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Can yall please help me find a fic I read once! It was a female Yandere who was keeping the reader as her teddy bear by using drugs and chaining them to the bed with a bunch of other stuffed animals. The Yandere fell in love with the reader after seeing them working at a toy store with a teddy bear headband. Any leads would be great!
I've been noticing a decline in folks not requesting things from authors since 2020 and the rise of AI, among other things but we're focusing on the dry spell of requests.
SO! I'm calling all active authors willing to do silly requests (fanfiction or otherwise) to reblog this! (if you want, no worries if not)
Cause I personally would like to see your ideas! Your prompts! Your silly stories you'd like to see come to life with the authors creative lemony zest!
Crazy ass husbands gang where reader is already married to someone else but the current husband is really shitty (the ways and degree of which you can decide) so the crazy husbands kill him? That'd be very fun and sexy I think<3
CRAZY ASS HUSBANDS GANG + KILLING YOUR CURRENT HUSBAND
WARNINGS: some of the husbands featured in this drabble are abusive (they get murdered crazy style over this). extreme yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
JOEL MILLER:
"That man is going to get you killed"—the first thought Joel ever had about your husband.
His opinion hasn’t improved any in the months you’ve spent traveling together. If anything, it’s worsened. The man is an idiot. Careless. Bumbling. Whenever danger rears its head near your ragtag group of survivors, Joel has to resist his first instinct, which is to turn on his heel and put a bullet in your husband’s skull because the man has the uncanny ability to turn a bad situation into a disastrous one.
In a kinder world, the one you’d no doubt thought you were going to grow old in together, he would have been an adequate husband. Nothing special. But nothing egregious. A man passive enough to leave you in charge of most things, and so most trouble would have been avoided—in that kind, normal world—by the solid weight of the sensible head on your shoulders.
When Joel isn’t letting his mind get all grimed up with rage and disbelief, he can understand the choice you’d made then, even though it makes his stomach twist on itself now.
“He’s so sweet.” You would have said at your wedding, glowing and simpering as you clung to your new husband’s arm. “He’s always making me laugh.”
That’s the way you pick a husband when the horrors of the world are nebulous, foreign concepts, flickering at the edges of your reality like distant stars. But the horrors of the world are at your doorstep now, knocking politely, waiting to be let in. And the idiot you’re shackled to is always opening the door, greeting them like an old friend.
Joel watches your husband over the campfire. He’s sitting closer to its warmth than you are. You’ve wedged your hands between your thighs to keep them warmer. The idiot doesn’t notice. Because it isn’t in his nature to notice much of anything. The pinnacle of human evolution. The end point of an entire species that only ever survived on a planet full of things that wanted to kill and devour its kind by being observant, and your husband doesn’t notice you rubbing your palms together to generate heat.
An echo of the way he didn’t notice he was stepping into a raider trap when your group had drifted into the outskirts of a city during a scavenging trip. He’d screamed for your help like a pig realizing the axe in the farmer’s hand was for an impending slaughter and not for chopping wood. You’d gone running to rescue him without a second thought. Even as his screaming was already attracting a horde of the Infected to the store he'd gotten himself trapped in. You fought bravely, and clever, if not for the fact that the truly clever thing to do would have been to cut your losses.
But you were loyal. You’d be loyal to the bitter end of it all.
If Joel hadn’t been there—a little stronger than you, a little faster, a little more sure with the aiming of his gun—you both would have been dead. The world could do with one less idiot like your husband, as long as he didn’t get himself turned when he finally got himself killed. The world would be a darker, more miserable place without you in it. Joel’s world would be a darker place without you in it.
You deserve a long life. A happy one. You’ll be lucky if you make it another two months lugging around the dead weight that gets to lie beside you in your tent each night.
Joel takes your husband on a supply run. He comes back alone.
He hated to waste the bullet, but you would have cried yourself hysterical if you’d thought your husband suffered at the end. Joel’s conscience is clean when he holds you close and tells you it was over before he even realized.
HANNIBAL LECTER:
You are a gift, and your husband has deluded himself into thinking he is not only worthy of you—but your superior. It’s a baffling notion, one so deeply estranged from the reality of your marriage that it borders on psychosis.
Jack was entirely mistaken when he sent your husband Hannibal’s way with a personal request to mentor the man. Guide him. Hone his skills. “He’s a prodigy, Dr. Lecter,” were Jack’s exact words. From the moment Hannibal set eyes on your husband, he knew the man to be entirely mediocre. His sole talent lay in presenting himself as charming. And it was a thin veneer of charm at that. It had slipped to reveal noxious levels of insecurity the moment Hannibal had opted for polite disengagement instead of indulging the man in his posturing.
Hannibal had no intention of ever seeing the man again. A low-level irritant, like pollen during spring, your husband hadn’t even been worth the trouble of doing away with. Until Jack invited him to a dinner party—and of course, his fool’s gold of a prodigy had been sitting there when he arrived. An ambush. Jack’s dreadfully indirect means of begging Hannibal to reconsider.
You’d blended into the atmosphere of the room at first. Ephemeral. No more noticeable than the wallpaper. Until you’d spoken.
