synopsis ⠀:: ⠀ he was just trying to make sure everything's okay, that you're taking care of yourself. but you come home early and he had to hide in your closet. it's not like he wants to see you naked or watch you fuck your toy. it's all an accident, alright?!
including ⠀! ⠀ peter parker. ✶
contents ⠀! ⠀ spiderman : brand new day (no spoilers tho). fem reader. dark peter. obsessive behavior. nsfw. voyeurism. masturbation. use of sex toys. angst. reader is peter ex girlfriend who don't remember him, obviously. he's kinda fucked up in the head. gif by @.milesgmorales. masterlist. english is not my first language. ✶
He didn't mean for this to happen.
He swears he didn't. He was just checking on you. Making sure your windows were locked, your fire alarm had fresh batteries, your fridge wasn't empty because sometimes you forget to eat when you're stressed and he can't have that, he won't have that, not when he's supposed to be taking care of you. You’d thank him if you knew.
And then your key turned in the lock.
Early. You came back early.
Why you're back early? You weren't supposed to be here for another two hours, he checked your schedule, he knows your schedule, tuesday is yoga and grocery shopping and then that overpriced coffee place where you always get the same oat milk latte and you sit by the window and he watches you from across the street and you look so peaceful and so fucking beautiful and—
Focus, Peter. Focus.
You were inside. Keys on the hook. Shoes kicked off. Humming something under your breath that made his chest ache because he recognized it, he knew that song, it was playing the first time you let him kiss you, the first time you tangled your fingers in his hair and called him sweet—
Alright alright he have to get out. He have to get out!!!
No time for the window. No time for the ceiling.
What the fuck what the fuck what the—
The closet.
The fucking closet. He barely got the door shut before you walked in, and now he’s folded behind your winter coats, breathing through his mask, heart hammering so loud he’s sure you can hear it. His hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe but he has to be quiet, has to be fucking quiet—
It’s fine. It’s fine. He just has to wait. Be patient. You’ll fall asleep eventually and then he can slip out. Just wait. Then everything be fine. Easy. Simple. He's done harder things. He can sit in a closet for a few hours without losing his goddamn mind.
But you're not.
Oh god, you're fucking not.
He clenches his jaw. Waits. The closet smells like you. Your shampoo, your detergent, that faint vanilla body spray you’ve used since tenth grade. He’s dizzy with it.
And you're just—you're standing there, in the middle of your bedroom, and you're reaching for the hem of your shirt and—
Wait.
Wait wait wait wait—
Why are you getting naked?????
The shirt goes up. Over your head. Tossed onto the chair in the corner.
God damnit. Look away. Look away right now, Parker. Close your eyes. You’re better than this. You’re a hero. You’re her boyfriend not some pervert hiding in the closet with his mouth open and his cock—
But you’re so pretty.
The curve of your shoulders, the way your hair falls messy against your skin, the little mole on your left shoulder blade that he used to kiss, used to run his tongue over just to hear you giggle and squirm—
Look away look away look away—
DON'T FUCKING LOOK!!
He tries. He genuinely tries. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees colors blooming behind his lids, and he counts to ten, and he tells himself he's not going to look, he's a good person, he's respectful and he loves you and he don't want to...
But it’s been so long since he’s seen you like this.
Your jeans. You’re taking off your jeans. The button pops and the zipper whisper hisses down and he can see the edge of your underwear, plain cotton, the kind you always wore on lazy nights when you didn’t expect anyone to see.
You’re naked now.
And he's not looking away.
It's a violation of privacy—
No it's not! You're his girlfriend!
Well, you don't remember him, but that doesn't change the FACT that he's your boyfriend. Your high school sweetheart. The guy who held your hand through every panic attack, who learned how to braid your hair because you said it helped you relax, who gave you his virginity in his aunt's apartment while it rained outside and it was the first time you told him you love him—
And also, it's not like he hid in your closet on purpose! He didn't PLAN this!! This is just... circumstances! Bad timing. A misunderstanding, yeah that's it! If you knew the truth, you'd understand. You'd forgive him. You always forgave him.
So maybe it's fine if he watches. Just for a little while. Just until you're asleep. It's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. You were his girlfriend. His first everything. The woman who taught him how to kiss without emberassing himself, how to use his tongue to make you cum, how to angle his hips just right to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
"Right there, Pete, right there, don't stop—ahh love you love you love you—"
Love him.
You love him.
He missed it.
He missed your voice. Missed the way you gasped, the way your nails raked down his back, the way you clenched around him so tight he thought he might die from how good it felt. And you smiled at him afterward, sweaty and glowing and proud, and you said he was a fast learner.
Of course he is. He's a smart guy. Not that he's bragging, but truth is just truth.
You always said he was the best you ever had.
Do you still think that?
Would you still think that, if you remembered him?
Do you remember him?
Of course you don't.
Hahaha. Peter Parker don't exist anymore. What the fuck is he even thinking?? Stupid stupid stupid—
Huh?
Oh.
His face is wet again.
Tears sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his mask.
When did that happen? When did he start crying?
Doesn’t matter.
He’s gotten good at crying without making a sound. Good at a lot of things he never wanted to be good at.
Don't. Don't you fucking cry right now. You're not a kid, why the fuck are you crying?
Because he misses you.
He misses you so much it feels like someone scooped out his insides and left him hollow. You don't look at him anymore. You don't smile at him anymore. You walk past him on the street like he's a stranger, and every time it kills him but at least you're alive, at least you're safe, at least he can still protect you even if you don't know he exists—
Oh him? No he's great. He's fantastic. What are you talking about? Pfffff—
He's not sad. He's not lonely. He's not spending every night curled up in his suit, jerking off into your sock while he replays memories of your laugh on a loop in his head.
No, no, he's fine. Everything is fine. What's important is that you're safe. That's all that matters.
Okay. Okay, get your shit together and just shut the fuck up until it's over. You can have a breakdown later. In private. Like you always do.
When he looks back through the slats of the closet door, you're on the bed.
When did you get on the bed??
He must have blacked out for a second. It happens a lot these days.
You're stretched out on top of the covers, completely naked (when did you took off your panties?) and the lamplight is hitting your skin in a beautiful way that make his mouth water. Your hair is fanned out on the pillow. Your legs are slightly parted. And your hand is lazily trailing down your stomach like you have all the time in the world and—
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
Don't think about it, Peter.
Just don't fucking think about it.
But it's been so long.
So fucking long since he touched you. Since he tasted you. Since he heard the little sounds you make when you're turned on, those breathy, helpless whimpers that drive him insane. And if you knew he was your boyfriend, you wouldn't have a problem with this. You'd probably invite him out of the closet. You'd probably pull him onto the bed and let him take over, let him worship you the way you deserve, because that's what you used to do, that's what you used to want.
So it's okay, right?
It's okay if he touches himself. Just a little. Just to take the edge off. He'll be quiet. He'll be so fucking quiet. You won't even know he's here.
He's just palming himself through his suit, see? No big deal.
His breath stuttering. He unzips his suit slowly, one careful inch at a time. His cock springs out, already hard, already leaking, the head slick and flushed and obscene in the dim light filtering through the closet slats. He wraps his hand around himself and bites down on his lip so hard he tastes copper.
You’re touching yourself.
Fuck you're so pretty.
Just like always.
You cup your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple, and he watches it tighten under your touch. Watches you pinch it, roll it between your fingers.
Yeah yeah yeah.
Play with your tits just like that. Pinch them. You always liked it when he did that. Always liked it when he got a little rough, when he pushed you just enough to make you feel it the next day—
He remembers doing that, remembers the way you'd arch into his mouth when he sucked on you, the way you'd gasp his name and told him you love him.
He's stroking himself now. Slow. Trying to match your rhythm. His palm is too dry, the friction almost painful, but he don't care because you're spreading your legs wider and your other hand pushing deeper inside—
Fuck.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit—
The closet door creaked. He moved. He fucking moved and his elbow hit the door and it creaked.
You heard him didn't you?
Fuckfuckfuck—
You heard it, oh god you definitely heard it, your head just turned toward the closet and you're looking right at him, right through the slats, and he can see your brow furrowing, can see the question forming on your lips—
Why are you standing up???
Wait. Wait. Wait.
STOP!!!
He can't breathe. He can't move. His hand is frozen on his cock, pre cum dripping onto his knuckles, and his heart is slamming against his ribs so hard he probably going to have a stroke.
You're going to find him, and he's going to have to explain, going to have to watch your face twist into fear and disgust and he's going to have to see the moment you realize spiderman is a creep who hides in women's closets and watches them—
Oh...
You're not looking at the closet anymore.
You're bending down. Reaching under the bed. Pulling out a box.
It's your toy box, the one he knows about because he's gone through it half a dozen times because you two used to play together and now when you're not home, he replace the batteries in your vibrator and clean your plugs even though you probably wondering why they were suddenly spotless—
You're pulling out a dildo.
The one you custom ordered online for your two years anniversary. Modeled after his dick, every vein and every curve. Everything exactly like his.
You hold it up and a little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
You like that one, don't you? You always reach for it. He's seen you. He's seen you more times than he should admit, and every time you pick this, every time you choose this over the others—
Okay. Okay, everything's okay. Thank god. Thank fucking god.
But he needs to be quiet. He was loud. Too loud. He needs something to muffle himself.
And there—right there beside his foot—a pair of panties. Lace. Red. The little bow on the front slightly frayed from too many washes.
He recognizes them. Of course he recognizes them. He bought them for you. Four years ago. Valentine's Day. You wore them for him that night and then peeled them off slow, teasing, throwing them over your shoulder with a grin and then he eat you out until his knees bruised.
He picks them up. Brings them to his face. Inhales before he can stop himself.
Fuck.
He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he's already folding them, already pressing them past his lips, already biting down on the fabric, and the taste of you—even secondhand, even laundered—floods his senses and makes his eyes roll back.
Okay. Okay, now he can be more comfortable. Now he can jerk off without giving himself away.
You don't mind, right? No? Okay thanks.
You're on the bed again. Propped up against the pillows. The dildo is in your hand but you're not pushing it inside yet.
No, you're teasing yourself. Just like you always used to.
Running the tip along your slit. Circling your clit. Getting it wet with your own arousal while your hips twitch and your breath hitches and you make those perfect little sounds that he loves too fucking much.
You always wanted him to tease you first. Always wanted him to rub the head of his cock against your pussy, back and forth, back and forth, until you were so needy you couldn't do anything but beg—
"Please, Pete, please, I need you inside me—"
Go on. Put it in. You've teased yourself long enough, sweet girl. Put it in.
And then you do.
The tip slides inside you, stretching you open, and Peter watches your mouth fall open, watches your back arch off the mattress, watches your hand fly up to grip the sheets. And the sound you make goes straight to his cock and nearly make him cum right there.
Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Pretty girl. Such a pretty fucking girl.
His pretty, gorgeous, perfect girl.
He strokes himself faster. The pre cum ease the friction. His eyes are glued to the place where the dildo disappears inside you, the way your hips start to roll, the way your thighs tense and tremble.
Aww, look at you. You're so desperate, aren't you?
Yeah baby? You want to get off? You want to cum?
You want him, don't you? You want his cock?
So bad you don't remember your boyfriend, right?
So fucking bad he just can stalk you on the street.
So bad he had to break your date’s teeth down his throat last month when the guy got too handsy at the bar.
So bad he has to hide in closets like a fucking cockroach instead of fucking your brains out like he used to, instead of holding you after and listening to your heartbeat slow down while you trace patterns on his chest—
So bad Peter Parker doesn't exist anymore.
Haha.
