pinkhearteyes

Female!Yandere(?) x reader

TW: Yandere, social anxiety, internal conflict, mild bullying, emotional distress, supernatural tension (vampire/werewolf prejudice).

You hated new school years. New faces, new people, and new roommates. Sometimes new people were worse than the monsters you already had to live with.

Your carriage came to a halt beside a patch of night lilies, their pale blossoms glowing faintly under the moonlight. The school loomed before you, its brick walls a mix of dark red and brown, vines twisting over nearly every window. It looked abandoned, which felt appropriate for a place no one wanted to admit housed monsters.

“We’ve arrived, ma’am,” your driver said, eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror.

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, forcing a small smile. Your stomach clenched as you looked at the crowd of students gathering near the entrance. Anxiety rose in your chest, clawing at your throat. You swallowed hard, gripping the door handle until your knuckles turned white.

Sunlight hit you the moment you stepped down. Vampires weren’t supposed to burn alive under the sun, but it was enough to make your skin sting and your eyes water. You scrambled for the shade of a nearby wall, heart hammering as you tried to calm the panic rising inside you.

From your hiding spot, you observed the crowd: witches in flowing robes, werewolves stretching and whispering, and vampires like yourself, trying to appear calm. Wolves and vampires did not get along, not since the war, and the tension in the air made your stomach churn.

You fanned yourself, trying to ease the burning from the sun, and told yourself to calm down. That’s all. Just calm down.

Then a voice rang out. “Hello!”

You froze. Your eyes widened as they met hers. “Hello?” Your voice was uncertain and quiet.

“Hi!” she said, stepping closer, tilting her face slightly to avoid the sun. Her skin was deep brown, her eyes a bright violet that seemed to stare right through you. Thick curls fell around her face, streaked with soft blonde highlights. She wore a dark brown skirt dotted with white polka dots and a light cardigan over a black tank top, a brown headband holding her hair back.

Your chest tightened. Was she a werewolf? Why was she talking to you?

“Can I help you?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

Her violet eyes lingered on you. “That would be appreciated. Do you know what we do? Do we just wait or is there a certain time we can go inside?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Uh… you just wait for today. It’s the first day. After that, you can go in whenever.”

She nodded and smiled faintly, and your stomach twisted. Why did she smile like that at you? You could feel your hands shaking slightly as you clutched your bag.

After she thanked you, silence fell between you. You could feel your chest hammering in your ears. Did you say that wrong? Did your voice sound weird? Why did your words come out like that? Oh god, she’s thinking I’m awkward. She probably hates me already.

Finally, you asked, “Can I ask… what are you?”

Her eyes widened in mock offense. “Oo, not even an introduction? Rude.”

You flushed. Your words stumbled out. “O-Oh! Sorry… uh, what’s your name?”

“Nyra,” she said, smooth and confident. “Yours?”

“Y/n,” you whispered. Then you panicked. Did that sound too short? Too blunt? Should you have said your full name? Did she think you were rude?

“So… can I know what you are?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Nyra hesitated, and you imagined her judging you. “Are you going to hate me if I say that?”

“Why would I?” you said quickly, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow in your own ears. “Are you a werewolf or something?”

She smiled faintly, a corner of her mouth tilting in a way that made your chest feel heavy. “Something like that,” she said, stepping just a little closer. You could feel her presence as much as you could see her.

A loud noise from the front doors made both of you look. Mr. Franklin, the shapeshifter principal, appeared. He was tall, brown-haired, with piercing black eyes, and he welcomed everyone with an enthusiasm that made your stomach twist further. “Welcome, everyone,” he said. “To BlackWhole High, the home of the unknown.”

After he finished speaking, students surged inside. You glanced at Nyra, expecting her to leave, but she stayed, her eyes locked on yours, and your stomach lurched. Did you say something wrong? Did she notice your shaking hands? Your voice quivering? Your mind spun with every possible misstep.

You followed her inside, feeling small and exposed in the bright hallways. Red and gold walls, candles flickering, photos of teachers who had died or been caught by humans staring down at you.

She walked beside you, not too close, but close enough that you felt the pull of her gaze constantly. Every smile she gave, every tilt of her head, made your heart race and your mind spiral. Did she like you? Did she know you were terrified? Would she think you pathetic for overthinking every word?

You didn’t say another word. Neither did she. The noise of students filled the hall, laughter, greetings, footsteps echoing, but it all sounded muffled, like you were underwater. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you had said, how you had sounded, how her eyes had lingered a little too long.

Your dorm was the same as last year, second floor, corner room, tucked away from the main hall. You liked it that way. Quiet. Safe. Isolated.

You set your bag down by the bed and sank into the mattress. The room smelled faintly of old candles and lavender from whoever had stayed there before you. You pulled your knees up, pressed your face into them, and replayed every second of that conversation.

“Did I sound rude? Was my voice shaking too much? She probably thinks I’m weird. Why did I even ask what she was? Stupid.”

Your hands pressed into your eyes until you saw colors dancing behind them. The familiar ache of embarrassment crept up your neck, and your chest tightened with every replayed word. It was always like this. The noise in your head louder than anything around you.

