hyacinth-in-a-haze

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Evening routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

The day goes by slowly with him gone. Even if it is out of the necessity for socialisation you still find yourself missing his presence when he goes to work, waiting four hours for his phone call at lunch, and then another four hours for his phone call to say he is on his way. It is as though your clock has now become wired to cycle around his presence in your life. When the door opens to the sound of his tired groan you really do hate the way your head turns to look for him.

He is quick to collapse into your bundle of blankets on the couch, resting his head in the crook of your neck. Breathing in deeply trying to ground himself with you, as though he could become rooted to your body.

“I missed you so much today,” his voice is breathy, hair tousled, suit crumpled. As though eight hours of separation is a war he has to bear. Kissing the space under your ear as he complains about the mindless inconveniences within his day. It takes near ten minutes for him to separate his body from you, begrudgingly. Making his way to the kitchen and calling out his suggestions for dinner, with the expectation of a response from you now that whatever you've taken earlier has long since worn off. And contrary to what it appears he does adore your voice, he just hates it being misused to curse him out.

He takes one of your mumbles as confirmation and begins to take out the pots and pans. He never wants to rely on takeout, it's a treat for once a week at most if you're deserving of a treat. So far you've been doing well, finally adjusting to your new home. You stumble into the kitchen quietly, holding onto the counter for balance as you watch him silently. He clucks about, practically a mother hen as he gestures to the barstool at the counter.

You don't even understand why you seek him out now, but maybe it'd because in the absence and instability of everything you once had outside these locked windows and doors, you grasp onto the only constant you are offered.

In very little time there is a fresh plate of pasta in front of you. He steps off the pour himself a glass of wine and places a diluted cup of juice beside you. This is good. It is better than before, when you fought him off until hunger made you forget your pride, pride doesn't do anything for you here. It does nothing but cause you more trouble to stand up for yourself when he can bring you down so quickly to a begging mess on the cold floor. Meanwhile swallowing yourself down makes sure he treats you like a spoiled pet than a disobedient one. You open up without a word when he begins to lift your fork.

Your cup only gets topped up with more and more water until its clear, while he drinks until the bottle empties. The only notice he's indulged being the faint flush of pink across his cheeks. He gets affectionate when he drinks, in a clumsy way, stroking your hair like it's the most enamouring thing to exist. It would be cute if this was a first date rather than dinner with the man who plucked you from your life because he's the only one who can look after you properly.

The dishes get left to soak as he practically drags you to your bedroom. Dropping you down delicately, as your hair splays out over the pillows and your chest rises with each breath.

“You are so perfect like this.” He murmurs it like a prayer as he falls to his knees on the bed, hands clasped around your thighs as he kisses his way up them. He opens your legs without resistance, his head diving onto your clothed cunt like a man starved. Pulling your underwear off with animosity at its separation from your skin. It doesn't take you long to begin to buck against his tongue as he works his way around your clit. Hands clamped on your mouth as though that counts do anything to bury the sounds you are making back to where they were dragged out from you. When he presses his tongue flat against your hole you practically thrust upwards, hand embedded in his hair trying to pull him off as you cry its too much

He groans at the contact, taking it only as a sign to keep pushing through despite your pretty little whines of mercy. Which become more and more frantic as you find yourself getting close. With a cry more animal than human something shatters inside you, as you soak his sheets and face when you squirt. Collapsing into a puddle of embarrassment and shame for how easily he managed to wrap you around to his tongue. He finally lifts his face from your cunt, chin slick and glistening as you try to avoid looking at the tent in his slacks. Pretending to be so spent you can only nod off to sleep.

If only the world was so kind to alow you that.

“No no my love, you can't fall asleep just yet, what happened to brushing your teeth and cleaning off your face?”

He places a hand cool in comparison to the raiging flush across your cheeks.

“sweet little thing, did I tire you out so quickly? I think tonight we may be able to go without your little prescriptions so long as you continue to prove that that it can be managed by us?”

