It's the day of your wedding and you find yourself less than excited as you do your own finishing touches. Your dress is pristine, fluffy with plenty of ribbons and lace, your makeup perfect, you latch a necklace and tie off a bow and give yourself a twirl in the mirror. The servants have given you the final few moments to yourself. Something about settling your nerves. You look like a swan. Will your future husband think so too? Will he think you're pretty? Will he even like you?

With a deep breath you make your way out.

But you never reach the ceremonial hall. The last anyone recalls seeing you is your maids. After that it's as if you've vanished entirely from the face of the earth. There's not a thing out of place in your dressing room and the window is open.

Could you have run away? No, you would never do that. You never disobeyed or refused your duties. Yet, that's the conclusion the nobles come to as they have no way of knowing just what happened. That you were taken.

Yandere!Raven x Dove!Reader

Yandere! Raven is literally a hoarder. His nest isn't just a bed, it’s a pile of shiny shit he’s swiped, broken watch gears, gold chains, expensive silks. But you’re the "crown jewel." he legit obsesses over how your white feathers look against his dark-ass room. He’ll spend hours just staring at you, thinking about how you’re the only thing in his hoard that’s actually alive.

He’s way too smart for his own good. He doesn’t have to lock the door because he’ll just gaslight you into staying. "Oh, the wind is too high for a dove today, you'll break a wing," or he’ll "lose" your favorite things just so you have to ask him for help. He loves it when you’re confused because it means you have to rely on his "big raven brain" to fix it.

His gift-giving is lowkey scary. He doesn’t bring you flowers; he brings you stuff that makes you stay. He’ll bring you the specific berries you like from three towns over just so you realize no one else is gonna cater to you like he does. It’s a total power move wrapped in "I was thinking of you" vibes.

Yandere!Raven is a freak about your "purity." Since you’re a dove, he thinks you’re this fragile, innocent thing that the world is gonna "stain." he won’t even let you see a dead bug. he wants your entire life to be filtered through him so you think the outside world is way more terrifying than it actually is.

The mimicry thing is the worst part. He can copy voices perfectly. You’ll be in the kitchen and hear your mom calling your name from the balcony, but when you run out there, it’s just him sitting on the railing with a smirk. "Did you hear something? must be the wind, little bird. Stay inside where it's safe."

If you actually try to fly away, he snaps. He’s faster and way more aggressive in the air. He’ll dive-bomb you or force you into a landing that’s a little too rough, just to scare you. Then, once you’re back in the nest crying, he’ll act all "sweet" and preen your feathers for hours, whispering about how you "almost got hurt" and he's the only one who can protect you.

He loves the aesthetic of you two together. he’ll make you sit in front of a mirror while he brushes your white wings with his black-taloned fingers. he’ll literally whisper about how you’d look so "dirty" out in the real world without him to keep you clean. it’s super unsettling how much he focuses on the "black and white" contrast of your bodies.

"That looks heavy," the youngest one will say, noticing you taking out the trash. "Let me do it for you."

"As if (Y/N) would need your help," an older man chimes in, shoving the first one aside. "I'm stronger, it'll take me less time."

A third suitor appears, grabbing the other two by the scruff of their necks.

"If we're taking strength, I'm the one who has a better chance with (Y/N)."

Two of them interlock in a sumo grasp. The youngest attempts to run towards you, but a fourth sibling pulls him back into the wrestling match. By the time they tire themselves out, you're already getting ready for bed.

SYNOPSIS the blue lock boys reacting to this tweet you put out on your main accidentally

STARRING isagi, rin, shidou, sae, bunny x f!chubby!reader

tw : ed!!! mentions of starving, comfort and fluffff a/n : so hahahahahhahaa imightbelowkenuinelydelvingintothedeepdarkwatersofeatingdisorders haahahahahahhahaa ijustwannabeheld hahahahaha

isagi yoichi

you wake up to 47 missed calls from isagi and your notifications exploding.

he's already at your door at 7 a.m., still in training sweats, hair messy from running over after morning practice.

he doesn't even say hi — just pulls you into a crushing hug the second you open the door.

"why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" his voice is muffled against your shoulder, shaking a little.