You stayed there for what felt like forever, until the sun dipped low enough that the room turned amber. You changed into your uniform, crisp and uncomfortable, too tight around your throat, and made your way to your first class.

You told yourself to breathe. To keep your head down. To make it through the day unseen.

But when you stepped inside the classroom, your stomach dropped.

There she was. Nyra.

She was sitting by the window, sunlight spilling across her skin like honey. She turned her head, her curls catching the light, and her eyes met yours before you could look away.

That same faint smile touched her lips, soft, but it felt like she knew something you didn’t. Like she had been waiting for you.

Your throat went dry.

You took a seat at the far end of the room, hoping she would not come over. Maybe she would forget you. Maybe she would talk to someone else.

But the chair beside you scraped against the floor.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and smooth, almost playful. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

You froze, fingers gripping the edge of your desk. “Oh… uh… yeah,” you whispered, too quietly. “Me neither.”

She leaned her elbow on the desk, resting her chin in her palm. “You always talk that quietly?”

You looked at her, startled. “S-sorry,” you said instinctively.

Her smile widened just a little, not mocking, not kind, just curious. “Don’t apologize,” she murmured. “It’s cute.”

Your breath caught, heat rising to your cheeks. You didn’t know what to say, and your mind flooded again with panic. What did she mean by that? Was she teasing you? Why would she say that?

“Um…” was all you managed before the teacher walked in.

Even as class began, you could feel her eyes on you. They were warm and heavy, impossible to ignore. Every time you shifted or tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, you swore you caught her watching.

When class ended, as you gathered your books with shaking hands, you heard her voice again, quiet this time but certain.

“I’ll walk you to your dorm later, okay?”

You looked up, startled. “What? Oh… no, it’s fine, you don’t have to…”

She tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes gleaming in a way that made your pulse skip. “I want to,” she said softly.

You opened your mouth to argue, but she was already standing, smiling that same calm, unreadable smile.

You didn’t understand it yet, the way her gaze lingered like a promise. The way her words wrapped around you, careful and deliberate.

You only knew that your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

The walk back to your dorm was quiet. The halls were the same as last year, lined with gold-trimmed portraits and candlelight that never seemed to flicker. You unlocked the door to your room and stepped inside. It smelled faintly of old books and lavender, the same scent you left behind before summer. Everything was exactly where you remembered it. The bed by the window. The shelf with dust gathering at the corners. The curtains drawn tight against the sunlight you could never quite bear.

You set your bag down and leaned against the wall, your heart still racing from the earlier conversation. You replayed it again and again in your head. The way Nyra smiled. The way you stumbled over your words. How you almost made a joke that probably sounded weird. Your hands covered your face as the anxiety started to build, that horrible fluttering feeling in your stomach that never went away after you talked to someone new.

Why did she talk to you? Why did you sound so awkward? You should have said something else. You should have stayed quiet.

You sighed, sinking into your bed and staring at the ceiling.

The next few days passed quickly. Classes started, and the halls filled with noise. You tried to stay quiet, invisible, like always. But Nyra had a way of finding you. She’d smile from across the room. Sit beside you at lunch. Hold the door open when you pretended not to notice her.

Eventually you stopped trying to avoid her. You didn’t have the energy to push someone away who actually seemed to care. And Nyra cared a lot. She asked about your classes, your favorite books, the way your fangs sometimes ached when you were tired. She made you laugh once, a small surprised sound you hadn’t heard from yourself in months.

For a while, it felt nice.

One night, you stayed late in the study hall. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, soft and pale. The world outside was quiet. You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Nyra. Her curls were a little messy, her cardigan damp with dew, and there was dirt on her shoes.

“Were you outside?” you asked quietly.

She smiled, almost too quickly. “I like the woods at night.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” you asked.

Her eyes flicked toward the window where the moon hung full and bright. “Not for me.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer right away. When she smiled again, her teeth looked different. Not sharp like a vampire’s, but broader, almost wolf-like. You thought you imagined it, but when she turned away, your chest tightened.

You didn’t sleep much that night.

The next morning, the whispers began.

“Did you hear about her?”

“She’s been hanging around a wolf.”

“She should know better. After everything they did.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t have to ask who they were talking about.

That day, when you walked into the cafeteria, the conversations stopped. Vampires glanced up from their tables, their gazes sharp as glass. You wanted to vanish. Nyra waved you over from a corner table, smiling like she didn’t notice the way everyone was staring.

You sat down quietly, your hands trembling.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“People are talking,” you whispered. “They know.”

Nyra’s eyes darkened for a moment before she forced a smile. “Let them. They’ll get bored.”

But they didn’t.

By the end of the week, the whispers had turned cruel. You heard them in the hallways, in the dorms, even during class.

“She’s pathetic.”

“Imagine letting a werewolf sit next to you.”

“She’s embarrassing us all.”

You tried to focus on your work, but your vision blurred from the sting in your eyes. You kept your head down, hoping no one saw the tears.

When class ended, you stayed behind until everyone else had left. The sound of the door closing was the only relief you felt all day. You packed your books slowly, pretending you didn’t feel the ache building in your chest.

Then the door opened again.

Nyra stepped inside. Her violet eyes found you immediately.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said softly.

You swallowed, not looking up. “Everyone’s talking about us.”

