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Too Sweet

Yandere Fae Prince OC (Saffron) x G/N Reader

Sequel to : The Problem With Generosity

Trigger Warnings : Implied magical drugging, patronizing, possible infantilization (?), descriptions of torture (Not towards reader), disassociation

Apple's Note : Hello, I'm sorry for going ghost on this blog for a while, I am busy with end of the year prep as I work in education. I am trying a different format for this so posts take up less space. Please tell me if you like it.

It’s been weeks now. The weather here is warm, always with a slight breeze so it isn’t hot but isn’t cold. 

The grass here is soft. You never step on a sharp pebble whilst you dance aimlessly through the night.

The light works differently here. Just dark enough to sleep soundly, but bright enough to see where you’re stepping.

It’s all so dreadfully perfect.

You sit at the base of a large tree. It was probably older than the entirety of the forest back home. Most things here were, though. Old. Ancient. Never-changing and yet, gone when you turn your back. 

It was disorienting, this place. It felt like there was always soft music in your ears and yet never a tune. Always a softness on your skin, yet never sensation. Always weight on your shoulders, yet nothing truly there.

It was maddening.

You look over to the man- the boy more like- who had tricked you into coming here. He had made it happen so quickly, it was like you blinked and your parent’s house was gone. Gone were the fences you leaned on to talk with him, gone was the gravel path beneath your feet, gone was the sound of your relatives arguing selfishly with your father through the windows.

His hair always seemed to be carried in a breeze, even indoors. His eyes seemed to glow, but carried no spark. His smile seemed so kind, and yet his lips hid sharp teeth. 

You had panicked, initially. Thrashed and screamed and cried and pleaded, terrified to be in the Fae Land. You had begged to go home, assuming you had offended him, upset him. You didn’t know what you could have possibly done to do so, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stay here, couldn’t stand to be one of the cautionary tales women like your grandmother told children like you.

Never offend The Fae.

He had found your panic cute. Giggling at your tears, silencing your hiccups, avoiding your questions. You felt like a confused child who had asked where babies come from, patronized and laughed at while being told you would understand later.

He hadn’t hurt you. Not in the way your Grandmother had warned you about, not in the ways you knew only The Fae could. 

You had heard of people being blinded and deafened, but still being overwhelmed by light and noise. You had heard of foolish humans who had been turned to stone, wood, or porcelain, stuck in the same position they had been when cursed. You had heard of musicians made to play until their fingers bled, painters made to paint until their brushes had no bristles, authors made to write until the words trailed off the page.

And yet, you were fine.

No dancing in hot iron shoes, nor food that left you more hungry.

Just.. a lack of anything in general.

Days blurred together, and you struggled to remember your age. It had only been a few weeks, surely? But was it? You would never know if months, years or even decades passed, so lost in the confusion of it all.

It had been clearer when you’d first arrived. How the cold, wet air of the night became a crisp yet sunny day. How the silent bickering and the hoot of barn owls had become the chirp of morning doves and the rustling of leaves. How time felt wrong, somehow, as if you were moving much too slow and much too fast all at the same time.

You had been able to think much better, then. You had been able to argue.

Now, you felt so tired. Sluggish. As if you had just woken from a nap but needed another.

When you’d first arrived, you had refused food, in denial that he had already made it so you could never leave. You refused to believe it. No matter the warm pastries, the decadent pastas, the comforting soups, the juicy meats, you wouldn’t take a bite.

Your hunger strike ended on the third day. Or, at least, you think it was the third. The sun did move, and you saw the moon, but time wasn’t right here. It never felt like night or day or morning or evening. It simply was.

You had been doubled over in hunger, unable to lift your fingers. Your head buzzed and a nausea buried itself in your stomach as you finally gave in whilst he fed you apple slices from his own hand.

Everything here was sweet. The food, the water, the air. It felt as if your tongue was coated in sugar. You wondered, humorlessly, if you would ever get a cavity from it. The only bitter thing here, it seemed, was you.

As you sat beneath the tree, staring at the red-haired man, he smiled at you, walking over to run his fingers through your hair.

It was a strange feeling, the way he treated you. Sometimes, as a lover. Others, as a pet. Mostly, as something too naive to know right from wrong.

You sigh, burying your chin in your knees and crossed arms while he sits beside you, and you watch the smaller fairies and the pixies go about their business in the distance. The Faeries of The Autumn Court knew better than to speak to you. It was something that never needed to be communicated. After all, you were The Prince’s spouse.

“What has you so glum, My Love?” you hated how his voice carried a melody like wind chimes. You hated that as you leaned your head against him, things felt like they began to make sense. You hated that you couldn't hate him, despite how angry you were.

“How old am I?” It had been far from the most important thing on your mind. Nowhere near as pressing as others. Not as important. And yet, it’s the only question your mind keeps circling back to.

He snickers a bit, the kind of laugh you let out when a cat misjudges a jump, or a child skips a letter in the alphabet. It feels like he’s laughing at you, not with you.

“How old do you believe you are, dear?”

“I’m not sure. I know I’m an adult, but…” You trail off, staring into space as you think, “Am I in my twenties? Older? I’ve forgotten.”

“Hm, but we rarely forget the things which are important, my love,” he brushes some hair behind your ear. Has it always been this long? When did it grow? He makes a cooing sound while he gently moves you, so easily, to his lap as he lays your head against his chest, “Perhaps you do not need to count years, now that you are immortal, dear.”

