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noirscript · 3 months ago

Text

Lavender and Powder

Pairing: Yandere!Farmer x City Girl!Reader Description: Isaiah, a farmer with a quiet intensity, becomes an unsettling presence in your life after a chance encounter. What starts as neighborly kindness spirals into a chilling tale of control and obsession, leaving you trapped in a nightmare you never saw coming. Warning/s: Yandere | Psychological Manipulation | Obsession | Emotional Coercion | Stalking | Non-consensual Confinement | Forced Domesticity | Dubious Consent | Threats | Intimidation | Mild Physical Violence | Implied Babytrapping Note: I tried to make the reader bratty in the drafts but it doesn't feel right T^T I don't know if the anon who requested this is still lurking here or not, but enjoy! Also, join the taglist by clicking this link! (My interview ended few minutes ago. My brain is toasted af. T^T)

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You’d only been in town for five days, and already you were part of the scenery at Gracie’s Diner.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work. You didn’t mind the grease that clung to your skin, the clatter of dishes, or the sting in your legs after double shifts. What mattered was that you were earning your keep—paying your bills, fixing up the wreck of a farmhouse your mother left behind, and doing it all without help.

You weren’t here to be rescued.

“You sure you’re not overworking yourself, sweetheart?” Gracie asked as you refilled the sugar jars. She was a woman who wore her sarcasm and worry with the same ease as her eyeliner.

“I’m fine,” you said with a smile, rolling your sleeves up higher. “Gotta pay for a new water heater somehow. Thing practically screamed when I tried to shower this morning.”

“Thought your neighbor offered to help with all that?”

You stiffened.

You remembered him well. Isaiah. The farmer with shoulders like barn doors and calloused hands that looked like they could crush rock. He came to welcome you on your first day with a crate of eggs and a bashful smile. In return, you gave him a plate of spaghetti you made that night, more out of politeness than interest.

You hadn't realized the way his eyes lingered as you handed him that plate.

That in his mind, that gesture sealed a bond deeper than you’d ever intended.

“I told him I had it under control,” you said simply.

Gracie gave you a look. “I know you city girls are all about that independence. Just be careful. Some men ‘round here get ideas.”

You laughed softly. “I can take care of myself.”

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Your shifts were long. The tips were modest. And the farmhouse was stubborn in its disrepair. But you were managing.

Until your truck died.

You were halfway down the lonely road toward your house after closing the diner when the engine sputtered and gave out. No signal. No cars. Nothing but the humming of bugs and the distant rustle of trees.

You grabbed your backpack and kicked the tire, muttering curses.

Then headlights pierced the dark.

Isaiah pulled up beside you, leaned out the window with a smile that looked just a bit too pleased.

“Well, now. Looks like you need a hand.”

You blinked. “Yeah… my truck just—stopped. No warning. Can I get a lift home?”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Was just headin’ back from drinks with the boys.”

You got in.

The silence stretched as you talked. You were tired, but adrenaline kept you going. You talked about the renovations, your job at the diner, your plans to eventually turn the farmhouse into something self-sustaining. You didn’t notice the silence behind the wheel. Not really.

“I just think women shouldn’t have to rely on anyone,” you said, stretching. “It’s freeing, you know? To build something yourself.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel.

You didn't notice.

But he did.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Three days later, the farmhouse was broken into.

You came home after your shift and found everything ransacked. Nothing stolen—just destruction. Dishes shattered. Curtains torn. Couch cushions ripped open like animals had clawed them apart. Your knees gave out. You screamed.

Isaiah arrived before the sheriff.

“Jesus,” he said, crouching beside you. “You alright? You’re shaking.”

“I—yeah—I think—” You gasped. “They didn’t take anything. Just trashed it.”

“No way you’re sleeping here tonight,” he said. “Door’s broken. You’re vulnerable.”

“I’ll go to a motel—”

“They’re all booked for the rodeo this week,” he interrupted gently. “Look, I’ve got a guest room. Just for a night or two.”

You didn’t want to. But your nerves were shot, and there was nowhere else to go.