But it’s fine. He can protect you better now. Spiderman doesn’t have a curfew. Spiderman doesn’t have a secret life to care about. Spiderman can be on your fire escape every night, can follow you home through the subway tunnels, can crawl across your ceiling while you sleep and make sure you're breathing and your nightmares stay away.
He's protecting you.
Yeah. He knows you get scared sometimes. He's seen the way you double check your locks at night, the way you jump at shadows, the way you told your friend on the phone that you think someone's following you. "I think I have a stalker," you said, voice trembling, and Peter had to press his forehead against the wall and breathe through the urge to break something.
You called him a stalker.
He's not a fucking stalker. He's your BOYFRIEND. The man who loves you more than anyone has ever loved anyone in the history of the entire goddamn universe. The man who would crawl through hell just to see you smile. The man who let you go because it was the only way to keep you alive, and he'd do it again, he'd do it a thousand times, even if it meant you'd never know his name.
So what if he beat up your date? You were about to cheat on him. Yeah, yeah, you don't remember him, he knows, but what if you REMEMBERED and you'd already cheated on him and then you were going to hate yourself and feel guilty because how could you cheat on your high school sweetheart? The boy who held your hair back when you were sick, who stayed up all night helping you study for exams, who looked at you like you hung the goddamn moon?
You'd hate yourself. You'd be so guilty. You be a bitch. A horrible, disgusting piece of shit—
No. No no no, baby, you're not that. It's not your fault. Peter knows it's not your fault. He's not blaming you. He could never blame you. You're a victim in all this, you're innocent, you're perfect, you're the only good thing left in his miserable excuse for a life.
He's just helping you stay loyal. That's all. Helping you be the person you'd want to be, if you could remember. You're welcome.
"Ahh—fuck—"
You're close, aren't you, sweet girl? Yeah, you're close. He can see it in the wetness spreading down your ass, the way your nipples are tight and peaked, the way your hips are bucking up to meet the toy like you're fucking it instead of the other way around.
You're going to cum. He can tell by the way your rhythm is faltering, the way your thighs are starting to shake, the way your free hand has is now frantically rubbing your clit in needy, desperate circles.
Go on. Go faster. Faster. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect, you're so fucking perfect, look at you taking it like a good girl.
His good girl. His.
Play with your clit. Yeah, yeah, baby, just like that. He remembers exactly how you like it. Two fingers, tight circles, a little pressure, not too much. You taught him that, remember? You guided his hand, showed him the rhythm, moaned his name when he got it right—
"Just like that, Pete, don't stop, please don't stop—"
It's almost like you can read his mind.
He's close. So fucking close his vision is blurring at the edges. His cock is throbbing, slick with pre cum, and his hand is moving in short, desperate strokes, and he's biting down so hard on the panties that his jaw aches, and he wants to come, needs to come, but he wants to come with you—
Come on, baby. Come on. You can do it. A little bit harder. He can hold on, don't worry about him, he can hold on forever if that's what you need—
Ah, fuck. Ah, fuck fuck fuck—
You're shaking. Your whole body is shaking. The hand on your clit is moving faster now, sloppy and messy, and your back is arched so high you're barely touching the mattress, and your mouth is open in a silent scream, and your stomach is tightening, rippling, and you're so pretty, so fucking beautiful that Peter feels his heart crack right down the middle—
So hot. So fucking hot. Look at you. Look at you coming apart on his cock. Yeah it's a dildo but it's still his cock. It's still him inside you, still his shape. So sorry he can't give you the real thing baby—
Ah, shit—
You come with a broken cry, your pussy clenching around the dildo so hard Peter can see it, can see the way your body pulses and milks the silicone, and that's it, that's all it takes, he's gone—
He comes so hard his knees buckle. Hot ropes of cum spatter his hand and the closet floor. He bites down on your panties and screams into the fabric, a muffled sound that would have given him away if you weren't still lost in your own orgasm. His hips jerk, his cock pulses, and he keeps stroking himself through it, keeps milking every last drop while his vision whites out and his heart threatens to explode and it's just your name in his head and on his tongue.
Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.
And then it's over.
He slumps against the back of the closet, panting, soaked in his own shame and sweat and tears. The panties are still in his mouth. He doesn't take them out. He can't. If he takes them out, he might start sobbing, might start screaming, might do something that gets him caught, and he can't get caught, not if he wants you safe and sound and happy—
Through the slats, he watches you catch your breath. Watches you pull the dildo out with a wet sound. Watches you stare at it for a moment, something unreadable flickering across your face.
Then you set it aside, roll onto your side, and close your eyes.
Just like that. Like nothing happened.
Peter tucks himself back into his suit. Wipes his hand on an old tshirt from the laundry basket. Spits the panties out. Yeah he's keeping them, he's definitely keeping them, they're his now.
Sorry baby. It's just this time. You probably won't even notice. It's not like you remember wearing it especially for him anyway. So it's fine.
Then he waits.
Waits until your breathing evens out. Waits until your heartbeat slows to the steady rhythm of sleep. Waits until he's sure, absolutely sure, that you're not going to wake up.
The closet door opens without a sound. He's spiderman, after all. Give him some credit, yeah?
He stands over your bed for a long moment. Looking at you. Memorizing the curve of your cheek, the part of your lips, the way your eyelashes flutter against your skin. You're drooling a little on the pillow.
Cute.
He leans down. Presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. You don't stir.
"I love you," he whispers against your skin. "Don't be mad. I won't do it again, I promise. I'm sorry."
Then he slips out the window, into the night, and disappears like he was never there.
The only evidences are a single tear, dried on your pillow, and a pair of red lace panties missing from your closet.
Please don't hate him too much.
Okay?
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pairings ⸺ Yandere! Richard 'Dick' Grayson x Villain! Fem! Reader.
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ From the moment he first saw her, Dick Grayson knew he loved her. However, she could only perceive the sadness and darkness surrounding her. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t make her see the light he wanted to offer.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is— This, to be honest, is a headcanon I came up with about three minutes ago after I was left unsatisfied with the results of two headcanons I made about Jason. Since I didn't like them, I started writing a story that I had pending about Dick Grayson.
On another note, I want to thank you for the 500 followers ♡ I will keep posting more things and such.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... had never felt such a deep void until he saw you for the first time, a blurred shadow among the rubble of Blüdhaven. You, the villain who neither screamed nor laughed, only existed in a perpetual sadness, became his obsession. Pierrot, his very own Joker, trapped in a prison of melancholy, without the frenetic spark of the crazies he used to face. That sadness you emanated was his own reflection, a crack he wanted to mend with his love, a love that bordered on madness.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... from the rooftops, watched you wander the streets, always with that lost look, as if you didn't belong to this world. Every time they fought, he felt something breaking more inside you, something he could fix if only you let him get close. The nights were long, filled with endless watchings, as he silently followed you, keeping a prudent distance, until he could no longer bear it. He knew he was losing you. How was it possible that you couldn't see how much he loved you, how much he needed you? You were trapped in your own sadness, and he, in his obsession to save you.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... one day, while watching you from the shadows, found you on top of a rooftop, and thought you were going to jump. But no. You were crying, again. It was always the same. You approached the edge, and terror engulfed him. He thought you would leap, and for the first time felt something beyond duty: he felt he couldn't lose you. So, he researched everything he could about you. Your past revealed itself to him as a dull echo of emotional deprivation, a devastated childhood, and that dark philosophy about life, death, and chaos that you admired in the Joker. You had lost yourself in that labyrinth of despair, and he swore he would bring you back.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when he finally caught you, instead of taking you to justice as he had done before, he took you to Arkham, believing you would be safe there, under his constant watch. He visited you, he watched over you. But it wasn't long before you escaped, thanks to the Joker. Time and again, you faced him, and time and again, Dick brought you back to that exhausting cycle. However, something in him broke the last time he caught you.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when conventional methods failed, began to seek more extreme solutions. He took you to Wayne Manor the second time you escaped from Arkham. He locked you in a room from which you couldn't escape. It wasn't a cell, it was a luxury prison, but a prison nonetheless. He watched you day and night, ensuring that nothing and no one would ever hurt you again. The need to protect you had turned into something sick. He kept you safe, locked away. It wasn't a cold cell, but the walls suffocated you, and Dick's constant presence, ever-watchful, made you feel that freedom was just an illusion. Your protests became muted whispers drowned by his excessive devotion. He didn't understand why you couldn't see what he was doing for you, why you resisted. He believed that if he could control you enough, if he could protect you from yourself, you would eventually realize that you loved him.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... looked at Bruce and the others in the Wayne family with a mix of resentment and pity. They spent millions on therapies, on psychiatrists trying to "cure you," on initiatives to "reform you." How could they be so blind? He was the only one who understood what you truly needed. The Batfamily treated you like a project, while Dick saw you as the love of his life. Didn't they realize that only he could save you? But while the others saw your despair as an illness, Dick saw in your sadness a kind of beauty that no one else understood. To them, you were just a villain; to him, you were his everything.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... every time he found you on the edge of the abyss, when your empty eyes stared into nothingness, when everything around you seemed to break apart, he was there. He hugged you tightly, his hands gripping you as though they could tie you to the world. "I love you," he whispered in your ear, as if those words could heal the pain you carried inside. He felt your resistance, your hopelessness, but that only fueled his desire further. He was convinced he could tear you from the grips of your own sadness, even if he had to break you to rebuild you.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when you escaped from Wayne Manor, he searched for you with frantic intensity. Every time he found you, he only saw one more opportunity to prove to you that he was the only one who could save you. He surrounded you with his body, protecting you from the world, but also imprisoning you. Bruce confronted him one night, warning him that his obsession was consuming him, but Dick merely replied that love was like that, devouring and total.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... faced Harley when she tried to pull you from the abyss, believing that the chaos of the Joker would be your only salvation. But Harley didn't know what Dick knew. He could give you peace, love, not the unrestrained madness she offered. When he confronted her, the fight was not just physical. Harley mocked him, telling him he could never save you, that you would always be a tragedy, like her. And when Harley's blood stained the ground, Dick knew he had crossed a line. It wasn't a heroic battle, but a desperate act. He did it for you, to protect you from those who wanted to send you back to hell.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the days became blurred as he kept you in the Manor, away from the world that hurt you so much. He wanted you to understand that everything he did, every confinement, every possessive caress, was for your own good. Meanwhile, Alfred and Bruce tried to convince him that what he was doing was not love, but control. But for Dick, words were useless. He believed that true love required sacrifice, and if he had to sacrifice your freedom to save you, then he would do it without hesitation.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... decided that you could no longer be in the hands of others. No one else understood what you needed. He took you to his apartment, to a place where the windows were closed and the doors always locked. You were no longer free, but you were not alone either. Dick cared for you, spoke to you of a future where you would be together and happy. Every time you tried to escape, he stopped you, not with anger, but with a disturbing calm. "It's for your own good," he told you, as he held you tighter than seemed necessary. His caresses were gentle, but behind them, there was always something darker, a desperation that grew with each attempt to flee.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the first time he possessed you was, for him, an unforgettable moment. Your body trembled, amidst tears, as he whispered how much he loved you each time his pelvis met your backside. In his mind, you loved how he took you, how he made your intimacy cry for more of him, and how he filled you with his seed at the end of the night. Each of your sobs only reinforced his conviction that you were his forever, as he enveloped you in a mix of devotion and obsession from which you didn't know how to escape.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... followed you even into the darkest corners of your mind, where others dared not tread. When the Joker attempted to drag you back into chaos, Dick confronted him one night. The confrontation was brutal, swift, and when Dick was done, the ground was stained red. You, trembling and broken, watched as Dick tore apart the Joker's henchmen with a brutality you had never witnessed in him. That night, he took you back, covered in cuts and with a twisted smile, convinced he had saved you once more.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... dreamed of the day when you would come to your senses, when you both could walk hand in hand, form a family. In his dreams, you smiled, forgetting the pain, redeemed by his love. But those dreams never became reality, and with each passing day, you moved further away from that vision.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... made you his in the only way he knew how. Without consent, without a voice to defend you, he took you before a judge and secretly married you. The marriage was not a celebration but an act of possession. The ceremony was silent, intimate in its darkness. Dick looked at you with that mix of devotion and madness as he bound you to him forever. In his distorted mind, it was the happy ending he had always imagined. You were no longer Pierrot, the tragic villain. You were his, completely. And in that possession, he believed he had found peace. Now you were Dick Grayson's wife, trapped in a bond you never asked for, but which he believed was your only salvation. He saw it as the perfect conclusion, the ending he had always desired. Because if you couldn't love the world, at least you could love him.
