere only locals know.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who is a large, burly man with large sets of biceps and yet, the softest belly ever. His abs don't show because all he eats is junk food or something his mother cooks.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who's actually a little insecure about himself. He's not really financially stable. He's not the most handsome guy in the world either. His hair is curly and ginger as hell. He's not bullied back in highschool because of his intimidating stance but gosh, he knows how people tease ginger guys.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who actually gets flustered because you openly flirt with him at times. And you insist on using the couples sales on cafes you two often frequented. Everyone mostly knows him, and they're happy he's finally bringing somebody!
- pre-yan! Gamer, who actually turns into a streamer because you encouraged it. Unlike most people that judged him for only playing games despite being an adult, you supported him. Besides, you also play mobile games here and there. What's wrong with him playing if he's actually good at it?
- pre-yan! Gamer, who starts streaming his gameplay on twitch. Obviously it starts rough and he gets embarrassed talking to an audience. It's a miracle he goes past it with only three viewers (one of them is you). He only survived because you kept sending emotes of praise for him all through the two hours.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who slowly gains traction because you edited bits of his streams for him and uploaded it all over social media. Now it's not just you who's hooked on his cute humor. He was horrified when he woke up to a hundred followers on his account on the first week of streaming.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who streams more frequently after working on his parents' barn. He lives alone in a cheap apartment with an equally cheap set up, but... At least he has his biggest supporter.
- pre-yan! Gamer who mustered up the courage to actually be the one asking you on your next dates. You obviously agreed. You've always been interested in him. How can you not?? He's like a walking teddy bear. He looks rough, but so fluffy on the inside.
- pre-yan! Gamer who brings you to his parents' barn and teaches you how to ride horses for fun. His mares are absolute sweethearts, and they're very friendly to you. So it goes smoothly. Then he brought you to some sightseeing to a waterfall near his home.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who had a blast with you. He brings you home on his old truck. When you go on your tip toes and kiss his cheek, he gets red in the face, like a tomato with a beard and fluffy hair.
- pre-yan! Gamer, who get more confident in streaming and gain a lot of followers easily. Slowly, he builds his own community and he becomes a large streamer. He's silly, loud and so confident during his streams, but gets very bashful every time you text. You've always praised him, telling him he did a great job! And now he's actually kinda hard on his pants...
- pre-yan! Streamer, who gets girls and boys thirsting over him. But he's out here simping on another game character. He likes a specific character and he always yells out to the screen for this character to dominate him.
"Oh my god... Wesker, please sit on my face. I'm begging you... PLEASE!!!"
or,
"You know what, chat. My relationship with Wesker is over. NOW I LOVE FRANZISKA AAAAA LORD!!"
- pre-yan! Streamer, who's just mildly seductive and flirts with any women or men that actually catches his eyes on his streams. But he's actually not that attracted to them if anything, he's only [YOU]sexual. He doesn't tell anyone, but he screenshots every message you sent him, and re-read them every night before he sleeps just for reassurance.
- pre-yan! Streamer, who ended up asking you to be his girlfriend on one of your dates. He streams every day but not Friday. He keeps the tradition of asking and bringing you on dates on that very day.
- pre-yan! Streamer, who now has a very hot, assertive girlfriend that is you. He asks you to move in with him because he's lonely. And besides, you're looking for a new apartment. And he wants to move too!! So you two can split it up together.
- pre-yan! Streamer who's so happy to be able to live under the same roof with him. You're very pleased too. You can't help but kiss him every hour or so, and steal his shirts just to wear them around the house with short pants.
- pre-yan! Streamer, who enjoys living with you way too much. He knows you have work in the mornings, so he purposefully looks for an apartment with soundproofing. It serves its purpose whenever he streams at night, and his screams turn muffled whenever he plays horror games. This feature may be great in the future too for some sexual reason~
- pre-yan! Streamer, who gets mellow and yet so charmed when he found a breakfast you made for him. You cooked some pasta and left some for him in the fridge. He swore you're just like his angel at this point.
- pre-yan! Streamer and you, who actually sleeps in separate bedrooms but you usually crashed on his bed and slept while waiting for him to finish streaming. He'll come back fighting off happy tears, while covering you with his body warmth and the huge duvet.
- pre-yan! Streamer, who literally has praise kink. You're much of a flirt, and you always started the day by saying nice things about himself. It's not just him who gets elated by it, fortunately or unfortunately.
"Hey there, handsome. Slept well?" Your raspy voice reached his ears as he slowly fluttered his eyes open. He could feel your warm fingers tracing on his cheek softly, and he's slowly getting red.
"Hm? Getting red in the face again? I haven't even done anything." You chuckled and giggled. But your laughter stops when you feel something on your pelvis. When you look down, you can obviously see a raging morning wood, and he's covering his face while groaning.
- pre-yan! Streamer, who'll always try to make you proud. He's sassy. He could be mean when he's rage baited, but he loves you so... So much. He'll do anything to make you happy. You two will be a match made in heaven. So please do stay with him.
yandere divorcé takes such good care of his gn!reader
manga : sweet delusions of love with my childhood friend
cw : reader is held captive, yan tendencies, fluff, angst, manipulation, codependency
wc : 500+
sparkle divider credit : @anitalenia
it’s almost scary how much he takes care of you.
every morning, you wake up to the smell of breakfast.
something warm.
something sweet.
something made from scratch.
you never have to get up for it.
he brings it to you.
every single morning.
tray balanced carefully in his hands, smile soft, voice softer.