“Just a night,” you agreed, voice hollow.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Isaiah’s house was too perfect.

Pristine. Polished floors. Dishes stacked in neat rows. A faint floral scent lingered—lavender, maybe.

“Bathroom’s down the hall. Towels are clean. I’ll get the bed ready,” he said, walking away with your overnight bag like it already belonged there.

You spotted a mug on the counter with your name on it. Painted in soft pastel blue.

“You… had this?”

He smiled. “Felt right. Made it when I heard you took the old place.”

You tried to joke. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He smiled wider.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You tried to offer him money the next morning, after breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Homemade biscuits. Too good.

“Don’t insult me,” he said quietly. “Just help out around the house, alright? You’re already doing so much.”

So you did. You swept. Cleaned. Cooked dinner once or twice. Anything to repay him for the roof over your head while you called contractors and scraped together the funds for repairs.

But the contractors never called back.

Your calls went unanswered.

The mechanic said your truck was totaled.

You didn’t realize someone else had made sure of that.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

It was a week later when you heard Isaiah on the phone.

The kettle had just started to scream when his voice reached you from down the hall, muffled but distinct. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—not really—but something in his tone made your body freeze.

“…No, she hasn’t figured it out yet. Sweet thing still thinks this is charity.”

A low chuckle.

“I’ve been teaching her… slowly. She’s adjusting.”

A pause. His voice dropped lower.

“Not yet. But soon.”

You stood there for a second too long. Long enough for the kettle to whistle sharply, loud enough to cover the sound of the ceramic mug slipping from your hands and smashing against the floor.

The tea scalded your bare feet. You barely felt it.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his voice stopped mid-sentence. The sudden silence on his end was deafening.

You moved.

Bolted.

You didn’t think—just acted. Your legs carried you on instinct, slipping on the wet floor, catching yourself against the wall, fingers fumbling for balance. The hallway felt longer than usual. Your vision tunneled, the walls squeezing closer with every second.

You reached the back door.

Unlatched.

Unlocked.

Hope surged in your chest so violently it made you gasp.

You wrenched it open.

Cool air hit your face, the smell of soil and pine and freedom burning in your lungs. You were halfway out—one foot in the grass, fingers scraping the edge of the doorway—

And then a hand, large and brutal, slammed the door shut.

With you halfway through it.

You screamed.

The edge of the frame cracked against your ribs as Isaiah yanked you backward, one arm wrapping tight across your waist, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You kicked, flailed, clawed at his skin, but he held you firm—an immovable wall of muscle and determination.

“I knew you’d run,” he muttered, breath hot against your ear. His voice had lost the syrupy sweetness he wore like a mask. Now it was raw, cracked, and furious. “Ungrateful little thing.”

He turned, carrying you effortlessly despite your thrashing.

“I’ve done everything for you. Gave you safety. Gave you warmth. A home.”

He slammed the door behind you both with his boot, the echo like a gunshot.

You fought harder.

“I was gonna ease you into it,” he snarled, dragging you past the kitchen. “Let you feel like you chose this. But you just had to snoop, didn’t you?”

He didn’t take you to the guest room.

He took you down the hall, past the door you’d never seen open. The one that was always locked.

He kicked it in.

And there it was.

The cradle. A handmade wooden crib, nestled in the center of a room painted in soft yellows and sage green. The mobile above it spun slowly, creaking on its hinges, casting distorted shadows across the walls.

Everything smelled like baby powder and lavender and something far too clean.

Your stomach turned.

“No—no, let me go—!”

“You’re mine,” Isaiah hissed, slamming the door shut behind you. He twisted the lock before pressing you against it, pinning you there with the full weight of his body. “You fed me that day. You smiled. You looked at me like I mattered. What the hell did you think that meant, huh?”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “It was just dinner—it didn’t mean anything—”

“It meant everything,” he growled, gripping your chin so hard it ached. “It was a promise. A bond. You gave yourself to me when you fed me. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You whimpered as his hand dropped to your hip, then your wrist, guiding you toward the crib with terrifying tenderness.

