lemonyuza

[lemonyuza]

I’m so in love with how long this is <3

── .✦ YANDERE BALLERINA WHO'S YOUR PRECIOUS DOLL 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

cw. male yandere, fem reader, stalking, obsessive thoughts, emotional dependency, unhealthy attachment, delusion, self-harm, body horror, unhealthy romance, manipulation, dissociation, identity loss, hallucinations, mental instability, implied violence, emotional degradation, trauma bonding, toxic codependency, unhealthy power dynamics, implied eating disorder.

Yandere ballerina who didn’t even notice you at first.

He was all angles and elegance, carved in pale porcelain and lit by the stage lights like something half-alive, half-divine. A beautiful boy moving like a dream, distant, cold, the type you don’t fall in love with—you worship. You were messy. Loud shoes. Hair too wild. Always five minutes late, always sitting on the studio floor like you owned the dust. He found you annoying. You made the quiet ache in his bones louder somehow.

But you kept coming. Not for him, not really. You were just drawn to the ballet like he was, like something feral finding something holy. You said too much. Laughed too loudly. Looked at him like you saw something real.

Yandere ballerina who started to watch you when you weren’t looking.

He didn’t mean to. The curve of your neck when you tied your shoes. The wrinkle of your nose when you laughed. The way your fingers danced even when your feet didn’t. You didn’t move like a ballerina. You moved like a storm. Ugly. Beautiful. Free.

He hated you for it.

He hated how you left notes for everyone—crumpled things, sugar-sweet, stupid little encouragements—and one day, you left one for him. It just said, You’re not alone. Even if you want to be. He read it until the paper was soft with fingerprints. Then he folded it into a tiny square and tucked it inside his slipper like a secret under his skin.

Yandere ballerina who started to change for you.

You liked the color blue. So he wore blue ribbons in his hair. You liked cinnamon. So he bought cinnamon tea, even though it made his stomach twist. You said you liked how “boys with long hair look soft,” so he never cut it again, even when it tangled at the nape of his neck and pulled when he danced.

He started performing for you—always knowing where you sat, always tilting his face so you could see the expression, the emotion, the raw bleeding beauty he’d never let anyone else witness. You clapped for him like it meant something, and it did. It started to mean everything.

He told himself you were just being nice. He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

But his smile cracked every time you laughed at someone else’s joke.

Yandere ballerina who prays for you.

Not to God. But to you.

He kneels before mirrors, blistered knees on wood, whispering your name like a mantra, a hymn, a curse. He hurts himself in small, soft ways just to remember you love broken things. Cuts his calluses raw. Starves a little. Bleeds into shoes. Dances on torn feet.

He looks for you in the audience, even when he knows you're not there.

He dreams of you coming backstage, holding his face with your messy hands, saying “You were beautiful. You were mine.” You never say that. But one day, you will.

You will.

Because he's the only one who knows how to love you quietly, like rot under roses.

And if someone else touches you—he’ll dance for them too.

He’ll perform with all the softness in his soul. And after the curtains close, he’ll leave behind red footprints, and no one will ever find them again.

Yandere ballerina who starts to erase himself just to fit inside the shape of you.

You liked passion. So he started to tremble onstage. Let tears fall when he danced. Let his ribs show. He wanted to look ruined, the way you looked at everything with soft pity, with hands that touched like forgiveness. He was too clean for you before. Now, he lets the dirt in. Under his nails. In his mind. He wears it like perfume. You once said something about loving people who feel like ghosts. He’s trying.

He’s trying so hard to haunt you. To be something you can’t stop thinking about. Like he thinks of you.

Yandere ballerina who follows you home.

Silent as dust. Breath shallow in your shadow. Not always. Just when he feels empty. Just when you laugh with someone else. Just when he needs to see that you still exist. That you’re still real. That he didn’t imagine you.

He watches you brush your teeth. Scratch your ankle. Burn your toast. You are so human it hurts. He’s not. Not anymore.

He tells himself it’s innocent. He just wants to be near you. He just wants to keep you safe. The world is dangerous. Loud. Ugly. If you knew how many people stared at you… how many people didn’t deserve your smile… You’d be grateful for him.