You lay limply against him, breathing even. You hadn’t panicked after the initial hunger strike when you arrived here. It felt too tiring. The burn in your chest, the pain in your breathing, the acid in your throat. It was easier to just… let it be. To sugarcoat the situation and accept it.

“What was my name?” it’s a whisper, and it feels humiliating.

“You may not have it back, my love,” He hums, “You’re much too sweet to let go of.”

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bonding with friends over your favourite fictional little guys

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Really considering writing fanfiction for Frank Castle but I don't want people to misinterpret me being horny for The Punisher as a dogwhistle 😭 I stg i wish conservatives would stop using his icon for their bigotry.

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Mafia man yan with a pop star 🌟 Mc would he serve as the bodyguard?

I think it'd be interesting if a pop star did a show of sorts at a club Archie Vargas runs. Considering he is a mob boss in Las Vegas he would probably own a venue or two.

This would maybe not work with a more notable pop star, but a starting out Idol or a rising star with a small but devoted fan base could definitely cross his path. I imagine he'd mostly deal with their manager, but when he does finally meet them, he'd look for any reason to keep them returning.

Thats why I think a lesser-known artist would be best, especially one that does jazz or something, because he could offer them work at his clubs as a Saturday act or something and gradually grow closer to them that way.

Archie would definitely not be security though, he leaves most dirty work to other men. He wants to be waiting just off stage for when you finish up.

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your unreliable narrator fucking bit me

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chasing the light

Pairing: Nicholas Sterling III x Reader

WARNING/S: YANDERE. Noncon. Psychological Abuse. Obsessive Behavior. Emotional Manipulation. Violence. Physical Punishment. Pregnancy Manipulation. Coercion. Forced Submission. Stalking. Chase. Intense Psychological Terror. Controlling Relationship.

Note: Full story of Descent Into Madness. From the drafts! ^^ 8k word count 🫡 but will divide it into two parts enjoy! I'll be editing the tags later. I'm so sleepy 😭 Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Sequel

Tip Jar | Commission

The second time you tried to run, you thought you were being smart

You had played the part perfectly for weeks—obedient, docile, accepting. You stopped flinching when Nicholas touched you. You let him hold you, let him murmur soft things against your skin, let him believe you were his. He rewarded you with more freedom, letting you walk through the garden, sit in the sun, even enjoy an afternoon in the grand library without him hovering.

It was all calculated. Every lingering glance, every quiet “Yes, Nicholas,” every time you leaned into his touch instead of recoiling—it was all leading to this moment.

And he bought it.

Or so you thought.

The opportunity presented itself on an unseasonably warm afternoon. Nicholas had taken a call in his study, his expression unreadable before he told you he would be “just a moment.” You knew better than to hope. But when ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty, and he still hadn’t returned, something inside you whispered: Now.

You moved quickly, forcing yourself to walk instead of run. Running would draw attention. Running would give you away.

Through the hallway. Past the main entrance, where the guards were distracted by a delivery. Your heartbeat hammered in your ears as you reached the side door near the greenhouse. You had seen the gardeners use it a hundred times. It led to a path through the estate’s thick hedges—an opening to the outside world.

Your fingers trembled as you turned the handle. The door gave way without resistance.

Too easy.

But you had no choice.

You stepped outside, the air crisp and cool against your skin. You could taste freedom, feel it in the wind rushing against your face as you took off in a sprint.

You barely made it five steps.

The sharp crack of a gunshot split the air. A bullet embedded itself in the stone wall inches from your head. You screamed, ducking on instinct, your pulse skyrocketing as you turned to see where it had come from.

Nicholas.

Standing just beyond the doorway, gun in hand, his expression eerily calm.

“You’re getting better,” he mused, lowering the gun. “I almost believed you.”

A cold wave of dread crashed over you.

“No,” you whispered, backing away. “Please, just—”

“Come here.”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “Nicholas, please—”

He took a slow step forward. Then another.

You turned to run.

Another shot. This one whizzed past your shoulder, close enough that you felt the air shift.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice patient but firm. “Come. Here.”

Your body refused to obey, frozen in fear.

Then he sighed, holstering the gun before striding toward you.

You turned, scrambling to move, to get away, but he was faster. A hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back with enough force to make you stumble. You gasped, struggling, but he pulled you against his chest, his grip bruising.

“What am I going to do with you?” His voice was almost gentle, almost affectionate.

You fought against him, your fists pounding against his chest. “Let me go!”

“Let you go?” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Oh, sweetheart. I tried that once, remember?”

Your breath hitched.

“I let you roam the house. I let you sit outside. I let you believe you could have freedom.” He exhaled, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your head. “And you repay me by running?”

“I—”

A sharp tug on your wrist, a click of metal, and suddenly, cold steel was wrapped around you again. Handcuffs.

Your stomach dropped.

Nicholas tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His hazel eyes were unreadable. “Two attempts,” he murmured. “That’s twice you’ve tried to leave me.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “Nicholas, please, I—”

His lips curved into something unreadable.

“Third time’s the charm,” he whispered.

And then, he led you back inside.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

You were so close.

So, so close.

But the gun in his hand, the certainty in his voice—it stole every last ounce of defiance you had left.

Your legs trembled as you took a shaky step forward.

Then another.

Nicholas watched you with a quiet, unwavering gaze, his grip on the gun relaxed but ready. You weren’t stupid. If you ran again, he wouldn’t miss.