A/N ─── I hope you enjoyed this. Don't forget to leave a comment and a little heart.
hey poly! i saw your reblog about wanting a desk pet/mini yan gojo; i wanna ask what do u think he’ll do or what horrors he’s capable of 😄
og post but YANDERE NENDROID GOJO ITS EVERYTHING IVE WANTEDDDDD😭
I need like a whole SERIES of the mc finding a character in a trash can, taking it home, and it becoming obsessed with you. you just keep finding more and more until you have this giant harem of adorable (BUT EXTREMELY obsessed) desk pets
But Satoru is your first rescue cuz....ofc he is 🙄. In the aftermath, he keeps calling himself 'your first,' and you're 99.99% percent sure he doesn't mean it like that (he does, he so does).
hes a bit banged up but its nothing a few bolts and wires wont fix! he quickly becomes so grateful for you for saving him. he was trapped in garbage for so long and it was your soft hands that reached in and grabbed him. he'll always love you for that.
you clearly dont feel the same way, but thats okay! he can handle not being your #1 as long as he gets to be by your side. besides a part of him is very grateful you're so oblivious. he really doesnt want you to find the shrine he's made for you, secretly tucked away in the corner of your closet.
when you eventually find other abandoned nendroids and take them home he's obviously upset. i think at first, he'd find ways to make them 'disappear'. when youd ask where the new ones went, he'd make some story of them deciding to go off on their own! or something like that.
eventually tho, he would be fine with teaming up with a select few of the nendroids you save...especially if he sees they share the same ideals as he does. power in numbers, right?
SUMMARY: You were fresh out of med school, in debt with no first hand experience as a doctor, and you thought it would be good for you to gain experience in a hospital in Forks, not knowing what you were getting yourself into when you meet with an incredibly attractive colleague.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: the irony that i'm writing this while listening to accidentally in love by counting crows. getting back to my shrek era with the holidays, lol.
MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
You were fresh out of med school, buried in debt and desperate for hands-on experience, so Forks Hospital felt like the safest, calmest option. It was a small town after all. What could go wrong?
Well, it wasn’t. Not with him there. Carlisle noticed you on your first day. Not because you were inexperienced, but because you looked breakable in all the ways that mattered to him.
He quickly took an interest in mentoring you, even though you never asked. He hovered over you during work. Always close, always warm, always smiling just a bit too soft to you.
You thought he was just being polite. But everyone else knew he wasn’t. The nurses exchanged looks whenever he lingered behind you for too long, as if asking the other who wanted to break the news to you.
Carlisle always found ways to compliment you. It could be about your steady hands, your compassion, your dedication, all while subtly reminding you how much you needed him to grow.
He made it very clear, without ever saying it outright, that your career depended on him. Not in a threatening way. But in a you’re so talented, I’d hate to see anyone mishandle your potential way.
He memorized your schedule instantly. He timed his breaks with yours. He brought you your favorite drink before you ever told him what it was.
If you ever asked how he knew something personal about you, he’d just smile and say, “Observation is part of the job.”
Your coworkers started teasing you about the “golden doctor” doting on you. Carlisle heard every joke. He didn’t find it amusing because of how uncomfortable you got with them, and those coworkers suddenly stopped teasing.
Whenever you felt overwhelmed, he was already behind you, hand on your shoulder, voice low in your ear, telling you to breathe.
He loved when you relied on him, and he hated when you didn’t.
The moment he sensed you pulling away, he started weaving little traps, like subtly hinting that certain staff members thought you were incompetent, or that the hospital board was debating whether you were worth keeping.
If you ever mentioned leaving Forks, he immediately turned cold. Not angry though. Never angry, just… disappointed. “After everything we’ve built together?”
He kept your mistakes logged. Not to use against you unless he had to. It was only a worst case scenario precaution.
Carlisle would never raise his voice. His manipulation was gentle, surgical, and precise. A cut so clean you didn’t realize you were bleeding until much later.
He became your safe place without your permission. The more stressed you were, the easier it was for him to control you. The more vulnerable you became, the deeper he was in your personal life.
Carlisle flirted in the softest ways. Lingering touches, whispers that made your breath hitch, smiles that felt like promises, and he knew exactly what he was doing.
The only time his mask slipped was when you tried to run. You didn’t make it far. His voice was calm when he found you, but his eyes weren’t golden anymore.
“You scared me,” he said, pulling you close like you were something fragile he almost lost. “I can’t treat you if you keep hurting yourself.”
After that, he never let you out of his sight. Literally.
The more you resisted, the more he convinced himself you were sick, overwhelmed, unstable—anything that justified keeping you close.
He would bandage your wounds with the same hands that caused them. And he’d kiss your forehead afterward, murmuring, “Let me take care of you. You don’t know how much I love you.”
And the scariest part? There were moments you almost believed him.
Carlisle started volunteering to take over your late-night shifts, insisting it was “for your safety.” What he meant was he didn’t trust you alone.
He began driving you home every night, even when you argued you could manage on your own. “It’s dangerous,” he’d say, but his hand gripping the wheel a little too tightly betrayed something else.
The more you tried keeping boundaries, the more he blurred them. It could be by showing up with groceries, fixing things in your apartment without asking, acting like he belonged there.
He kept a spare key to your place. You don’t remember giving him one though.
On nights when you cried from stress, he always arrived minutes later, knocking gently. He claimed he “just had a feeling" about it.
Clothing you didn’t remember wearing suddenly smelled like his cologne.
His name began showing up as the emergency contact on forms you didn’t fill out.
If someone else at the hospital got too close to you, Carlisle treated them with polite, cold smiles that didn’t reach his eyes and comments that felt like warnings wrapped in silk.
More than one coworker abruptly requested reassignment after their interactions with him.
Carlisle didn’t like sharing. He especially didn’t like competition.
He never admitted it, but he monitored your scent around male patients or staff, the same way a predator keeps track of territory.
When you were alone in the break room, you sometimes felt a cold breeze behind you, only to turn around and find him already there, watching you with that unreadable expression.
He kept small objects you touched, including a pen, a glove, your empty coffee cup, that was tucked away somewhere only he knew about.
He practiced saying your name in different tones in the privacy of his office.
Sometimes, when you were charting at your desk, you’d feel his hand brush yours, and he’d whisper, “You’re shaking. Are you scared of me?”
He smiled at your fear. Softly. Fondly. A little amused because why would you be afraid of him? There are far scarier things out there.
Every lie he told himself twisted into a reason to tighten his hold. In his mind, he wasn’t trapping you. No, he was protecting you.
He believed the world didn’t deserve you, and he was protecting you from all the monsters out there.
He believed you didn’t know how much you needed him yet since you were inexperienced.
Carlisle was patient. Obsessively so. Enough to wait years if he had to.
After all… you were his favorite thing he ever found in Forks.
The Cullen house had sat empty for the last six months.
It’d felt longer than it sounded. Days seemed to turn into years when you were trapped in a small town that’d just lost the only family worth gossiping about, hours into centuries after the only practicing doctor abandoned Fork’s sole hospital without so much as two weeks’ notice – leaving you and the other nurses in a desperate scramble to pick up the slack while looking for a half-decent replacement. Their house seemed to reflect your skewed perception of time, the weeds that’d usurped their garden having grown just a little too tall, the dense forest that pressed in from all sides having encroached just a little too far. Time had never really seemed to pass for the Cullens, whether it was their collective marble-statue beauty or the way they seemed to float above the rest of you, never fully making contact. Now that they were gone, it seemed to come flooding in all at once.
Even the building itself seemed to have stagnated to the point of agelessness, its many windows reflecting a darkness so thick and so impenetrable, you could only imagine that it had been eons since light had ever graced its halls. It was ancient and unchanged. A lifeless husk, made immortal through the preservation of its corpse.
Your grip tightened around your flashlight, your shoes scuffing against the driveway. You wanted to turn around. You wanted to get back in your car and go home, to your trashy reality television and fleece blankets and locked doors. You wanted to laugh at yourself for driving all the way out here and nearly (key word, nearly) breaking into your old coworker’s previous home. You wanted to do anything but go through with it, and yet…
And yet.
They’d left the front door unlocked. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you eased the door open, sweeping your flashlight once, twice over the entryway before stepping inside.
You’d had the misfortune of visiting twice before they left town – once when Carlisle asked you to drop off a patient’s file and again on a personal errand, to request that he stop sending flower bouquets and baked goods to your apartment. The first, you’d been unlucky enough to run into him, to be forced to answer his questions about your admittedly poor off-the-clock habits. The second, one of his college-aged daughters had answered the door, and had told you with the brightest smile and the easiest confidence that even if she did relay your message, it wasn’t going to stop. You’d taken her word for it.
Both visits had been brief, but as far as you could tell, they’d left everything behind. Framed pictures and frustratingly abstract art still hung from the blindly white walls, their agonizingly post-modernist furniture standing tall and unaffected by the absence of its users. A fruit bowl reigned proudly on their dining room table, its contents unnaturally fresh. Plastic, you discovered as you stole an apple off the top, turning it over in your palm. At least they had the decency not to leave rotting produce out for the next tenant.
You gravitated toward the kitchen on instinct, running your fingertips over the dustless countertop and opening cabinets at random. This had always been what Carlisle tried to draw you in with – the idea of domesticity, a warm meal after a long shift. Let me treat you to something, and then, when you reminded him that he was a married man, Don’t worry. My wife would love to have you for dinner.
Something caught in the back of your throat, anger and fear and humiliation boiling over all at once. You caught the handle of a drawer and tore it out of its socket, letting silverware clatter to the floor. The island was next, a knife block and baking tray and stack of forgotten paperback books, all swept to the ground before you could think better of it. You grabbed for the first heavy thing you saw – some decorative porcelain monstrosity, misshapen and heavy in your hand. It didn’t take long to find the nearest window, to line up your shot and—
Something wrapped around your wrist, cold stone against warm flesh. You startled, dropping the figurine and cringing into yourself as it broke into more pieces than you could ever hope to count. There was a slight hum, a disappointed click of the tongue. “That’s too bad,” he sighed, letting go of your wrist. Instantly, you could picture him clear as day – shaking his head, a faint smile tugging at pale lips. “That was one of Esme’s favorites. Brought it all the way from Spain. I’m sure she’ll forgive you, though.”
Clotted, choking silence followed dull ring of his voice. It took a moment for you to realize you were supposed to respond, and another to remember how to speak. “Dr. Cullen, I—”
“Carlisle, dear. You know that.” And then, less exasperated, more amused, “Aren’t you going to turn around?”
You shouldn’t have. You needed to get out of here. You needed to run. Fuck going home – you needed to get in your car and drive until you hit the border.
But, you didn’t. And honestly, you should’ve known you were never going to.