“don’t move,” he coos.
not like you can, with your ankle cuffed to the bed.
he sets the tray over your lap, adjusts your pillows, like you’re something delicate. his fingers always drift down to that cuff eventually, thumb brushing over the skin beneath it.
if there’s even the slightest redness, he notices. he always does.
he massages that poor little sore spot like it’s the greatest injustice in the world.
“i don’t want it hurting you,” he murmurs, frowning at the mark like it personally offended him.
isn’t he just the sweetest?
you don’t even have to like what he cooks.
you can tell him you’re not in the mood for pancakes. or eggs. or whatever he woke up early to make.
and he won’t get mad.
he’ll smile.
he’ll ask, “then what do you want?”
and when you tell him—no matter how unreasonable, no matter how far—he’ll lean down, press a kiss to your forehead, and say it again.
“don’t move.”
like you ever could.
he’ll drive out himself. he won’t trust delivery drivers. he won’t risk someone else touching your food. he’ll bring it back warm, fresh, placed carefully in your hands while he watches you take the first bite.
once you’re done laying in bed for the morning, he always asks what you want to do.
he says it like you have endless options.
like you have freedom.
but every option is a two-person activity.
a walk in the park?
he’s coming.
of course he is. his hand firm around yours, his arm secure at your waist, his eyes scanning anyone who looks a second too long.
playing video games?
he’ll hold you the entire time.
chin on your shoulder. arms wrapped around your middle. watching the screen, but mostly watching you.
doing something mundane, like washing dishes or folding laundry?
he won’t let you.
you shouldn’t worry your pretty little hands with chores.
he’ll guide you gently back into your seat, smile never faltering.
“just sit there,” he tells you softly. “let me take care of it.”
and he does.
he washes every plate.
he folds every shirt.
he makes the bed, fluffs the pillows, vacuums the floors, cooks every meal.
all while glancing at you every few seconds to make sure you’re still there.
still safe.
still exactly where he left you.
the cuff around your ankle sometimes shifts when you move. it makes the faintest little sound.
he always hears it.
he’s always kneeling in front of you a moment later, hands warm against your skin, thumbs pressing gently into that sore spot like he can massage away the reality of it.
“does it hurt?” he asks tentatively, every time.
like he doesn’t know.
like he isn’t the one who locked it.
his touch is so careful.
so attentive.
so loving.
“i’m just taking care of you,” he whispers, resting his forehead against your knee. “you don’t have to do anything anymore.”
he looks up at you with that adoring expression. that soft, devoted smile.
“all you have to do,” he starts gently, tightening his grip just enough to remind you, “is stay.”
Actually, you notice it every Tuesday, and every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and both weekend days if he can find an excuse to see you, but Tuesday is when you finally put a name to it.
Puppy.
Clark is a puppy.
He does this thing.
This thing where he waits for you by your locker every single morning, and you don't even know how he gets there before you because his family's farm is a forty minute drive from school and the bus doesn't run that early, but there he is. Every day. Backpack hanging off one shoulder. Flannel a little rumpled because he dressed in a hurry, probably, because he was so excited to see you.
And when you turn to the corner...
His whole face changes.
It's not even a smile at first. It's just... light.
Like someone flipped a switch inside him. His eyes go soft and bright at the same time, and his shoulders drop from whatever tense place they were holding, and he pushes off the lockers like he's been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
"Hey," he says, and his voice does that breathy thing, like he's a little winded just from looking at you. "Hi. Good morning. You look—you look really nice today."
You're wearing the same sweater you always wear. Your hair is in a messy ponytail. You have a stain on your jeans from breakfast.
He's looking at you like you hung the stars.
"Hi, Clark," you say, and he shivers. Just a little. Just a tiny ripple through his shoulders, like your voice is a physical thing that touched him.
His ears go pink.
You don't mention it. You've learned not to mention the ear thing, because if you do, the pink spreads to his cheeks and down his neck and then he can't look at you for ten whole minutes and Chloe makes fun of him at lunch.
So you just smile and spin your locker combination and pretend you don't notice him hovering at your elbow.
He walks you to class.
Every class.
Even the ones on opposite sides of the building.
You have biology on the second floor and he has history in the basement, but somehow he's always there when the bell rings, a little out of breath, hair slightly windswept, holding out his hand for your books before you can even ask.
"Clark, you don't have to—"
"I want to," he says, and it comes out so earnest, so fast, so harsh. "I mean. If that's okay. Unless you don't want me to. I can stop. Do you want me to stop?"
He looks genuinely panicked. His eyebrows knit together and his eyes go big and worried and he clutches your biology textbook to his chest like a lifeline.
You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
"It's okay, Clark. You can walk me."
And just like that, the sun comes back out. He beams. Beams. There's no other word for it. His whole body straightens up and his chest puffs out a little and he falls into step beside you.