He leaves the discarded panties on the bedroom floor while he carries your strung out state to the bathroom, carefully repeating what he already done once before this morning. Only now there a new intensity within his eyes as he pulls the toothbrush in and our of your pretty pink lips. You are exhausted properly by the time you find yourself in some nightgown more suited to a period piece than your bedroom.

You let your head lol to the side as he hovers above you, pressing open kisses on any exposed skin in front of him as he pistons his hips in and out of you. With a desperation that if he fucks you enough then you'll be too cock drunk to ever have any animosity for him ever again. Mumbling in your ear about the future children you'll hand over to him, how they will have your eyes and his hair. That your firstborn will be a doctor or maybe a teacher, even a chef, he'd be happy with anything that could ground his greatest fantasy into reality.

When he cums he stays inside you, not wanting anything to go to waste. Crooning in your ear that his heart will break for how hard he loves you. As you slip into sleep, head upon his chest with his heartbeat echoing in your ears. His cum dripping down your thighs, you realise something.

He's no longer using that handcuff. Still glinting in the moonlight as it dangles above on the bedframe.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Morning routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

This is incredibly Yan nanami coded, and I refuse to apologise

@snail-day you understand the vision

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There is starting to be a routine to these days now.

He likes to let you sleep in most mornings, preferring to get up himself to do the chores and get breakfast ready for the both of you. Today he has chosen to make you a treat and go for pancakes, allowing them to come to room temperature on the kitchen table while he gets you up.

Your routine begins with the unlocking of your hand cuff while he peppers your face with kisses. Even though by now you've mostly settled into your role as his sweet little lady, he cannot be too secure. (Especially after the incident with you trying to break open the child safety locks in the bathroom cabinet) he always without fail will check for any bruises or sores to kiss better as you lay limply in his arms. You used to be much more of a wriggler he remembers but he supposes you probably still have some of the sedative in your system. No worries, he can simply carry you to the bathroom. Sitting you down onto the little shower stool he installed after your last accident caused you to hobble round the home for a few couple months. He decided the stool was a good precaution to avoid any further accidents between you two.

He unbuttons your sleep shirt easily before turning the water on, making sure it's just perfect before he cleans you off from the night before. Taking extra care when his fingers graze your inner thighs to only wash off the memories of last night with a tenderness he didn't show you then. Tilting your hair back to rinse shampoos and conditioner- a small fortune spent on what goes into your routine. Once you're clean it continues, he wraps you warmly and sits you down to your ten step skincare routine. Always setting a two minute timer exactly for him to brush your teeth. You're still so lethargic for this, opening your mouth without resistance. Before you'd end up spitting out blood by the end of it, but now he can be much more gentle.

Again he carries you to the bedroom, drying your hair before he picks out a new outfit for the day. Your wardrobe consists mainly of sundresses, not because he prefers how you look in them. But because they are just far more accessible for the both of you, easier to slip on and off. He helps you up again, you can walk now but he just wants to be safe when it comes to you, taking your arm to carefully lead you to the table.

By now your pancakes and hot chocolate are lukewarm as he cuts them into bite sized pieces. Gently feeding you as he calls out sweet little praises, dabbing at the syrup that falls down your chin with a delicate sigh. Your eyes don't react much to this anymore, each swallow is wary as if you wonder which bite will contain the sedative that keeps you frozen on the sofa while he is at work. But if you refuse to eat he is not above forcing nutrition into you by any means necessary. For all the gentleness that he performs now, it has cost you every sharp tooth and nail you fought with.

Once the plate is clear he gives you the little cup of your vitamins and pills. He tries to make sure your diet is well rounded but unfortunately it is hard to keep your vitamin d levels up from within the flat. Perhaps one day the two of you will have a garden with a tall fence around. Then maybe you could go outside for a bit each day, maybe without supervision. But for now you'll only feel the sun on your face through an open window. The pills have changed since you first were brought to your new home, originally it was only sedatives and birth control. One to keep you complacent and the other because a baby right then would have not helped you to settle down. Now the sedition is at a much lower dose, carefully weaning you from it to avoid any long term effects, and the birth control has swapped places with the prenatal vitamins, just in case any happy accidents occur. On some days they change, after your last accident he withheld any pain relief for a week to make sure you learned the lesson properly. He wouldn't want to have to teach you again.