The hallway was dimly lit, the soft hum of the central air the only sound between you. The security panel by the door blinked steadily—a quiet reminder that even if you had made it outside, you wouldn’t have gotten far.

By the time you reached him, your entire body was shaking.

He exhaled, tucking the gun away before reaching for you. His fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

And what you saw there made your stomach twist.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t even disappointed.

If anything, he looked… amused.

Like he had expected this.

Like he had been waiting for it.

“Twice now,” he murmured, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. The soft blue glow of the digital clock cast sharp shadows across his face. “I wonder, will the third time finally break you?”

You swallowed thickly, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Please,” you whispered, voice raw. “Please, Nicholas, I just—”

“Hush.” His thumb traced your lower lip, his touch deceptively gentle. “No more begging, sweetheart. It’s unbecoming.”

A low beep echoed from somewhere in the room—the security system arming itself once more.

His arms wrapped around you then, pulling you close, caging you against him. You barely registered the way he lifted you, carrying you effortlessly down the hallway. The soft glow of recessed lighting flickered past your vision. Your head lolled against his shoulder, too drained—too broken—to resist.

By the time he placed you on the bed, you could barely keep your eyes open.

Nicholas sighed, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You’ll learn,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The last thing you saw before exhaustion claimed you was the glint of silver in his hands—the cold click of the shackle fastening around your wrist.

And then, darkness.

A faint hum stirred you from the depths of sleep. Mechanical. Steady. A sound you couldn’t quite place.

Your wrist was cold.

The weight of the shackle was unmistakable, the metal biting into your skin. You shifted slightly, your body aching from exhaustion, and immediately, the movement sent a dull clink echoing through the room.

Panic flared in your chest.

Your eyes snapped open, but the dim lighting disoriented you. The bedroom was bathed in the faint glow of a digital display—soft numbers blinking from the bedside table. 3:12 AM.

You turned your head, pulse pounding in your ears. The walls were sleek, modern. Dark curtains swallowed the lights beyond the window. The scent of clean linen and something unmistakably Nicholas lingered in the air.

You weren’t home.

You were his.

A slow, creeping dread coiled around your ribs. Carefully, you tugged at your wrist, testing the restraint. It held firm, locked to the bed’s headboard. The other end of the chain disappeared beneath the sheets—secured to something far stronger than you.

A presence shifted beside you.

Your breath hitched.

Nicholas lay stretched out on the bed, half-turned toward you, his face relaxed in sleep. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow cadence of his breathing—it was all so normal. Like he hadn’t just dragged you back in chains.

Like this was routine.

Your fingers curled into the sheets.

The rational part of you knew there was no escape. Not now. Not with the security system engaged, the doors locked, and him so close. But the thought of staying still—of just accepting this—it clawed at your throat.

You exhaled shakily, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above cast slow, methodical shadows across the room, moving in circles. Endless.

A warm hand slid over your stomach.

You stiffened.

“I can feel you thinking.” His voice was thick with sleep, but there was an edge to it—something possessive, something pleased. His fingers traced absentminded patterns against your skin. “Go back to sleep.”

You swallowed, every nerve in your body screaming.

When you didn’t respond, Nicholas shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. In the darkness, his gaze was unreadable, but you could feel the weight of it settling over you.

“You’ll only make things harder for yourself,” he murmured. His fingers found your wrist, the one bound to the bed, and he rubbed slow, deliberate circles over your pulse. “I don’t enjoy punishing you.”

A lie.

He enjoyed every second of it

Your breathing came shallow and uneven. He was waiting. Watching. Expecting something from you.

Defiance was a risk.

Submission was a cage.

And you had nowhere left to run.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The room felt too small, the bed too warm, his presence too close. Every inch of you was screaming to move—to fight, to push him away, to do something—but you stayed still. Frozen beneath his touch.

Nicholas exhaled, slow and measured, as if reading your hesitation like an open book. His thumb traced along your wrist, pressing lightly over your pulse. The gentle rhythm sent a chill down your spine, not from comfort, but from the reminder—he was always watching. Always aware of you.

“I can hear your heart racing.” His voice was quiet, teasing. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t trust yourself to answer.

The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “No?” He hummed, fingers ghosting up your arm, barely there but enough to make you shudder. “Then why do you look like a frightened little rabbit caught in a snare?”

Because that’s exactly what you were.

He chuckled, dark and knowing, before leaning down—too close, too much. The heat of his breath brushed against your ear as he whispered, “You should be.”

A shiver wracked through you.

Nicholas sighed, shifting back just enough to meet your eyes again. “You need to sleep,” he murmured, his fingers slipping from your wrist to your cheek. The touch was gentle, almost affectionate, but you knew better than to mistake it for kindness. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

That wasn’t a reassurance. It was a promise.

Your throat tightened.

Slowly, his hand drifted down, fingers brushing your collarbone before resting lightly against your throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just a reminder. A warning.

His smile was soft. Almost sweet.

“Close your eyes, love.”

You didn’t.

Not right away.

Even as exhaustion weighed heavy on your limbs, even as the steady press of his fingers against your throat sent a silent message—be good, be quiet, be mine—you refused to let your eyes slip shut.

Nicholas noticed. Of course he did.

His thumb traced a slow, thoughtful line along your jaw, the pressure featherlight but deliberate. “Still fighting?” he mused, almost fond. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering beneath his touch.

The amusement in his gaze sharpened. “You know what I love most about you?” He tilted his head, studying you as if waiting for an answer. When you didn’t give him one, his fingers flexed—not quite a squeeze, but enough to remind you he could.