Sometimes, when you fall asleep with your window cracked, he whispers your name into the night just to see if your lips move in your dreams.

Yandere ballerina who starts to disappear in mirrors.

He doesn’t recognize his reflection anymore.

The boy who used to move like swans and silk and purity now stares back with hollow eyes, ribs like prison bars, and lips that bleed when he smiles too hard. He hums the melody of your voice like a lullaby, pirouetting alone in the dark rehearsal room, skin shining with sweat and desperation.

There’s a bruise shaped like your fingernail on his hip. You touched him once—by accident. He pressed your fingerprint into himself so hard it turned blue. And he loved it.

He doesn't eat unless you compliment him. He doesn't rest unless you’re watching. He breaks himself open again and again because he’s sure that if he bleeds beautifully enough, you’ll finally see him.

Yandere ballerina who knows you don’t love him yet.

Yet is the key.

He says it when he cries. When he hurts. When you leave without saying goodbye. He whispers it while slicing ribbons of red into his ankles so he can feel weightless when he leaps—so he can feel like your love, even imagined, gives him wings.

If someone else kisses you, he doesn’t panic.

He smiles.

Because he knows how to perform.

He knows how to take roles from people.

He knows how to take things.

And he is so very patient.

One day, you’ll come to him in tears. The world too loud. Your heart too heavy. He’ll hold you like a dancer holds breath—delicately, fully, with every inch of his soul. And you’ll fall in love with him slowly. The way you fell in love with ballet.

By accident.

By force.

By fate.

Yandere ballerina who no longer knows where the dance ends and where you begin.

He sees you everywhere now. In the curve of the moonlight. In the thrum of violin strings. In the dust hanging thick in the air when the studio is empty and silent, just him and the mirrors and your ghost. Your shape stretches across the walls. Your laughter plays in the echoes. Sometimes, he closes his eyes and sees you dancing with him—slow, delicate, your body pressed against his, breath against breath, heartbeat against heartbeat.

(You’ve never danced with him. Not really. But he’s done it a thousand times in his head. And every time, you love him more.)

Yandere ballerina who starts to speak to you when you aren’t there.

In the dressing room, alone, he kneels on the cold tile and whispers about his day. About how he missed you. About how that other girl touched his arm, and how wrong it felt. How he wanted to cut his skin open and start over. He calls it your name. The little hollow behind his ribs where he keeps all the versions of you that smile only for him.

Sometimes he laughs. Sometimes he cries. Sometimes he lays on the floor and imagines you lying beside him, fingers tangled, bones touching. He hums lullabies he never learned, lullabies he dreamed into existence because you deserve a world where you are never afraid again.

Yandere ballerina who starts keeping pieces of you like little sacred relics.

A strand of hair from your brush. A crumpled receipt from a bakery he saw you visit. A ticket stub from a film you saw two weeks ago. He keeps them in a small box wrapped in ribbon, hidden beneath his costumes. Every item is catalogued in a soft, trembling hand. Sometimes he takes them out and lines them up on the floor, arranging them like offerings to a god.

He kisses them.

He cries over them.

He tells them things he’s too afraid to tell the real you, because what if you run? What if you scream?

He doesn’t want you to be scared.

Not of him.

He’d never hurt you. He just wants to be the only thing that touches your soul.

Yandere ballerina who starts losing time.

There are nights he wakes up onstage, barefoot, trembling, mouth whispering your name like a broken record. There are days he finds blood on his hands, pink and sticky like paint, and doesn’t remember why. He stares at the mirrors and sees a stranger. A beautiful boy with cracked lips and bruised eyes who loves too much, too hard, too deep.

He wants to be your home, but he’s afraid he’s become your haunting instead.

And still—he dances.

Even as his feet bleed.

Even as his eyes sink into shadows.

Even as your smile, the real one, fades into something wary, something distant.

(You’re pulling away. He sees it. Feels it. A tremble in the thread that binds him to you.)

But he’s not angry.

He’s grieving.

You’re still alive.

Still warm.

But he swears it feels like you’re dying without him.

Yandere ballerina who swears he'll become your favorite.