He takes the cup up to your lips waiting for you to swallow them, you open your mouth when finished to prove no pill was stashed away. Your obedience is rewarded again with another flurry of kisses, trailing down your neck to the collarbone. He only stops once his alarm goes off, reminding him to leave for work in ten minutes, grumbling as he fixes his tie and loads the dishwasher.

He takes you to the living room finally, placing you down on your side of the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders and a second left over your legs. He reminds you that there is a snack plate and a lunch box ready for you in the fridge for when you get peckish. There are different hobbies to occupy you within arms reach, all of them domestic and soft just as he wants you to be. Embroidery, knitting, reading. The remote is available but he has most things on child lock so there isn't a point. He places a sippy cup of water down on the table as though that's nothing out of the ordinary before he crouches in front of you expectantly.

You lean forward and graze your chapped lips against his forehead. He brightens up and returns the kiss to you with all the passion you lacked.

“Goodbye my heart, I'll call you once I'm on break.”

He reluctantly makes his way to leave, making sure to not slam the door on his exit. Leaving you to collapse into the nest of pillows and wait.

He didn't even leave your cane to help you get around.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Some upcoming ideas I want to write

- 1930s southern gothic yan preacher

- a continuation to my Victorian gothic story

- yan caretaker who is definitely not keeping you from getting better

- delusional yan kidnapper who is trying his best to make you happy again

- yan hunter who keeps you captive in his cabin

And if anyone has any suggestions I'd love to hear them!

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Yandere! warlord! x fem!reader!

The smell of smoke still clings to your hair despite the copious perfumes you've been lathered in. Just as the dirt stays embedded in your nails and the tears refuse to stop forming in your eyes. Despite how many times you've sobbed the bridal makeup off, the other women merely cluck like mother hens and reapply the fanciful designs. They are gentle, which only serves to make you sob more. If they were cruel and simply pushed you into place, you could have handled it. Instead, they smile as they take you by hand to the mirror to see yourself dressed in borrowed regalia. The head, his mother, you assume, takes her own necklace off to drape on you. Already seeing you as her daughter.

But you already had a mother, a cold woman with quick hands and a quicker temper but those were never directed to you. You had a father and a brother, long grown and living in the city, safe from the skirmishes of living by the border. You remember the late night arguments. Pressing your ear against the bedroom floor to hear your mother arguing that you should all leave and go to where it is safe, and your father would in his calming voice say he will be buried with his ancestors, and mother would throw some plate or bowl against something. That would always be the end of every fight between them, in the morning father would return with a new piece of crockery as though nothing happened.

It was a sunny day. No red sky to warn you of the smoke the wind would carry, so you did as you always did. Tending the chores and to the animals outside while mother grumbled with the spinning and father was in town. If it wasn't for the damned rooster you wouldn't have left her alone. Maybe it wouldn't have been different if you were there, but maybe it would have. No matter what that dreadful bird got out from the hen house, running and flapping it's wings into the field while you screamed at the creature, threatening it with all sorts of punishments. You'd put it into the stewpot for tonight's meal you'd throw him on a spit and slow roast him for Sunday supper, you'll pluck all his feathers and leave him naked as a warning to the other birds.

When you finally catch the ill tempered beast, you're a distance far into the field, home is a speck in the distance, and the bird is pecking at your hands until you scream that you'll just wring its neck and be done with it.

You almost dropped the rooster when you heard a laugh- one so deep that it seemed to shake the ground. Coupled with a heavy large hand clasping to your shoulder. You don't want to turn, tightening your hold until it writhes in your arms.

“Now what has this bird done to deserve such a punishment?” His voice lacks any animosity, rather being full of the same amusement as something watching a child play with their pet. He turns you to face him. The man dwarfs you easily, so tall he'd need to duck to enter your home. As broad as a pine tree he most likely could tear one down with the war axe across his shoulders. His hair is long, braided intricately to stay out his face and his eyes are crinkled in amusement until he notices the blood on your hands.