Pete's standing there rolling his eyes and Chloe's hiding a smirk behind her notebook. Clark just smile. An awkward laugh.
Such a good boy.
In class, you sit by the window.
He sits two rows over and one seat back.
You can feel him looking at you. It's not creepy. It's never creepy (okay maybe a little. But it's Clark, what do you expect?). It's just... warm. A warm gaze on the back of your head, like sunlight through glass.
When you turn around to pass a handout, you catch him. He's got his chin propped on his hand and his pen hovering over a notebook and he's staring at you with this dreamy expression, like he forgot where he was.
His eyes widen when he realizes he's been caught.
He drops his pen. It clatters on the floor. He fumbles to pick it up and smacks his elbow on the desk and mutters "ow" and when he sits back up his hair is messy and his face is the color of a tomato.
You smile at him.
He smiles back, shaky and wide and so, so sweet.
Later, you find a folded note tucked into your textbook. It's a little star, drawn in blue ballpoint pen, with a speech bubble.
"thinking about u."
Then underneath, in his neat handwriting.
"Hope your bio quiz goes good. Not that you need luck. You're the most hardworking person I know."
You keep all his stupid notes in a shoebox under your bed.
Lunch is his favorite part.
You know this because he told you once, very seriously, that lunch was "the highlight of his whole day, probably his whole week, honestly maybe his whole life so far." Then he got embarrassed and tried to stuff an entire sandwich in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk about it.
He’s already at the table when you get there. Saved you a seat right next to him. There’s a brown paper bag in front of your spot and you recognize it immediately—Martha’s baking. Clark pushes it toward you with this nervous little duck of his head.
“Ma made apple pie. I told her you liked it so she, um. Made extra. For you. Specifically. I cut it into slices the way you like. Triangles, not squares.”
You open the bag and there’s a little note tucked inside. His handwriting. Messy, rushed, like he scribbled it in the tractor on the way to school.
"Hope today’s a good day. You deserve it."
—C
He’s not looking at you when you read it. He’s very intently studying the cafeteria wall, ears turning pink. His knee is bouncing under the table and his fingers are shredding a napkin into tiny little snowflakes.
“Clark, this is so sweet,”
His head whips around and he smile.
Smile.
Like the sun came out.
Like you just gave him everything he’s ever wanted.
“Yeah? It’s nothing. It’s just pie. Ma did the hard part. I just— I just wanted you to have something nice. You work so hard. You’re so smart. You’re the smartest person I know, actually. Did you study for the biology test? I can quiz you if you want. I made flash cards.”
He digs them out of his backpack. Handmade. Color coded. There are little stars drawn in the margins and your name at the top in careful block letters.
He made you fucking flash cards.
He's so fucking cute.
He barely eats his own lunch. Too busy watching you enjoy yours. Too busy making sure your water cup is full and you have enough napkins and nobody’s bothering you.
At one point you catch him just… staring. Chin propped on his hand. Eyes soft. A tiny smile playing at his lips.
“You’re not eating,” you say.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Clark.”
“I ate a big breakfast.”
You give him a look. He fall for it immediately.
“Okay, I forgot to eat breakfast. I was too busy thinking about— about stuff. School stuff. Nothing weird.” His ears are crimson now. He shoves a carrot stick in his mouth to prove he’s fine. Chews too fast. Almost chokes.
You pat his back and he nearly melts into a puddle under the cafeteria table.
God, he’s pathetic.
He's jealous. He's so jealous.
He doesn't mean to be—he hates that he's jealous, you can see it on his face—but he can't help it. It's written all over him the second you so much as smile at another guy.
Whitney stops you in the hall to ask about a group project and Clark's immediately standing behind you.
Doesn't glare or puff up his chest or do any of that macho posturing stuff. He just stands there, hovering, his eyes big and worried, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Whitney leaves. Clark visibly exhales.
"Everything okay?" you ask, because you're not oblivious, you know exactly what's happening, you just want to hear him say it.
"Yeah," he says, too quickly. "Yeah, totally. Fine. Normal. I'm normal. He just... he's tall."
You raise an eyebrow. "Clark, you're taller than him."
"Oh." He pauses. Processes this. "Right. Yeah. I am." A beat. "Do you... do you like tall guys?"
You laugh. You can't help it. He looks so worried, so genuinely distressed by the possibility that you might have a height preference that doesn't include him, even though he towers over basically everyone in Smallville High.
"Clark," you say, and you let your voice go soft, the way you might talk to a nervous shelter dog. "You're my boyfriend. Okay? You're always my favourite."
His whole body sags with relief. He ducks his head, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Sweet.
Sometimes you catch him doing things.
Little things.
You'll drop your pencil and he'll catch it before it hits the ground, fast as a blink, and then look startled at his own hand like he doesn't know how it got there.
Or you'll shiver in the hallway and suddenly his jacket is around your shoulders, and he's standing there in his t shirt looking proud and nervous and a little cold (he's not), but he won't take it back no matter how much you try.
"Your lips were turning blue," he says, like that's a reasonable justification for giving you the clothes off his back.
"They were not."
"Were too. A little. Around the corner."
You squint at him. He squints back, stubborn, jaw set in his gentle way that means he's not budging.