Not your boyfriend. Not your lover. Something deeper. Something eternal.

He will be the performance that leaves you breathless. The wound you touch in silence. The beauty that aches so much, you almost wish you'd never seen it. You’ll remember him in the lonely hours, in the quiet dark, and wonder where it all went wrong.

And maybe then—maybe then—you’ll love him. Even if it’s too late.

He’ll still dance for you.

Even if you’re not watching.

Even if you forget his name.

Even if he has to fall to pieces again and again, just to keep the spotlight on your memory.

Because to him, you’re not a person anymore.

You’re the reason he exists.

And he will never let you go.

Even if he has to destroy himself to hold you forever.

Yandere ballerina who forgets how to breathe unless you’re in the room.

He doesn’t even notice it at first. The stillness. The way his chest stops rising unless you say his name. The way his hands shake when you leave, like a marionette with cut strings. The way the world blurs around the edges unless your voice slices through it.

You are gravity. You are the script. He is nothing but the dancer on your stage now.

And the worst part?

You know it.

You know it when you brush your fingers under his chin, just barely—just enough to make him flinch like a kicked dog, breath caught in his throat like confession. You know it when you pull away with that lazy smirk and say, “Don’t look at me like that. It’s pathetic.”

He still does.

God, he still does.

Yandere ballerina who lives for your approval like it’s communion.

You test him sometimes.

You let him get close—brush your hip with his fingertips, rest his cheek against your knee like some ruined angel—and then you go cold. Eyes sharp, voice bored. You say things like “You don’t think I love you, do you?” with a lightness that feels like a blade.

He doesn’t know the answer.

He never knows.

But he shakes his head anyway. No. Of course not. Not yet. I haven’t earned it yet.

And you smile, petting his hair like a reward.

“Good boy.”

Yandere ballerina who can’t perform unless you’re watching.

The instructors start to notice. He collapses in rehearsals, dry-eyed and stiff-limbed. He refuses solos unless you’re in the front row. When you're gone, he’s silent. Empty. A corpse in satin slippers. But when you're there—your arms crossed, your mouth chewing gum lazily like you couldn’t care less—he blooms.

He dances like his bones are glass and you're the only one who knows how to hold him. Every spin is a plea. Every leap is a scream. His body breaks beautifully for you.

He watches for your reaction like a starving man watches a locked door.

Sometimes you clap. Sometimes you don’t.

Either way, he thanks you afterward.

Yandere ballerina who lets you ruin him because it feels like being loved.

You take things from him. Little things at first—his favorite hoodie, the key to his locker, the rosary from his bedside that belonged to his grandmother. He gives them all willingly. You never ask. You just reach, and he empties himself into your hands.

But then you start pushing.

You let him kiss you and then laugh in his face.

You make him fight someone twice his size just to prove he's "serious."

You dare him to break his toes for you—and he does, barefoot, on the cement, crying and smiling at the same time like it’s holy.

And when he collapses in your arms, broken and pink-mouthed, you whisper, “Do you love me more now?”

He nods.

You laugh.

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

Yandere ballerina who starts dreaming of the day you kill him.

Not violently. No—never messy. You’d do it sweetly. Quietly. Maybe with a kiss to his temple and a hand over his mouth. Maybe you’d tuck him into your bed and tell him a story before it happens.

Maybe you already have.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s already dead. If this is some afterlife where heaven is cruel and wears your smile. He wouldn’t mind. He’s not scared of you anymore.

He wants to belong to you completely. Wants to wear your fingerprints like tattoos, wants to be your thing, your creature, your shadow.

If you asked him to tear his heart out, he’d ask which hand.

Yandere ballerina who starts starving again when you don’t touch him.

It’s not about weight, not really. It’s about control. It’s about your hands. About the way your fingers drag across his jaw and your voice murmurs “You’re prettier when you’re fragile.”

And he believes you. Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he?

He wants to be porcelain for you. Wants to be thin enough to float. Wants to be your delicate little marionette boy who only eats when you spoon food into his mouth and whisper, “Good boy. Stay alive for me.”

Sometimes he pretends your voice is what keeps his heart beating. That if he stops hearing it, he’ll rot.

Part of him wants to test it.