There was a vibrancy to you. A magnetism. He found that it was impossible to look away from you after your eyes had met just the once. Hannibal spent the rest of the evening trying to catch your gaze again. Your husband spent the rest of the evening growing increasingly inebriated. You’d ended the night herding him (unsteady and belligerent) into a taxi while wearing an expression of weary devotion that fit your face like an ill-tailored suit.
Hannibal took him on as a private student, taking such a keen interest in him it caused a stir among his peers. How else was he supposed to become a fixture in your life? You were reserved. Quiet. It took months to begin doing away with the armor you’d built around yourself to withstand the weight of your husband’s corrosive ego.
But for every pleasant conversation or shared laughter, there was your husband sending you off dismissively—in your own home—as if you were little more than a maid. In fragments and moments too minuscule to be considered moments at all, you bewitched him.
“Why don’t you whip up something for dinner, babe? The Doc and I are starving.” The sharp SMACK! of a hand meeting a backside as you make your way towards the kitchen. You freeze in mortification. Hannibal doesn’t so much as blink, only smiles at your husband wanly.
Your husband goes missing. You come to Hannibal sobbing, begging him to join the frenzy of effort Jack’s plunged the department into.
“Of course, of course-” he murmurs, pulling you into the soothing circle of his arms. You haven’t slept in days. Half mad from worry and grief. So many tears shed over an anchor that had been determined to drag you into the depths with it.
But Hannibal knows this is part of the process. You have to grieve the man you’re inventing in your head in retrospect—a kind and playful husband—before you can face the hard reality of the brute you’d given your hand to. He’s looking forward to guiding you through the worst of it until you’ve shed the meager remains of who you were beneath the thumb of the man who had loved you so cheaply.
“When was the last time someone cooked you a decent meal, hm?”
Hannibal relishes in the preparation of this particular feast. He watches hungrily as being looked after lights you up from the inside out, even as your shoulders tremble from bitten-back tears. Haggard with worry, you still take the time to compliment how fresh everything tastes.
Hannibal almost finds it in himself to be surprised—despite his talents in the kitchen, he’d half convinced himself your husband would taste quite rancid.
JARETH (THE LABYRINTH):
You were born to be royalty. Destined to be his.
Instead, you live a perfectly dull human life with a perfectly dull human husband. You were a creature born for elevation, but you had burrowed yourself down into the mud like a common earthworm, and you smiled as you brought this misery onto yourself. Jareth would not begrudge you this happiness if it was a mask you wore to get yourself through the long, dreary mortal days ahead of you. But it was not a mask you wore to survive. You were content. Truly content.
His temper got away from him on the best of days—but he stifled it for you. You did not know any better. Of course you’d made your peace with the meager conditions of your existence. What other choice did you have? You couldn’t have known that Jareth waited for you. Longed for you. Dreamed of the shape of your soul before he had ever set eyes upon your person.
A human man would not rob the Goblin King of his consort.
Feeding poison into your husband’s mind was a small thing. Human hearts were fickle. It was foolish, really, to have given the entirety of yourself to something so volatile. You’d be in much safer hands with Jareth. There was not a power in all the worlds known and unknown that could change the course of Jareth’s heart or his love for you.
He liked to sit at your windowsill, wings fluttering against the glass as he imagined the day when you’d become his. Satisfied to watch as you go from falling asleep in your husband’s arms to sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. You fight more. About money. About intimacy. About nonsense. Insecurities that had never before been spoken aloud now sat between the two of you like a third person. You begin to sleep in the guest room.
Jareth leaves a copy of the Labyrinth on your pillow; you wake up beside it the way you’ll soon wake up next to Jareth. He can close his eyes and imagine the warmth of you.
You read the play. Over and over, you read it. But you never call for him—never ask him to take you away from your suffering. You drag your husband to couple’s therapy, sit across from him, and beg him to see you and hear you no matter how cruel and apathetic he becomes. Your devotion is admirable. It’s also misplaced. You have the heart of a Fae, steadfast and unchanging, obsessive over what draws your eye. There is no spot for Jareth or all the magic and miracles he can offer while your husband soaks your life in all that is ordinary.
The coroner tells you it was a heart attack that took your husband. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. You plan the funeral in a haze. Utterly alone in a way your worst nightmares couldn’t have prepared you for.
You’re getting dressed for the funeral, cloaking yourself in black and the appropriate level of misery for a widow. You stop. Pick up the Labyrinth, flipping through the pages in silence. And then you say the words he’s been waiting desperately to hear—“Goblin King, please take me away from here.”
The crown he’ll place upon your brow will be as breathtaking as you are.
NORMAN BATES:
Norman can’t understand it. He’s turned the shape of your marriage inside out and can’t even begin to understand what you see in your husband.
The man is a brute. Worse than a brute, actually. He's an animal. Mindless and cruel—no better than the coyotes Norman has to occasionally run off the property. But a coyote knows what it is. A low predator, taking meat wherever it can. Your husband would consider himself a far prouder animal, like a lion, king of some distant jungle. He’d spent the last week walking around the motel with his nose scrunched in distaste at anything and everything. Like he thinks he’s better than the air Norman breathes. All the while you wander behind him, like a dog beaten into submission, shooting Norman pitiful looks of apology.