“That fire,” he murmured. “The way you burn for freedom. It’s beautiful.” A pause. Then, softer—more dangerous: “But fire can be tamed.”

Your breath hitched.

Nicholas exhaled, dragging his hand away from your throat. You should’ve felt relieved, but the loss of contact only made you tenser. Because you knew better. This wasn’t mercy. It was patience.

He settled back against the pillows, watching you with an unreadable expression. The dim light from the bedside clock cast flickering shadows over his face, making him look almost otherworldly.

“Sleep,” he murmured again, his voice dipping into something final. Absolute.

And this time, when you hesitated, he reached for your wrist—the one still shackled to the bed—and gave the chain a slow, deliberate tug.

The message was clear.

You had no choice.

So, with your heart pounding and your body screaming to resist, you let your lashes lower, slipping into the darkness of uneasy sleep.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. A sharp contrast to his—slow, steady, controlled. Every inch of your body screamed at you to move, to push him away, to fight, but fear had rooted you to the spot.

Nicholas wasn’t just guessing.

He knew.

The realization sent a sickening wave of dread curling in your stomach.

His fingers flexed slightly against your skin, his touch deceptively gentle, like he was savoring the feeling of you beneath his palm. “I wonder,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement, “if you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to disappear, to wake up from this nightmare. But the heat of him, the weight of his hand pressing against your stomach, the cold bite of the shackle around your wrist—all of it was real.

Unforgiving.

Inescapable.

“I pay attention to everything, sweetheart.” He tilted his head, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw. “Your body… your habits… every little change.” His hand dragged lower, fingers ghosting over the subtle softness of your abdomen. “And this… this is the biggest change of all.”

Your throat tightened.

He had known before you had.

Had been watching before you could even piece it together yourself.

A soft hum vibrated in his chest. “Was that why you ran?” His tone was gentle, almost curious, but you knew better. “Did you think I’d be angry?” His fingers drifted up again, teasing along your ribs. “Or was it something else?”

Tears burned behind your eyes.

Because you had been afraid.

Not just of him, but of what this meant.

Of what it would mean for the rest of your life.

“I—” Your voice caught, raw and weak.

Nicholas pulled back slightly, just enough to study your face. His gaze was unreadable, but the intensity of it sent another shiver through you. “Go on,” he coaxed, his thumb stroking your cheek, his other hand still resting possessively against your stomach. “Tell me.”

Your lips parted, a desperate plea forming, but before you could speak, he pressed closer, his mouth ghosting over your temple.

“You know you’re not going anywhere now.” The words were soft. Final. “Not with my child inside you.”

A choked sound escaped your throat.

Nicholas smiled.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

But with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had already won.

His arms tightened around you, his hand never leaving your stomach, as if laying claim to what was his. “Sleep, sweetheart.” His voice was all honey and steel. “You’ll need your strength.”

For what, you didn’t know.

But as his grip settled firm around your body, you understood one thing with sickening certainty.

You were never running again.

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Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever

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"what's the worst thing you can do as an artist" is not "shade with black" or "not use references" or whatever the worst thing you can do as an artist is hate yourself. and that includes the person you used to be

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one of my favourite genres of character is , specifically a doctor or scientist who is So deeply evil coded but they're a member of the good guy team & actively helping. & theyre not even a reformed villain theyre just like that. going hehehehehee in their dark scary lab while developing an device that will actually help a lot of people

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Me trying to convince people to trust my ocs :

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Im gonna redo my intro post and make a new sona for my page. I feel my current one, while it looks like me, is boring and I wanna have fun. It was a good warm-up for learning procreate tho!

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Platonic Yandere Kitsune x Child Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: Gender neutral reader, hurt/comfort

TW: Child endangerment

Alone in the woods, you cry out for someone—anyone. Your parents abandoned you atop a cold and snowy mountain. You shake down to your bones, teeth clattering against one another, and for a split second, you could've sworn you saw a figure in the distance before you pass out.

A kitsune notices your cold body. She gazes down at your fragile form, a strange ache stirring in her chest. How long had it been since she’d held someone like this? Since someone had needed her? "Oh, sweet child," She whispers, "You are cold and alone, just like me."

She moves gracefully in the bitter wind, her nine tails gliding behind her. She gingerly lifts you in her arms. "You are mine now, little one," she whispers, cradling you close. "I will never let you be cold again," the kitsune says, smiling to herself softly. She walks off into the blizzard, taking you home with her.

It is hard for the kitsune to raise such a young, fragile human. Her claws scratch your back when she tries to comfort you. She offers you raw meat, not understanding why you refuse it. And no matter how hard she tries, you will never hunt as well as she can.

But with time, she learns. She learns to treat you softer, like a porcelain doll. At night, when you curl into her fur, she wonders if you will ever truly see her as your mother. But when you cling to her, small hands grasping her robes, she knows—deep in her soul—that you are hers.

She raises you deep in the forest, where no one can harm you. You mostly stay in the cabin, your mother hunting and gathering for anything you need. And at night, she sings you lullabies in a language you can't quite understand, and uses magic to show you things you've never seen before. You are here with your mother. Safe. Loved. Just as you should be. That is, until one day you meet another human.

You have never met someone like him. He dressed in strange clothes that looked so alien to your sheltered mind. He takes a step towards you and you hesitate. Your heart quickens, mother always told you that other humans were dangerous. What if this human wants to eat you alive? Turn your bones into a stew? "Hello," He spoke, smiling softly.