You are not well, either. Not even close.

You don’t love him. Not in the way he thinks. But God, you need him.

Not like oxygen. Like a mirror. Like an echo. Like a secret you can shove into a body and make suffer so you don’t have to.

He clings so tightly. He folds himself into your hands so willingly. He breaks for you again and again and thanks you for the splinters.

And it makes you feel—safe. Powerful. Less wrong.

Because if someone this beautiful can worship someone as ruined as you, maybe you’re not the monster.

(You still are.)

But now he’s your monster too.

Yandere ballerina who starts seeing things that aren’t there.

Your face in the mirror, smiling when you’re not in the room.

Your hand reaching for his in dreams, pulling him into fevered voids where he dances alone on cracked floors soaked in blood.

The sound of your laugh during recitals, even when you didn’t come. Even when you promised you would and forgot.

He doesn’t tell you about the hallucinations.

You wouldn’t care.

You’d probably just say “Cute. You're going insane.”

And then you'd cup his face and kiss his nose, so sweet it almost hurts.

Yandere ballerina who lets you carve your name into his ankle with a broken mirror shard.

It wasn’t your idea.

It wasn’t not your idea, either.

You whispered it in his ear one night when he cried too hard to sleep:

“If you were really mine, I’d see it on you. In you. Like a scar.”

So the next night, he did it. Pale thighs curled under him, hands shaking, eyes glazed and glassy. He didn’t even cry.

He knocked on your door and held out his foot like a stray cat bringing home a dead bird.

You stared.

Then smiled.

Then said, “God, you’re beautiful when you're in pain.”

You kissed the wound.

He came apart.

You keep him on a leash. Not literally. (Yet.)

But emotionally, he doesn’t breathe unless you exhale first.

You test it.

Sometimes, you pretend to leave for good.

Disappear for two days. Turn off your phone. Watch the camera you planted in his room.

You see him unravel.

You see him begging something—God, the mirror, you—for a reason to exist.

You only come back when he’s sobbing in the bathtub with his fingernails ripped and his mouth trembling like an abandoned child.

And then you cradle him.

You whisper, “There, there. I’m here. I’m yours.”

He doesn’t even ask where you went.

Because he's too grateful you came back.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luvpixx. don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[lemonyuza]

MORE. I WANT MORE. I WANT MORE MILKIE.

[nsfw] thinking of an obsessive! ex with a darling who lets him hit one more time.

he presses a kiss against your lips, pushing his tongue inside as his hands wrap themselves around your waist. you can hear his muffled groans spilling into your lips as he passionately grinds himself against you, and when he pulls back the both of you are breathless, and it takes him only a moment before he lunges forward to place marks against your neck.

“y-your pussy’s fucking… perfect…” he trails off, desire leaking from his tone as he thrusts himself into you. though he can barely stop himself from seeing ecstasy he’s managing the strength to try and look you in the eyes, to scan your face over as he moans and to let the sight arouse him further.

“t-tell me that you love me. i-i wanna hear you say it, nghh, call out my fucking name and l-let me hear you lie to me.” he’s begging. his voice is shaking and he can barely force his words out but you can make out tears in his eyes as he pleads, both desperate and shameless.

and you don’t love him. you can barely find it in yourself to lie to him, to push his delusions and to think about later. to lie to him would only entangle yourself further in his mind, but it’s all he wants you to do.

he slows down, his cock throbbing inside you as he does. and he leans in towards you, his lips shaking as he presses them against your ear, to place a kiss upon them and whisper.

“i-i won’t go any faster if you don’t tell me, baby. lie to me. e-even if it’s not true, even though you hate me. lie to me because you know it feels good.” he’s saying.

he wants you to tell him you missed him, to tell him you’re glad you remembered the little things, to tell him you’re so fucking glad he’s still obsessed with you, because he knows that you’ll plague his thoughts until he dies.

[lemonyuza]

I want this. Yandere Hyena pack…

Hyena packs are matriarchal with even baby female Hyenas outranking some if not all males.

I think it'd be fun if maybe the reader being the first female the packs had in a while was quickly elevated in status from prey to leader?