Fighting not to trip over your own feet, you did as you were told and turned to face him. You knew what you were going to find – Carlisle, pale blonde hair ever so slightly disheveled, expression sympathetic and unnervingly golden eyes so condescendingly soft.
The only part that caught you off-guard was the smudge of red at the corner of his lips, dark and still wet. Well, that, and the fact that he was naked. Naked and hard. You tried not to look, but it was hard to ignore.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, staring at him as the seconds crawled by. Carlisle didn’t seem to be in a rush, bringing a hand to your face and running his thumb over your cheek. His skin was deathly cold. You wished he would stop touching you. You wished you knew how to ask him to.
Eventually, something else caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder as if someone had called his name, letting out a thin sigh as he took you by the wrist. “Children can be so impatient. I’m sure you know.” He tugged you forward gently. “Come. Please, excuse the mess – we’re usually much more civil.”
Without a word, you let him guide you deeper into the house, to a door underneath their staircase and down, down the largest cellar you’d ever seen. Like the rest of their terrible house, their basement seemed to have taken equal inspiration from overly manicured luxury real estate listings and the worst, most uncanny nightmare you’d ever had. The walls were lined with a deep red velvet, the furniture a mix of dark leather and cruel titanium. The only source of lighting came from a few lit torches mounted on each wall, all burnt too low to be helpful. That might explain why it took you so long to notice the rest of the Cullens.
Dotted around the room, divided yet so obviously part of the same whole, the same pack. Assigning names to faces was difficult, but not impossible. You recognized Jasper near the bottom of the staircase, kneeling in front of a metal pole with his hands cuffed behind it. A wire muzzle covered the lower half of his face, a chain-link slip leash wrapped taut around his neck. The other end was held by Alice, lying on her stomach in front of him, cheek resting against his thigh. Esme was lingering nearby, tending to a large crystal bowl sitting on a podium that’d been decisively placed in the center of the room, mixing herbs into its dark contents – a tray of which were politely being held by a towering Emmett. Finally, in the darkest corner, was Rosalie, wearing a floor-length black robe and keeping her arms crossed over her chest, all pursed lips and hunched shoulders. She might’ve looked bored, had those golden eyes not been so intensely focused on you.
…they were all looking at you, actually. Alice and Esme were smiling. Somehow, that didn’t make you feel any better.
Carlisle brought you to the bottom of the staircase, keeping one hand curled around your wrist and bringing the other to the small of your back. Alice was the first one to react, all-but floating to her feet and approaching her adoptive father. “I told you she would come.” She caught your arm, pointed nails digging into flesh. “Can we play with her, daddy? Please?”
Esme sent you an apologetic look. Emmett laughed and spoke up. “Don’t break the poor girl’s heart, daddy.”
You felt Carlisle’s hand flex against your back. He hesitated, but not for very long. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
“It’s all I’ve been watching for.” She tried to keep her voice even, but her over-eagerness betrayed her, lilting the edges of her tone into a melodic whine. “We won’t leave a scratch, I promise.”
“Fine. But be careful.”
“When are we ever not?” And then, without so much as glancing away from you, “Jasper, honey – fetch.”
There was a low, guttural sound, followed immediately by the sound of metal links being wrenched apart. Carlisle stepped away from you a moment before two arms wrapped around your waist.
It was the strangest thing. You were aware of your chest hitting the velvet-lined floor, of Jasper’s too-solid body on top of yours, but you weren’t scared. Dull confusion played underneath a thick curtain of placid curiosity and mild annoyance. You could only grimace as his wire muzzle pressed into your shoulder, then your spine, his tongue lapping over what his teeth couldn’t reach. He was draped over your back, hips bucking frantically into your thigh with enough force to draw out a pitchy, frustrated whine from somewhere deep in his throat. You were aware, distantly, that you ought to be clawing at him, that you ought to be terrified. The most you could manage to make yourself feel was pity, if only at seeing such a beautiful creature in such a sorry state.
“Dr. Cullen, I—” Jasper’s hands shot for your neck at the sound of your voice, but shoved into the floor at the last possible second. Something seemed to buckle beneath you – concrete shattering under unthinkable force. “I think I need to leave.”
Carlisle didn’t answer. Instead, there was a feather-light giggle, a hand suddenly petting through your hair. Alice. “But we’ve been waiting so long for this. Jazz, especially. Had to promise we wouldn’t let him take a bite out of you.” She straightened, eyes darting away. “Esme, could you bring over the—”
Rosalie cut in. “No. That’s too dangerous.”
“Don’t be a killjoy.” And then, a pleading lisp to her tone. “Please?”
There was a shuffle of movement, a silent acquiescence. Already, you could tell that what Alice wanted, she tended to get.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Esme kneel at your free side, a bronze goblet in her hand. She handed it to Alice, tapped Jasper’s cheek affectionately, then smiled at you. “It’s very fresh,” she said, like you were supposed to know what she was talking about. Like you were supposed to find it comforting. “You’ll get used to the taste, with time.”
You didn’t get a chance to ask what she meant. She was already retreating, joining her husband on the far side of the room. Even worse, Alice was already downing the goblet and, with just as much care, crashing her mouth into yours.
Heady iron and bitter herbs overwhelmed your senses. There was too much of it and it was too warm and whatever fugue state you were in broke open as soon as her tongue laved over yours, razor-sharp teeth gazing over your bottom lip and threatening to break skin. Her hand found the back of your head, keeping you pinned against her while its twin danced over your chest, your body, a single nail catching the collar of your skirt and tearing downward.
Cold air fanned over your skin, made worse by the trails of thick blood that escaped the corners of your mouth - staining your chin, your throat. You felt Jasper growl into your skin, his muzzle slotting awkwardly between your jaw and your shoulder. He was grabbing the rags your clothes had been reduced to, tearing them away in less of an effort to undress you and more of a pursuit to reach what he seemed to think he needed – a wolf, tearing at the entrails of an elk. You tried to shut your legs, to thrash underneath him, but Jasper’s body was stone, unwilling to give and impossible to move. It wasn’t long before you felt his cock press into your ass, something cold dripping onto your skin. You screamed, but the sound was swallowed up by Alice, still grinning against your lips. When she did draw back, it was only to string her thighs over your shoulders and force your head—
Her hands were torn away from you, her body disappearing a second later. When you thought to look up, you found Emmett standing above you, hands hooked underneath Alice’s arms. She pouted, but he held strong. “Nuh-uh. Me and Jasper have the first call.”
“But you picked a luck-based game, it wasn’t fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” He set Alice down at a measured distance. “Go keep Rose company.”
There were a few more grumbled complaints, but Alice eventually retreated to lick her wounds. Jasper bared his teeth, but Emmett only flicked his forehead. “Keep it in your pants.” And then, to you, “You ever been to Paris, baby?”
You hadn’t. Slowly, more confused than anything, you shook your head. Emmett’s laugh was nearly deafening.
It wasn’t until he started to kneel in front of you that you realized what he meant. The repulsion was quick and hot and reflexive, your body rejecting what your mind couldn’t seem to grasp. You opened your mouth, ready to scream, to beg, but Rosalie’s voice cut through the cellar before you had a chance to say anything at all.
“Not like that.”
Alice sighed. “It’s not going to take, Rose.”
“I didn’t ask,” she snapped. “Emmett, Jasper – switch.”
There was no protest from Emmett. Jasper bristled, his anger wordless and ferine, but Emmett was able to wrestle him into place, and you were only granted a few precious moments to brace yourself before Emmett’s hulking body settled between your thighs and Jasper fell to his knees in front of you, shaking hands tentatively latching on to your shoulders. Despite everything, you were grateful for the trade off. Jasper was incoherent – unable to talk, let alone think about your comfort, your pleasure. Emmett, as terrifying as he was, seemed more willing to drag this out, to rub a few teasing circles into your clit with a calloused thumb, to slip two thick fingers into you and smile when your body proved willing to give.
Something was wrong. A lot of things were wrong, really, but something was wrong with you. Blood coated the roof of your mouth, more viscous than it should’ve been. Your body felt too hot, your skin too thin, your head too full. You didn’t want this. You would’ve given anything to make it stop, and yet, as his fingers curled inside of you, you found yourself jolting back against him, a pained whimper bubbling up from your chest. You were wet. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, hear it was he pumped lazily into you. There was sound of padded footsteps, then something being laid down next to you. Alice, on her back, grinning up at Rosalie, now straddling her thigh – their cunts messily slotted together. Emmett didn’t so much as glance up, his gaze meeting yours as he pulled out of you and offered his slick-soaked fingers to Rosalie. Without a word, she took them into her mouth, eyes falling shut as she savored the taste.
“What do you think, babe? Is she ready?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“I love it when she gets mean,” Emmett sighed. His hand found its way to your hip, holding you steady as he aligned himself with your entrance. “You’ll learn to like it, too.”
Again, you made the mistake of opening your mouth, of trying to spit something out. At the same time, Emmett thrust into you, and a pained cry replaced anything you might’ve said.
In some sick way, you were almost glad for Rosalie’s interference. You were sure that, if Emmett hadn’t been trying to pound a hole in your cervix, he most definitely would have succeeded in breaking your jaw.
There was too much of him in too many places. Your legs gave out immediately, but he caught you – a broad arm wrapping around your midriff and hauling you against his chest. You gasped, but that only gave Jasper a chance to surge forward, to plant a palm next to your head and shove his cock past your lips, your teeth. The blunt head hit the back of your throat with more force than should’ve been possible, his shaft weighing cold and heavy against your tongue. You were tempted to, but you didn’t try to bite down. You had a feeling that the only thing you would manage to hurt was yourself.
They were both unbearable. Jasper, rutting against your face, chasing warmth that wasn’t his, and Emmett behind you, hips constantly flush to your ass, his smug grin pressed into the back of your shoulder as he did his best to tear you open from the inside out. Distantly, you could hear Alice and Rosalie next to you, a few pained whimpers as the latter curled her hands around her partner’s neck, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about what they might be doing to each other. All your pity was saved for yourself. It was humiliating – just how quickly your body gave out, just how many terrible, half-smothered noises they were able to force out of you. You felt yourself clench around Emmett’s unforgiving length, heard him curse and buckle against you. His mouth seemed to find the blood still dripping down your chin on instinct, and there was the faintest ghost of unnaturally pointed teeth before he jerked away, one hand finding your waist while the other planted itself on the back of your head, forcing Jasper that much deeper into your throat.
Abruptly, you remembered something another nurse had said to you not long after the Cullen’s first came to town, following Rosalie and Emmett’s first visit to the hospital during one of his less eventful shifts. She’d pulled you aside and admitted that, when Rosalie had first stepped into the lobby, your coworker had somehow mistaken her for a wildcat, nearly pressed the panic button before taking another look. When you asked her if she’d made the same mistake with the boy, all hulking muscle and eat-you-alive intensity, her smile had faltered.
“No,” she’d said, slowly. “That one’s obviously a bear.”
…
There was probably a reason Carlisle had liked you, looking back on it. You were always the last to run from danger.
His pace changed, sped up. Your back arched as he railed into you, Jasper grinding into your mouth with just as much ferocity. Jasper slipped first – something too chilling and too sweet to have ever come from anything human flooded over your tongue, down your throat, mingling with blood and spit where you failed to choke it down. Cruelly, Emmett chose that exact moment to let a hand fall to your clit, to tip you over the ledge you were clinging to so desperately. You came around him as he pumped you full of the same terrible, ice-cold venom. You could practically hear Rosalie purring in delight.
Emmett didn’t pull out. You felt his palm against the back of your neck, his body brace above yours as he pinned you down and started to—
“That’s enough, son.”