He is around your age, and he looks nonthreatening enough. Can you trust him? "H-hello..." You stutter out, your words being caught in your throat. You've never talked to anyone but mother. This feels new, and yet it feels exciting at the same time? "My name's Hinata, wanna play?" He smiles before showing you the ball in his hands.

You nod slowly. You know what playing is, you do it all the time with mother! Although you don't do it with whatever it is he has in his hands. The cold wind bites at your skin, but the warmth of your laughter spreads through you like sunshine as you kick the ball back and forth.

Until you hear it. Your mother’s voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through the air. "Little one! Where are you?" Her voice, usually calm and composed, cracks with panic. You could practically hear her heartbeat from where you were standing. You pause, your blood as cold as the air around you. You look at your new friend—he's shaking. Is it because of your mother's voice? "Coming mother!" You shout.

Before you can move, she’s already there—rushing at you in a blur of supernatural speed. You barely have time to turn before she’s upon you. Then she sees him. Hinata. A guttural, inhuman snarl rips from her throat, her lips peeling back to reveal sharp, bared teeth. Her eyes, once filled with warmth and love, gleam with something primal, something terrifying. The mother you’ve known all your life—the one who held you close, who whispered lullabies as she stroked your hair—disappears in an instant. And for a moment all you can see is a monster.

Your breath catches, chest tightening with fear. A heavy weight settles in your stomach, and for the first time, you wonder—what is your mother capable of? You’ve seen your mother upset before. You’ve seen her scold, seen her frown. But this? This isn’t anger. This is something deeper. Something you don’t understand. Something that makes your stomach twist and your feet feel frozen in place.

Hinata sees it too. His face drains of color, his body crumpling as his knees give out beneath him. His breath comes in quick, shuddering gasps, his hands shaking as they reach out in prayer. Tears spill down his cheeks, fat and glistening. “P-please don’t kill me!” His voice is barely above a broken whisper, raw and desperate. "I-I'll do anything!" He clings to the ground, as if the earth itself might shield him. But you know, deep down, that nothing will. Not unless you stop her.

For just a second, you hesitate. Your breath is ragged, your legs tremble, but your mind takes you back—to a time when your mother wasn’t baring her teeth like a wild beast. You remember the first time you woke up from a nightmare. You had cried out, and before you could even wipe your tears, she was there. Not with claws, not with bared fangs, but with soft whispers and warm fur wrapping around you like a blanket. "Hush little one," she murmured, stroking your hair with a gentleness no one would believe she possessed. "No nightmare will ever take you from me."

You buried your face into her chest, lulled by her scent, her warmth, the steady rise and fall of her breath. "I will protect you, always," she had promised. But now, as she stands before you, fangs gleaming and eyes alight with something unrecognizable, you wonder—who is she protecting you from? And who will protect Hinata from her?

Your little legs run before you can think. You must protect your friend—just as your mother believes she must protect you. "Stop, I won't let you hurt him!" You cry out, your legs shaking. You've never disobeyed your mother before, and you're terrified to do so now, but you have to. Mother snarls back, "Get out of my way little one, I'm trying to protect you..."

She runs past you before you could even take a second breath. And before you know it, your mother's claws are around your only friend's throat. Her nails dig into his skin, drawing out warm blood. Hinata chokes and gags as snot dribbles from his nose, begging someone, anyone, to help him. You cry out, "Mother please!" But your pleas fall on deaf ears. You chase her as fast as your tiny legs can take you and you dig into her tails in a pathetic attempt to pull her off of him.

"Please mommy please!" You begin to bawl thick tears as you begin to babble nonsense. "Please momma, I only wanted to play, Please let him go let him go let him go..." It is then that your mother finally notices your howls and It is like the world slows for a moment as she looks around to see what she has done. A child in her hands, who looks like her own kit, about to die from her own claws. She then slowly moves her head to look at her world, the only thing that she has ever loved. The only person who has never hurt who she strives to protect with every fiber in her being, and she's hurting them. She's hurting you.

She lets go of Hinata and he runs off, screaming and crying for his parents. She grasps her hands together, watching the blood glisten in the sunlight. "I..." Mother pauses, "I only wanted to protect you, my kit." You've known your kitsune mother to be the strongest being you know, but yet in this moment you can't help but to notice tears well up in her eyes.

"Mama..." Your grip on her tails soften. Even in your childlike mind, you still realize that all she wanted to do was protect you. You know your mother isn't a monster, even if she's done some bad things. "Mommy, let's go home." You reach up your arms, wishing to be picked up. The kitsune hesitates before picking you up in her arms. You're not sure, but it seems like she's extra careful not to harm you.

She walks you home in the snow, keeping you close to her chest. "That boy could've hurt you, He could've killed you." She whispers, seeming to shake at even the idea of her child being harmed. "Never talk to him again, For both of your sakes." You pause, looking back in the direction Hinata ran, before mummering, "I just wanted to play..."

You're home now, and you're grateful for the warmth it gives you. Mother gingerly lays you down onto your bed and she curls up beside you. "You know what I did was for your protection, right?" She asks, almost as if she's begging for your reassurance. You nod softly, tears coming to your eyes as you remember what your mother had done to your only friend. Was he your friend? Mother is always right after all, and she says he was dangerous. Is she...right?