She tilted her head. “About what?”

“About me being friends with you. Because of the war. Because you’re a werewolf.”

Nyra didn’t move for a moment. Her expression softened, but there was something behind her eyes that made your stomach twist.

“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly. “That I’m a werewolf?”

You looked up, meeting her gaze. “No. I just… I don’t want people to hate me.”

Her smile returned, small and patient. “They already do, don’t they?”

You looked down again, your vision blurry. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer until she was right in front of you. “Come here,” she whispered.

You hesitated, but when she reached out her hand, you took it. Her skin was warm, almost too warm, and her touch trembled slightly. She brushed her thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said softly. “They don’t know you like I do.”

Your voice shook. “Nyra, they’re staring when we’re together.”

“Let them,” she murmured. Her tone was calm but heavy, like every word carried weight. “They’ll stop. I’ll make them stop if they don’t.”

“Nyra…”

Her hand stayed on your cheek, her eyes locked with yours. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You have me now.”

You wanted to pull away, but her touch was comforting in a way that scared you even more. The room was silent except for her breathing. You could still feel the echo of laughter and whispers from the hall, but all you could see were her violet eyes watching you like you were the only thing that mattered.

And as she smiled, soft and steady, you finally understood that she wasn’t just trying to comfort you.

She was promising something.

Tyia ❤️

This okay? if its not what you wanted I'll gladly rewrite it just give me a direction to write it!! <3

Female!Yandere x reader TW: Yandere, implied violence, if I missed any please tell me!!

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You always thought she was just kind.

 She had that sort of warmth that made the air around her seem quieter, softer, like the world itself bent a little to keep her calm. The kind of person who never raised her voice, who smiled in that patient way that made you feel silly for ever doubting her.

She’d walk you home when it rained, even if it meant her own hair clung wet to her skin. She’d sit across from you in cafés, hands wrapped around her cup instead of drinking, eyes fixed on you like you were something rare that might disappear if she looked away.

When you’d laugh and say, “You don’t have to look out for me so much,” she’d only tilt her head.

 “Someone has to.”

It always sounded sweet. You never saw the way her fingers curled, white at the knuckles.

Sometimes, little things would go missing. A note from a classmate, an unfamiliar name on your phone that stopped appearing. You assumed life was just like that, messy, forgetful. But she’d always be there to reassure you, gentle voice wrapping around your worry. “People come and go,” she’d murmur. “That’s normal.”

You’d smile, relieved, never noticing how her gaze lingered a heartbeat too long.

Once, she gave you a book. You didn’t recognize the title, but she said it made her think of you, something about devotion, about love that waited. You joked that she was too sentimental. She smiled, and her voice was soft when she said, “I just think people should stay where they’re loved.”

And you laughed. Because how could someone who braided ribbons into your hair, who remembered how you took your tea, be anything but gentle?

You never noticed the way her hands trembled when you mentioned others. You never saw the faint stain on her sleeve one evening when she hugged you too tightly. You never asked why she always knew where you’d be.

When you told her you were leaving town for a few days, she only nodded. Her smile was sweet as ever. “Of course,” she whispered. “Just… promise you’ll come back.”

You promised. Because you always keep your promises.

And she believed you.

happy halloween <3

They promised they’d never hurt you and technically, they never did. Everyone else, though, wasn’t as lucky.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How love can sound so gentle when it whispers your name, yet leave blood on the floor by morning.

You always knew something was wrong, the way their smile never quite reached their eyes, how their hands lingered too long on the knife when slicing fruit. But they never hurt you. Never. Every bruise on someone else’s skin was a promise kept. Every scream behind closed doors was their way of saying I love you without risking your heart in the process.

They’d look at you with that soft, unshakable devotion, and you’d believe it. You still believe it, because they were right, weren’t they? They never hurt you. They made sure of it. They tore the world apart before they ever laid a hand on you.

And maybe that’s why you stayed. Maybe that’s why, when they come home with blood on their shirt and a smile that only you ever see, you take their trembling hands and whisper, “I know.”

Because deep down, you do.

They didn’t hurt you

they hurt for you.

Siren!Yandere x Fem!Reader

৻ꪆ The waves have always called to you. Not in the simple way they call to everyone who lives near the shore, children racing in and out, fishermen rising before dawn, but in a quieter, more insistent way. A pull you can’t quite explain.

You tell yourself it’s the salt in the air, the endless stretch of blue, the way the horizon swallows the sun each evening. You tell yourself it’s nothing more than longing for something bigger than the small town that hems you in.

But then you hear her.

At first, it’s nothing, just a hum in the crash of the tide, a note hidden beneath the gulls’ cries. You pause, ears straining, and it vanishes. Days later, you hear it again. Softer, but sweeter, threading through the waves. The sound makes your chest ache, makes your feet carry you closer to the rocks at dusk, where the ocean sprays cold mist across your skin.

And then, one night, you see her.

She perches on the black stone just beyond the surf, hair dripping like liquid midnight, eyes catching the fading light with an otherworldly gleam. Her lips part as she sings, low and soft, and the sound is enough to hollow you out.

“You came,” she whispers, voice carrying over the water as though distance means nothing.