Or considering the difference in anatomy between female humans and hyenas, perhaps the hyenas prefer to mate with the human?

I’m noting all of this down for future hyena hybrid smut…

[lemonyuza]

Type shi

[nsfw] thinking of an obsessive! ex with a darling who lets him hit one more time.

he presses a kiss against your lips, pushing his tongue inside as his hands wrap themselves around your waist. you can hear his muffled groans spilling into your lips as he passionately grinds himself against you, and when he pulls back the both of you are breathless, and it takes him only a moment before he lunges forward to place marks against your neck.

“y-your pussy’s fucking… perfect…” he trails off, desire leaking from his tone as he thrusts himself into you. though he can barely stop himself from seeing ecstasy he’s managing the strength to try and look you in the eyes, to scan your face over as he moans and to let the sight arouse him further.

“t-tell me that you love me. i-i wanna hear you say it, nghh, call out my fucking name and l-let me hear you lie to me.” he’s begging. his voice is shaking and he can barely force his words out but you can make out tears in his eyes as he pleads, both desperate and shameless.

and you don’t love him. you can barely find it in yourself to lie to him, to push his delusions and to think about later. to lie to him would only entangle yourself further in his mind, but it’s all he wants you to do.

he slows down, his cock throbbing inside you as he does. and he leans in towards you, his lips shaking as he presses them against your ear, to place a kiss upon them and whisper.

“i-i won’t go any faster if you don’t tell me, baby. lie to me. e-even if it’s not true, even though you hate me. lie to me because you know it feels good.” he’s saying.

he wants you to tell him you missed him, to tell him you’re glad you remembered the little things, to tell him you’re so fucking glad he’s still obsessed with you, because he knows that you’ll plague his thoughts until he dies.

[lemonyuza]

i don't want the subby emo "yandere" boy

I want the borderline crazy emo guy obsessed with me. He NEEDS me, he'd hurt people to get to me, needs to see me a certain amount of times a week just to stay sane. I'd treat him right.

[lemonyuza]

Needless to say you were concerned.

The constant shuffling, sneaking and snooping that has been done by non other then your stalker

Whom? Well your favourite Ex Boyfriend.

•He is the most submissive little thing. So kind, so compassionate. Such an artist. His current muse? Of course, it’s you. Why did you break up? Well you didn’t really. You moved away in 4th grade and didn’t tell him because you never came back from winter break. Oh well. You always thought looking back on your little love life you had in your adolescence. But now it’s different. A Boy doesn’t have urges, a man does. If you could even call him that.

•He’s a few inches taller and meaty. Nice tanned skin and dark silky hair with beautiful pleading brown eyes. He’s not a loser but he doesn’t do much to highlight his features. He’s a little more sporty unlike how he was in fourth grade.

You’d call him a bear if he ever stuck a conversation with you.

He spotted you at the college coffeehouse in the window. He would never doubt that it was you. So long ago and he remembers you by your nostalgic aura. His stars have aligned. All he needs to do is race against time to come claim you.

And he waited outside that coffee shop until you came out and followed you to your dorm. Turns out you won a scholarship and was in a program that allowed you to have a dorm. It’s far from his which is irritating. The throbbing feeling he had in his chest guided him to follow you from afar and found which dorm was yours.

Now his quest:Follow you, Find out what you like Love and gain the courage to talk to you without being caught

But he lost the first day. You seen him. You heard his feet dragging behind you in your dorm hallway as you unlocked the door. But you had a guess why, it’s not a new thing he got from puberty, he always had a deep love for things he was fond of. He was a creative guy and drew a pretty good picture of you for a fourth grader on Valentine’s Day the first week you moved into his classroom.

Sweet guy

Now here he is, Sneaking around in your room as you pretend to sleep. You’re in disbelief of how ballsy this dork is. Not only is he super clumsy and loud, he talks to himself. So all you hear is-“W-wow I’m so close.” With heavy pants and a camera shutter with a bright flash as he curses himself for leaving it on. “Fuck! Sh shh shh” He coos and takes a step admiring the beauty he has been following for the past few weeks.

“I missed you…” you heard him whimper and sniffle “Y-You’re so beautiful..so grown now..” you cringe as a tinge runs down your tummy and lower region.