You wear the jacket for the rest of the day. It smells like hay and laundry detergent, and when you give it back, he holds it to his chest for a full three seconds before putting it on.
Later, you'll swear you saw him inhale.
After school he finds you at your locker again.
He doesn’t even pretend he just happened to be passing by. He’s leaning against the row of lockers across from yours, clearly waiting, arms full of your favorite wildflowers.
Black eyed Susans and goldenrod and a few cornflowers he definitely picked from the edge of the Kent property (just now).
“These are for you,” he says, and his voice cracks a little on you.
You take them. He watches your face like a hawk. He's nervous. You can tell.
“Clark, they’re beautiful.”
Relief.
“Yeah? They’re just weeds, really. I mean technically they’re wildflowers but— I saw them and thought of you. They’re the color of your— I mean they match your— they’re pretty. Like you. Not that you’re a weed. You’re definitely not a weed. You’re more like a— a rose? No, that’s corny. I’m gonna stop talking now.”
He doesn't stop talking.
“Do you wanna come over? To the barn? We can watch the stars. Ma’s making dinner, she said you can stay if you want, no pressure, totally fine if you’re busy, I just thought maybe— it’s supposed to be clear tonight and I fixed the telescope and I found this new constellation I wanna show you—”
You say yes.
He fist pumps.
Actually fist pumps.
Then immediately tries to play it cool by leaning on the lockers and misses, stumbling sideways, catching himself halfway through.
Smooth. So smooth.
The barn is your place.
You don't remember exactly when it became your place. Sometime between the first time he showed you the telescope and the first time you fell asleep on the old couch in the loft. Now it's just... yours. Yours and his.
You’re curled up on the couch and he’s beside you, not quite touching, because he’s always so careful about that. He doesn’t want to assume. Doesn’t want to push. Even though he wants it with every cell in his body.
He’s telling you about the stars. Pointing out Cassiopeia, his voice soft and a little sleepy. His flannel sleeve brushes your arm and he shivers. He’s so easy. So sensitive. Everything you do gets to him.
“You’re not listening,” he says, and he’s smiling. Not mad. He could never be mad at you.
“I’m listening. Cassie something.”
“Cassiopeia. She was a queen who bragged too much and got put in the sky upside down.”
“Like a punishment?”
“Yeah. But I think she’s still pretty.”
You're not looking at the stars.
You're looking at him.
The moonlight catches his profile, the soft angles and earnest expressions. His hair is slightly messy. There's a piece of hay in his hair from when he flopped down next to you. He's so beautiful it makes your chest ache.
“Clark?”
“Yeah?” He turns his head, and the full force of those pretty eyes hits you, and for a second you forget how to breathe.
"What's your favorite constellation?"
"Yours."
He doesn't even hesitate.
"Clark, that's not—"
"The one that looks like you," he says, and he's blushing but he's pushing through it. "I haven't found it yet. But I'm looking. Every night. I'll find it eventually."
You have to close your eyes for a second. When you open them, he's still looking at you. Soft. Hopeful. A little nervous, like he's not sure if that was too much.
"That's really cheesy," you whisper.
"I know." He winces. "Was it too cheesy? It was too cheesy. Sorry. I've been workshopping it and I couldn't tell if—"
"Clark?"
"Yeah?"
"I liked it."
The smile that breaks across his face is brighter than every star in the sky.
He falls asleep on you.
It happens during movie night. You're halfway through some old Western his dad recommended, and Clark has been slowly, getting closer to you for the past hour.
First it was a casual arm over the back of the couch. Then it was his knee pressed against yours. Now his head is on your shoulder, heavy and warm, and his breathing has gone slow and deep.
You look down.
He's out. His cheek is smushed against your arm and his mouth is slightly open and he's making this tiny little sound with every exhale, almost a snore but too soft, too sweet.
He looks more sweet like this. All the worry is gone. He's just a boy. A sleeping boy who trust you enough to let his guard down completely.
You reach up and gently, brush the hair back from his forehead.
He stirs.
"Mm?" His eyes flutter open, unfocused and drowsy. "Whassat? Did I—was I sleeping on you? Oh no. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Clark."
He freezes mid freakout.
"It's okay." You card your fingers through his hair. "Go back to sleep."
He stares at you for a long moment. His eyes are all soft and confused and vulnerable. Then he sighs—a happy sigh—and lean back in your shoulder.
"'Kay," he mumbles. "G'night. Love you."
He freezes again.
Every muscle in his body goes rigid. You can feel him holding his breath, can feel him panicking.
You keep stroking his hair.
"Love you too," you murmur.
He melts. Literally melts, like butter in a hot pan, sinking into you with a whimper that's almost puppyish, almost a whine. His hand finds the edge of your sleeve and grips it, like he's keeping himself together, like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"You mean it?" His voice is so small. So hopeful.
"Of course I mean it."
He makes a sound that's half laugh and half sob and presses his face into your shoulder. His ears are bright red. His whole body is trembling slightly. He's so happy he doesn't know what to do with it.
"Cool," he says, muffled against your sweater. "Cool cool cool. That's—wow. Okay. Good. I'm—I'm gonna be normal about this."
"Clark."
"Yes?"