"i thought… i thought we talked about everything. that friend? she's just chigiri's sister. i didn't even notice— fuck, i'm so stupid."

you mumble apologies, embarrassed, but he pulls back, cups your face, eyes intense like he's on the pitch reading an opponent's move.

"no starving. no skipping. we're eating breakfast right now. together. and you're telling me every time your brain does this shit so i can shut it down."

he kisses your forehead hard.

"i love every part of you. every. part. don't you dare try to change for anyone — especially not some random comparison."

he spends the whole day glued to you: cooking, forcing bites, soft forehead kisses every time you hesitate.

by night he's tweeting a vague "my girl is perfect, don't test me!!!!" with a pic of your intertwined hands — just in case it was those chronically online fuckers who made you insecure.

Hugo had a problem, you noticed.

A very big problem.

The man, as grown as he was, was unbelievably clingy.

The same way lint stuck to your clothes, Hugo's presence remained tethered to you — an unforgivable force of attraction stubborn against all odds.

He clung to you, from daylight to daybreak, without a moments rest. Requiring abnormal amounts of physical contact to 'physically function' or whatever bullfuckery he blabbered on about.

The athlete followed you everywhere. Like a little duckling running on instinct to chase after its mother, Hugo was attached to your hip and unwilling to let go.

It was much worse when nature called you in the middle of the night.

Hugo absolutely refused to let you leave his embrace when you needed to take an urgent piss.

Throwing his thigh possessively over yours, locking you in place with his arms tight around your waist, and nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a goddamn house cat.

The city could be consumed in flames, and still, Hugo was against detaching himself from you. Going as far as whining into your hair about feeling cold and lonely, anything to convince you to stay and cuddle with him just a little while longer.

But alas, your needs took priority over his pathetic wailing.

And yet, even then, Hugo was right behind you. Standing by the bathroom door, arms crossed, foot tapping restlessly against the floorboards and expression contorted with impatience as you took 'way too long' to do your business.

Seriously! How the hell were you supposed to take a shit or piss in peace when he chimed in every two seconds to hurry up?

And if that wasn't bad enough, away-nights without him might've single-handedly taken the cake for being even worse.

What was finally supposed to be your time to relax without a koala latched onto you became a pipe dream.

The difference in time zones, that was meant to act as a natural divider between the two of you, was of no help. If anything, it quickly became your biggest nemesis.

Because how the hell were you supposed to sleep at peace when Hugo blew your phone up with his incessant whining at the heinous hour of three in the morning?

One moment you would be trying to fall asleep, and the next, Hugo's calling to ask if you would hypothetically love him had he been born a worm.

No amount of reassurance from you could satisfy him either, none. Which then led to him demanding that you stay on call with him and listen to his endless rambles on whatever book he recently read.

It quickly put you to sleep. And surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, Hugo would remain on call all night till you woke up. It was a rather endearing habit he had, making sure that he was the last thing you saw before sleeping and the first thing you saw upon awakening.

Well, it was.

Until he then pouts and whines about you falling asleep on him.

But nothing— absolutely nothing, came close to the utter disaster he was when he trailed a phantom step behind you in the kitchen.

Arms bound around you, hanging low down on your hips and chin tucked snugly into your shoulder as his movements synched with yours.

Hugo's intense desire to melt into your proximity was just out of hand. Especially when he slumped his weight down on you, hindering your mobility which led to the nasty burn on his arm.

"Hugo! What are you going to do when I'm no longer alive?!"

He stilled at your unsolicited comment, blinking slowly at the way you bit your lip with evident guilt and fretted over the scalding burn blemishing his arm.

It didn't even hurt, well, maybe just a little bit… nonetheless, it really wasn't a big deal. At least not to him.

But… to see concern weave effortlessly in your contorted expression as you muttered curses under your breath at his lack of care, his heart could only soar with unbridled warmth.

Hugo pulled you in again, as he always did. Your fury going unheard in his moment of glee. And then, biting back the small smile that threatened to leave him, he pressed his nose against your jugular.

"You can't die before me, okay?"

