he’s already a super possessive guy, but your drunken antics are only making it ten times worse.

sure, coming to the bar was his idea. it was only fair, after such a long week at work, that he got to have a nice dinner on the town and a few beers shortly after. even better that he got to do it with his pretty fucking wife, you know?

yeah, he watched you slip into the tightest, smallest dress you had, curl your hair into pretty little coils, and push and pull at everything else out of place. he saw the too tall black pumps you choose— the one’s he got you for your anniversary that make your legs look model-length long. he even saw the way your black lace bralette played peek-a-boo along your dress’s neckline.

all of it only made him more excited.

getting to show you off on the town? his sweet, sexy little woman all done-up and pretty, hanging off his arm like his little trophy? god, he was practically hard before you two could reach the front door.

the second that liquor hit your system, though, was the second all hell broke loose.

at this point in the night, you’re long past the idea of sitting pretty, eating your food, and posing for pictures. now, you’re feeling good. a little tipsy, or maybe even drunk. all the shyness or docile little feelings from the beginning of the night are gone.

now, you wanna dance. you wanna throw your arms up and sway with the other bar-goers, and why shouldn’t you be able to?

you didn’t mind the way your dress rode up your thighs, giving the wrong people an eyeful of your goods. you hadn’t noticed the men who’d run their hands over you, every so often passing by with their crotch just a little too close to your ass. all you were focused on was the music, how good you felt, and when your next shot was coming.

if only you had paid attention to the damn near menacing stare simon had you under. something that rivaled a madman’s with its intensity.

he’d held back for the first few songs, letting the angel on his shoulder telling him to ease up guide him. sure, he still stood around like an unamused body guard, sending glares to the gawking men and buying your drinks whenever you asked. maybe occasionally he’d get a cute picture or video of you too. that was just what came with the simon o’riley type though.

it wasn’t until you got to the flirty territory, grinding your ass into him with the music or kissing him with a little too much tongue, that he decided to pull the plug.

and god, did you always give him attitude for it.

“i’m not ready to leave, simon,” you’d whine, eyes glossed over and face screwed up in that cute little way you only do when you’re aggravated.

“i want another drink,” but you’re slurring and stumbling already.

“just keep kissing on me, baby,” you protest as he grabs your discarded shoes and purse and starts leading you towards the exit.

he’s sweet with you at first, given how drunk and cute you truly are. sure, you may have triggered his possessiveness early, but you’re batting your eyelashes up at him and clinging onto him for dear life. how could he not talk to you softly? how could he not kiss you back as he tugged your dress back down?

“it’s alright, lovie. let’s get home and i’ll take such good care of you.”

you start trying to fight him though and you’ll see how thin his patience truly is.

doing things out of spite? pulling his hands away from you while he’s trying to guide you down the street? arguing with him through your half-coherent sentences? cursing him under your breath just loud enough that he can hear it?

you’re getting yourself in trouble and you’re too drunk to know it.

he was prepared to let your little outbursts slide. wouldn’t hold it against you and still keep his plans straight for the night.

after all you’d done, he was still gonna get you home, slip off those stockings and undo those zippers. dedicate the rest of the night to making you feel all good like how you’d begging him too.

but you just can’t keep that pretty little mouth shut, can you?

“don’t make it worse for yourself.” he’d warn, grabbing your face from its resting place against his passenger-side window, “you’ve already fucked up enough as is, yeah?”

his voice is gruff and his jaw is set, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

you’ll be making it up to him all night long, and he’s gonna be anything but nice now ;)

‘Prince’ Yandere x reader

Imagine a reader in modern day society. She lives in a normal little town, went to your average school, lives in a normal house and has your everyday friendly neighbours. Like I said, her life is nothing out of the ordinary.

She feels lucky to have so many kind people in her life. Everyone knows everyone and isn’t afraid of lending a helping hand whenever someone is in trouble. The town is on the smaller side but very cozy. They have their own traditions like the annual Christmas market or the summer fundraiser. Nice stuff like that.

Everything is simply perfect! Or…well it would be if not for one tiny detail.

Unfortunately there’s one guy who just can’t seem to take a hint. Reader feels kinda mean thinking of him as a stain on the idyllic life she’s built. She doesn’t understand why he can’t take a ‘no’ for an answer. Everyday this hunk of a man walks right into her workplace like he owns the place and demands reader’s attention. With the way he’s acting you would think he’s dying and reader’s attention is the one and only cure.

It’s not like he’s ugly or anything, but a guy who doesn’t listen is just a 🚩

That’s not even the worst part. Another big issue is his…delusions.