You should leave. You know you should. The stories your grandmother told you, about voices in the sea, about people who never came back echo in your head. But your feet sink deeper into the wet sand instead of pulling away.

Her smile is too sharp. Too knowing. “I’ve been waiting.”

___

The next night, you find yourself back at the same spot, though you swear you didn’t mean to. Your body betrays you, carrying you to the tide pools where she waits. She greets you with a laugh, a sound like bells muffled under water, and the closer you step, the quieter your doubts become.

“Why do you hide on the land?” she asks, tilting her head. Water clings to her skin like jewels. “You don’t belong there. Not when you hear me.”

You shiver. “Hear you?”

Her smile deepens. “Of course. You’ve heard me all along. That’s why you keep coming back.”

And you don’t deny it. You can’t. Because she’s right.

The nights blur together after that. You sneak down to the shore when no one will notice. She’s always there, waiting, the sea curling around her like it worships her. She asks you questions no one else asks—about the secrets you keep, about what you dream of when you’re awake, about the things you’d never say aloud.

Sometimes she hums and the world tilts. You feel weightless, drifting. You’d walk into the sea without hesitation if she asked you to in that moment. And sometimes, you think you already have.

Her touches grow bolder. A wet hand brushing your cheek. Fingers tracing your wrist where your pulse hammers. Nails sharp enough to draw a bead of blood, which she licks away with a smile that makes your stomach twist.

“You’re mine,” she murmurs one night, the words brushing your skin as she leans close from her perch. “The land doesn’t deserve you.”

Her eyes glint like the depths of the ocean. Dark. Endless. Dangerous.

___

One evening, when the sky is painted in bruises and fire, she asks you to step closer. “The water won’t hurt you,” she promises, voice like honey over broken glass. “It will hold you. Like I will.”

You hesitate on the shoreline, skirts damp, heart in your throat. But the moment you meet her gaze, you feel the choice slip from your hands. It isn’t yours anymore. Maybe it never was.

You step into the waves.

The cold steals your breath, but her arms are there instantly, pulling you close, pressing you against her chest. Her song hums low against your ear, dizzying, intoxicating.

“There,” she soothes, claws trailing lightly down your back. “Doesn’t it feel better? The land never wanted you. But the sea… the sea and I always did.”

Your lungs burn, but her hold is unbreakable. Her lips brush against your temple, your jaw, the corner of your mouth possessive, claiming.

“You’ll stay with me,” she whispers, and her smile is sharp enough to cut. “Forever.”

The tide swallows the rest of the world. All you hear is her voice.

Can i ask for a yan fem x female reader. Where the female (yandere). They are friends and she (the yandere) always avoiding her feelings for reader (knowing reader has feelings for her) and she ended up being a closeted homophobic type of girlie until reader decided that it's enough and cut them off and ignored her. Then she realized her feelings and she started to become obsessed after the whole reader ignoring her and what not? Girlie is like baffled that reader is angry and ignoring her and she can't believe it? If can understand it. Sorry, I'm not that great at English

It's kinda long. Sorry for taking your time

Tyia ❤️❤️

Is this okay? If not let me know and I'll rewrite it!!<3 Female!Yandere x Fem!reader TW's: Yandere, anything else let me know!

You knew she didn’t mean it. At least, you told yourself that every time she pushed you away.

When your hands brushed, she’d jerk back like you burned her. When someone teased that you two acted like a couple, she’d laugh too loud and snap, “As if. She’s not even my type.” When you hinted at your feelings—half serious, half joking—she’d roll her eyes and mutter, “You’re so weird sometimes.”

It stung. Every time, it stung.

But you put up with it because you liked her. Maybe more than you should have. She was your best friend. The person you trusted most. The one who could make you laugh when no one else could. The one you stayed up texting until 3 a.m., eyes heavy but heart light.

So you excused it. You told yourself she was just confused, maybe scared. You told yourself that she’d grow out of that habit of pretending she didn’t care.

But she didn’t.

And eventually, it was too much.

You couldn’t keep handing your heart to her if she was just going to drop it and act like it was worthless. You couldn’t keep pretending her words didn’t hurt when they cut deeper than she’d ever understand.

So you stopped.

You stopped answering her texts. Stopped sitting with her at lunch. Stopped waiting outside her house pretending it was coincidence. Stopped looking for her in the halls.

It killed you, but it was the only way to save yourself.

At first, she thought you were joking. Then she thought you were just being dramatic. But when a week passed and you still ignored her… she noticed.

She noticed when you laughed with someone else. She noticed when you sat at a different table. She noticed when you walked right past her without a glance.

And for the first time, she felt something sharp and ugly coil inside her chest.

It was jealousy. It was panic. It was obsession.

Because you weren’t supposed to leave.

“Hey.” Her voice broke through your thoughts one afternoon when you were digging through your locker. “Why are you avoiding me?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept flipping through your books, trying not to look at her.

She laughed, the sound forced. “Oh, come on. You’re seriously mad at me? For what? For joking around?”

Still nothing.

“Y/N.” Her tone dropped, sharper now. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you glanced at her. Her eyes were wide, frantic, like she couldn’t process the fact that you weren’t rushing to reassure her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, voice trembling in a way you’d never heard before. “You’re my best friend. You can’t just—just cut me off like this.”