Your heart rate hiccuped beneath his breathy whisper, a chain of goosebumps growing from the area of ghostly contact.

"You— you," you stumbled on your words as he pressed a chaste kiss above the skin now marred with your fluster.

"You stupid man!"

And in spite of your many scolding, in spite of it all, Hugo was a persistent stain that refused to budge under your whims. After all, he simply couldn't get enough of it— of you.

clingy hugo who loves your personal space… lwk this feels so basic 😭

@allieluvsh hope you did well on your exams! here's your reward nephew!

main! masterlist

you and kaiser had been at it for what felt like hours now, making out on the couch like you were trying to eat eachother’s mouths off.

kaiser pulled away first, gazing into your eyes, “need you.” he whispered, barely giving you time to react before he began to tug the waistband of your sweats down.

but as soon as he did, there it was. your spongebob lucky drawls.

kaiser’s jaw fell open in a silent ‘o’ but nothing came out, he was just staring in shock.

“what the fuck?” he cursed, half-confused and half-offended. “no way you still wear this.” he gazed into spongebob’s stupid eyes painted on your crotch, scoffing.

“what? it’s spongebob. it’s tuff.” you bit back a giggle, kaiser felt offended how fucking spongebob was closer to your body than him.

he pulled your sweatpants back up before clearing his throat and getting up.

“i’m not having sex with spongebob.”

a/n: this is the smallest thing ive ever wrote pllsss 💔

2025-2026 — @reositos ★ don’t copy/modify/translate/repost to other sites. also don’t feed my work to ai.

SYPNOSIS. in which you accidentally email your increasingly explicit nudes to your stern law professor higuruma hiromi instead of your assignments.

PAIRING. law prof! higuruma hiromi x law student! reader

CONTENT. MDNI. professor/student. age gap. oral sex (m/f receiving). light degradation.

A/N. art by ayushnz on ig

subject: urgent assignment submission

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

hey prof higuruma,

just attached the draft for the criminal procedure essay like you asked—reworked the section on miranda rights based on your feedback from last office hours. let me know if it still needs more case citations or if i’m overcomplicating the exclusionary rule again

thanks for staying late to look it over again, you’re saving my gpa here!

talk soon,

[your name]

(attachment: Criminal_Procedure_Essay_Draft_v3.docx)

tuesday lecture comes and you get there early this time. you sit in back row, legs crossed tight. he walks in five minutes before start wearing his usual black suit, sleeves already rolled. briefcase hits the podium hard. he doesn’t bother looking around before he starts.

“entrapment. page 231. we’re covering it today.”

he paces. voice low and tired like always. “entrapment defense requires government inducement that would cause a normally law-abiding person to commit the crime. it’s not just opportunity. it’s active persuasion, pressure, temptation that overrides free will.”

he stops, leaning on the podium. eyes scan the room slow looking at your section longer than others.

“consider seduction as a tactic. undercover officer poses as a romantic interest. they builds trust, uses flirtation, compliments, physical proximity, promises of intimacy. the target eventually agrees to sell drugs or whatever the crime is because the seduction makes refusal feel impossible. courts have ruled both ways. some say it’s legitimate police work. others say when it crosses into sexual manipulation it becomes entrapment per se.”

he keeps going, he describes cases. like how a female officer in a bar is wearing a low-cut dress touching the suspect’s arm. whispering how much she wants him. leading him to the deal. male officer doing the same to a female suspect. lingering looks, suggestive comments. “let me take care of you.” he lists factors courts weigh: intensity of the advances. repetition. whether the target initiated or resisted. how long the seduction lasted before the crime occurred.

the whole lecture his tone stays flat. no glances your way. he talks about “arousal as leverage” like it’s just another legal element. “when sexual desire is weaponized to lower inhibitions, the line between persuasion and coercion blurs. but the test remains objective: would the average person succumb?”

you feel his stare when he asks the question like he’s personally talking to you.

when class ends, he leaves fast.

wednesday night you send your second one.

subject: revised entrapment section – attached

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

prof,

added the entrapment cases you referenced in lecture. focused on the seduction hypotheticals and court splits. let me know if the analysis is on track.