“So that is the crime it committed? Wounding such delicate hands?” He performs a mocking little sigh before outstretching a hand “would you like me to execute it for you then?” he says this genuinely as though offering to do you a great favour. You jump backwards cradling it protectively as you stammer a decline to his offer.

It is only then when you realise the horse, a beast bigger than the mare your father plows his field with. Eyes flicking from his steed to him you tremble back further, coming to the connection that his accent should have given away to you firstly but the horse and his armour has smacked you in the face with. This man is a warlord.

Before you can begin to beg for mercy, for him to let you go or to kill you then be taken as a slave, the wind throws the stench of smoke at you. Glancing quickly at the horizon you see the roof of your home ablaze. The bird and the human beast are forgotten as you sprint your way home, stumbling across the crops just trying to ignore your body begging for rest until you collapse in the back garden. Knelt in the ash and dirt, praying for yourself to die quickly when one of the warriors finds you.

The thatched roof ablaze, doors and windows wide open. You don't have the heart to call out your mother's name, she would have never gone quietly. The animals are absent from their pens, a few feathers and scraps of wool litter the floor but it's more likely that they were rounded up as spoils. That stupid rooster which was so important to chase through the wheat this morning could never matter now.

When the footsteps reach your side you've no resistance in you to do anything but slump against the hands that pull you in. As he murmurs over and over that it's alright, he has you. You don't fight as your mother would have done, merely accept the impending blade to the neck. Rather you meet a heavy wool cloak across your back, the hood pulled over your face. You didn't even realise that you were shivering until then, it's although a sense of clarity finally pierces your mind. Tilting your face up to see him properly. His eyes full of a tenderness that only serves to infuriate you.

“Why won't you just kill me!” You shriek as you pummel his chest, far beyond caring about the consequences. When the exhaustion steals your strength he stands, you wait finally for the glint of his steel. Only he grabs you instead, hoisting you infront of him on his horse, obscuring you with the cloak, so no one else will see your sweet sobbing face.

The ride is a blur, with him and his men throwing orders in a dialect unknown to you, rounding up all their spoils. It seems you're not the only person to be taken, but you are the only one to be sat upon a horse with your captor.

Halfway through the ride he leans down into your ear, lips too warm against the skin to finally answer your question.

“I will never kill you nor raise a hand against you, my little bride.”

“Why me then?” you mumble as the fear rocks your heart. “Why take me as a bride?”

He pauses for a moment, letting the canter of the horse fill the air.

“You amused me, going to war with a rooster. I didn't want to let such a pretty sight live only in my memories.”

His words, unsurprisingly do little to comfort you. Once he returns to his home he passed you off to the other women to ready you for what you now realise is the ceremony.

Finally the tears stop, you have nothing left to give as all the elder women begin to lead you by the hands to the wedding feast. Your veil and headdress are so heavy you can barely hold your head up to see. When he finally sees you dressed up in his clothing his heart practically stops for a moment.

The feast comenses brilliantly for such short notice, only it took you near seven hours before the other women decided you were ready so perhaps in that time this was able to be organised.

Your new husband looks at you with nothing but adoration. Placing food from his plate to yours and when you still refuse it, he merely takes it in his hands holding it to your mouth. Refusing to acknowledge your resistance. Praising you while the food becomes sand in your mouth.

“My mother is quite happy with my choice today,” he gently wipes your mouth. “She told me she had a dream I would return from our raid carrying my bride, and so she was right,” his gaze twinkles “she must believe that the gods have chosen you.” a servant approaches the table leaving a goblet of wine before us.

His hand lingers on your veil before lifting it gently, as though he thought too much pressure would snap your bones.

“Oh my love,” he whispers, reduced to silence by the sight of the bridal makeup, “you'll never want for nothing so long as I live.”

“I want to go home. I want my family,” you plead so quietly it can only be heard between us. His gaze hardens imperceptibly but his hands remain light as he picks up the goblet and holds it against you.

“My love, there is nothing more for you than what is here.” He presses the wine to your lips, to force a toast to this finality he's presented.