“I’m so sorry for him,” says a glance out the corner of your eye. “I wish he wouldn’t act that way,” goes another. "I’d stop him if only I were brave enough." Your eyes drop to the floor; so much shame is gathered in the slump of your shoulders that it makes his chest ache for you.
Norman knows plenty about not being brave enough to escape. He wonders how quickly your husband broke your spirit. Had it taken years? Months? Or maybe you’d said your sweet “I do’s” with a heart already broken and defeated. He can’t look at the ring on your finger without feeling sick.
“Do you always let him treat you so badly?” Norman had asked suddenly, his tone too biting, revealing too much.
You’d flinched at the familiar sound of an irritated man. Norman pulled himself away from that open chasm of rage immediately. Eyes going soft like candle wax for you. Curling in on himself so that he might seem smaller. He hated the way you held your breath as you watched him calm himself. You didn’t even speak until his jaw unclenched.
“I didn’t at first. But I was only making life harder for myself. It’s easier this way. I’m only sorry you have to see it. We’ll be out of your hair soon, Mr. Bates.”
But Norman doesn’t want you out of his hair. Not soon, or ever. He wonders if you’ll survive your husband. You’re already so tired. He’s met a great deal of tired strangers while running the motel. He’s never wanted to save any of them as badly as he wants to save you—free you. And he knows just how to do it.
You burst into the front office the next morning in a small panic. “He’s gone, Norman! He’s taken the car, and he’s taken all his things, and he left me here! He left me here like garbage! Oh, Norman, what will I do—what am I going to do?”
He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the side of your head reassuringly, “Why, you’ll stay here, of course. You’ll stay here as long as you need. Don’t cry. You’re going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”
You go limp against him, trusting and sweet. Norman holds on a little tighter. It’s been so long since he’s had anyone to take care of.
SHANE WALSH:
Your husband was the type of man Shane loved to put behind bars back when the world ran on law and order instead of chaos.
Was there anything more pathetic than a man who stood at an altar, promising “to have and to hold, to love and to cherish,” and then a few years later turn around and start putting his hands on what he was meant to protect? It made Shane mad enough to spit. And the way you defended the man drove him to the very brink of sanity.
No matter how he asked the question—or how clear the answer already was—you always denied the plain truth. Ducking your head, unable to look him in the eyes as you began your usual song and dance, “He’s never laid a hand on me, Shane.”
He must have missed the memo on when bruises and busted lips started falling out of the sky.
Your husband was dangerous. A man that could bring himself to hurt what was (allegedly) most precious to him was a man that didn’t value anything at all. Shane cleaned his gun and surveyed the camp and its makeup—all the kids, the women, the old and sick—taking a mental tally of all the people too weak to defend themselves if your husband decided to take his violence a step further. Lash out just a little more wildly.
You were standing at the edge of camp together. Your husband flinging around his arms, voice on the edge of yelling. He liked that volume. That way, when you’d step closer, begging him to lower his voice, with your face burning from embarrassment, he could start yelling in earnest in order to “show you the difference between goddamn talking and yelling.”
Shane couldn’t watch another second of this. It was his job to protect this group, and the biggest threat right now wasn’t Walkers or a group of violent strangers waiting to strike under the cover of night. The threat was right here. Eating up camp supplies. Scaring the kids. Scaring you. Hurting you. The threat had just given you a shove he could pass off as playful when you tried to press a soothing hand to his arm.
You covered your face. Shane knew you were crying, even from a distance. The tremble in your shoulders gave it away.
“Hey, man! You’re with me today! Need someone light on their feet for this supply run!” Shane called over to your husband, who was all too quick to agree. He always shape-shifted into something polite and obliging in the face of someone bigger and stronger than him. Fucking scumbag.
The plan was to put him down clean. A single bullet in the head, and problem solved. He’d lived like an animal. He should die like an animal. But Shane had thought of all the nights you’d spent cowering at the man’s feet, under his fists, his boot—and a cold rage washed over him.
Your husband was a shitty fighter when it got down to it. It was always that way, though, with men like that. If he’d been any stronger, he wouldn’t have felt the need to make you feel so small.
Shane walks back into camp with his knuckles bloody and raw. He brings back plenty of supplies. He does not bring back your husband. He does bring back the memory of the man’s last moments—begging Shane to stop. Snot, blood, and tears were running down the man’s face in equal measure.
“Did you ever stop when they asked you?” But they both knew the answer to that.
That’s not the story Shane tells you, of course. What you get is soft hands cupping your face, a thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, and “He told me to look after you, so you don’t gotta worry about a thing. Ain’t gonna let a dying man’s wish go to waste.”
HOMELANDER:
How could you love something so fucking ordinary? How could you stand to look at your husband—let alone roll over and let him touch you?
Homelander couldn’t stop looking at the two of you. Shouts of ‘Over here, Homelander!’ and ‘Can you give us a smile!’ would draw his attention away for seconds at a time, and then it would fall back to you like gravity. You were further down the red carpet than you should be. You’d stopped to sign something from some nobody. You were sweet like that. Not sweet for the cameras, or only when important people were watching. Just sweet. It was your nature.