Emmett didn’t whine, didn’t protest. He remained silent, still, and Alice groaned next to you. “But we haven’t even—”
“Patience, Alice.” Jasper and Emmett drew back, letting Carlisle pull you into his arms. You weren’t proud of the way you clung to him, but you didn’t have another choice. When your only other option was a pack of wild animals, even a hunter could seem like a comfort. “You’ll get what you’ve asked for.”
You hid your face in his shoulders as he carried you to a velveteen lounge, Esme perched delicately on the arm. She stroked the side of your face gingerly as Carlisle sat down. “I do worry, sometimes,” he sighed, rearranging you to better straddle his lap. “They can be so careless.”
“They have good hearts,” Esme countered. Behind you, Rosalie’s hold on Alice’s neck tightened until her skin splintered, cracks spreading in all directions like fractured stone. “And they love so fiercely.”
The blunt head of his cock pressed into your entrance. With a painstaking sort of tenderness, he guided you downward, spearing you on his length. There was no attempt at resistance on your part. Only a miserable whimper, dampened by his skin, and your nails driven into his back. “I want to go home.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you will.” Esme’s voice was soft, sweet. You would’ve given anything for the strength to scream loud enough to drown it out. “The boys built such a lovely cottage. It’s only a few minutes away, and you’ll just adore the—”
“I think she can worry about that tomorrow, dear.” You felt him pulse inside of you, his smile settling against the dip of your shoulder.
Thought of a yandere where they get transported into a modern city (they got transported from a novel into reality), kinda afraid of every strange tech that appear, until they see someone looking like their first love, from the same voice the same humor down to the body language. This idea was rent free and I don’t know what to do with it… save me it’s putting me on a chokehold
𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄
♡ anonnn ur so creative <33 hope i saved u from that chokehold lollll and that this was up to ur expectations.
♡︎ yandere isekai x first love reader
he couldn't speak. he couldn't move. he couldn't even breathe from the heavy lump that hangs heavily in his throat.
no, no, he was definitely delusional; that's the only possible explanation because this couldn't be...
...could it?
you laugh, the soft sound surprisingly carrying over the awfully noisy people on the street, and one he only hears when he tosses and turns on his ber, handkerchief buried in his nose as the last fragment of your shared, ever-lasting love.
the too-bright lights of this irksome world shine over his head, messy strands of hair from this unfortunate ordeal catching the light.
everything looks so real yet so foreign in this dream, from the buildings that are nothing like his estate and architecture back home, and the people walking outside dressed in what he would to wear sleep. their eyes glance at him, scrutiny flashing in them for not even a split second, before returning to the glowing devices glued in their hands.
his wide eyes blink, hands shaking with utter need by his sides. you- you're here: well, untarnished with crimson blood and so very alive in front of him.
your own eyes, as magnetic as he remembers them, flit around your surroundings as you speak with gestures in your hands. the girl who has the pleasure of receiving your attention covers her mouth to stifle her laughter as well.
"darling?"
his hand a mind of its own when it closes around your wrist. his heart warms at the contact. It brings him back to when he would hold you just like this, and spin you around, teasing you with his now-deceased humour and making you pout oh so adorably.
brows knitting together, you regard him with a sense of confusion. unease. your loving words are absent, instead replaced with a weary, "do I know you?"
he falters. "y-yes, yes, you do, you do!" his words aren't trying to convince you as it seems, but rather himself. "remember this?" frantically, he produces the wrinkled handerkerchief he slept with in his pocket, "y-you gave it to me, y/n. you do remember, tell me you remember"
but your silence says it all.
and it finally dawns on him that he spoke too soon. your presence came at a price: your memories gone, erased. your heart wasn't thumping like it was going to break your rib cage, nor was your belly tingling with a swarm of butterflies at the sight of you. not like how his body was reacting to a glimpse of you
gently, you nudge your hand out of his, offering him a weak smile that doesn't reach your apologetic eyes, "sorry, you must have mistook me for someone else."
ha. you think he's mad.
but he isn't. he swears he isn't. it's you — his darling fiancé he lost on that fateful night. how could he not know it's you, when he's spent hours memorising every curve and dip of your body while you smile hazily down at him? how could he not know it's you, when he knows everything from your worst fear to your favourite food? how could he not know it's not you, when he recognises his scent by heart?
how could he not know, when all he's ever wanted, craved, is right in front of him?
but you look at him like he's just a face in a crowd, someone mentally unstable. and before he can even get another word in, your friend drags you by the arm out of there.
he sniffles; hurt, angry, frustrated. you're so close yet so far away.
but maybe, just maybe: this isn't the end.
there's a reason why he's here, to get you back in his arms, to finally have you in his bed instead of that stiff figure beside him they call his wife.
he's not going to waste his second chance, not when he knows there should be at least an ounce of love underneath your oblivious exterior. and if needed, he'll dig it up with all his might, no matter what it takes. because if one thing's for certain —
— he's not going to wake up from this dream until he's tasted heaven one last time.
; yandere phainon, modern au, not proofread, implied age-gap (older woman/younger man), female (y/n), some coercion in the end, freak internnon....
the newest intern, a third-year college student named phainon, has taken a liking to you the same way a baby chick does to its mother hen. quite the sight considering his tall height and broad shoulders.
he often waddles not too far behind you in the office as he holds stacks of documents close to his chest, if you turn around, you'll see his big, blue eyes looking up at you in wonder and guidance. his mouth runs amok, firing question after question, inquiring about any spreadsheets that needed fixing or if you wanted a pastry from the nearby cafe.
he was quick to attach himself to you during his first week of internship. when you questioned him, he earnestly said,
"well, you're the department head... i wanna learn as much as possible from you, miss!"
anaxa, whose cubicle was close enough to hear the younger man's voice, hummed in amusement, "looking for brownie points, most likely."
phainon squawked at him, frantically telling you again and again that the older man was sorely mistaken. you merely waved him off, telling him to go back to his own cubicle, and went on with your day.
regardless of the actual reason, he's become an extension of yourself. wherever you go, in and out of meetings, flitting to and fro, checking up on employees' progress, phainon is there with you. a self-assigned assistant - standing upright, notepad in hand, and incredibly eager to work.
he's a clingy intern, you'll admit. miles better than the slacker and negligent employees under your department, however, so you let him do as he pleases.
phainon arrives early to work just to ensure he'll be first in line at the cafe, securing your preferred pastry and beverage so he can dutifully deliver it to your office. it's done out of his own volition, scoured from his own pockets, so even as you accept it with gratitude, you still say your mandated line,
"thank you, phainon, but you don't have to do this."
he's only an intern, after all. a temporary addition to your department. but his sunny smile never wanes, just waves off your reminder and assures you that it was no problem for him. he'll exit your office, not before picking up the pile of documents on your desk, telling you that he'll distribute them around himself.
you thank him once more right before the door closes. your work resumes, still accompanied by him through the pastry and coffee given.
any time you exit your office, phainon rushes to stand up from his chair to resume his place by your side. his overzealous nature prompts a remark from you during water break,
"if it's anyone you should be sucking up to, doing favors for the ceo would do more wonders. not me, phainon."
phainon, mid-sip on his paper cup, frowns at you. "i'm not sucking up to just anyone, miss."
he looks down and adjusts his collar, though you surmise it's just a nervous habit of his, "i like working for you because you're a good boss."
he says it like you're the only 'good boss' in this company. aglaea, for all her cold front, is one of the department heads who springs to the forefront of your mind when thinking of a 'good boss'.
it's truly hard for you to understand how your intern's mind works, so you give up on understanding him altogether.
you nod, chucking your paper cup into the trashcan, heels clicking as you return to the office, "i see. thank you for your kind words."
he beams up at you with that signature sunny smile of his, obediently following after you. he pays no mind to how he's unanimously perceived to be the office's 'sunshine boy' - puppy-like in his mannerisms and heart frighteningly sincere.
phainon couldn't tell a lie even if it cost him his life.
your naive intern made the ignorant decision of staying behind to accompany you on your overtime work. a puzzling choice on his part, considering the extra work won't be accounted for in his internship hours. you brought it up to him, unable to see why the internship seems to be the last thing on his mind.
all phainon did was smile boyishly and told you, "i want to look after you, miss."
you quirk your brow. still, you leave him to his own devices.
later on, when you inevitably part ways in the parking lot after he had insisted on walking you there, you're halfway through sitting down when you hear him gasp in realization.
"what is it?"
"sorry miss, but the last bus left hours ago..."
he's sheepishly scratching his nape and avoiding eye contact, roses sprouting on his cheeks and ears, looking every bit and part of the college intern that he is.
you sigh, gesturing to the passenger seat.
you'll be driving him home.
your intern, commendable work ethic he may have, still causes you headaches in the most unorthodox ways. the sight of him bowing his head in shame, looking so guilty, as you drive in silence reinforces his title in the office as 'sunshine boy'.
you supress your laugh with a cough.
three weeks before his internship ends, phainon grows erratic.
he was inseparable before, but he clings like a parasite now - bringing you your daily pastry and beverage isn't enough, he must be there in your office to watch you work and eat. as you down the last remnants of your beverage, you can't help but feel like an animal on display.
he sticks close to you during celebration dinners, too. a submission passed onto a different department usually warrants a meal at one of the nearby restaurants, and phainon, the overgrown parasite that he is, never lets you stray from his vision. not even for a second. he holds the restaurant door open for you, makes sure to sit next to you, and ensures that the majority of your conversations involve him in some way, shape, or form.
just like the first time, phainon always stays behind when you're required to work overtime despite your suggestion for him to go home. he has several excuses on his sleeves, each one showcasing his sincerity and genuine wish to look out for you.
it must be lonely being the only employee on this floor, miss...
some shady employee from the other department might find out that you're alone... so think of me as a guard dog!
i can help with the spreadsheets, miss! i wouldn't want you to overwork yourself.
are you hungry? i can make a quick trip outside if you'd like, miss.
haven't you heard of the ghost stories popping up recently? wait, are you superstitious?
despite his overbearing presence, you acknowledge the zealous nature that comes with being an intern - the drive to appeal to your temporary boss to maximize the results. if you dig around your memories, you can recall the time when you were similar to him. wide-eyed and tripping over your feet, hoping that your subservient nature will land you a permanent spot after the internship ends.
reluctantly, you let him stay behind, and you agree to drive him to his apartment complex each time.
a day is shaved off his internship, and the parasite known as phainon continues to spread throughout your body, clinging and clinging, as if he knows nothing else. he no longer walks behind, but beside you.
plainly passing by anaxa's cubicle brings forth a remark from him,
"another centimeter closer, and the two of you will be merged together until the next prophesied era nova."
you click your tongue but stay silent.
you begin to understand why marketing department head aglaea holds such a grudge against him - you might too, if he keeps this up. you continue your usual routine of checking up on your employees' progress, ignoring the hulking figure known as phainon breathing down your neck.
while going around the office, you encounter employees who praise you for taking such great care of the intern. but their perspectives are limited, unseeing of how tightly he's come to cling, so their words are ultimately discarded.
but phainon is only an intern, a temporary addition. you can hold on until his contract ends, until he goes back to his college.
on the drive home, an employee's words get stuck in your head,
phainon is a scarily optimistic intern, i wouldn't mind him becoming an actual employee in our department once he graduates!