{Chat what else should I put?! Lowkey made this cuz I’m bored😭}

[lemonyuza]

For the past two weeks at your new school no one has gone out of their way to make a conversation with you-which you do not mind with your crippling social anxiety, so you’ve been observing the students around you. Labeling them, rating them, and making notes of their habits. A group that has caught your attention? The popular girls.

Cute, stylish, colourful social butterfly’s. They’re very out going. They’re the eye candy of the school, with their bright signature colours, flashy heavy and light gyaru makeup, all 4 being unique. The small things you’ve noticed is that they all have the same classes with one another, and one with all four together, the one they slack off and fix their makeup and the one class you have with all four. They act like snakes and wasps when they think no ones looking, terrorizing one student.

No not you—

Someone from the volleyball team, A boy, he mocks mosts girls for their insecurities. What did he point out about you? During your gym class with him and ‘The Butterflys’, he made fun of Your plump legs and extra weight on your chest, calling you “ButterFace”. It definitely added salt to the wound when his friends laugh. You look away shamed and embarrassed when you see one of the girls from the group observing you this time. Looking over at her shoulder as her gaze settles onto the boys before huddling up with the rest of the girls. After that class, the boy never never spoke to you again, nor breathed in your direction. His friends left him hanging high and dry and never spoke to him, And he would come to class to find his desk scribbled with hurtful words and carvings. You’ve noticed an important key detail. Those girls, they’ve taken a liking to you, Their very keen of you. You see each and every one of them eyeing you up and down in the hallways, you’ve even caught one of them going the same way home with you, You wouldn’t say they’re actually following you home you just logically assume their home is the same way and their taking a new way in your direction.

But you’re not stupid. You’re smart, you knew it was The Butterfly’s that were bullying him and followed you home…so you expected the worst and prepared for it.

But all that went down the drain as soon as the gorgeous group of girls corner you in an empty club room after school. Your bravery blown out the window as you shrivel up under their gaze.

Only for them to lay their perfect manicured hands on your face, and uniform, their pretty nails combing your hair you didn’t bother to tame.

One girl cups your face by the sides and pulls you in close by your head, pulling you out of your corner and places a sticky kiss on the corner of your lip-

You flinch away only to hit your back against another girl who wraps her arms around your waist and hailed you tightly against her

“What are you doing?-?” You gasp and scratch the strong girls arms. Your nails scratches her bracelets and tanned skin.

“Hey, it’s okay! We understand you! You’ve been lonely…” The girl holding you snuggled into the back of your neck making you twitch and giggle at the tickle, making them gasp in awe

“Awww, you’re so cute~” another girl clasps her hands together tightly. She then steps in and hugs you, and sniffs your hair.

That night you went home and introduced your new “girlfriends” to your mom.(who hasn’t seen you with a friend since middle school) and ended In having a sleepover with them. And by “girlfriends” they actually think you’re their girlfriend. That night they rummaged through all your clothes and room and threw away all your unstylish clothes and ugly underwear and bras (They kept them all and split it evenly) and replaced it with their own, completely changing your wardrobe. And at the end of the night they all piled up and tried to fit in the bed to coddle you, presses light kisses against the skin that was revealed by the new short silk pyjamas they gifted you, and when you try to question the situation…

“So..will we ever talk about the fact that you all forced yourself onto me?”

“What? We did no such thing!”

“We are your new best friends! Plus we love you, and need to protect you<3”

“You’re meant to be treated the way everyone else is treated, even more! Nobody shouldn’t ever call you except nice!”

“You’re so beautiful.”

You look shyly at the girls and sigh shutting your eyes falling asleep in the cocoon of girls holding and wrapping their limbs around yours

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

This was not the plot I wanted to use but it was the easiest to visualize, it’ll be better once I draw the designs for the girls. I even wrote a locker scene that didn’t make sense so I scrapped it and I didn’t know if we’re comfortable with smut yet?

[lemonyuza]

For the past two weeks at your new school no one has gone out of their way to make a conversation with you-which you do not mind with your crippling social anxiety, so you’ve been observing the students around you. Labeling them, rating them, and making notes of their habits. A group that has caught your attention? The popular girls.