You swallowed hard. “You’ve made it pretty clear how you feel.”

Her face twisted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m done letting you treat me like a joke,” you said, surprising even yourself with how steady your voice was. “I liked you. I really liked you. And you made me feel like I was disgusting for it.”

Silence. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes darted away, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

“I didn’t—” she started, then stopped. Her hands shook at her sides. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I didn’t want it to be true.”

“Yeah. I know.” You shut your locker with a final slam. “That’s the problem.”

You walked away before she could answer.

But she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Her mind spun, her body frozen. She felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her.

Because suddenly, everything was clear.

She did like you. She always had. She was terrified of it, so she smothered it with denial, with cruel words and fake laughs. But the moment you turned away, the truth hit her like a knife in the gut.

She wanted you. Needed you. Couldn’t breathe without you.

And now you hated her.

The thought made her dizzy. It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to hate her. You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to forgive her like always. You were supposed to be hers.

The more you ignored her, the worse it got. Every night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying your words. Every hallway she saw you in but couldn’t reach felt like torture. Every smile you gave someone else was another crack in her sanity.

Because you weren’t just her friend anymore.

You were her obsession.

Set in the 2000s, two best friends, both popular girls. They've been hooking up for so long, but one gets a bf and they have to break it off but fail completely.

They're hanging out and one is wanting to hook up and the other is hesitant because of her bf but says this is the last time.😋😋

Hopefully this is good! If not I'll rewrite<3

Fem x fem!Reader

The music videos on MTV flickered across the screen, the kind of neon-glossy chaos that only the early 2000s could make cool. You and Varyna had sprawled across her bedroom floor, a tangle of pillows and half-empty cans of Diet Coke.

She looked good. Too good. Her nails were painted a glossy pink, her lip gloss catching every bit of light, and you hated how badly you noticed. It wasn’t new—nothing about wanting her was new.

What was new was the silver charm bracelet on her wrist. A gift. From him.

Your stomach twisted every time it caught the light.

“So, he’s picking me up for the movies tomorrow,” Varyna said casually, brushing her hair back with her fingers. She didn’t look at you when she said it.

“Right,” you said, keeping your eyes on the TV.

The air stretched thin between you, heavy with the weight of everything you weren’t saying. It wasn’t supposed to be awkward. You’d been best friends forever, after all. Best friends who kissed in the backseat of cars when no one was looking, who whispered secrets into each other’s skin, who promised it was just practice, just fun, just—

But now she had a boyfriend, and you were supposed to forget all of that.

Varyna rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. Her eyes glittered in the glow of the TV. “You’re quiet,” she said softly.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just tired.”

But then she smiled in that way you knew too well, the one that had always meant trouble. Her hand found your wrist, sliding up slowly, deliberately. Your heart kicked in your chest.

“C’mon,” she whispered. “One last time.”

“Varyna—” Your voice cracked. You wanted to say no. You should have said no. She had a boyfriend now.

But her fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face toward hers, and suddenly the whole room felt smaller, hotter. You could smell her vanilla perfume, the same one she’d worn since ninth grade.

“Just… the last time,” she repeated, her voice almost a plea.

You hesitated, but the truth was, you’d never been able to resist her.

When her lips finally met yours, soft and familiar, you didn’t stop her. You couldn’t.

I did really enjoy this. I picture it differently. I was thinking they were in their teens and not married but just dating. I really enjoyed the aspects of flashbacks, though. Maybe if u could find a way to keep the flashbacks in, maybe in the way of the reader looking back in jealousy as Rosie's bf

Srry, this took so long?!? Girl, you finished this so quick!! I feel really bad for asking you to rewrite it😭😭

Don't feel bad at all! I'm always willing to rewrite!! I got a few questions just so I know how to write it<3

When flashbacks do you mean maybe Rosie and her boyfriend doing things her and the reader did before Rosie and him got together then reader gets jealous??

I wanted to request a fem for fem fic about two best friends who have spent years denying their feelings for each other. When the feelings first arise, they would 'practice kissing' but never let it mean more. They did everything ppl in relationships do but refuse to acknowledge the feelings. I kind of want it set in a time when coming out was as accepted. I want it to go back and forth from past and present with them reflecting with flashback. You can decide how it ends!!

I don't know if you do non-yandere writings and I know this is a lot to request. Your my favorite femxfem writers!!♡♡♡

I'm honored to be your favorite femxfem writer! I write pretty much anything that isn't smut so dw!<3 Hope you like it I kinda had a lot of ideas comes so hopefully this is what you meant<3 (let me know if not I'm willing to rewrite it!) Sorry it took so long!! Fem x fem reader!

I should be happy. I really should. Sitting across from Tommy at Mel’s Diner, listening to the tinny jukebox play some swing song that feels a little too lively for my nerves, I try. I smile. I laugh when he jokes. I let his hand brush against mine and I can feel my chest tighten. But I’m not happy. Not really.

Because every time he touches me, it’s like a flash of something else lights up in my head, something I’ve tried so hard to ignore.

I stir my coffee slowly, pretending I’m careful about the cream, not because I care about spilling it.

It was because it reminded me of you, you always ordered this drink especially on the date with those ridiculous guys you’d go on the date with.