Your husband wraps an arm around your waist. It’s a scrawny, ordinary human arm; he uses it to cinch the lines of your bodies tightly together. You look like a team, the two of you against the world. Despite being surrounded by all these cameras and eyes and insincerity, none of it seems to touch either of you. Nothing is capable of piercing the bubble of your love, which you seem able to manifest anywhere and at any time.
You lean into your husband easily, joyful about it. The back of your head finding his shoulder, and you peer up at him, lovestruck. You’ve got a grin on your face that only a teenager should have. Not someone who’s been married for years.
He cuts his way back towards you, uncaring as he interrupts photos and poses to get to you. “Hey, you crazy kids!” He tries for playful and just barely hits the mark. “We gotta get a move on, or we’ll miss the start of the movie. You can’t miss the start of your own movie!”
His hand lands on your shoulder, heavy and broad. You beam up at him. It’s not the smile you’ve been giving your worthless husband all night, but it’s a good smile. Earnest.
“Oh my gosh, you are so right!” You gasp and pull away from your husband to hurry inside. A wave of triumph washes over Homelander to finally see you unsmothered by your husband’s relentless affection. Needy fuck.
You reach back for your husband’s hand, intertwining your fingers, dragging him behind you. He looks like a hapless duckling following its mother. Homelander’s eye twitches; it’s been doing that more and more lately. You stop, realizing Homelander hasn’t moved, and double back for him. You link your arm through his, pulling him alongside you so confidently it feels like you’ve done it a million times before. You make everything feel familiar.
Homelander spends the entire movie watching you and your husband out of the corner of his eye. Whispered jokes. Holding hands. You’re the type of couple everyone rolls their eyes at in public but wishes they could be like in private. Homelander crushes the armrest beneath his fingertips, wishing he was the one holding your hand, wishing he was the one whispering in your ear.
“Do you ever think you got hitched a little too soon?” He asks you the next day, after the rest of the Seven have all trickled out of the debriefing room.
“Huh?” You blink up at him, guileless.
“Do you think you got married too soon? I mean—you didn’t know you’d end up here, in the Seven, back when you got married, right? You were a small-town Supe back then. Barely on Vought’s radar, let alone payroll. You didn’t know you’d have so many options, one day.” He’s spent plenty of sleepless nights wondering how you wound up in the marriage you did. With someone so beneath you. With someone who could never hope to be your equal.
“Sometimes you don’t need to know how your whole future is going to look to know what the best part of it is gonna be. From the moment I met him, I knew my husband was the one. He was the one back then, and he’s the one now.” You say the words so softly. Devoted. Loyal. Interpreting Homelander’s words in the best light, the same way you look at everything else: the bright side.
You deserve the world. Deserve to be with someone who isn’t beneath you on the gene totem pole. You deserve to be with someone who can lift you up—make a god out of you. Or help you see that you already are one. Your husband is keeping you trapped in the muck of humanity by proximity alone. But Homelander can fix that easily.
His only regret is not making it last. Not relishing the moment to the fullest. He’d put his hands on either side of your husband’s skull and squeezed until it had burst like an overripe fruit, spraying his face and suit with viscera and bone fragments. It was instant relief, like swatting a mosquito out of the air before it could bite you or bzzz past your ear.
Vought held a press conference a week later. You stood behind a podium looking weak, terribly alone. You were meant to be part of a pair. “If anyone has any information, please come forward. And honey—if you’re watching this—I love you; we’re gonna get you home soon, okay?”
Homelander steps up beside you, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. “We won’t rest until you’re back home where you belong, buddy.”
A/N: This is my first time writing for anyone in the husband gang in forever. I hope I’m still doing them justice! Also—I finally gave in and tried my hand at Homelander. It had to happen eventually lmao.
if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. if you really loved this, check out my PATREON: slasherscream, for some exclusive content. this particular story was posted three weeks ago on the patreon, for early access. xoxoxo
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details: reader is implied to be christian or at the very least celebrate Christmas, Mrs. Claus is not mentioned, assume she passed away or doesn't exist in the canon of this story
warnings: canon typical-ish stalking, canon typical breaking and entering, kidnapping
He sees you when you're sleeping. Oh, and you just look so cute when you're sleeping. He knows he isn't supposed to watch adults, but how can he not with someone like you? You're just so easy to fall for, even if he can't see you when you're awake, only knowing that you are. Just seeing what you fall asleep watching has let him get to know you so well.
He knows you love learning new things, he knows you're into long video essays, he knows that you take comfort in childhood films. Seeing your sketchbook on your bedside table lets him know that you're an artist, and the pile of plushies tells him that... well, he isn't sure what that says about you but he knows its cute.
on his rounds, delivering all the gifts, he stops by your house even though he has no reason to. You left cookies for him, it would be rude to leave them uneaten. And now, he's already in your house, what reason does he have not to pay you a visit? To see you in real life, to feel the warmth of your skin through his leather gloves.