Like, one time when reader was walking home she decided to stop by the market square since she needed some groceries. And guess who was in the middle of the square, somehow managed to climb onto the water fountain and proudly shouting at the top of his lungs? Part of reader’s soul disintegrated that day. What in the world was he doing!? He didn’t seem to be embarrassed either. No, with his nose pointed upwards he said he was going to reveal a big secret about the whole town. Silence filled he air, everyone was curious about what he was about to say.

What was this secret? Had someone committed a grave crime and was about to be exposed? Thoughts like that circled in everyone’s mind. Their imagination came to life and dreamt up various scenarios to what the deal was. People anticipated something foul, raw and sinful only to be met with grave disappointment.

You see, the man had suddenly declared himself as royalty in front of an entire audience. He claimed that the whole town was under a spell and had forgotten about their origins; being fairytale characters. And right now, only he was able to remember the truth. Alright, what the hell? That was ridiculous. What made it worse was the fact that he appointed himself as the towns prince and leader. Yikes. He said most- if not all- of the citizens where peasants and therefore his subjects. That’s why the had to listen to him from now on.

Reader wanted to peel off her skin and scream in that moment. The secondhand embarrassment was too much.

Bringing down shame upon yourself and your ancestors was one thing, but did he have to drag reader into it?? He claimed she was also royalty and should be treated with outmost respect. Why? Because he’s her husband! Of course his spouse need the 5-star treatment as well.

After the painful incident he’s always stopped by her workplace to talk her ear off. No matter what she said or did(or how much others complained) he never left. At least not permanently. In rare instances he did go with a downcast expression but he’d always be back full force the next day.

The man tells reader about the wonderful life they were going to have. If only the curse wouldn’t have been placed and they’d all been transported to the world they currently live in. It pains him so to know she’s forgotten all about him and the great love they shared. But it’ll be alright. After all, they found each other again and he refuses to let go.

Reader only half listens(he will throw a tantrum if he realises she’s not paying attention to him) as he drones on about how they first met in the forest. Of course he found her by hearing a wonderful song travel through the woods, he followed it all the way to her. They danced together and met every sundown from then on. It was so romantic. It’s impossible not to roll your eyes at the cliche imagery, it’s just so corny.

Yandere ‘prince’ also demands reader to refer to him by his royal, ‘real’ name. It’s not his real one, it’s something else. Everyone knows that- except him, apparently, since he refuses to respond to it. If you do use it, he’ll ignore you and pretend you didn’t speak at all. It’s very tiring, more so since he tries to enforce this delusion onto reader. He also won’t use her actual name and instead settles for this medieval one. Apart from that, he calls her ‘love,’ ‘darling’, ‘my heart’ and other cutesy nicknames that are far from appreciated.

It doesn’t matter what reader says, he won’t stop.

He insists he wants to be her saviour again. Sadly for him there is nothing to protect you from except the occasional spider that makes its way inside your house.

‘Well, it’s better than nothing.’ He would say before smacking and tossing it out.

He is willing to do anything for his lover. And that really does means anything. Nothing is off the table. It wasn’t before and it definitively isn’t now simply because of some lame curse. It can’t keep him form his soulmate.

He was your prince before, he’ll show you that he still is.

———————————

Real life men out here saying ‘wyd’ and ‘lol’… meanwhile I’m craving the kind of love that’s stalking-me-outside-my-window, choke-me-with-your-devotion, pray-to-me-like-a-god type of obsession.

it’s one of his sweetest dreams besides being with you.

while in the south, big, growing families were far from rare, he was always hesitant to have one of his own. with the way he worked, forty hours a week and sometimes more, it just wasn’t realistic. despite having a good role model in his pa, and a yearning mother on his back, he never knew if he could see himself that way.

well, until he met you.

while a large part of him was satisfied with taking care of you— giving you every ounce of his love— there came a time where a more primal urge began to form. an urge that desperately wanted to create life with you. that wanted to expand his family and extend his love. that wanted to be the father of your child, along with your husband.

the daydreams started slowly, but after a while they were all consuming.

watching you laze around the house in your puffy sundresses, bump just brimming underneath the fabric. laying with you at night with your swollen, worn body under his hands as he lifts the weight off your back. sweet early mornings filled with sweet tea and your bare feet resting in his lap as he squeezes away the pain.

he fantasized about painting the nursery together— desperate to please your rapidly changing visions. buying your babies little onesies and socks to wear as they grow. making little scrap books of the pictures he’d take along the way, noting how you bloomed more and more with the labor of his love.

he’d learn to cook according to your pregnancy cravings. he’d hold your hair back as you threw up from morning sickness. he’d take those silly breathing and parenting classes with you, if you agreed too. he would do anything at all to make it easier for you; that he knew more than anything.