___

Flashback—16

I was sitting on the creaky wooden floor of your bedroom, my heart thudding so fast I was sure the walls could hear it. The lamp on your dresser cast a warm glow, dust floating in the air like little secrets we weren’t supposed to tell. You sat across from me, knees bent, hair falling into your face as you tried to suppress a grin.

We were giggling, half nervous and half serious, because we’d decided—so earnestly, like it was some majestic pact—that we were going to practice kissing. Not for real. Just practice.

“It’s for our future boyfriends,” you said, whispering like your mother might overhear from the next room. “So it doesn’t count, right?”

My throat had gone dry. “Right,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

The room went still as we leaned forward. Our laughter faded into the kind of silence that feels too heavy for two sixteen-year-olds to carry. Just the tips of our lips brushed together. My eyes fluttered shut before I could stop myself, and I felt yours do the same. It was clumsy and too short, but oh God, it felt electric.

Not wrong. Not sinful. Just… right.

And yet, the second it happened, I pulled back. I always pulled back. I remember how you laughed, cheeks pink, as if it were all just a silly game. You tangled your fingers with mine, squeezing once, like nothing had happened. Like it didn’t mean everything.

But it did.

____

Now, his hand covers mine, warm and steady, and I flinch. He laughs and squeezes, and I see the way his eyes shine with that soft certainty that he thinks he’s the only one who matters.

I want to tell him, to scream, that someone else does. That someone else has been my secret for years.

I hate that every time the jukebox changes the song it reminds me of you.

____

Flashback—17

The park that day was crowded—boys yelling at the baseball diamond, families spread out on blankets, radios crackling. But all I noticed was you.

We shared a soda, both of us huddled on the splintering wooden bench, shoulders pressed close even though there was plenty of space. I remember the way you nudged me with your shoulder when I nearly dropped the glass bottle, both of us laughing too hard at nothing.

“Don’t hog it,” you teased, swiping it back.

“Maybe I should,” I shot back, though my voice cracked because your fingers brushed mine as you grabbed it. Just a light touch, but it burned in my chest.

We passed it back and forth, and every time your hand lingered, I thought I’d die. The whole world was loud around us, but I only heard your laughter, felt your knee bumping into mine, smelled the faint sweetness of your perfume mixed with grass and soda fizz.

Everything felt intimate. Everything felt… mine.

And yet, neither of us said it. We never dared. Not aloud.

___

Tommy leans in and whispers something about how nice my hair smells, and I almost flinch again.

My stomach twists. Because your hair smelled just like rain after summer, just like every time we stayed up past curfew talking about nothing and everything all at once. And it wasn’t fair. How can someone else know me like that when I’m the one who…

I shake my head. Take a deep breath. Smile at Tommy. “Thanks,” I murmur, voice tighter than I want.

____

Flashback—18

Your hands were on my shoulders, steadying me as we danced in the empty gym after prom clean-up. The crepe paper still hung limp from the ceiling, half torn. A broom leaned against the wall where we’d given up sweeping confetti.

No music except the faint scratch of the record we begged Mr. Thompson to play before he locked up for the night, and the soft scuff of our shoes on the floor.

I remember how warm your hands felt through the thin fabric of my dress, how your cheek brushed mine as we spun slowly in the half-dark. The kind of closeness that made my chest ache in the best and worst way.

I wanted more. God, I wanted more. But more meant everything. And more was dangerous. And more was… love.

___

I blink. Tommy’s talking, and I catch half the words, nod politely. His lips move and I see them, and I remember mine pressed to yours in the back of the theater, quick, stolen, meaningless—except it wasn’t meaningless. Not then. Not ever.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, hands gripping the porcelain sink. I stare at my reflection, at the girl who’s supposed to be happy with her boyfriend. The girl who’s supposed to be normal. The girl who’s supposed to forget about the one she can’t have.

But I can’t.

Because yesterday, he kissed me in front of his friends, and all I could see was your mouth, how it felt when we pressed together in secret, how your breath hitched and your hands fumbled in mine. And it wasn’t fair. Not fair that everyone else gets to know me like this and you… you never could.

____

Flashback—16 (Again)

We were sitting under your tree house that summer, sunlight slipping through the branches. The picnic blanket was uneven and the sandwiches we packed were soggy from too much mustard, but none of that mattered. You were chewing thoughtfully, staring up at the sky like it might answer some secret question.

“Do you think we should… try again?” you asked suddenly, eyes darting to me.

My heart skipped. I knew what you meant. The kiss. That one kiss we swore was just practice.

I laughed too quickly. “Why? Didn’t we do it right the first time?”

But the way your lips curved, the way your voice lowered—“I just wondered if maybe… we didn’t get it right”—it made me dizzy.

We never did try again. At least, not then. But the question hung between us like the heat in the air, heavy and inescapable.

___

Back in the diner, Tommy is gone to the jukebox to put in another coin. I lean back, letting my hand drop from his. My eyes find the window and the world outside looks like a painting I can’t touch.

I remember you sitting on the hood of my car, scarf in your hair, legs dangling, and we’re sharing a cigarette because we’re daring, reckless, and so utterly ourselves when no one’s looking. You laughed at my nervous grin, and I swore I would memorize that sound forever.