You grab onto your mother and hug her tightly. "Thank you," You say, "For protecting me!" You cry out, almost like you're trying to convince both her and yourself. Mother hesitates before hugging you even tighter, allowing her warmth to penetrate your very being. "Oh, little kit, I will always protect you…"

[apple-yan]

if the fae Bae got a gift 🎁 from his love the first time, post staying in the fairy world

What if he loved a shut in hermit that had a cheaters ex ?

If Saffron The Fae Prince recieved a willing gift from the reader he'd be touched, but depending on how soon it is after you've come to the fae world he'd be skeptical. He ensures you understand that repayment for the gift does not include going home or getting your name back before he accepts it. If it was something he could wear, he will wear it every day from then on.

If reader had an ex that cheated on them, Saffron would not stand for it. Firstly, because Ex had the audacity to take what belonged to him, but secondly because Ex then threw reader away in a most disrespectful manner. Broken promises are taken very seriously by the fae, and he will ensure they are dealt with swiftly.

[apple-yan]

Fate and Family

Akari (Yandere Dilf Kitsune) x (G/N) reader

TW : death of children, implied pregnancy, gender of reader is not specified but they are implied to look like Akari's late wife, implied reincarnation, ANYTHING TO DO WITH YUKIKO IS STRICTLY PLATONIC AND NON-ROMANTIC

Apple's Note : I enjoyed working on this one a lot. Writing for Akari's daughter was genuinely a delight, I definitely want to return to this concept soon.

The wind howled mercilessly while the kitsune wandered the mountain, lost and empty now that his anger had settled. A child-shaped hole had carved itself into his heart, and the hands he had used to avenge his son and beloved trembled.

Snow fell quietly around him, muffling all but his own heartbeat in his ears, when he sees something twitching in the snow.

An orphaned rabbit, the runt of the bunch. It was barely breathing, abandoned by its mother to freeze.

His eyes soften, picking up the small, helpless creature and holding it close to his heart, cooing and hushing it, "it's okay, it's okay sweetheart," he whispered.

"Papa is here, Papa will help you..."

---

You had to accept it. You were terribly, horribly lost.

You had wandered too far whilst foraging for mushrooms. You were completely turned around and no longer had any idea of north or south.

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose irritatedly as you sit on a stump nearby, taking a small break. The sun was setting and it would get cold soon, the autumn breeze nipping at your cheeks already. You needed to figure something out soon.

As you thought this, you hear the rustling of leaves nearby, turning to see a young girl peeking out from behind a tree, hiding behind it adorably poorly.

The sight brings a slight smile to your face, the cute gesture melting your frustration a bit, and you call out to her, "Hello? Are you lost?"

The girl shakes her head, tilting her head a bit at you and walking closer, curiously glancing over you, "You are though."

You sigh, and nod, "I am. Could you help me? I lost the trail a bit far back."

She nods, smiling at you, showing off the adorable gap between her front teeth. At any other moment you'd likely be fawning over her to her parents, but as you glance around you don't spot anyone else.

"My Papa lives here, he can definitely help! He's really strong and nice, and he's smart too, he probably knows how to get to your home really fast!"

She holds out a hand for you to grab and you accept it, taking her small hand in yours and feeling a warmth in your heart at how tiny it was in comparison.

She looked only about 8 or 9, and you briefly wonder what a small girl like her is doing alone in these woods. That's when you take notice of the ears drooping on the sides of her head, which you had thought were just pigtails from a distance.

For some reason, this realization doesn't shock you like it probably should.

You follow her, leaning down a bit so she can drag you forward while holding your hand, her cute kimono a bit dirty at the edges from a day of playing in the dirt. Leaves and petals lay in her hair and she dismisses them, cutely unaware of how messy it had gotten.

Halfway through, you lean over, helping her resecure her obi and shake some of the leaves out of her hair, chuckling as you smooth her hair out and she gives you a big grin.

"Whats your name anyway, kiddo?"

"I'm Yukiko!"

You smile introducing yourself in return. You continue to follow, as she leads you to an old shrine.

You glance around in wonder, the shrine seemed quite old, but was clearly taken care of well. Wind-chimes jingling softly as you take in the sight.

Yukiko runs up excitedly to the door, kicking off her sandles quickly and removing her socks before stepping in. You follow, clapping your hands in a silent thanks as you apologize for the intrusion before closing the door behind you.

The inside, just the same, is clearly aged, but clean and well maintained. Whoever cared for this shrine did so diligently you noted. The inside was warm and welcoming, lanterns lighting the room.

Yukiko skips excitedly into the next room after sitting you down on a kitchen, coming back dragging a man in a similar way to how she had dragged you just earlier.

The purple haired man had streaks of gray peaking through, chuckling as she excitedly tells him to follow her.

"They're lost and need help, Papa! And don't worry they aren't a.. a tresedpaster."

"Trespasser?" He corrects.

She nods, then excitedly gestures to you, as if showing off a big accomplishment, "see? They asked for help so I took them here because you'll totally help them, right?"

He chuckles at the praise, nodding, "of course, dear," he looks over to you, glancing over you quickly. Something flashes over his expression that you can't quite catch and for a moment you feel cold, before he smiles at you, "Welcome to my home, Little Mouse! My Little Yukiko is just ecstatic to have company all the way out here."

You smile politely, shifting nervously, "Ah- yes- thank you for the hospitality. I'm sorry to bother you so late in the day."

He makes a dismissive wave, smiling at you so widely his eyes seem closed, "All is fine, Little Mouse, if my Little Yukiko likes you, you may as well be family."

Something about the way he phrased that makes you shiver, but you aren't sure why. You nod, glancing up at him and meeting his gaze for the first time.