He is quiet as a mouse as he creeps towards your room. He can be sure it's your room because yours is the only door with sound coming through it. As he enters, he sees what you were watching on the TV, a holiday romcom about a big city girl moving to a small town and settling down with a Christmas tree farmer. That's all he's been seeing on your TV lately and he's unsure if you're watching ironically or not. He'd love to find out. There are so many things about you he'd love to find out.
He crouches down beside your bed and looks at your peaceful face. It feels like minutes but time means nothing to him. For him, Christmas night stretches on until all the work is done, no matter what. You roll over with a soft grumble, robbing him of your face. You've been so stressed lately. He can tell from all the tossing and turning you've been doing. His eyes move to the TV as he gently rubs your arm, to calm you down and help you sleep. That woman moved away from the big city to get away from all of the stresses of her life. Wouldn't it be a good deed to take you from all your stress? To bring you home to the North Pole, so he could look at you every day and get to know you better?
Surely you wouldn't mind. After all, you'd have all the time in the world to draw, you could watch whatever you wanted, you could still talk to your friends and family on line. It wasn't like any of them would go all the way to the North Pole just to get you back, and it's not like many people would believe them if they told.
He tenderly picks you up and slides you into his sack to float amongst the infinite void of presents. Usually, he only does this for orphans that would die in the show, otherwise, but there haven't been many of those in quite a few years. For now, you can sleep in the warmth until he brings you back home. This year, his gift to you is peace.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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I rolled for this one before so let's try again and see what you pull!
You pulled...
shy yan!
Stalking!
Shy yan!
Mind break!
Since you got a double pull of shy yan, that trope will be even more intense.
If any other readers want to pull, here is a link to the gacha!
I now present to you....
Shy!Yandere!Neighbor X GN!reader
warnings: slow decent, stealing, gaslighting(? Idk if that's the right term here), manipulation, delusion, ask if more are needed
A few weeks ago, he moved in across the street. You don't actually know his name, and no one you've asked knows it either. He mostly seems to keep to himself and only comes outside to work in his garden every morning. Coincidentally, the time he works in the garden is also the time you leave for work, so every morning you wave hello. He never waves back. Instead, he looks away quickly and focuses even more intently on his garden work. It doesn't seem to be malicious, though. His body language suggests that he may just be nervous when it comes to interaction.
Recently, you've been seeing him everywhere. Your favorite coffee shop, the library, even the parking lot of your work from time to time. For whatever reason, he's always there. It's... a bit strange but probably nothing, right? You see people from your neighborhood all the time. How is this any different? Sometimes, the two of you make eye contact and you smile at him. He doesn't smile back. All he does is look away and focus even more intently on whatever he's doing.
You think he might be some kind of writer. Every time you see him at the coffee shop or the library, he's always typing away on his laptop. You tried to ask him what he was writing the other day, but he just squeaked, slammed his laptop shut, and quickly exited the shop. Strangely enough, that exact same day, you realized that your favorite mug was no longer inside your car's cup holder.
After that, a lot more things started going missing from your home. A toothbrush, a book you loved, a childhood stuffed animal, and even some of your sweaters! It's all just... gone. You've searched high and low but you can't find any of it anywhere. A few days ago, you thought you had found one of them. You were at the library and there he was, typing away like always, when you noticed something. The sweater he was wearing under his hoodie had stains in the exact same spots yours did and the same tear in one of the sleeves. Ok, now it was definitely weird.
You got up to confront him but as soon as he realized you were moving in his direction, he made a noise, closed his computer, and ran away again. This wasn't exactly strange behavior for him but it still left a bad taste in your mouth. Later that day, you were doing laundry at home and there in your washing machine was the very sweater you thought you'd seen him wearing. You'd just... put it in the load and forgot. Huh.
Finding one thing didn't stop more from going missing. More clothes, more mugs, phone chargers, framed photos, you name it. Sometimes they show back up, sometimes they don't. You're never sure if you've actually lost something or if you just moved it and forgot. Once, a photo from your last family reunion went missing. It came back, but with your face cut out, as if with scissors. You went to show your friend, who lives in another part of the neighborhood. Just texting her would have been easier but your phone was dead and you had no idea where the charger was. The two of you returned to your house, but when you got there the picture wasn't in the frame anymore. It had gone missing again.
You stared at the empty frame for a few moments, dumbfounded. Meanwhile, your friend looked around the room, noticing how most of the frames had no pictures in them. She looked at you with concern.
"Are you sure there was a picture there?" She asked
"Yes!" You snapped, feeling tears welling in your eyes, "It was here! I know it was right here!"
The next morning, you found the photo next to you on your pillow, cut out face and all. You hadn't left it there but would anyone believe you if you told them that? There was no way of knowing. A few hours later, at work, you noticed something on your desk that hadn't been there before. It was a small picture of you that you instantly recognized as being cut from the family photo. The edges of it were slightly frayed, as if there was once tape on it that had been peeled off. You sighed as you slid it into your pocket.
That very same day, you found something in your work's break room. It was your mug... the first thing you had lost and it was here the whole time, hiding behind other people's cups in a cabinet. These past few days, you've been shivering through the night with no blanket on your bed. It probably isn't missing, though. You probably just left it on the couch and forgot, no matter how many searches of the living room tell you otherwise.