[your name]

(attachment: Entrapment_Analysis_Revised.pdf)

again, no reply.

thursday you spot him at the faculty coffee stand outside the law building. the line’s short and he’s in front. pays with exact change as he takes his black coffee. when he turns, your eyes meet. you’re three feet away. he pauses and looks straight through you. he doesn't bother acknowledging you, then he steps around you, walking away.

your hands shake holding your own cup.

friday night comes and you promise yourself that this will be your last attempt.

subject: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

hi prof,

had a couple questions on the objective test for seduction-based entrapment. attached a quick example i wrote up to clarify my thinking. appreciate any notes.

thanks,

[your name]

(attachment: Seduction_Entrapment_Example.docx.)

saturday morning your inbox lights up.

subject: re: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

that’s the third nude you sent this week.

monday 5:30 pm. my office.

h. higuruma

you arrive at his office door at exactly 5:30 pm on monday, heart pounding like it's about to burst out of your chest. the law building is mostly empty this late–classes wrapped up hours ago, and the few lingering students are buried in the library or grabbing takeout from the food trucks outside. his door is cracked open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dim hallway. you knock lightly, his voice cuts through immediately.

"come in."

you push the door open, stepping inside. the office is what you'd expect from your professor.

stacks of case files on the desk, bookshelves crammed with legal tomes, a single window overlooking the campus quad. he's seated behind his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like always, exposing those forearms you've caught yourself staring at during lectures more times than you'd admit. his eyes flick up from a pile of papers, dark and unreadable, pinning you in place.

"close the door," he says, it’s not a request too. when you do, the click of the latch echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "lock it."

your fingers fumble on the knob, but you manage. when you turn back, he's already standing, rounding the desk with slow steps. he doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. the silence stretches, it was awkward until you can't take it anymore.

"professor, i—about the attachments, they were accidents. i swear, i meant to send the essays, but my files got mixed up, and—"

"accidents," he repeats, he uncrosses his arms, picking up a folder from his desk—your emails printed out, you realize with a flush of heat to your face. he flips through them casually, as if reviewing a student's brief. "three times in one week. each one more... explicit than the last."

your cheeks burn. the first had been a simple nude, you in front of your mirror, lace panties and nothing else, snapped for your own confidence boost after a rough day. the second? you'd been bolder, sprawled on your bed, hand between your thighs, capturing the arch of your back. and the third... god, the third had been you on all fours, ass up, looking over your shoulder with a smirk that screamed invitation. you'd meant them for a situationship that fizzled out, but in your late-night haze of studying and scrolling, you'd attached the wrong files. or had you? the thought nags at you now, but you push it down.

"i didn't mean for you to see them," you whisper. his gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the way your blouse clings to your curves under your cardigan, the skirt that's maybe an inch too short for a professional setting like this.

he sets the folder down, stepping closer. close enough that you can smell his cologne–too strong for your liking. "and yet, here we are." his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up so you're forced to meet his eyes. they're darker now, pupils blown wide. "you didn't delete them. didn't send a frantic follow-up apologizing. just kept sending more."

before you can stammer another excuse, his thumb presses against your lower lip, parting it slightly. "on your knees."

you drop without thinking, carpet rough against your bare knees. he doesn't rush when unbuckles his belt, zipper dragged down loud in the quiet office. when he frees himself he's already hard, thick in his hand as he jerks himself watching your face the whole time.

"open."

he guides the head past your lips, you taste him as he slides deeper, filling your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water instantly. he groans low, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other braced on the desk behind him.

"that's it," he mutters. "take it."

he starts to move slowly letting you adjust, then faster. shallow thrusts turn deeper, until he's fucking your throat in earnest. you gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin, but he doesn't stop. his grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your mouth like it's his to take. every time you choke he pauses just long enough for you to breathe through your nose, then pushes back in, deeper, until your nose brushes his pelvis.