"You're shaking."
"I know." He lets out a breathless laugh. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just—you said—and I've been wanting to say—for like, two years, actually, and—"
"Two years?"
"Maybe three. It's fine. I'm fine. This is fine."
He's definitely not fine.
You tug him closer and he goes willingly, eagerly, curling into your side like he was made to fit there.
"Good boy," you tease, soft and fond.
He makes a noise. A tiny, strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. His head snaps up and his eyes are huge and his face is on fire.
"Did you just—"
"Maybe."
"Can you—" He swallows hard. His voice cracks. "Can you say it again?"
You smile. Brush your thumb across his cheekbone, right where his blush is deepest.
"You're my good boy, Clark."
He whimpers.
Then he buries his face in your neck and stays there, breathing you in, holding onto you like you're the only solid thing in the universe.
The movie plays on, forgotten.
Neither of you moves for a very long time.
In the morning, there's a note between your book.
It's a drawing of a constellation—a new one, one you don't recognize. It's shaped like a person, sort of, if you squint. A little crooked. A little imperfect.
Underneath it, it's Clark's handwriting.
"Found it. The one that looks like you. It's my new favorite."
worthless speculations (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)
ft. yandere superfam x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere batfam
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
— masterlist ! ; related post !
all it took was a candid shot of the resident, widowed journalist who's not-so subtly hiding his affair with the infamous spouse of bruce wayne to spark immediately rumors.
for weeks, it seems, the table has once been turned on bruce as you've found yourself the center of attention, spending time with your new family, with the very man who has come to save you months ago from the cruel hands of the paparazzi.
it started with the first picture, which quickly blew up into many photographs in such a short span.
one of a simple date, where some stranger, a fan of you, saw you at a park, having a cute picnic with both clark and jon. at first, most would assume that clark's probably just a close cousin of yours, with just a kid you're babysitting, right?
wrong. the proximity you have with the unknown man is too intimate. someone's got a close shot, and through the lenses, you wouldn't even need a damn interpreter to just see how his palms are rested against your thighs, massaging occasionally without thought nor pattern, as if it's been a natural habit of his; or how in another shot, he handfeeds you the sandwich, then takes a bite in the same spot you have bitten. he doesn't take a napkin to wipe away the remaining condiment on your lips, and—
oh!
he licks at his thumb then quickly brings his lips near yours, closing the space in between with a peck that draws out too long to be even considered remotely platonic.
a kiss packed with longing and desire.
his tongue sneakily swipes at the remaining cream on the side of your tongue. your nose crinkles and you swat his face away, but you don't look disgusted, don't even pull away as you softly swipe away the strands of hair framing his glasses.
some commentor mentions how warm your face looked, another replies with just how your fingers quickly made their way to fiddle with the man's arm in another candid photo.
the child beside you, meanwhile, makes a grossed face, cringing at the obvious romance— then he clings to you, slapping his dad (?) away from you. his hands are wrapped around your waist, and click!
it looks like the kid's looking up at you with puppy eyes, mumbling something whilst you laugh and ruffle his hair. another spectator managed to capture a video.
then a lipreader on twitter made out the words the kid is saying. he's begging for ice cream, he says with a pout, neapolitan, he says, and that he made sure to eat all the vegetables in his sandwich. then he grins when you giggle at him and whip your head to the man beside you who replies with:
"oh, sweetie, don't fall for his lies; he just sneaked junked food last night to his bedroom."
the kid, who's now famously referred to as jon, your precious little baby, as you love to call him — and since the internet is so obsessed with drama, a lot of people were smart enough to piece the puzzle together, the man you're with is clark kent — sticks his tongue out his father, then stubbornly crosses his arm yet just as quickly return to his begging.
the person recording hidden behind the bush had to do a double take, their hands shook when the audio recording picked up your faint whispers, and they were sure to gods that you referred to yourself as... as clark's spouse?!
and did jon just call you his parent?
you're brave— no, scratch that, the people you're with are even braver.
it's like they're making it obvious that you've been claimed into another family; that you oh-so easily estranged yourself from the wayne's to live a mundane, yet peaceful, loving life with the kent's just to escape the constant torment of living under an empty roof.
but still, to be that obvious is a dangerous move, isn't it?
to show up in public, unannounced, in matching trio outfits, sometimes even appearing with another unknown figure who always has shades on, to a crowd of people who take pictures of you every moment is such an iconic, yet ruining admission that you've basically (and rightfully) had an affair with no shame.
after all, who would ever think of cheating on a billionaire, one of the most famous, too!? that's basically asking for a divorce, which leads to losing all your assets. most socialites who marry into old money families are aware that even if your partner cheats, you'll still be strong enough to bear through the pain, but god are you brave for making another scene just some days after, in a cinema no less without a care in the world if the people around you watched your barely disguised pda.
well, you aren't most socialites to begin with, you've only ever married for convenience.
even when news stations were going haywire for the rumors, when so many commentators on tiktok, podcasts on twitch and youtube have you as their main topic of the week— your little family is nonchalant about everything.
it was the number one trending tag, the only headline every person focused on.
and the best (or worst in your case) part of it all, is that this was all perfectly curated by your own affair partner.