For this game, you're gonna be sending me asks. You can send up to 15 tropes you'd like to see in a story and then tell me how many pulls you'd like to make, up to 10! I will use random number generation to pick tropes from that list and the tropes that are pulled will be used in a story! (Tropes can be pulled multiple times, these tropes will be more prevalent in the story). All the tropes that do not get pulled will go onto the tropes list down below. Once the list has enough tropes on it, I will open the list to be pulled from instead of a personal trope list. Every time a particular trope is not pulled on a personal trope list, it will gain a star of rarity (up to 5) and will then require consecutive rolls of the same number to be pulled.
Things were back to normal... mostly. You were back in the castle after so long, it was wonderful. You were back in your familiar room, in your familiar bed, with your familiar boys. Yes, this was home. Everything was back to normal, except, of course, for Leo.
In the original game, he was princely and suave and always well mannered. Granted, he was still like that but there was something off about it, like he was always trying a little too hard to be himself. He was trying to play through the story of the game, but he didn't remember it as well as you did, given how many more times you had gone through it. You told him so many times to just act like himself and do what he'd usually do but it was so hard now that he knew how much he loved you.
Throughout common route, you had tried to deviate from the plot and see what would happen, but every time he would pull you aside. He'd take you into his room and say something along the lines of, "If you don't do it right, things might never go back to normal." Each time he got more and more desperate until he finally yelled to you, sobbing, "I JUST WANT TO GO BACK TO SLEEP." It was so clear to you that this awareness was taking a toll on him so you gave in.
You got to the end of common route and the time had come to choose your new route. You went with Isaac, since he was your second favorite, besides Caspian, and it had been a while since you had romanced him. This was a big mistake
You noticed Leo straying more and more from his usual dialogue and actions in scenes, too far for it to be a flub or accident. He was doing this on purpose. He wanted your attention. It seemed that every nonscripted moment between scenes, he was making some kind of passive aggressive remark about Isaac.
"Someone like you shouldn't be with a play boy like him."
"I'm sure he says that sort of stuff to everyone he's with."
"All I'm saying is he has a history of commitment issues."
And so it went.
One particular morning, you knew for a fact that you were supposed to find a letter from Isaac on your desk, but instead of one letter, you found two. There was the letter you'd been expecting, of course, but the other bore the royal seal. Hesitantly, you opened the mysterious letter, already suspecting who it was from. Sure enough, Leo had sent it, asking you to meet that day in the garden... at the exact same time Isaac was supposed to confess to you.
That morning, after breakfast, you took Leo aside and asked if you could just go to the garden right then.
"I really would love to, my dear but I'm quite busy today and-"
You stared into his eyes, clearly meaning business, "you have nothing scheduled today and we both know it."
There was a long pause before he finally sighed, "very well." He tried to take your hand as you walked to the garden but you pulled yours away, to which he quickly snapped it up again, gripping tighter. Eventually, the two of you made it to the garden and sat down in the gazebo. Even then, he wouldn't let go of your hand.
Almost as soon as the two of you sat down, he flung his arms around you.
"Please please please, don't choose him over me," he was practically shouting, "he's barely even real! I am! I can love you so much better than he can!"
He backed away to look you in the eye, "I get so jealous when I see you with that... rake, and I mess everything up, I can't help but sabatoge it! You deserve someone who can really love you and care for you!"
He embraced you again, holding you tight, "you deserve me."
You felt his hand gently caressing your hair, "it would be so much easier if you just went with me instead. Reject him tonight and we'll do my story."
You hesitated for a good long moment. You were already on this route. Was breaking the script and switching to a new one really the best way to fix the world? What if you just ended up awakening Isaac instead.
"I'm not sure if-" again, you were cut off. He squeezed your body even harder and pulled your hair slightly due to the clenching of his hand. He spoke in a whisper, but all the softness in his voice was gone.
"I killed my own brother, I can kill some stupid play boy."
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fuck i need more of that yandere kipnapper x yandere reader pleaseeeeeee
Hi anon! Life has been hectic so it's taken me a little to get to your ask! This post is also dedicated to @schneidersumbrella who also requested a follow up!
Yandere!Kidnapper X Gn!Yandere!Reader Pt. 2
Pt. 1
Details: mutual obsession, gift giving, kidnapper is controlling, reader is shy, fluff, kidnapper is a tease
Everything changed after you started dating him. He started leaving you gifts on your front porch every morning. Stuffed animals, flowers, candy, old clothes, a lock of your hair, even pictures of you from his collection. By analyzing the pictures he gave you, you could figure out where the security camera in his room was and cover it up. Sneaking into his room had gotten so awkward after finding out he knew you were doing it. This felt like a good compromise.
You rolled around in his bed, and smelled his things, and stole the clothes he had left out, just like you had before you were dating. It was heaven. It was safe. You thought you'd be able to do this as much as you liked, but the next time you sneaked in, the place where the camera once was now had only a sticky note with the words 'I want to see you' and a drawing of an eye. The message was clear. He liked watching you in his room and you had no choice but to let him. You didn't mind too much, though. It was nice to know he would go as far as to move his security camera just because he wanted to see you.