"look at me," he orders when your eyes flutter shut.

you force them open. his expression is almost detached but the way his hips continuously move faster betrays him. he's close. you can feel it in the way he twitches against your tongue, the way his breathing turns ragged. one more deep thrust and he holds himself there, releasing down your throat without a warning. you swallow reflexively, choking a little, but he doesn't pull out until he's finished, until you've taken every drop.

when he finally pulls out, a string of spit connects your swollen lips to the tip. he tucks himself away, zips up then he scoops you up by the waist like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle for a second before he sets you on the edge of his desk, papers crinkling under you. he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, settling between them, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.

"touch yourself," he says quietly.

he wants you to what…?

heat floods your face anew. "w-what? here? that's... embarrassing."

his lips twitch into something almost like a smirk, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you weren't embarrassed when you sent those nudes. all sprawled out, hand between your legs, begging for attention." his fingers trail up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, but stopping just short. "show me now or was that all an act?"

shame and desire twist in your gut, but your hand moves anyway, slipping under the lace of your panties. you're soaked already—from the way he used your mouth.. fingers glide over your clit, circling slow at first, and a soft whimper escapes you. he watches, unblinking, one hand still on your thigh.

you pick up speed, hips rocking into your touch, breaths coming faster. but it's not enough—his stare is too intense like he's analyzing you. "please," you whisper, free hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk.

"no. keep going." his voice is low, commanding. "let me see you fall apart like in that second photo, that was my favorite one you know.”

your fingers start dipping lower, thrusting shallowly. the edge in you builds but just as you're teetering, he pulls your hand away. you whine in protest, but he silences you with a look.

"not yet." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, hands shoving your thighs wider. he drags your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and leans in. his breath ghosts over you first, making you clench around nothing. then his mouth is on you—tongue warm and broad, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.

you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. he groans against you, he eats you out like he's starving. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as you squirm, the desk creaking under your shifting weight.

"hiromi—fuck," you moan, head falling back. he sucks your clit between his lips. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding inside you easily, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. he pumps them in time with his tongue, building you back to the edge faster than before.

it crashes over you without warning, thighs clamping around his head as you come undone, crying out his name. he doesn't stop, lapping through it until you're oversensitive and shaking, pushing weakly at his shoulders.

only then does he pull back, lips shiny, eyes filled with satisfaction. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches between your legs again. he tugs your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to help. he balls them in his fist, slips them into his pocket like a trophy.

"that's enough," he says stepping back.

you blink, still dazed, legs dangling off the desk. "what?"

"go home."

"but—" you start, voice small and wrecked, glancing down at the obvious bulge in his slacks. "you didn't—i want to—"

"i will." he steps closer one last time, brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "when i decide. you'll get an email when i want you back here.”

he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "and next time, wear something easier to take off."

he steps back, opens a drawer, pulls out a tissue packet and sets it on the desk beside you. then he sits again, picks up a pen, and starts marking papers like you aren't still perched there, dripping because of him.

you slide off the desk on unsteady legs, fix your skirt, wipe your face. he doesn't look up as you unlock the door and slip out into the hallway.

you still haven't processed what happened but you know you’re going to check your inbox obsessively from now on.

yandere gamer, who instead of following the plot, runs straight to the tyrant’s palace with nothing but the shitty starter equipment and the ragged clothes on his back.

yandere gamer, who begs you, the final boss, to take him in as a servant.

“please, i’ll do anything you want,” he pleads, staring up at you pathetically, kneeling at the foot of the dais where you lounge on your throne. “you don't even have to pay me, i just — i just need someplace to stay.”

he just needs to be with you.

Part Two of Yandere Soldier

Yandere Soldier - Stockholm Syndrome

Yandere! Solider who can't get you to talk to him. You'll sit curled in the corner of the bed, resolutely looking anywhere but at him.

Yandere! Soldier who brings you books, flowers, even old picture albums he finds stashed at the bottom of your cupboard. And still nothing but silence.

Yandere! Soldier who's beginning to think nothing will ever break it. That he's stilled that vicious tongue of yours forever. Who hates himself for what he's done, but what choice did he have? Yes, he's taken you from your home and family and all that was familiar. But was an interrogation room really the better option?

That's one fat, happy baby.

Your neighbour is a single dad, a dragon hybrid but still, a single dad with a very chunky, giggly baby.