... you hope not.
on the last day of phainon's internship, tears are shed. employees all around the office are mourning the loss of their 'sunshine boy'. they're out there hosting him a miniature farewell party, imparting their wishes and good luck's onto the soon-to-be ex-intern.
you chose to stay in your office, coming up with a lie that your ceo tasked you with urgent work. you know it won't abate him forever, but you still savor the brief moments of solitude. the parasite attached to your skin will be forcibly ripped away, allowing you to breathe in air and walk through the office without a second shadow.
you, for one, couldn't be any happier.
the sun is beginning to set by the time he knocks. you expected him, so you tell him to come inside without missing a beat.
standing a few feet away from you is the intern who has been hellbent on being with you every waking moment inside this skyscraper building. he's dressed in his usual white button-up, blue tie, and black slacks. he closes the door behind him with a soft click. then he strides over to you.
"i'll be going today, miss." he announces the obvious, blue eyes boring into yours.
"i know, phainon." you stop typing, looking up to give him a microscopic smile, "i'm grateful for all the time spent with you. i wish you good luck with your studies."
phainon smiles, eyes slightly crinkled. he cocks his head to the side and asks, "is that so? how grateful, miss?"
he looms over your desk and continues, "grateful enough to give me a goodbye kiss, perhaps?"
he's blatantly flirting, you note with apprehension; his last day here seems to remove any inhibitions he previously had. it confirms the theory swirling around in your mind for weeks now.
while you initially agreed with anaxa that phainon's behavior was for his internship rating, that speculation fell apart the moment he willingly stayed behind during your overtime shift. you appreciate the admiration, however,
"you know i don't think of you that way, phainon."
it's a clean cut rejection, leaving no threads behind for hope to sprout. not too harsh, not too lenient either.
but phainon is persistent - a characteristic repeatedly shown throughout his internship. it's shown in how he stubbornly stuck to your side, waiting for a bone that will never come to be tossed his way. it's shown in the way he's still standing here in your office.
he advances an inch forward, hungry in a way you've never known. when he pleads, it's a borderline whimper, "please?"
you shake your head, "phainon."
he truly whimpers now, brows pinched together as if physically pained by your refusal. taking a deep breath, he leans over your desk, startlingly close enough to beg into your ear,
"please, miss. i don't want you to be some far-fleeting dream... please."
phainon inches away only to survey your stupefied expression. he waits, then, when he sees you intending to move away, his hand cups your face to render you still.
"phainon, let go." you hiss out, anger beginning to build. you're in the middle of scratching at his forearm when he solemnly speaks,
"i didn't want to do this, miss," without much effort, he towers over you, blue eyes seeming to glow, "but i'll report you to the HR."
you freeze, frowning up at him, "what?"
"i'll tell them you came onto me," he relays it to you with no sympathy in his voice, knowing full well what this will do to you, "i'll tell them that you demanded me to kiss you if i wanted to pass my internship."
his blunt nails dig into your skin, yet you're numb to any pain he might inflict, not when he dangles your future like a carrot on a stick, "i'll tell everyone partying out there that you've been blackmailing me to be your errand boy, that you've been forcing me to stay with you during overtime. i'll tell them everything if you won't kiss me."
phainon is the perfect picture of a naive and flawless intern, devastatingly so. they'll believe him - he knows this, too.
he licks his lips, mouth salivating at what comes next. drooling like he knows he has you hook, line, and sinker. so close to slobbering all over your face and blouse like the dirty mutt that he actually is.
"so please," he leans down, intent on meeting you halfway. "i'm begging you, kiss me."
aka intern phainon's guide to combating power imbalance... just turn the tables on your department head, duh! :)
Thinking about… A yandere husband who changes personality too many times in a day.
Yandere! Duke(?) x Wife! Reader
CW : psychological horror, children engagement, 1700s customs, YN being attentive and suspicious as hell, short smut, corpse hiding, murder, no incest (trust me it’s important), cum in undies.
Word count : 1k words
Inspired by Crimson Peak (2015)
꩜ Yan! Duke, who is promised to marry a viscount's daughter once he reaches 25. He’s still a chubby child who likes you too much. Yes, you. The baby who already wears a pink bonnet while reaching your hand to touch him. His little heart is about to burst when you giggle because of his nervous expression.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who’s extremely protective and obsessive with you. He plays with you all day whenever your mother brings you to one of his mother’s loud tea parties. The Duke clearly dislikes the sounds of fake laughters, but at least you two are together.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who taught you how to tie ribbons, how to make tea, and how to throw stones in water so it’ll jump and ripple the water just to make you smile and hug him.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who sometimes changes personality. Once you’re old enough to notice, you can see that he’s very talkative but humorous, but sometimes he’s quiet and easy to anger (he’ll never get angry at you though).
꩜ Yan! Duke, who secretly stabbed a maid’s son at 10 for saying you’re adorable. No one is allowed to admire you but him.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who by the time reaches 18, needs to go on military training. He comes home every half a year bringing gifts. But you noticed that every 6 months, his writing changes ever so slightly. Sometimes he forgot to loop his Ys. Yet in another 6 months, he loops it.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who comes home always seeking for you. He’ll be smiling, but sometimes it’s either too curt or too large for his face.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who is very suspicious sometimes. Once he’s out of military training, he’s already 24. He always wore the bracelet you made, but once he’s discharged, he’s not using it. When you question it, he just shook his head and ruffled his hair, saying that he didn’t want it broken, so he placed it on his family’s estate.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who’s very ecstatic when he reaches the age where you’ll be betrothed to him. He’s very excited to be married to you. It’s the only day he’s been waiting for.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who is very, very conversational during your marriage ceremony. He keeps asking if you're comfortable. If the dress is too tight? He'll kill the bridesmaids if they forced you into a small dress but thankfully you're fine.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who turned 180° during the night. You're already in your night gown and he's half naked. Yet his voice is obviously softer and clingier. He hugs you on the waist, his dick is already hard on his night pants.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who eats pussy like a hungry man. His thumb against your clit, while his tongue slid in and out of your folds.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who can’t stop moaning once he’s fully inside you. He insists on seeing you, so he’s on top of you, between your legs with his hands beside your head. His lips are chapped and dry, but it felt so right to do it.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who has a little mole below his right ear. You only see it because he hugs you when he cums. He’s still hard though, so he smiles softly and raised your legs up on his shoulders, continuing his thrusts now harder after making sure you're okay.
꩜ Yan! Duke, who only got tired after three hours of nonstop sex. You’re very impressed yet also concerned with him. You tucked him with an extra blanket before sleeping.
꩜ You, who woke up with your husband cheerfully asking if yesterday was enjoyable. You nodded and cuddled up to him. You accidentally saw his neck though, and there’s somehow no mole today. When you asked, husband only furrowed his eyebrows and said he has no mole in that spot.
꩜ You started getting uneasy. Ever since you fully moved to his home, you swore you felt someone watching you 24/7 and it’s not the maids or butlers, like a pair of eyes following your every move. And husband’s personality change is even more drastic. He got angry because the donations for a charity arrived late. He excused himself, and came back fifteen minutes later already cheery.
꩜ You, who noticed your belongings are not in the place you put. You assumed it’s just your husband, but how can your panties inside the laundry with questionable white stuff on it?
꩜ You, who clearly didn’t know the history of this estate, or the people living in it. For the better, or for the worse.
…
꩜ Yan! Duke, or actually, dukes. Yan! Duke is actually two people, twins, born from the same mother. You're supposed to be yan! Older brother's beloved.
꩜ You befriended them both when you're extremely young. So the memory is a little fuzzy. But they're both super good to you, so you act your best around them too.
꩜ But the boys are good at sharing, so they've been switching places since they're little just to see and spend time with you. But they clearly don't see how attentive you are.
꩜ Older brother gets caught killing a stableboy’s son after he plays rough with you during hide and seek. The boy pushed you out of your hiding spot.
꩜ Younger brother helps him hide it inside their wardrobe, and their mother only knew because their room reeks like death.
꩜ Yan! Duke’s parents faked the older brother’s death. Ever since that, there’s only one duke known in the mansion. The brothers took turns roaming around the mansion.
꩜ They have a secret room they’ll stay in when the other is playing the perfect man.
꩜ Both literally worships you, and would do anything you say as long as you’ll stay with them. They’ll be the most nurturing, loving husbands ever. They’re just two crows stuck in the same nest with the cutest finch ever. They’ll continue to devote themselves to you, even if they have to pretend to live each other’s lives to be able to be with you.
A/n : it's time to cleanse my account from this freaky yans 😭 new chapter for fried fish? yes please incoming tomorrow.
Reblogs are appreciated, reqs and asks even more so!
( ✎ ) 600 followers special!!!!!! Thank you so much guys! as a gift pls have this sub phainon fic! Hahaha I definately didn't postpone my reaver fic for this...hahahah...(lmk if I misplaced a tag!)
You stand at the foot of the bed, your eyes locked on Phainon as he lies spread-eagled on the sheets, his muscular frame taut with anticipation. His white hair fans out across the pillow, those piercing blue eyes staring up at you with a mix of hunger and submission.
He's already stripped bare, his thick cock half-hard and twitching against his abs, but you can see the possessiveness in his gaze—he's yours, and he wants everyone to know it, even now as he surrenders control.
"Tie me down," he whines softly, his voice rough with need.
"Make me yours completely. No one else gets this—no one but you." You nod, grabbing the soft leather restraints from the nightstand. You secure his wrists to the headboard first, pulling the straps tight enough to bite into his skin without bruising. His arms flex, muscles bulging as he tests them, but he doesn't fight. Next, his ankles to the footboard, spreading his legs wide, exposing every inch of him. He looks like a god bound for sacrifice, his chest heaving, nipples already hard in the cool air.
You lube up the fuck machine next, the sleek dildo attachment gleaming under the dim light. It's thick, ridged for maximum friction, and you position it carefully between his legs, pressing the tip against his tight hole. Phainon bites his lip, watching you work.
"D-do it," he urges, hips lifting slightly. "Fuck me with it. Show me m' all yours." You slide it in slow, inch by inch, watching his ass clench around it as it stretches him open. He groans, head falling back, but his eyes snap back to you—possessive, claiming you even as you claim him.
With the machine locked in place, you attach the vibrators. One clamps around the base of his cock, buzzing to life on a low setting that makes him hiss and buck. The other two are smaller, suction cups latching onto his nipples, vibrating in sync. You step back to the edge of the bed, settling into the chair there, legs crossed as you admire your handiwork. Phainon strains against the bonds, his cock now fully erect, leaking pre-cum onto his stomach.
You flick the switch on the fuck machine. It starts with a mechanical whir, the dildo thrusting into his ass in steady, relentless strokes. Phainon's mouth falls open, a deep moan escaping as it bottoms out inside him, the bulge visible on his lower belly with each push.
"Fuck—! yes—"he pants, eyes glazing over. You turn up the vibrators, the one on his cock humming stronger, making his shaft throb and jump.
His cries start soft, building as the overstimulation hits. The machine pounds his ass harder now, the dildo creating that obscene belly bulge over and over, pressing against his insides. The vibrators assault his cock and nipples without mercy, sending shocks of pleasure-pain through his body.
"Oh aeons—it's too much—!" he gasps, but his hips roll up to meet the thrusts, chasing more. You watch, heat pooling between your legs at the sight—his muscular body writhing, white hair sticking to his sweat-damp forehead, blue eyes pleading with you.
"Look at you, Phainon," you murmur, voice laced with praise and bite.
"So strong, so possessive, but right now you're just my little fucktoy, aren't you? Begging for it like a desperate slut." He whimpers, the sound turning you on even more, your pulse racing as his cries grow louder, more broken. The machine doesn't stop, slamming into him, the bulge distorting his abs with every deep plunge.
His first orgasm hits fast. His cock pulses in the vibrator's grip, cum shooting out in thick ropes across his chest, splattering his bound arms. He arches off the bed, a raw shout tearing from his throat.