There were times you would wake up and he would be there in your bed, fast asleep, arms around you. It was a bit surprising and it always gave you a lump in your throat. You never knew quite what to do. You just froze up, attempting to stay as still as possible in the hopes of not waking him. Gradually, however, you would always relax into him and let him hold you until he woke up and made you breakfast. It was always one of your favorites, always something he knew was your favorite from reading your journal. You loved to stand there and watch him cook, see the way his strong hands moved and how his skin glistened slightly from the heat. He really was an angel.
Sometimes, you would even repay the favor, sneaking into his home in the wee hours of the morning and making delicious meals for him. You would always leave before he woke up, of course. It was far nicer to do things for him than to actually be perceived doing it. That was the opposite of his view on things though. He loved PDA, or maybe it was just the way you reacted to it that he loved.
You never quite got over the way his touch gave you goosebumps. No matter how many times he teased you or held you close on the subway, or stared down a guy who was looking at you, it always gave you a rush. His attention was a drug. He was everything. He was all you needed and you were all that he needed.
how do we feel about a yandere ghost (possibly former friend or boyfriend) who haunts a phone or computer ben drowned-style and like. alters what you see in texts or on social media to isolate you from others or ruin possible romantic relationships before they become a thing
I actually have the perfect character for this!
pt 1 here
Yandere!Computer Virus X GN!Reader
details: nonbinary yan, reader has a crush
warnings: abduction (not to reader), torture (not to reader), isolation, relationship sabotage, career sabotage, nonconsentual recording, obsessive behaviors, possessive behaviors
Yandere!Computer Virus who used to be a human
Yandere!Computer Virus who was taken off the street and had their soul put on a hard drive
Yandere!Computer Virus who had the code of their soul altered
Yandere!Computer Virus who became a yandere due to bugs in their code
Yandere!Computer Virus who was sold to you as part of a mixtape in a walmart parking lot
Yandere!Computer Virus who imprinted on you the moment you ran their file
Yandere!Computer Virus who has been getting better at moving around pixels on the screen
Yandere!Computer Virus who makes tweets from your friends look like they're saying they hate you
Yandere!Computer Virus who deletes your texts to your crush before they can read them
Yandere!Computer Virus who edits the appearance of your crush's texts to make them seem like a jerk
Yandere!Computer Virus who blocks people they think you're getting too close to
Yandere!Computer Virus who edited the appearance of an email so it looked like you didn't get a job you wanted, forcing you to spend more time with them
Yandere!Computer Virus who sometimes records you through the webcam, so they can watch you when you aren't home
Yandere!Computer Virus who is trying to find a way to drag you into the computer with them.
Helloooooooo! I just read your Yandere! Otome Love Interest fic and I just want to make a request (if you do take requests hehe but it’s okay if you don't) of a what-if scenario.
What if the other Otome Love Interests reader has been with (the other four aside from Caspian) would unlock their memories too? From the first timeline where Isekai’d reader married Caspian to the most recent one?
Thank you! I love this fic of yours btw 💓💓💓
This is gonna be my very first part 2! I hope you like it!
Pt. 1 here
Pt. 3 here
Yandere!Meta!Otome Love interest X GN!Isekai!reader X Yandere!Recently Awakened!Otome Love interest
details: reincarnation, love triangle, reader resents yandere, this one is pretty sad (idk why I'm writing so much sad stuff lately), reader is scared of yandere, yandere spoils reader,
warnings: Isolation, captivity, kidnapping, implied physical abuse, controlling partner, restriction of access to information, murder, implied blood, knives
It was two weeks into your third life with him. Your third time stuck in this house. It was almost starting to feel normal. The second time you reincarnated after finishing all the routes, you attempted to sneak out your window and continue as normal. Alas, he was right at the end of the ally way, and he caught up to you quick before dragging you back "home". The third time, when you woke up in your current life, you simply tried to avoid the plot all together and be a normal person in this world. This only lasted a few days before Caspian tracked you down and hauled you back to the mansion.
No matter what you did, he was inevitable. That was clear from all the escape attempts you had made in your first life in his home. Even though you had faced two deaths afterward, you could still faintly see some of the scars. Caspian valued promises and hated to see you break them. This reason did not feel like justification and you were sure that you'd never forgive him. You would also never try leaving again.
It was a morning just like any other morning and a breakfast just like any other breakfast. It was a spread so immaculate that you could almost forget that you were being forced to eat it.
"you look gorgeous, beloved," Caspian purred, admiring your body in the outfit he'd picked out for you. He always picked out your outfit. He picked out many things for you, what you ate, what you wore, where you slept, but there were plenty of other little freedoms you had as well. Nice things to distract yourself from the prison your life had become.
You could choose what hobbies you picked up and while he was initially dismissive, Caspian would always get you anything you wanted to support your hobbies. You knew him well enough to know that he would always come around and be just as invested in your hobbies as you were. That was a big part of his arc in the game after all.... The game. You missed how he was in the game. His yandere ending was fun and very hot but that was a bad end. You were stuck in a bad end.