Standing in the elevator having a staring contest with the little plump baby is not how you'd planned to spend your evening, the little girl is sweet, cooing, gurgling, and giggling as she kicks her feet and swings her tail around, little horns sticking out from the mess of ginger hair already growing in on her head. Yet, here you are, pulling silly faces at her as her dad leans against the elevator wall, eyes closed slightly as the long ride up to your floor continues.

One little crawled hand reaches for you, ash grey scales cover her arms to about the elbow, holding a hand out she grabs your fingers tightly, laughing and shaking your arm as her dad finally opens his eyes. Looking between his smiling daughter and her death grip on your fingers, huffing a laugh as she reaches out to grab at her dad's arm, bumbling her baby way into getting the two of your to be hand in hand, clapping and babbling before slumping against her dad chest.

The warmth of her dad's chest seems to lull her back into a docile sleep, eyes slipping closed as you awkwardly hold hands with her dad. Pulling away as the elevator comes to a stop, stepping out and heading towards your door, only getting stopped when the sound of the very little baby dragon starts up, she's on the floor crawling towards you, determination set on her face even as she cries.

Her dad follows behind her, scooping her up and apologising as he tries to soothe the little girl, she's reaching for your hand again.

Apparently the fact that she opened her little eyes and you were still holding her dad's hand like she had made you wasn't good, in fact it was the end of the world. Awkwardly you take her dad's hand and watch as she stops crying, sniffling slightly before laughing at you. It seems for the time being you will just have to hold her dad's hand, hopefully whatever plans he had for the evening can accommodate an extra person.

Imagine you’re out on a Saturday night working, coming back from a botched pizza delivery where they skimped you on the tip when Yandere!Mafia Boss mistakes you for their new hire hacker and drags you inside HQ.

You’re a lil bit confused but one look at the coffee table filled with weapons displayed like they’re decorative center pieces and you figure maybe it’s best not to say anything.

Except suddenly they’re plopping you down in a chair and saying something about a test run to try out your skills. That’s when you finally break and calmly suggest that maybe they have the wrong person.

But Yan!Mafia Boss doesn’t even hear you as he stares at you with hearts in his eyes, letting out an empty laugh like you’d just told the most hilarious joke. From the moment he saw you idly standing by outside he knew you were the one, you had to be. His gut was never wrong.

So you really didn’t have much of a choice. They said something about hacking into a police station to free some of their guys but next thing you knew the computer was blaring loud, flashing red, and tell you your signal was being traced.

Yan!Mafia Boss didn’t seem as bothered by it as you were, simply asking what could’ve gone wrong.

“Sir, I just work at a Dominos,” you reply.

Yan!Mafia Boss throws his head back, releasing a hearty string of laughter. He claps you on the back so hard you jerk forward and sputter over your pleas for release.

“That's brilliant! Make sure to stick to that story when the police arrive,” he says through his laughter, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world now that he’s got you on his team.

you and isagi have been friends since childhood when you ran into him at the playground once when you were both just tiny toddlers, since then you guys have been glued to the hip and nothing, absolutely nothing could separate you two.

you come to his matches to watch him play. he comes to your rehearsals. you come over to his house for dinner alot (and his parents LOVE having you over) and he comes over to yours.

you guys also go out for late night convenience store runs where he pays (like the gentleman he is.)

he loves you, and you love him. though there is no denying the spark between you and him, crackling like a firework on the cusp of bursting.

today was no different than the other days, it was a hot summer afternoon with the sun directly overhead, you were sitting on the bleachers nursing a popsicle while watching isagi play on the pitch.

you liked watching him play, in his element. you could tell he had genuine love for the sport, and well, of course, you liked looking at his body but that’s different.

after the game, isagi ran over to you all sweaty and flushed. his jersey was dirt-stained, hair tousled and face mud-streaked yet he still looked nonetheless handsome.