a little handholding, soft touches and caresses on your cheeks, muscled palms resting comfortably on your shoulders, and jon's tiny hands latching onto your body, nuzzling on the expanse of your stomach whilst his head tilts up to look at you with the widest puppy eyes, asking you to buy him more sweets with his freckled smiled and toothy grin— it creates this immaculate opportunity for passerby's with enough knowledge about the wayne's messy relationship status to immediately catch on to the infamous face of bruce's poor, naive spouse now in a date.
and it's not even the first date you were all caught together.
who wouldn't whip their phone out faster than the well-known speedsters to conspicuously take shots of your seemingly happy and satisfied composure?
unlike with all the moments where you are with bruce, pictures of your uncomfortable hold on his shoulders, the stares from a distance never directed at you from galas, or the way your hands quickly unwrap from his the moment your magazine pictures are finished— you look refreshed, downright gleaming brighter than the sun that could even make some senile, grumpy man smile.
your small fanbase grows quickly: people never knew just how gorgeous you are not until they see your lips quirked up, mischievously peppering the unknown child with kisses, then standing on your tippy toes next to the hulking figure beside you to give him a gentle peck on the lips.
in your current place at the farmer's market, you are glowing like a ray of sunshine, never before had the crowd ever seen you without a strained smile, never seen your eager eyes at your affair partner's sweet surprises, never seen you so willing to pick up your child and pepper his face with kisses all over his face at yet another cheesy joke he concocted.
and it's perfectly become a topic of gossip for the citizens of gotham and metropolis on the seemingly new, and unexpected affair of one of the richest man in the world's spouse.
well, if they could even call you bruce's spouse, not when his eyes are always elsewhere. not when there's been dozens of news highlighting the gossips about bruce's past affairs.
and right now, it seems you're not even wearing the diamond encrusted ring on your finger anymore. the longer you are exposed to the public, the more people notice the lack of bedazzled jewelry, or even notice
and instead, you sport a simple silver promise band on your left hand, which somehow gleams brighter than your previous ring. you wore more casual clothes, sometimes match color schemes with your little family. most of the time, you wear your affair partner's huge jackets and let it drape across your body.
others say your lazy efforts, your carelessness compared to your rigid styles before felt more befitting for you— and you are... cuter whenever they see you beside clark to assist him with his office work with a matching messenger bag hanging off your shoulders.
some people were so invested in your relationship, a close-up zoom in on clark's wallet revealed a picture of your family with the addition of ma and pa kent in his wallet's clear frame. his fond smile while looking at the photo made fangirls swoon.
and with you always trying to reach atop the nest you call his hair, always ruffling it to fix the mess, people began seeing you two as the couple goals, an embodiment of what years of love looked like despite only being together for months in their; people are unaware of how long your affair has been.
never knew clark has set his sights on you since the day of your marriage with bruce.
but it's alright if people only see the surface level of his devotion to you—
because at least his beloved is thriving.
and at least their support, their obsession over your relationship with him helps in tying you even closer to him—
without your complaints, without your hesitation.
because you love him, and he loves you. jon and even conner has warmed up to you. they all love you, and no amount of material compensation bruce throws at you can amount to the dedication and patience clark has burnt off for years to scoop you in his arms at your lowest moments.
just like a true superhero does.
he loves seeing you as the best version of yourself everyday, and you only do so because you're with him and the people who actually love you, only them.
some people who bumped shoulders with you every time you dropped jon off to school said you even smelled even less intense, like you didn't feel the need to bathe in expensive perfumes anymore. you are softer now, more homely and buzzed with a familial joy none has ever seen or felt in you before.
unlike last time, you're more confident in greetings. reducing your appearances in galas lessened your eyebags. you were the epitome of new beginnings, a symbol for citizens that maybe second chances aren't too scare in the first place.
people whisper that you've probably divorced bruce, or that your previous husband doesn't give a damn about your affair.
a person occasionally tweets questions regarding your affair, if bruce is aware about the entire thing, if it hurts his ego, or if he doesn't care at all. his fanbase still loves him, obviously. they still see him as their beloved problematic playboy, but it's concerning how others sweep your affair under the rug with every new gala published, or how news about his children sometimes overthrows the current gossip of the day about you.
of course, the media feeds off the drama like bottom feeders. there's a resurgence of even more theories regarding your complicated relationships. one person even briefly mentioned what a coincidence it is that the dick grayson is found to be eating at an adjacent restaurant beside the one you and clark were found out.
there was a trending tweet once, one that highlighted the strangeness of your previous children's sudden frequent appearances in metropolis too.
others argue it's just an overreaction, but nobody ever denied that claim itself.
some people are anticipating bruce's reaction to the tweet, too. would he stay silent, would he grovel at your feet, or is this some sort of competition between these two?
there's a conspiracy that bruce is letting all the drama simmer down, that this may be a publicity stunt. a smaller fanbase that liked your complex relationship with the man wanted you both to return together, many argue that you look better off with him— clark feels the urge to find each and every individual who's stated this if not for your current laughs in the kitchen with jon distracting him from darkening thoughts at every annoying theory.