it got so bad that the thoughts began following him to work, too.

usually, he thought of you whenever things got stressful and be was tempted to quit. thought about how his money was your money, and how each grueling, sweaty day was worth the smile on your face when he’d hand you a random few hundreds.

you were still there, of course. you never leave his mind. but now, instead of seeing your sweet, sexy stare in his mind’s eye, he saw the wet, long lashes of a baby girl with hair just like yours. he saw chubby little hands, a cute little pout, and skin a mix of your two shades. he saw his wife, his baby, and himself— his sacred little family.

that just about does it for him. any doubts he had before have practically melted, replaced by sheer hope.

he’s careful in the way he approaches you about, timid and shy about the broad new chapter. he knows that he’d provide well for both the baby and you. he knows that his loves would never want for anything— never go without. he knows it all, but he’s still so…nervous.

he’s done so much. so, so much.

more than you know— more than can be forgiven. that, he knows.

sure, it’s a sweet dream. one of the sweetest there could be. but, deep down he knows that he’s not deserving.

so, he keeps it to himself. lets it float through his mind and occupy the spaces you don’t fill. lets the temptation of locking you down torment him, hoping that maybe one day, he’ll forgive himself enough to make it a reality.

sweet, sweet blue collar man.

hello, everyone! this was requested as a domestic moment for our beloved blue-collar!husband. of course, i couldn’t resist throwing a little wrench in that plan, though. expect to see more of our guy soon. you guys have been asking some really good questions ;)

“you know…” he started, trailing off ever so slightly. his eyebrows were tightly-knitted, showcasing his frustration more than his tone did, “i think you like pissing me off.”

you couldn’t hold back your scoff at that. of course that was his role— the brutish man ever provoked by his promiscuous lover.

the way you turned in your heels was every bit of disrespectful, red pumps courting the ground in rapid, powerful steps. he followed closely behind, pulling at his tie that was nearly choking him now.

“oh, please,” you retorted, bitterness lacing your tone, “take some fucking responsibility for yourself.”

you rarely ever swore at him, but tonight was the exception. he had pushed just a little too far.

“watch your tone,” he warned from behind you, voice just a tad bit more menacing and much closer than it had been before.

normally, you would’ve heeded his warning…given into the silence and allowed yourself to calm down. but you just couldn’t. not after the scene he had caused.

“just stop fucking talking to me.”

before you could take your next step, his hand was around your neck, pulling you flush into him. the material of his silk suit cascaded over the exposed skin of your back, outlining every ridge and crook of his body against your’s. he was ripe and hot with anger, his pale skin scorching as much as the obsidian ring that was digging into your jugular.

his other arm snaked to rest across your stomach, limb holding you so firm that even an exhale was a bit difficult. his hair had come undone, failing to his shoulders in unkempt waves that brushed against your’s face and tickled. it would’ve been endearing— this position— had it not been for the his nearly primal snarling.

“let me remind you of something, my love.”

his face dropped towards your neck, nose breathing in your scent first, followed by the linings of his fangs next. your body spasmed in response— a mix of terror and excitement all the same.

“you are an extension of me,” his words were slow and pointed, chaste kisses accompanying them, “i created you with the sheer power of my soul.”

“i have gifted you a strong mind,” a pause, and then a series of small, surface level bites followed suit, “a youthful body, and a bountiful heart.”

his breathing was intense now, ragged and heavy as if the sheer fact that he had to assert himself this way was pissing him off.

“i have given you a life others dream of-“

“i never asked for it-“

“and yet, it’s your’s. that’s all that matters.”

his grip around your neck grew tighter. his presence was all but consuming you like this, weakening every fight you tried to put together under it’s sheer weight.

“you are mine,” he continued, drawing his tongue around a particularly subtle valley on your neck.

“despite all the freedom i afford you, you must not forget this— till the day the world ends— till the day the heavens forgive this curse we’ve been bestowed— i own you…”

he was silent for the next few moments, relishing in how your once stagnant blood began to pulse under the pressure he applied. his other hand slipped from it’s place at your stomach to rest between your thighs, the material of your dress resting over his wrist all the while.

you recoiled instinctively, to no avail, falling further into him in spite of your efforts to get away.

“…and you will not speak to me that way.”

and with that, he finally dug in, teeth accosting your skin like the sharpest of daggers.

you weren’t sure how long it was before the pain morphed to pleasure, but by the time he was finished with you, all that you could remember was the taste of yourself on his tongue. that, and the sentiment he had so readily asserted: you are his.