"Cumming—! Fuck!— gonna cumm...—" But the devices keep going, the fuck machine drilling his ass, vibrators buzzing relentlessly. He shakes through the aftershocks, oversensitive, but you don't turn them off.
"Good boy," you praise, leaning forward slightly. "Such a pretty mess you're making. But you're not done. My little pup—cum again. Show me how much you need this."
He begs now, voice cracking. "P-pease—it's too m-much. Turn it down, I—ah!" Another thrust from the machine cuts him off, the dildo bulging his belly prominently. The vibrator on his cock milks him mercilessly, and soon he's hard again, cock straining despite the overload.
You crank the settings higher, watching his body convulse. His nipples redden under the suction, his ass clenching around the invading dildo as it pistons in and out. Phainon's cries turn frantic, a mix of pleas and moans.
"More—! need you—only you!" he slurs, getting cockdrunk, his blue eyes unfocused, lost in the haze. Cum dribbles from his tip again, building to his second release. He cums harder this time, body seizing, more seed spilling over his abs, mixing with the first load. The belly bulge from the dildo makes it all the more erotic, his muscles rippling under the strain.
"Pathetic," you degrade softly, though your voice holds affection. "Cumming so quick, like you can't control yourself. But that's why you're mine—my greedy, overstuffed toy."
He thrashes, begging incoherently. "Please! Pleasepleaseplease touch me—kiss me—! m' yours, all yours!" The third orgasm rips through him without warning, his cock erupting weakly now, cum oozing out as the vibrator forces it from him. He's a wreck, sweat-slicked, cries hoarse, but still so possessive in his delirium.
By the fourth cum, he's utterly cockdrunk, babbling nonsense, body limp against the restraints except for the involuntary jerks from the machine. The dildo keeps bulging his belly, stretching him wide, and you finally switch everything off after he spills one last pathetic dribble. He slumps, panting, eyes half-lidded as you untie him.
You ease the toys away gently, wiping him clean with a warm cloth, massaging his sore muscles. "You did so well, Phai," you whisper, praising now without the edge. "My strong, beautiful pup."
He pulls you close the moment his hands are free, possessive arms wrapping around you tight. You kiss him deeply, tongues sliding together in a slow, tender dance, tasting his exhaustion and devotion.
He murmurs against your lips, "All mine... forever."
You hold him as he comes down, stroking his white hair until he drifts into a sated sleep.
For the last few months you felt like the universe was really on your side from how lucky you’ve been. The plushie that you’ve been eyeing? It’s now discounted almost 90% off and you were one of the first buyers when it went on sale.
The concert to your favorite band/singer that you knew you wouldn’t be able to afford? The company themselves held a raffle for free tickets and you were over the moon when you found out you won them.
Even those yummy food places you wanted to try but knew were too expensive for you had days were they were giving things out for almost free and you always managed to get there on time before they sold out.
If only you knew the truth. How many strings he had to pull to ensure you got all of that. Sure it took a lot of money, time and resources to make sure they got to you before anyone else. But seeing how happy you got made it all worth it.
The way you jump up and down when you got home, squeezing the plushy in your arms out of excitement. How you scream and even cried finding out you got the tickets. And seeing how happy you looked eating those foods. Your cheek puffed out and that content smile, looking like you were savoring every bite, not knowing the next time something like this would happen.
But he’ll make sure it will some time soon. He would do anything in his power to keep you healthy and happy. If that meant draining his bank account to see a smile on your face and the way your eyes lit up, he would do it in a heartbeat. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to worry about that happening. He had more than enough to do all that and more without making a dent in his account.
Now the next step was getting your attention so he could spoil you even more.
———————————————
Please no putting my writing in any AI chat, bot etc. And also no reposting as your own. Thank you for taking the time to read (つ˃ᵕ˂)つ⸝♡
yandere!gojo is so delusional about you, it affects his daily life. he can't concentrate on his work. he often forgets things. it started small like forgetting his car keys inside his house, forgetting about a plan to meet a friend, until even the important ones, he forgets too. you're to blame. he keeps on thinking about you. it's hard not to, it's easier said than done.
as if you got pricked by his sharp stare, you turned around and met a pair of blue eyes. in the midst of the busy crowd, it felt like there was only the two of you there, acknowledging each other's presence. but then, you looked away and walked out of the place. your friend held you by your arm, leading you somewhere yandere!gojo wouldn't have a clue of.
he finally blinked when you disappeared from his sight. his hand pressed against his chest, right where his heart was pounding so lively. you must've felt it too, right? the connection, the feeling of finally meeting your soulmate and the love of your life? he was sure of it. he has never felt this urge to claim ownership of someone.
the urge to be all over you, and the need for you to feel the same way as him. he wants to hold you, keep you trapped tight in his arms, you'd pass out. he wants to swallow you whole. keep you inside him, you'd merge as one. he'd be the only one able to see and feel you. he sighed shakily onto his palm.
ahh. he's must've really lost it. he laughed to himself, earning curious and judging stares by the people near him.
he's craving you too much, he's salivating like a feral dog. he knew he was screwed in the head but he didn't realize it was this bad. something inside him has gone wild just by the first sight of you. what have you done to him? he swallowed. he felt this kind of thirst a beverage couldn't quench. a hunger that food wouldn't satiate. something that only you could solve.
driven by his insanity and desperate need of you, he kidnaps you on your sleep that night and no one else saw you by the next morning.
kinda wanna get railed but in a "i love you where have you been all my life i’m obsessed with you and you belong to me and only me kinda way" you know just the romantic things
Synopsis: You’re a spy disguised as a maid, sent to infiltrate the crown prince’s castle and gather information. The mission never mentioned anything about being caught. Or worse, being kept.
And now he’s willing to pay anything, just to keep your eyes on him.
Look At Me
You were currently in the chamber of the crown prince, excitement barely contained.
It’s been three months since you started working as a maid, your disguise. Three months of careful steps, lowered gazes, and quiet obedience just to reach this point.
You were tasked with cleaning his bedroom, something only highly recognized maids were allowed to do.
And now, you were finally here.
Alone in his room.
Or… so you thought.
But the head maid never told you the crown prince would be in there, waiting. Quietly watching you enter from his bed.
“I’m sorry, your highness—” you bowed immediately, lowering your head the second you realized he was there. “I wasn’t informed you would be present.”
You had to keep your head down. It was a criminal offense to even make eye contact with the royalty.
He just sat there, unbothered, on the bed. You could feel his eyes tracking your movement.
“It’s fine.” His voice was calm and dismissive.
Yet he didn’t move. He didn’t leave.
You looked up slightly to see if he was going to leave or not. Dang it! How else are you going to snoop around the room if he’s still here?
You hesitated, then forced yourself to continue. If anything, this just made your job harder.
“I’ll begin cleaning, your highness.”
“Hmm.” Was all you got back, meaning he had no intention of leaving. And you were in no position to tell the prince of the country to get out of his own bedroom.
So you worked. Carefully, quietly, while avoiding his gaze.
But you could feel it…
His eyes. Following you. And it was definitely not the casual kind of look. No, he kept watching long enough for sweat to collect around your collar.
“How much do they pay you?”
Your hand stilled mid-motion.
“You mean my salary as a maid, your highness? Well…” you tried to answer as calmly as possible, fingers shaking with nerves.
“Not that.”
Your shaking paused for a moment.
“I’m trying to hire you.”
Fingers tightened slightly around the cloth, you braced yourself to speak. “I’m already employed here, your highness—”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” He repeated, eyes tracking the way your shoulders tensed.
Silence stretched between you.
“You can drop the act.” A soft step came from behind you.
“Maid.” He mocked, voice came out closer than before with a faint smile playing on his lips at the title.
Your grip on the duster tightened.
So… You’d been found out.
Slowly, you turned to face him.
The prince was no longer on the bed. He was right behind you now. Too close.
You hadn’t even heard him move.
It made you wonder how long he’s been standing there… Right behind you, watching how you trembled in your boots. Shivers went down your spine.
Your eyes narrowed, and for the first time since your stay here, you met the prince’s gaze head on.
“How long have you known?” you asked, dropping the act entirely.
His lips curved at the eye contact in delight. “Long enough.”
His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened. Like he’d been waiting for this.
“For someone so careful,” he continued lightly, “you do stare quite a lot.”
Your breath caught. “…What?”
“Not directly, of course.” He stepped closer, his shoes clanked against the high quality flooring, unhurried.
“You watch me when you think I won’t notice.”
This… wasn’t part of your plan today. Your mind was twisting in horror now as you calculated for a way to escape.
“…So?” you said, forcing steadiness into your voice. “What now? You expose me? Interrogate me?”
“No.” The word came out too quickly.
Then, his gaze softened.
“I want to hire you.” He let his words sink in for a moment.
“So? Name your price, and I will pay you triple, no quadruple the amount they paid you.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. The words still making no sense.
“You… want to hire me. Actually?”
He nodded firmly, the faint smile still on his face.
But that was still vague. Did he want you to betray your initial employees, is that it?
No, more importantly, why hasn’t he disposed of you yet… He could’ve dragged you to the torture chamber and gotten all the answers out himself, why bother to pay?
“To… spy back on them?” You raised an eyebrow, confused and on guard for an escape. You were trying to buy as much time as possible while also considering the offer he was about to give.
“No.” He answered curtly again, and your guard immediately dropped at that response.
What the hell does he want? You couldn’t read anything from his face, only that unnerving smile stayed in place.
Then, a dumb idea came to mind.
“You… want me to spy on you?”
He beamed at the question, like he was waiting for you to say those words. Like you’d finally asked the right question.
“I don’t want you to spy,” he said quietly, taking another step.
Your heart hammered against your chest as you stepped back instinctively from this prince.
“I want you to watch.”
Your breath hitched at another step your way.
“Not like before,” he continued. “without hiding, and without avoiding eye contact.”
Now there was nowhere left to go.
You were pressed against the door now, the prince only inches away. And your hand was frantically looking for the handle.
His hand lifted slowly. Giving you time to pull away.
You couldn’t didn’t.
His fingers brushed your cheek. It was gentle, too gentle for a spy like you deserved.
“I want your full, undivided attention on me,” he murmured.
His thumb tilted your chin just enough to force your gaze back to his.
“Not short, secretive glances. Full on watching me, just like this.”
You couldn’t look away. Not with him this close.
Not with his eyes fixed on yours like that.
“Is that too much to ask?”
His voice softened further. Something almost thoughtful in it now.
“Because I’m willing to pay for it.”
He tilted his head, a small furrow forming between his brows.
“All of it. I’m willing to spend all of my fortune for your time and attention.”
You tried to shake your head in response, but his hand on your chin made it impossible to move away.
“All you have to do is give it to me. Hm?”
Your hand finally found the door handle, only to realize it was locked ever since you came in.
There was no space for refusal now.
He was never asking in the first place.
english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes
Born as a beta, you never thought fate would toy with you by giving an alpha as your soulmate. Especially not one like Miya Atsumu, the one whom you went to school through college with and still having to see his face ever so frequently as if he had sworn to never let you live in peace.
For someone who made faces when seeing the lunchboxes your mom packed for you and proclaimed a beta was weak when you first presented at fifteen, Miya Atsumu couldn’t seem to detach himself from you.
So when you had a crush on one of your colleagues at twenty five, having his nose in your business as usual, Atsumu knew instantly.
“Another beta.” Lying comfortably on your couch, Atsumu scoffed. “Predictable.”
“Didn’t ask for your opinions.”
“I’m giving it anyway,” he said in a singsong voice, but his face was without mirth. “You can fuck whoever you want, but I’m getting my fix. That’s non-negotiable.”