With no other path forward but the one he's carrying you down, you part your lips and accept the wine. Allowing one bead to fall down your throat and ruin the neck of your borrowed dress.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Get these ai writing assistants out of my face!!!! I don't care if my writing is bad at least it is mine!!!!

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Yandere Sheriff!x fem reader

Yandere sheriff! Who has favours going down by the saloons and gambling dens. When he walks in, the place quietens down, taking his seat on a stained barstool. Whiskey free of charge so long as he turns the other way of the whoring and gambling in the back room.

Yandere sheriff! Who smiles almost fatherly when the madam brings him into her parlour to meet a new fresh faced trembling girl. Still covered in dust from crossing the prairies. looking like a little doe in the lion's den as the madam makes an offer to him, he can have her new recruit permanently as his girl. So long as his protection now extends to the entire building. It doesn't take him long to shake on it.

Yandere sheriff! Who helps you up the stairs into your new bedroom as you tremble with every step. When he locks the door behind him he cannot help but find you more pretty the more fearful your face is. He cannot help but sit you down, cooing deeply in that southern drawl of his, asking your name and age, and goodness him he is old enough to be your father. Finally he asks the important question

“Come now Darlin’ I just wanna know, how did a sweet young gal like yourself get here in this position? why you're practically fresh off the boat” the gentleness in his words and hands is what cause you to cry your own sob story to his chest

How your relatives died out on the trail out west one by one and now you don't know what to do, that no one is willing to give you any proper job. When the madam found you practically collapsed in the street with Hunger she took you and fed you before handing you off to the sheriff. And all he can think about now as you cry your woes is the stiffness in his trousers and just how pretty you are while crying.

Yandere sheriff! Who promises to be gentle as he pins you down to the bed, pulling your dress off over your head not caring for the tears as he strips you to your shift and stockings. Pressing his lips against yours and tasting the salt from your face as you sob. Cupping your breasts gently as he pulls back with a sigh

“If I was a better man Darlin’ then I'd not be doing this, but unfortunately, I'm a selfish man, little bird.”

He puts a knee between your legs pressing them open with little resistance from you, all your energy spent on tears as he begins to unbuckle his trousers.

Yandere sheriff! Who is trying his hardest to be gentle, holding your head against his chest as you cry out from him pushing himself inside. Who mumbles lovingly that you're doing so well, and he is so proud of you. that he loves you.

Yandere sheriff! Who thrusts slowly and powerfully, ensuring you come undone a few times before him. Who holds you close once he is finished and you've stopped your tears. 

Yandere sheriff! Who swears that he will be your only customer, that he will look out for you every time he comes round the brothel. Who is too selfish to release his bird from the cage she found herself in.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Victorian gothic inspired! Yandere Duke husband! x fem reader!

The moors are quiet as always. Walking along them every night, letting your heavy skirt get caught on the nettles and Heather that populate the floor. Staying out as the last breath of the sun begins to paint the sky the same colour as the flowers you've trampled over, until the servants come searching for you. Lamps in hand. Perhaps if you stay out too late your husband will forbid these evening walks of yours. The only point in your day when the silence is anything but oppressive.

There is a list of what he has seemingly forbidden without him ever needing to say anything, a servant will mumble it is not encouraged when you make your requests. Pets are not encouraged, visits are not encouraged, parties are not encouraged. Even fraternising with them is not encouraged. So far it seems that the only thing he approves of is isolation. You trample another flower before making your way back. The only other times you leave the manor is every Sunday, taking the coach ride up to the church, sitting together in his family pew as the reverend drones, bonnet obscuring the faces in your peripheral vision. He doesn't linger after the service, instead you two return home to a meal. Again in silence.

You're starting to wonder if you remember his voice.

Your return to the manor is met with a change from walking clothes to evening gown. You two have meals together. Something he insists upon, no tray taken up to your room, you must dress for dinner and take it properly across from him as portraits of his ancestors stare down at you.

You linger in the bedroom, staring at the unsent letter on your desk. It's been only a few months, and while the North is so far from your family home further south, surely they would have gotten your letters by now? But maybe they just expect you to be busy now, a new wife in her new home. Children of course should be your task but when the only thing he touches you with is his cold gaze it seems that task too is something you just fail in. With a sigh you make your way to his office, where you would haunt the empty doorway, quietly requesting a stamp from his desk once he acknowledges your presence.