though most of the time, thankfully, others defend your actions and clark's, even stating that it's right that the once silent and solitary spouse of bruce deserves at least decent treatment; because from all the gathered news you before, it's always just you who fusses over bruce's children like a worried hen, it's always you who adjusts and kisses your husband's ties with a fond, yet tired smile.
and some miss those softer moments they've seen on screen, even bruce himself finds his fingers dangling on his past ties in his office, unknowingly reminiscing on the warm lips that once held the same tie. and the hot dinner left cold and diverse snacks untouched always left beside his desk, and your worried coo every night he stayed up late, and...
and just how much of a perfect spouse you actually are.
it's only when it's too late, when you're too deep into your romance with clark that he finally discovers how much he misses you, your concerned whispers, your frustrated quirk of the eyebrows that you hide from him every time he rejects your advancement, your constant presence in his life until it felt like it was never there, the way you weaved yourself so easily into his life and slipped away just as quickly because of his stupidity.
in a moment of weakness one evening, when restlessness and the yearning for your soft touch urged him once more, bruce finally gained the courage to confront all the rage about you—
he tells himself it's out of curiosity, just that.
nothing else, but god, the sight of you with someone else for once hurts more than intended.
it punches him even more in the gut once he realizes that you're with his coworker, his teammate, his trusted friend who displays himself as the perfect puzzle piece beside you in every article. you don't wear your old ring, don't even wear a single piece of clothing in your old wardrobe full of luxury items.
you're different, but you're still you... just better off without him, without his children, without alfred or the comfort and protection of the manor.
alluring as you've always been, but you shine even brighter now, draped in gentle sunlight that dims in comparison to you.
and the longer he stares at your pictures, at your smile, the way your cheeks would slot so perfectly between his palms, and your hair that he knows he'd soon love to bury his nose in—
the easier it is for his hands to make its way to his contacts, ready to call alfred and his children—
and he finds himself concocting a plan faster than the need for rest swept away from his thoughts when he sees your silver band, the same design he found one day on clark's fingers after a mission.
of course, bruce is aware that he has to deal with the consequences of his actions, that his idiocracy led him at a stalemate where he's aware that your chances of returning to him is a measly zero—
but heaven forbid him, for he's still bruce. he's no lesser than the cunning, strategic vigilante he's known to be.
he'll always be one step ahead, and rummaging through the records on his desks reveals no sign of divorce papers, no legal precautions taken for custody and no angry relative of yours (who only sold you off to him to earn their share of profit) angrily contacting him.
it'll be one hell of a night, but it doesn't matter.
why?
the headline and content for the next day on a newspaper for the gotham news—?
"y/n wayne, spouse of famous philanthropist, billionaire bruce wayne found back in the arms of their old flame—?"
"there's been newer speculations, of y/n's supposed ex-husband and their children finally reconciling with each after after months of rumors regarding whether their divorce is real or not."
"—and after some investigations and a statement from the husband, bruce wayne, himself; it was finally confirmed that their divorce, was in fact, never legally processed— because, as it turns out, it was never filed at all."
a/n: that took a dark turn HAHAHAH you guys think this will be something cutesy? NO! this is my late april fool's attempt at fluff bec i love drama. please comment about what you think about this and let me hope to god this gains interaction </33 i like writing affectionate scenes with a tinge of insanity scattered in between.
also hive minds and parasocial relationships are seriously creepy to think about. that's why i tend to not often disclose personal things relating to me because of how easy it is to track someone and their life down 😭 this has been sitting on my drafts for a long time and i nearly forgot about it until someone reminded me to write for this series soo... transitioning pov's is genuinely such a struggle btw, ugh ☠️ hope u guys enjoyed this bec this is by far the hardest drabble to write.
Yandere!Knight who gets assigned as the personal guard of the kingdoms only princess. Princess who during a trip to the southern regions was kidnapped by a band of rogues. Fortunately, the army found you. Battered, starved, but alive.
Yandere!Knight who becomes your sword, shield and champion.
Yandere!Knight who is the most patient and understanding man whenever you flinch away from every single person in the room. He offers a comforting, steady wall of steel, muscles and devotion. He would rather die first than have you go through any kind of torment again.
Yandere!Knight who will shield you away from any possible suitors that come to ask for your hand in marriage. "The likes of you aren't even worthy of gazing upon my princess. Go away before I make you regret it."
Yandere!Knight who breaks code whenever you have a night terror. Because surely, it won't hurt to have you cling to him as he hushes you to sleep. Surely it won't count as sin when his touch lingers a bit too long on the small of your back.
Yandere!Knight who feels his blood boiling inside his armor when a prince from a foreign land comes with the promise of taking you away where you'll be forever safe. Away to where you'll get snatched away from him once more?
Yandere!Knight who in a desperate move visits a famous poisoner, the arsenic in the prince's beverage never crossing anybody's mind. It doesn't smell or taste, for everybody, the prince sadly passed away from a bad case of cholera.
Yandere!Knight who would move mountains to see you smile, to see the sun shining over your skin on lazy mornings, to help you into your pretty corsets whenever there's an important dinner, to feel the softness of your skin even when he's wearing those heavy gloves.
Yandere!Knight who has had enough of the screams at night whenever you see a suspicious shadow, thinking they have come for you again. You deserve retribution for your pain, and he is the blade that will give it to you.