Just like in your life in the real world, you turned to escapism. You had access to any book in Caspian's library, and if you saw a new one you wanted in the paper, he would buy you a copy of that too. Unfortunately though, recently, he had stopped giving you the paper to read. It was strange. This particular morning, you decided to ask about it.
"excuse me, dear," you shifted slightly as you called him that word. It wasn't something you enjoyed doing anymore but he got in a way when you weren't as affectionate with him as he was with you, "why haven't I been getting the paper recently?"
His purple eyes became sharp and his expression was cold. He swallowed a piece of steak before putting his knife down and speaking, "I don't need the outside world poisoning my beloved's mind."
You were about to say something in response but were interrupted by a knock at the door. This was strange. This hadn't happened in the past two loops. There were only ever 3 knocks at the door, and they always came much later. You began to rise to your feet, both out of curiosity and impulse, but Caspian placed a hand on your thigh, signalling you to stay put.
He got out of his seat and left the dining room. You worried what he would do if you left your own chair without permission, so all you could do was stay put and listen. The great door of the mansion creaked open and a familiar voice drifted into your ears.
"Where are they, Cass?" Leo's voice was full of anger, frustration, and perhaps just a bit of worry.
Leo was easily the most popular boy in the game. He had the most merch, the most events, the most voice lines, and he was the guy who the heroin ended up with in the anime adaptation. The first boy most players went for, yourself included, was usually Leo, and it wasn't hard to see why.
He was kind, and chivalrous, suave, and protective, the typical shojou prince. An unbeatable formula, really. Everyone wanted to be swept off their feet at least once in their life.
"Now now, is that any way of greeting your brother?" Caspian was attempting to diffuse the situation, but you could feel the tension in the air. It wasn't working.
"Where are they?" Leo said again, becoming even angrier.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's been wrong for the past two loops," the words came out through gritted teeth, "they haven't been at the castle and neither have you. They were supposed to show up two weeks ago."
The air was still for a moment. It was as if the world had gone completely silent. Even the background music that constantly followed you had cut out.
"what?" The word was so quiet you could barely hear it
"You broke everything, Caspian!" Leo raised his voice, seemingly to compensate for how quiet the other was being, "including me!"
"brother, please, I-"
"do you ever notice how de don't talk like normal siblings?" a pair of footsteps could be heard, one stepping forward, the other moving back.
"We talk like how siblings talk in books, Cass, have you ever noticed that?" the question came with an agitated sharpness.
"I suppose I never put any thought into it," he chuckled nervously. You could now see the two of them through the door way of the dining room.
"On some level, I think I understand why you did it," Leo was now backing Caspian into the dining room, "I don't like remembering the person I love marrying my best friends either." His smile looked broken. A crackling chuckle exited his lips.
"But youuu got to develop those memories, Caspian, didn't you?" His eye was twitching. He now had his brother backed up against the dining room table. His hand reached for the steak knife and your eyes snapped shut. "HOW DO YOU THINK IT FEELS TO GET THEM ALL AT ONCE?!"
There was a blood curdling scream followed by panting and a few moments of silence. You felt a wet hand touch your cheek as the smell of metal hit your nose. You slowly, hesitantly, opened your eyes. There was Leo, smiling down at you.
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warnings: guilt, implied stalking, implied deception, financial abuse(? Idk if this counts but better safe than sorry), implied intimidation, murder, jealousy, possessive behaviors, obsessive behaviors, sabotage
Every day he was there. Only a few minutes after you opened, the bell would ring and he would walk in. He'd make conversation for about 15 minutes before actually buying something. He was so exhausting to deal with. This guy wasn't your friend. You didn't know him. The only reason you put up with him was money, and trust me. There was a lot of money. Every single day, he'd blow more than 200 dollars on your wares. This was...good. It should have felt good. It felt so selfish to not be grateful.
There were some nights you almost cried because it felt as though he was the only reason your business even stayed afloat. This wasn't what you wanted when you opened your store. This wasn't your dream. You wanted to bring smiles to peoples faces by doing something you're good at. Instead, one man came in every day and threw money at you just so that he could force you to talk to him.
Something strange would always happen the mornings after these nights. The store would flood with customers. Only some of them looked like your demographic, and only some of them even seemed like they wanted to be there, but selling them stuff that they didn't even seem to want was at least better than dealing with him.
After that, it would always start to fizzle out again. A few of the customers from those days would come back a few times. You might even build a rapport with them! It was always nice to get a new regular but it never lasted long. After a few visits, he would follow them out of the store or leave a little while after them. If you ever saw them out of your window after that, you noticed how quickly they walked past your store, their eyes filled with terror.
There was one time, after he had left, that one of your old regulars came back. She stepped in hesitantly and glanced about before fully crossing into the store. It was late and the store was empty, like always, so the two of you got to talking. Over the course of the night, she loosened up and bought a few things.
The next morning, you saw her on the news. She had been killed in her sleep. She lived alone. That was the same morning you got your first one star review among the pile of glowing reviews which were all written with the same voice.
The one star review simply read "the staff here flirt with everyone."