Oh, yeah. His fix.
He patted his lap. “Come here.”
Then it all began again. Him cradling you in his lap, hands going all over, lips spilling hateful words.
‘Weak fucking beta.’ He would say. ‘Even Osamu got an omega soulmate. Makes me jealous as fuck.’
But then he would kiss you like the world might end tomorrow, doing everything opposite of what he said. This time was no different. His hot tongue was everywhere he could reach, acquainted itself with yours before leaving a wet trail down your neck.
You protested when he nipped a little too hard, scared he might leave marks. He did that once. The deep purple hickey you saw in the mirror after he left your apartment scared the shit out of you. A little more force and teeth could have broken the skin, and that thought caused chills to run all over your body. You didn’t want to bear his marks.
Yet, Atsumu didn’t care. He never did. His hands were now on your buttocks, squeezing hard through your thin pajama bottoms. He moved you to one of his thighs for better concentration. The hands on your butt now rolled your hips back and forth, to the point your moan finally slipped out of your tightly zipped lips and you forgot about the harsh nibbling on your neck.
“Go whore yourself out,” Atsumu whispered. “Like I fucking care.”
Same here, asshole.
You thought, didn’t say out loud.
Touching each other lifted the heavy weight in the heart caused by the act of not accepting the soulmate bond. Nothing more, nothing less. If not for this calling of intimacy both of you obliged to feel, he wouldn’t be here. You knew that. He said it way too many times.
Still, your cheeks were licked, your lips were tasted, neck wet with saliva. You felt like a prey about to be eaten every time he was close. Yes, he may not care. But he sure was possessive enough of things that were given to him.
Whenever you tried to wiggle out of his firm grasp, he tightened his fist. This time was the hardest you ever felt.
—
In more than twenty years of knowing each other, never once did Atsumu come to you when he had gone into rut. So when he called you two in the morning one week after his last fix, ordered you to pack a bag and tell your boss you would be on leave for a week, you were baffled. It was never more than kisses and touches with him. Your clothes were always intact and on. The idea of that being changed had you flat out saying no.
That didn’t stop Atsumu from coming to get you one hour later though. When he saw that you did nothing to get ready, his jaw was clenched. A split second later, he packed your bag himself, shoving clothes and toiletries in without any care. You were still in pajamas when the passenger door was slammed closed and he hit the gas.
—
There were reasons why betas are not for alphas. Physically, they were incompatible. Betas weren’t designed for alpha’s stamina, not to mention one in rut. At one point, you did not care to count anymore how many times you had blacked out. Fading in and out really fucked with your memory. All you remembered was the non-stop pounding, Atsumu’s breath against your face, and his uncharacteristic cooing, praising you as his good girl.
“Knew you were built for me.” The blond menace pulled on both of your wrists, never stopped his thrusting. “Let me knot you again, okay?” When you shook your head, face wet with tears, Atsumu shushed you softly. “Shhhhh. You can do it, I know you can.”
And you could. But it was not without pain.
“Shouldn’t have waited this long,” Atsumu said close to your lips. “You almost got away.”
He talked too much. But it would have been a big fat lie to deny that his words didn’t turn you on. That his vile confession didn’t affect you.
“Bold of you to even think I would let someone else touch you.” He sounded out of breath, closing to his end. “All the effort goes to waste. No no no no.”
You felt it coming, just seconds before. Then your whole body was taken by the waves of thrills and your whole vision turned white. Atsumu was not your first, but as if he was the harbinger of agony, it hurt when he first penetrated, hurt when he knotted. And when you felt a sharp sting at your sensitive neck, you knew he defied the rule of nature once again by marking you.
Fruitless. That was what it would be. Betas were not made for alphas. Mating bites did not forge any bond with the wrong person and would fade over time. But Atsumu had always been stubborn. One bite turned into two, three, then countless. All you felt was pain and the wetness of blood before darkness took your consciousness like the many rounds before.
—
The mating bites faded within two weeks, all except the first mark, proving to you that even biology could not win over destiny. Same went with all other beta-alpha soulmate couples out there after you had done some research. They were rare, but they were there. You shouldn’t have let Atsumu bite you. Should have known better that things could get weird when it came to soulmates. Now, he wouldn’t get off your ass, had the audacity to move his things to your apartment and yours to his, calling you his girlfriend in front of everyone and expecting to see you at his games.
You didn’t even like volleyball to begin with. And as you watched his magnificent tosses to any players he deemed to have high chances to score, you thought of a way to get out of his clutch.
He needed an omega, the correct designation he always longed for. Because even with all the protective caresses and the promise to never let you go, Atsumu was still mean. Like going back to the ninth grade when you put makeup on for the first time and he gave you the nastiest comment that made you go wash everything off in the school toilet, his words still stung badly when he chose to weaponize them.
‘Samu’s mate smells like she needs to be bred.’ He said that nonchalantly one day at Onigiri Miya, sitting side by side with you at the counter where his twin and his mate helped each other with cooking and serving the hungry athletes who were there to celebrate the day’s victory ‘Don’t know how he stands that. So sweet’
Hearing that made your conversation with Hinata pause. His steely gaze was the first thing you saw when turning to face ‘your boyfriend’.
It didn’t end there. For days Atsumu was in a devilish mood, his jabs that you knew most of them were meant to just rile you up for fun had become a real emotional harm. He still fucked you, make no mistake about that. And it was as devilish as his temper.
‘Too hard, Miya. Too hard.’ You still wouldn’t call him by his first name.
Veiny hands wrapped snugly around your neck, Atsumu only went faster after hearing that. The bathroom mirror was foggy with hot steam from the shower, but you could see enough. One of your legs was perched on the counter, allowing the view of his cock pistoning in and out of you, your breasts bouncing fast.
‘Would have been pregnant already if you were an omega.’ The sentence came out coated with his accent, thicker than normal, like he didn’t have full control of how he spoke. ‘But that’s alright. I can take my time with you. We’ll get there,’ he purred. ‘Still, what a shame, huh?’
Shame his ass for saying that and not letting you leave. ‘Go fuck an omega then.’
He smirked. Pissed you off. ‘Nah.’
As his toss to Sakusa scored a winning point, the loud cheer brought you back to the present. You saw Atsumu eyes staring up at you from the court below and knew what you had to do.
—
Getting an omega who wanted to spend a heat with Miya Atsumu was easy enough. Sending her up to your apartment where he was already there waiting for you was as simple. You drove away then, not far, stopping at your favorite 24-hour cafe because you needed somewhere to sit and waited for the first feedback from the omega girl. Half an hour later, you got a call.
The screen showed the female omega’s name. You picked up and said hello, expecting to hear that everything went well and that you could go find somewhere else to sleep for the next five nights.
But you only heard cries. Not of pleasure, just a full-blown crying with hiccups.
“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, frowning. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“He—he screamed—at me,” she spluttered, almost incoherently, “and only asked where you were.”
You cursed quietly, finally able to stop stirring the poor coffee you ordered without any interest in taking a sip. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” she cried. “He left—after the screaming.” Her voice wavered all the more when she kept on trying to speak. “You had to see him. He looked murderous. There was not even a hello. He straight up shouted at me, accusing me of breaking in. When I tried to explain—mentioned you, his face was all red.” A hiccup interrupted the long babbling. “He said he was married to you and showed me the ring.”
You were not sure what crack Atsumu was on, but there was definitely no ring or marriage.
The call was still on when you heard the cafe’s door pushed open. And it was as if you saw the devil with your own naked eyes.
Atsumu walked in.
His strides declared no peace or mercy when he saw you, ignoring the greetings from the two night shift baristas.
Not wanting to cause a scene, you stood up, didn’t say anything when he put his hand on your shoulder and led the way out.
The drive was silent. Your car was left at the parking lot near the cafe, you would have to come and get it as soon as you could before the parking fee turned as murderous as him. When asked where he was going, he answered solemnly, “My place. Yours stinks.”
You just knew it was going to be a long night.
—
Atsumu was the one who got the car out for you the next morning since he was the one who could still walk without wobbling. The sheets you slept on were rumpled. They reeked of cum.
You reeked of cum.
‘You think you’re so funny?’ he asked, knowing you couldn’t answer with his cock occupying your mouth but did it nonetheless ‘You wanted me to fuck her? What was going on in that pretty little head?’
He pulled you by the nape of your neck before pushing your head down, forcing your throat to take more of him till you felt the urge to gag.
‘I thought we had an understanding, baby,’ he said, finally relenting his grip on your head. ‘No whoring yourself out.’ Then he stressed, ‘And no whoring me out. I’m yours.’
‘Do you understand?’
You only nodded.
‘Words.’
‘Yes, Miya.’
‘Atsumu,’ he said, looking like he wanted to throw up. ‘You’re not fucking my brother. Don’t make me imagine that. Call me Atsumu.’
‘Yes, Tsumu.’
Looked like you delivered. Atsumu grinned from ear to ear. ‘Good girl. My best girl.’
That was last night.
A warm kiss to the cheek woke you again, must have dozed off after Atsumu left, but those scenes were not a dream. You heard him whisper,
“I got your car. Parked it at your place.”
He looked like he got a ten-hour sleep while you could not move a limb without feeling sore. Not fair. And the way he looked so good in sheep’s clothing, his wolf’s skin all hidden. Not fair at all.
“Shower.” Your voice was hoarse, but you got the message through. That was good enough.
Like, yeah, a yandere will stalk you, lie for you, kill for you. But what if they don’t have to? What if they never lift a finger? What if the universe does it for them?
Consider this, you're living in a universe where soulmates are real. You're just a normal person living your life when suddenly the universe itself starts conspiring to throw you together with this person who's giving you major clingy, obsessive red flags and he's not the one orchestrating these "coincidences" - it's literal fate:
- You miss the last train / bus home or your car breaks down? Guess who "happens" to drive by at that exact moment.
- You accidentally text a wrong number and it turns out to be him.
- Your favourite obscure café? Oh, he’s been a regular for years.
- You break your ankle in the rain? Wow, he just happened to be passing by with an umbrella, your favourite snacks, and a well-stocked first aid kit.
- You date someone else? That person ghosts you without explanation. Gets into a freak accident. Just “changes their mind.” Every. Single. Time.
That's what makes it even worse - it not even like he's manipulating the situation. He doesn't have to. Because fate itself is on his side. Fate is more obsessive than he is.
Fate is the real yandere here.
And the thing is, he knows - he knows fate predestined you to be his, and he's absolutely thrilled about it. Meanwhile, you're looking at the universe like "excuse me, I'd like to speak to the manager of fate please, because what the ACTUAL HELL."
The worst part? Everyone else thinks it's romantic! Your friends are all, "Aww, you two keep running into each other. It must be meant to be!" Your family loves them because of course they do. Even your pet, who hates everyone, somehow loves this person.
You try to escape, try to move to another city - Surprise job transfer for him to be in exact same place! You try to get a restraining order? The paperwork mysteriously disappears or gets filed incorrectly.
And your yandere soulmate is just sitting there like "See? We're meant to be together. Even the universe agrees with me. Why are you fighting this? Why are you fighting fate?" with that serene smile while you're having an existential crisis.
It's like being in a romantic comedy except YOU'RE NOT LAUGHING, and no one else seems to notice that this isn't cute. It's terrifying:
You: "I don't even like them! We have nothing in common!"
The Universe: *makes you both get stuck in an elevator for six hours*
Your Friends: "You two are so perfect together!"
Your Yandere Soulmate: *adds another photo to their shrine of you*
Honestly? Could’ve been a cute romcom. If he wasn’t... you know.
Unhinged.
(Please, somebody write this because I know I won't be able to.)