And I have.

I hear Tommy calling my name and I force myself to return to the present. Smile again. Laugh at his jokes. But inside, I’m elsewhere. Always elsewhere.

Because you’re there. Always.

Even when he kisses me. Even when he holds me. Even when the world expects me to be normal. You’re the flashback in every touch, the memory in every laugh, the ghost I can’t shake.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. Or maybe it’s not.

!!!

Is this okay??

I tried another writing style (Thank you to my best friend that helped me!!)

Female Yandere x fem!reader

TW's: manipulation, stalking, threats, possessiveness, if I missed any please let me know!!

The first day you set foot on campus, you felt the weight of every stare. The private school’s halls were polished to perfection, echoing with footsteps and whispered gossip, and you, the new transfer, stood out like a misplaced note in a rehearsed symphony. You tried to ignore it, clutching your books closer, adjusting the stiff uniform that still felt foreign on your shoulders. That was when you noticed her.

Elara. Upperclassman. Untouchable. Her presence was impossible to ignore—tall, elegant, with eyes like a storm contained in glass.

She didn’t bother hiding the disdain in her glance as she passed you in the corridor, lips curling slightly as if you were an inconvenience in her path. You ducked your head, heart sinking.

You didn’t know that her thoughts lingered long after she swept past. Naive. Clumsy. Too soft for this place. But… interesting. Mine, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

At first, her rudeness seemed unprovoked. She made sharp comments when you fumbled your books, raised her brow when you answered a question wrong in class, scoffed when she caught you lingering in the library stacks too long.

You told yourself she hated you, that she simply enjoyed making you small. And yet, there was something in her gaze that unsettled you—something sharper than annoyance, hungrier than mere arrogance.

Then she shifted.

It began with small gestures. A book appearing on your desk, the exact one you’d been too nervous to check out. A hand reaching out to steady you when you stumbled on the stairs. A shadow falling over you in the lunchroom, her voice low as she asked, “This seat taken?” as though she’d ever allow you to say yes.

You wanted to believe it was kindness, that beneath her cold mask was a softer girl trying to show she cared. But her smile always curved with a strange satisfaction, like each act wasn’t about helping you—it was about drawing you closer.

Step by step, she wound herself into your life. She sat beside you in study hall, her knee brushing yours as she corrected your notes in her graceful handwriting.

She intercepted classmates who tried to talk to you, her voice silken as she said, “She’s busy,” before steering you away. She appeared outside your dorm room at night with excuses—“I couldn’t sleep,” or “You shouldn’t be alone.” You accepted it because you didn’t know how not to.

And when you hesitated, when you tried to excuse yourself from her presence, she always found a way to make you stay. A hand circling your wrist. A look that silenced you. A whisper at your ear: “You’ll only tire yourself out. Stay with me.”

In her mind, she thought: Good. Obedience looks lovely on you. Step closer. Don’t resist.

You didn’t notice it until it was too late. Her scarf was around your shoulders. Her pen was tucked behind your ear. Her rhythm became yours without you realizing it. You caught yourself in the mirror one afternoon and hardly recognized the reflection—you looked less like yourself and more like someone molded to fit into her shadow.

When you turned the corner that same day, there she was waiting, smirk tugging at her lips. “Looking for me?” she asked, like she knew. Heat flushed your face, and though you shook your head, she walked beside you anyway, her shoulder brushing yours.

By then, your classmates had stopped trying to approach you. The library, the cafeteria, even the courtyard—it was always Elara beside you, Elara answering for you, Elara making decisions you hadn’t realized were hers to make. You tried to ignore the pang in your chest, the sense of something being stolen, but every time you thought of confronting her, her voice returned to you: low, certain, unshakable. You don’t need them. You have me.

And you almost believed it.

It was one evening in the empty music room when the careful web finally closed. You’d gone there desperate for space, hoping the quiet might give you clarity, but the door creaked open and she slipped inside. She always found you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, leaning against the frame. Her tone was soft, but beneath it simmered a warning.

You shook your head. “I just needed some time—”

Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room, each one measured, deliberate. “Time?” she repeated. “Time for what? To think? To doubt me?”

Her hand rose to your chin, tilting your face until her storm-grey eyes pinned yours. You froze under the weight of her gaze.

“You don’t need time,” she whispered. “You need me.”

Your breath hitched. Every instinct screamed at you to resist, to tell her she was wrong—but when you opened your mouth, nothing came out. Her lips brushed your ear, her voice a velvet trap.

“Say it.”

You blinked. “Say… what?”

Her nails traced your jawline, a delicate threat. “That you’re mine. That you belong to me.”

Your pulse thundered. “Elara, I—”

“Say it.” Her voice dropped lower, unyielding, dangerous. “Or I’ll make sure you never speak to anyone else again. No friends. No classmates. Only me. Forever.”

The threat pressed into you like a blade, and you knew she meant it. She could make it real.

Your lips trembled. The words slipped out, barely audible. “I’m yours.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Then she smiled—a smile that was both tender and triumphant, the smile of someone who had won. Her thumb stroked your cheek, reward and possession entwined in the touch.

“There,” she murmured. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

And in her mind, she thought: She’s mine. Completely. And no one will ever take her away.