Yandere!Knight who when praying to god, to the saints, to the angels in the sky, really only prays to a deified version of you that only he seems to comprehend.
Yandere!Knight who desperately searches for every bit of information he can gather, and finally, a mercenary gives it to him for a hefty sum of golden coins. He finally has the names of the bastards who dared to touch his most jealously guarded treasure.
Yandere!Knight who comes back to you bloody by midnight. Eyes glowing in the dark as he stalks closer to the bed. Dropping to his knees as you stir from your sleep, cupping your delicate feet and pressing a reverent kiss to your soft skin. "Your grace, it delights me to tell you that you are finally safe. If honors me to tell you that my hands are dirty with the blood of the scum that bruised your precious skin."
Yandere!Knight who traps you in a bruising grip, staining your expensive nightgown with blood, your pristine bedsheets. "My precious pearl, don't you think I deserve a reward? Of course not, my princess. Don't be stupid, I am but a dog at your feet, a loyal hound. To have you touching me would be blasphemy."
Yandere!Knight who never lets you out of his sight.
TAG LIST/PROBLEMATIC TAG LIST
MASTERPOST
A/N: I have a knight kink. Either way. Once more, feel free to do whatever you want to this guy, send requests for him, send asks for him, name him, whatever. IM NEW TO OC WRITING IM JUST A POOR FANFIC WRITER I'M SORRY GYUUU
thinking about pierrot's performance and a really scared darling
after your encounter with the rude man, pierrot had his eye on you. he couldn't quite put a finger on what exactly it was that magnetized him toward you. maybe it was your care for him when he was just a stranger, maybe it was the way you looked at him like he wasn't a monster. whatever it was, it drew him toward you. he'd been so impressed by you, he wanted to impress you back.
so, you end up with a red circus ticket in your hand. you were aware of the devilish demeanor of pierrot and his green little.. friend.. (or that's what you'd like to call him, regardless of the glares pierrot shoots him), but you never expected the scares you received at the circus.
like the good friend you were, you happily entered the red tent and found a seat to watch your friend perform; a dance, you had assumed. as the least you'd expected, the act involved knife throwing, body contortion and strange (almost worrying) gymnastics. you shook in your seat at the realistic sight of a woman being impaled in the forehead by knives, splitting the mask she wore in half. your fingers clutched at the hem of your shorts, cold sweat beginning to pour as your stomach churned. the more his body moved, the more ill and afraid you felt.
at the end of his act, you stood up and clapped, attempting to ignore the fear brewing in your stomach. you decided you needed something to distract yourself, and attempted to wander out of the tent to try to ease your nerves with the fresh air. unfortunately, that didn't work!
your ears rung with the sound of circus music, screams and chatter. no matter which corner you turned, you couldn't seem to get rid of that smell of fake(?) blood and those pictures out of your head. the more you walked, the more you spiraled, until-
"my dear?"
your head whipped around faster than ever before, both startled and comforted by the whispers of the silent pierrot.
"ah- jeez, it's just you.." you craned your neck up to look at the tall man. he seemed far more elated to see you than you were to see him.
"my dear! did you enjoy my show? i performed it just for you. what are you doing around here? we should go-" pierrot's eyes snapped onto your sweating face and furrowed brows. he knew something was up. he softly engulfed your hand with his larger one as he inconspicuously led you away from the forbid area.
"the air is.. nicer here. what seems to be the matter? did you.. not enjoy my show, my dear? was it har-"
"no, no, pierrot." you softly laughed out. "i just.. uh.. it looked really real, you know? that's uh.. that's a good thing! good job." you awkwardly praise.
pierrot's eyes suddenly dilate. ahhh, he gets it now.. the performance frightened you. how sweet you are! you came to watch and stayed throughout it all, regardless of how you felt.. you were too good for him.
"my dear, did it frighten you?" he softly spoke, almost adoring. "i-i'm sorry.. it was good, i swear! i just got queasy.. it's dumb, i know." you mutter quietly, embarassment laced in your tone. your eyes meet the ground in shame.
much to your surprise, you hear a quiet chuckle. you glance up at the clown to see his pinked cheeks and wide grin. his golden eyes forming small hearts. "my dear.. that's.. very cute. i'm touched you stayed." he smiled out, his hand covering his mouth. his bells jingled as he tilted his head. 'he's very cat-like..' you state to yourself.
"you're really not mad i was scared..?" you say as your feet hit the sidewalk toward your apartment. "not at all, my dear. i'm happy you came. really, truly.. happy." he smiles at you and you smile back. he walks you back to your apartment, his eyes glued to you for the entirety of the walk back.
to him, you were this fragile beauty, too good for the world around him. and your adorable fear is only making you more vulnerable in his eyes. not to worry though, he'd never let you get hurt. not while he's here. and he's always here. and while he's at your bedside as you lay asleep, nothing will even come close to hurting you.
a/n: guys sorry if this is like ooc or not lore accurate (i wasn't aiming for it to be fully tho) i just finished the game yesterday and i just HAD to write for pierrot. I LOVE HIM BRO
if you have any tips pls give GOODNIGHT!!