“You’ll see. You don’t need that diner. You don’t need money or dreams or whatever garbage you believe in. You need me. You need this.”

He pressed your palm flat against the cradle’s wooden edge.

“You need to understand your place, wife.”

You sobbed, body trembling, but there was no more strength left to fight.

His voice dipped lower, reverent and sickeningly soft.

“…And maybe it’s time you give me what I’ve waited for.”

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger

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noirscript · 3 months ago

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twisted melody

pairing: yandere!idol x fan!reader

description: The world adored Amos, lost in his songs of love and devotion. But you knew the truth—those songs weren’t for them. They were for you, a warning wrapped in melody, a promise you’d never escape.

note: this has been sitting in my drafts for months now. still a rough draft, but enjoy!

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The flickering light of the television was the only thing illuminating the room, casting ghostly shadows against the walls.

The voices from the screen felt distant, their words barely registering through the ringing in your ears. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you sat curled on the floor, your arms wrapped around your trembling legs. The scent of him clung to your skin, suffocating, inescapable. It was always like this after he touched you. After he took what he believed was his.

“She was always so full of life,” your mother’s voice trembled from the television. “Always smiling. She’d light up a room just by being in it.”

Your stomach twisted. The sound of her broken sobs sent cracks through the fragile walls of your mind, the ones you built to survive. Your father was next, his voice thick with emotion. “We just want her to come home. Please, if anyone knows anything—”

Home. The word felt foreign now. The concept of freedom, of escaping this hell, had become a distant dream. But hearing them plead, seeing their pain, reignited something in you. A fire that had long since dimmed.

The creak of the door snapped you back to reality. You held your breath, your body going rigid as the maid stepped inside, head bowed. She never spoke, never made eye contact. Just did her job, an obedient little servant to the monster who owned you.

She set down the tray of food, but something was different this time. The door. It didn’t close all the way.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Was this a mistake? A sliver of hope lodged itself in your throat, choking you. You didn’t think. You moved.

Every step was agony. Your legs trembled, weak from nights spent beneath him, from the weight of your misery. But you pushed forward, dragging yourself through the half-open door, into the darkness beyond.

The hallway was empty. No guards. No locked doors.

Run.

You staggered forward, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees as you stumbled. Your bare feet barely made a sound against the cold floor. The air smelled different out here. Less like him. More like possibility.

Then you heard it.

His voice.

It came from the television in the next room.

“Every song I write comes from something deeply personal,” Amos said, his voice smooth, practiced. “Love. Obsession. Devotion.”

You nearly collapsed. It was live. He was far away. This was your chance.

Your hands fumbled against the door leading outside. It was unlocked. A sob of relief bubbled in your throat. You pushed it open, stepping into the cool night air. The wind kissed your damp skin, and for the first time in forever, you felt like you could breathe.

Then a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you back.

A scream tore from your throat, raw and desperate. You kicked, thrashed, but he was stronger. He always was.

“Going somewhere, darling?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, amused, cruel. The same voice that had just been speaking on national television.

“No,” you whimpered, shaking your head, as if denial could rewrite reality. “No, you’re not—you were just—”

His chuckle sent ice through your veins. “Oh, sweetheart.” He turned you in his grasp, forcing you to look up at him. “Did you really think I’d ever leave you alone?”

The world tilted as he lifted you effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder like a ragdoll. The house swallowed you whole once more, the door slamming shut behind you.

He carried you through the halls, back to your cage. Back to where you belonged.

“You never learn,” he mused, as if scolding a naughty child. “But that’s okay. We have all the time in the world.”

You sobbed against his back, fists pounding weakly against him. “Please, Amos. Please let me go.”

He set you down inside the bedroom, his hands firm on your shoulders. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, a predator savoring his prey. “Why would I do that,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against your tear-streaked cheek, “when I’m so close to making sure you never try to leave me again?”

Your stomach dropped.

He smiled.

“Maybe a baby will finally teach you to stay.”

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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