When her lips finally pressed to yours, sealing the vow you hadn’t wanted to make, you realized it was the end of your freedom. But in the warmth of her arms, in the certainty of her grip, you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t such a terrible thing.

'Breaking up with your girlfriend or...not?'

You rehearsed the words all day. Over and over, in your head, between classes, on the bus ride home. We can’t do this anymore. It’s not working. You even practiced keeping your voice steady.

When you finally knock on her door, your stomach twists. She answers almost instantly, like she’s been waiting.

“Hey, baby,” she says, smiling that soft, dangerous smile.

You take a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

Her smile falters, just a little, but her eyes stay locked on yours. “Talk?” she repeats, tilting her head like she doesn’t already know where this is going.

You tell her you can’t keep doing this. That you’re not happy. That it’s over.

For a second, she’s quiet. Then she laughs. It’s sharp, too loud for the small apartment. “No,” she says simply, stepping closer. “You’re just upset right now. You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insist, trying to keep your voice firm. “I’m done.”

Her expression shifts — not angry, not sad, but something else. Something calculating. She takes your hand and squeezes it so tight it almost hurts. “You can’t just leave me,” she says, her voice low, almost trembling. “Do you know what that would do to me?”

When you pull your hand away, her voice suddenly rises, breaking through the quiet of the building. “So that’s it? You’re just going to throw me away? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You can already hear movement in the hallway. A neighbor’s door creaks open. She knows it too, her tone turns sharp, desperate. “Tell them,” she says loudly, tears forming in her eyes. “Tell them how you’re abandoning me when I need you most. Go on. Tell them you’re leaving me after I gave up everything for you!”

Heat floods your face. You hate how she twists it, how she makes you look like the villain. People are watching now, eyes curious, judging.

She steps closer again, dropping her voice so only you can hear. “If you walk away, I’ll scream louder. I’ll make sure they all know what kind of person you are. I’ll tell them everything. I’ll cry until someone calls the cops.” Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Or you could just come inside, and we can talk like normal people.”

!!

Yandere!Female x reader

I watched as you walked into the bar, your hair catching the dim light like it was made for it. You didn’t see me at first, you were too busy laughing at something your friend said, your hand brushing theirs in that casual way you do. It was supposed to be nothing, remember? Just a simple arrangement. Friends who happen to touch a little more than friends usually do.

Back then, I told myself I could handle it. I told myself it didn’t matter if you went out with other people, if you flirted with strangers, if I wasn’t the only one you smiled at that way. But it did matter. It mattered every time you didn’t pick up your phone, every time you posted a picture with someone I didn’t know.

The first time I showed up uninvited, you laughed and called me “clingy.” You thought it was a joke. I smiled back, pretending it was. Inside, it was something different a deep, gnawing need to make sure no one else got too close.

It got worse.

I started keeping track of where you went, who you talked to, how long you stayed. Sometimes I’d sit in my car down the street from your apartment just to watch the light in your bedroom window turn on. Other times, I’d be waiting outside your work without telling you I was coming. You never asked how I always knew when you’d be free.

The worst part? You made it so easy. You left the spare key under your doormat, your calendar open on the counter. You’d tell me little things without thinking about what time you’d be home, when you had plans, how tired you were lately. I stored it all away.

I started imagining what it would be like if it was just us. No friends. No strangers. No one to pull you away from me. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. I'd take care of you. I’d protect you from people who didn’t deserve you.

And tonight, it’s finally happening.

You don’t notice the extra weight in my bag as I follow you down the quiet street. You don’t see me glance at the van parked at the curb, the one with its back doors cracked open just enough. You’re too busy scrolling on your phone, your footsteps slow, trusting.

When my hand closes around your wrist, you look up at me with that familiar confusion. “What are you—” you start, but I hush you softly, pressing closer, my other hand slipping something cold and damp over your mouth.

You struggle at first, but you’re already breathing too fast, already stumbling. I hold you until your body goes slack.

A short writing pls❤️

Female!Yandere x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hopefully this is okay<3 if not feel free to just send a message and I'll try again!

---

Your world has shrunk to the size of her arms.

The door to the locked bedroom creaks open, and she steps in barefoot, quiet, smiling like the devil in silk pajamas. She’s holding a tray with dinner: warm bread, stew, a glass of water that glitters in the lamplight.

“I made it myself,” she says, as if this is a normal evening. As if you hadn’t been here for… weeks? Months? Time feels slippery now.

You take the bowl, your fingers brushing hers, and she lingers on the contact, thumb stroking your knuckle in a gesture so tender it almost hides the chain at your ankle.

“I missed you today,” she murmurs, settling beside you on the bed. Her perfume is overwhelming, floral and sweet, a scent that seeps into your clothes, your skin. “I thought about you while I was cooking. Wondered if you were thinking of me, too.”

You don’t answer. You never do, not anymore.

It doesn’t matter. She takes your silence as devotion.

Her hand slides to your cheek, her nails grazing lightly. “You’re getting better here. Softer. Happier. I can see it in your eyes.”

Her voice is warm, but her grip on your face is firm enough to remind you that there’s nowhere else to go.

She kisses your temple, lingering there, breathing you in like you’re something she’s earned.