Today marks a change in routine, he is absent. you hesitate, are you even allowed inside without him to tell you? But, he never denies your request for a stamp so surely you would not be in trouble for simply taking one for yourself? Right? Perhaps there is that part of you, the curious one not yet strangled by the silence of the manor, that wants to explore something you never had express permission to enter. His desk is neat, made of a dark stained wood, papers organised clearly. Something about investments into train companies, skipping through the words you notice one company that father invested in has gone bankrupt. Your heart falls into your throat, how selfish to wonder why no one has written to you when clearly everyone back home is dealing with this catastrophe, here you are safe in your stone manor. Married to a titled man who's wealth will never disappear, what happened to your gratefulness?

You shake your head to dispel the thought, turning to open the desk drawers instead, one jams under the weight of its contents, pulling and pulling until you're thrown back from the impact of opening it, toppling some things out of place. There are no stamps here- instead the drawer is full of letters. Perhaps twenty? Each one has been opened and discarded by his hands. Each letter addressed to you. Each letter is filled with pleas for you to write back. Growing more and more desperate as father all but demands that you stop ignoring him and tell your husband to use his wealth to get your family out from the mess they have found themselves in. There is only one deviation: an unsent letter by your husband to your father. demanding him to cease contacting you, saying that you have no wish to communicate ever again to your family, and that you are happy here. The coldness in his written words seem to prickle your fingers as you ask yourself why would he do all this?

The clock strikes and you panic, you're meant to be at the table right now waiting for him. You shut the drawer before practically running down to the dining room. He appears a few minutes after you, taking his seat as the meal begins.In front of you he is handsome, tall and with Byronic features, dark hair curling past his ears. He brings to mind a wolfhound, meanwhile you're a mouse.

Partly through he speaks, his low voice scraping the air.

“You went through my desk didn't you dear?”

The term feels misplaced, foreign from his lips, his eyes squint as you stay silent not knowing how to respond.

“Please do not give me the annoyance of a lie, your fingers are stained with ink and you are the only other one who would do such a thing.”

An eyebrow is raised by him with the expectation of an answer, he receives a shameful nod and mumbled response.

“Why did you hide their letters from me?”

He sighs as though the answer should be obvious, grip tightening on his wine glass.

“It would do you no good.”

“How do you know that?” You look up at him, finding a small scrap of bravely somewhere within you. “Why must you be the one deciding on everything for me when you do not even speak with me, let alone touch me. You have no right to decide what is best for my sake without even communicating with me like a proper husband.”

Your chest heaves from your quiet outburst, possibly the most words you've ever spoken to him. His face doesn't change only the glass in his hand shatters from how firm he grips it, shards falling into his soup and embedding themselves in his hand, unreacting to the pain.

“I am your husband. It is my right to care for you, to ensure that you're sensitivities do not cause you harm.” His gaze stakes you to the chair as he picks the glass from his hand. “You request a pet for company, I refuse in case you become attached and the creature flees or dies and you end up distraught. Your family cares nothing for your well being, your father expects you to still be his daughter when you are my wife, demanding you give him my wealth to pull him out from the pit he dug himself into. That is not your responsibility.” He stands up slowly making his way to you

“I have to admit that perhaps I have not been clear enough to you, that is my fault and it must be rectified.”

He takes ahold of your face, the cut hand smearing his blood onto you'd cheek as he holds your face so tightly there will no doubt be marks once he finally lets go. His mouth twists itself to something resemble a smile but those eyes stay exactly as empty as they've always been.

“let me reiterate,” his mouth grazes your ear.

“You are my responsibility and my property, it is my duty to take care of you. If you cannot understand that it is a problem I must solve, without any outside interference.”

He leans down to press a kiss with a tenderness so unfamiliar from him that you feel the bile rise in your throat. When he pulls away to look at your face, you finally realise what was so repulsive in that gaze of his, which never disappears when he looks at you. Love