Embarrassingly, this is the first time you notice the ears on his head. Purple fox ears, standing tall and making the impossibly tall man just a bit larger, "a kitsune..?"

"Ah, yes, sorry for being rude and not explaining before! I am Akari, a fox spirit who has resided in this shrine for many hundreds of years."

Beside him, Yukiko nods excitedly while leaning on the low table, "Papa is so cool, he has a bunch of really pretty and soft tails! I only got one."

Akari chuckles, ruffling her hair carefully, his sharp claws never even getting close to scratching the rabbit's head.

You smile fondly, it was clear from the gentle look on his face how much he cared for his daughter.

Suddenly, you remember what you came here for, snapping, "oh! I'm sorry, but I need help getting back to my village. I got carried away while foraging and got all sorts of turned around."

Akari pauses, turning to look at you as he tilts his head. "You're quite a bit far out then, Mouse, the nearest village is about a two days trip."

You pause, confused, "no, I couldn't have been wandering for more than a few hours.."

Yukiko glances between you two before piping up, "Hey Papa, isn't the mountain all weird for human people? Because you don't want them stealing?"

He hums, nodding, "yes, I did place a curse on it... though that should keep people away, not allow them to get here faster. Unless..." he pauses, looking at you as that same confusing look flashes in his eyes. This time you see it clearly.

Possessiveness. Protectiveness. Like a man looking at a precious jewel he keeps in a glass box or a beautiful fish he keeps in a tank.

He smiles again, "I believe I misspoke, Dearest. Silly me in my old age, I forget things so easily."

"Papa isn't that old though,"

"Hush, Yukiko, it's a joke between grownups." He pats her softly as he smiles at you, "I should be able to get you home in the morning, Mouse. But as of now, the cold is quite unbearable for mortals. I'd hate for you to catch your death."

There's something distant in his tone, as if he isn't really speaking to you. You nod anyways, figuring that it's better to accept an offer of a place to sleep than to try getting home by yourself and freezing.

He hums again, "I almost have dinner ready for me and Yukiko. Would you like to join us? I always make too much."

"Ah, I don't wanna intrude-"

"You should! Papa's cooking is really, really good!"

You pause, heart melting at the little girl's insistence, before nodding, "alright, I will. Thank you."

Dinner is delicious, just like Yukiko told you it would be, and you laughed as Yukiko rambled on about her day playing outside to her dad. Telling him stories about the toads she'd seen and the leaves she'd been jumping in.

After dinner, Akari gathers the dishes, silently excusing himself while Yukiko drags you to her room to take a bath with her. It's only once the girl has nearly gotten you there that you hurriedly stop her,

"Yukiko, I don't have any change of clothes-"

"It's alright, you can use her mother's." Akari speaks from behind you suddenly, and you startle, not having heard him approaching.

"Ah- she said that's okay?"

"I'm sure she would have." He smiles at you, not quite meeting his eyes as he hands you a clean, white kimono. It was soft as silk, with detailed embroidery on the cuffs and edges.

You pause, unsure what he meant, "where is Yukiko's mother?"

He hums, "she slipped through my finger long ago, along with Yukiko's older brother." There's a silent pain in his eyes, and you frown, awkwardly patting his shoulder.

You walk away, following Yukiko to take a bath. After tucking her in for bed, you leave to get some fresh air on the porch.

You're surprised to find Akari sitting there, laying back as he stares at the clouds silently. There's a loneliness about him, but as he glances at you his gaze softens.

"Hello, Mouse. You seem as if you have something on your mind."

You pause, shifting nervously as his golden eyes seem to look right through you, "I'm so sorry for your loss," you move to sit beside him, glancing up at the clouds and stars with him, "I can't imagine the kind of pain that put you through."

"It's alright. Time moves on and fate has plans for us, you know? In my time of greatest need, the world gave me Yukiko," He sighs contentedly, smiling, "and now the world has given me you."

You pause, "excuse me?"

He hums, "you look just the same as last I saw you, Mouse," his eyes are soft as he holds your cheek, smiling gently at you, "you're different, so very different, but you still love our children. And I'm sure you will remember to love me as well, soon."

"I'm not-"

"No need to speak, Mouse. It's late. Thank you for settling Yukiko down, she's usually such a handful before bed." He chuckles, "when I found her, cold and orphaned I just knew.. it was you and Sora and guided me to her. That rabbit runt has grown into a spirit, and she'll live forever here. I couldn't have asked for a better gift, Mouse."

As he speaks, you feel your shoulders slack, your eyes drooping as your head falls on his shoulder.

He laughs softly, moving some of your hair from your forehead, "I've lost you once dear, but I will not lose you again. Say..."

"Why don't we give Yukiko a younger sibling, hm?"

[apple-yan]

[apple-yan]

Price Tag

Archie Vargas (Male Yandere) x G/N Reader

Sequel to : Wrong Place, Wrong Time

TW : Cursing, smoking, Violence, alcohol, threats, guns

Apple's Note : I had fun writing more for this guy. I will be posting a new yandere soon though!

It had been a few months since you had met Archie, and it was stressful. You constantly had your guard up, convinced that something would go wrong.

Surely, you hadn't gotten off this easy when involved with one of the most well-known members of The Vargas Family. You didn't know much about gangs (instead choosing to mind your own business) but even you, living under a rock, knew who he was and that it was smart to avoid him.