“how was i down there?” he panted, grinning ear to ear. “awesome.” you fished a water bottle from your bag, handing it to isagi. he gladly took it and popped it open, taking large gulps.

you took a moment to just..take him in. the way his adam’s apple bobbed with every gulp, the way his jersey clung to every ridge and cut of his abs. the way his hair was tousled so pretty, the flush on his face and the beads of sweat still dripping down his forehead and cheeks.

isagi downed the whole bottle in a matter of seconds. he crushed it with one fist, the veins of his wrist and hand popping just so. “thanks.” he smiled all boyish and warm, it made your heart flutter in your chest.

he gripped the hem of his jersey, lifting it up to wipe the sweat on his face and in turn flashing you with his smoldering abs. you were a victim, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of his stomach and chest.

“you done ogling me so i can cover up again?” isagi’s voice broke you out of your reverie. your cheeks heated up like a furnace and you turned away a whole 180 degree and began speed walking away.

“hey wait!” isagi chased after you, but you were somehow faster than him despite him being an athlete. “leave me alone!” you call out, now almost sprinting.

“no!”

2025-2026 — @reositos ★ don’t copy/modify/translate/repost to other sites. also don’t feed my work to ai.

Yandere 1950s drabbles: The Show Must Go On

Yandere Director x Actress Reader

Tw: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamic that shouldn’t be romanticized, power imbalance, age-gap, brief topic of childhood abuse/trauma, sexism (time period and brief mention), sabotage, jealousy, and stalking (brief mention)

Ralph Hendrickson

Ralph was a very strict director, the kind that made sure the production always ran smoothly even if actresses and actors cried. The show must be perfect! After all, he was an extremely difficult man to please.

Ralph is a 38 year old man with gray speckled in his dark slicked back hair and a permanent scowl on his handsome face. He’s the cause of his own stress, but he’s been such a perfectionist from such a young age due to having a strict, alcoholic father. If he could not have a happy life, he’d live in a world where acting made the gaping hole in his very being less empty. Where he could be the puppet master guiding the strings of the fates of others to do what he pleased.

Ralph never dated since he devoted his life to directing films filled with tragedy. Sitting in that chair and barking orders was the only way he ever felt control in his life

Yet when he met you, he felt his walled off heart stir. You were the complete opposite of him in every way… you were lively and sunny while he was a thunderous cloud that hovered from afar. Yet he couldn’t help but be drawn to you and your vibrant personality. You were like the sun and he was a planet that was compelled to orbit you.

Ralph had you play supporting roles first. The sunny side characters that made the narrative of his typically harrowing tales less depressing. And you were a great success… so he slowly moved you into a lead role as a damsel in distress. He wanted you at the center of the film, no. The center of his universe. You became his ultimate muse… his everything.

Yet he hardly spoke to you. Ralph preferred to watch you from afar. He wouldn’t consider it stalking, per se. He was just your personal voyeur. Your friend in the shadows. At least, until he was tired of being on the outside looking in. You were getting too famous. Too much attention. Too many fans. And those distractions were taking you away from him. And Ralph would be damned if his favorite dolly slipped from his fingers like loose sand.

Back when you were newer, it was easier to slip into your trailer and take little souvenirs. Like a lipstick that was almost empty so he could flick his tongue on it to get that brief indirect kiss. Heavens above Ralph knew he was sick… but he was so repressed. He never had been able to have a relationship due to his lack of affection dating back to childhood and his isolation as an adult. Yet you were bigger in Hollywood now, it was harder to slip through the cracks when there were more eyes watching and waiting for a glimpse of you. Ralph wanted to claw at their eyes to get them to stop trying to steal you from him. To stop hurting your feelings and dimming your shine.

It’s why he kept other directors from snatching you away. Prevented the media from gossiping about a possible romance budding between you and your costars over the years so you’d never date any other man. Ralph would be institutionalized if you were with another man. You were his! You’ve been his the moment you auditioned for your first role!

Ralph especially hated your costar and the male lead, Richard Simmons. Sure, Richard was closer in age to you and very handsome, but Richard? Richard was a Dick. He was pompous and believed it was an honor for you to even breathe the same air as him since you were a newer star compared to his many accolades in acting. And Ralph hated that the younger actor treated you, his muse, in such a manner.

So what did Ralph do? He sabotaged the stage equipment to nearly crush Richard’s legs. The haughty actor was hospitalized, which left the upcoming film without a lead. And who better to fill that role than Ralph himself? After all, the show must go on.