But it was too late for avoidance now, too late to turn around and look the other way. While you hadn't looked for trouble, it had looked for you.

You frown, fiddling with the edge of the light jacket you have on while you wait out front of your apartment building. It was nice, too nice. He had bought it for you the moment it reached below 60, saying something about how the desert was deceptively cold at night, and how it would only get colder as the autumn continues.

You glance up as a sleek black sedan pulls in front of you. Clean and expensive like everything else he owns. You never truly got used to this, to having him pick you up and take you out for nice dinners. To him insisting on spoiling you as you squirm uncomfortably, wary of every price tag he flippantly dismissed.

Every single item he gave you had a price, regardless if there was money involved. You were smart enough to know that much, at least.

You glance at him as you put on your seat belt, shifting around nervously. Despite the comfortable leather seats, you just couldn't manage to be comfortable beside a man who had threatened you with death just a short bit ago.

"You wore it," He points out, grinning at you. And if the circumstances were different, his smile might be charming. As things are now though, it made your stomach sink a bit and your words freeze in your mouth. You nod, glancing out the window as he pulls off, "It looks nice, I'm glad I got it. I knew that color would look good on you. Goes with your pretty little eyes."

You had stopped asking about where you were going after the third date, realizing he would always just shrug off the question, so you just watched out the window as Archie rambled.

"You know, it's a bit concerning that you're still so scared of me, Sweetheart. Loosen up a bit."

You can't stop the scoff that leaves your mouth, insulted by the idea that being afraid of a man who brought a handgun to each of your "dates." You frown, "Sorry. I'm just not much of a people person."

"Bullshit! You're a manager at a bar, Sweetheart. If you make any kind of money you're definitely a people person," He laughs at your silly excuse, shaking his head, unfazed by the slip up, "I don't bite, you know?"

"But you shoot."

"Not cute little things like you, I don't."

You fidget with the seat belt. It feels wrong, somehow. That you're here, right now, And the man you saw him kill is somewhere in the Las Vegas dump, rotting while his family search for him. It feels wrong that you've accepted gifts from a killer, that you're pampered and looked after and that your brains aren't adding to a new layer of paint on the back wall of the bar.

It feels wrong that someone so cruel is the nicest person you've spoken to in years.

"How much do I already owe you..?"

He pauses, confused, "what are you talking about?"

"All the money you've spent on me. How much has it been? I have to start paying you back-"

He puts his hand up, stopping you in your tracks. He clicks his tongue as if you were a tantrumming child as he chuckles, "Angel, you don't owe me shit except your silence. You didn't even owe me a second date."

You frown, glaring at the floor of the car, "you say that, but what happens the second you get bored? What did you do to anyone who came before me?"

His smirk drops, and he sighs, pulling over. He parks the car on the shoulder as you panic, afraid that you had finally gone and slipped up, finally made him rethink his choice to spare you.

He holds your chin softly, making you look him in the eyes, a certain emptiness being all you can read in them. His fake smile and humor are completely absent, leaving behind everything you feared about this man.

"I don't get bored, Sweetheart. I'm a loyal man. Now, I've had partners in the past, even fiancé's, don't get me wrong. But you wanna know where they are know?"

You couldn't find the words in you to reply, so he took your silence as a sign to continue, leaning in as his warm breath brushes your cheeks, "the same fucking place I found em. I don't hurt things I like for no good reason, Sweetheart. I don't spoil random pretty things without intending to keep them with me," his grip on you tightens, holding your face just a breath from his, lips almost touching, "and I sure as fuck don't get bored."

There's a heartbeat or two after he says that, as you stare into his green eyes, before he backs away. You finally take a breath, not having realized you were holding one, "i- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply-"

"Sweetheart, I understand. We didn't exactly have a fairytale introduction," his smirk is back, and he's pulling back into traffic.

You take a deep breath, looking back out the window, "Still, I didn't mean to be rude.."

"Well in that case darling, I'm so, so angry!" He teases, "really, maybe I out to leave you in a ditch..."

He watches your shoulders tense from the corner of his eye and chuckles, reaching one hand out to pat your head, "You could make it up to me with another date, though, Sweetness."

You knew it already. Whether he says it or not, every second he let's you live and every penny he spends on you have a price tag.

[apple-yan]

A new mafia man, huh. How quickly is he taking out a rival flirting 🫦 to his special person?

Archie Vargas’s reaction to the reader getting hit on entirely depends on the situation. He’s actually not a very jealous man, he knows the reader is smart enough not to try reciprocating someone else’s advances. He’s more so possessive and protective, taking issue with the person hitting on them. He also realizes that it’s somewhat unavoidable because you’re a bartender. A good portion of your tips are customers that find you cute and like your company, so he doesn’t really do anything about harmless comments.

If the person flirting on you is a rival trying to get a rouse out of him, their first mistake was being on his territory at all. They won’t be getting out of that building, but he likely won’t dwell on it too long.

If the person flirting with you is a friend who is joking with you, a few things matter in that situation. Their gender, how close they are with you, that stuff. He usually doesn’t care unless it gets too personal or he thinks they are trying to influence you to run.

If the person hitting on you is a bar patron, he will take the liberty of throwing them out back in the alley with all the other trash to sober up. He might return to the alley later if it was bad enough.

But most importantly, if you are telling someone to stop, to back off, and they don’t, soon enough they won’t have a tongue to harass others with. If they touch you, he’ll break their fingers. And if they hurt you, he’ll make sure you never see exactly what he did, it would just upset your stomach.