Cute, stylish, colourful social butterfly’s. They’re very out going. They’re the eye candy of the school, with their bright signature colours, flashy heavy and light gyaru makeup, all 4 being unique. The small things you’ve noticed is that they all have the same classes with one another, and one with all four together, the one they slack off and fix their makeup and the one class you have with all four. They act like snakes and wasps when they think no ones looking, terrorizing one student.

No not you—

Someone from the volleyball team, A boy, he mocks mosts girls for their insecurities. What did he point out about you? During your gym class with him and ‘The Butterflys’, he made fun of Your plump legs and extra weight on your chest, calling you “ButterFace”. It definitely added salt to the wound when his friends laugh. You look away shamed and embarrassed when you see one of the girls from the group observing you this time. Looking over at her shoulder as her gaze settles onto the boys before huddling up with the rest of the girls. After that class, the boy never never spoke to you again, nor breathed in your direction. His friends left him hanging high and dry and never spoke to him, And he would come to class to find his desk scribbled with hurtful words and carvings. You’ve noticed an important key detail. Those girls, they’ve taken a liking to you, Their very keen of you. You see each and every one of them eyeing you up and down in the hallways, you’ve even caught one of them going the same way home with you, You wouldn’t say they’re actually following you home you just logically assume their home is the same way and their taking a new way in your direction.

But you’re not stupid. You’re smart, you knew it was The Butterfly’s that were bullying him and followed you home…so you expected the worst and prepared for it.

But all that went down the drain as soon as the gorgeous group of girls corner you in an empty club room after school. Your bravery blown out the window as you shrivel up under their gaze.

Only for them to lay their perfect manicured hands on your face, and uniform, their pretty nails combing your hair you didn’t bother to tame.

One girl cups your face by the sides and pulls you in close by your head, pulling you out of your corner and places a sticky kiss on the corner of your lip-

You flinch away only to hit your back against another girl who wraps her arms around your waist and hailed you tightly against her

“What are you doing?-?” You gasp and scratch the strong girls arms. Your nails scratches her bracelets and tanned skin.

“Hey, it’s okay! We understand you! You’ve been lonely…” The girl holding you snuggled into the back of your neck making you twitch and giggle at the tickle, making them gasp in awe

“Awww, you’re so cute~” another girl clasps her hands together tightly. She then steps in and hugs you, and sniffs your hair.

That night you went home and introduced your new “girlfriends” to your mom.(who hasn’t seen you with a friend since middle school) and ended In having a sleepover with them. And by “girlfriends” they actually think you’re their girlfriend. That night they rummaged through all your clothes and room and threw away all your unstylish clothes and ugly underwear and bras (They kept them all and split it evenly) and replaced it with their own, completely changing your wardrobe. And at the end of the night they all piled up and tried to fit in the bed to coddle you, presses light kisses against the skin that was revealed by the new short silk pyjamas they gifted you, and when you try to question the situation…

“So..will we ever talk about the fact that you all forced yourself onto me?”

“What? We did no such thing!”

“We are your new best friends! Plus we love you, and need to protect you<3”

“You’re meant to be treated the way everyone else is treated, even more! Nobody shouldn’t ever call you except nice!”

“You’re so beautiful.”

You look shyly at the girls and sigh shutting your eyes falling asleep in the cocoon of girls holding and wrapping their limbs around yours

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

This was not the plot I wanted to use but it was the easiest to visualize, it’ll be better once I draw the designs for the girls. I even wrote a locker scene that didn’t make sense so I scrapped it and I didn’t know if we’re comfortable with smut yet?

[lemonyuza]

Amor the Moth Demon

Yan! Death's-Head Hawk Moth Demon x Reader

Tw; Unmentioned fatphobia, Dumb moth that acts like a puppy, yandere behavior, yandere has no boundaries, murder implied, breaking into your home lol, they’re actually really sweet

Yandere Moth Demon that meets you when the lights in your room are on, practically breaking the glass as it crashes into the window.

You somehow don’t notice, however, more focused on the phone in your hand and the images of you.

Yandere Moth Demon that was originally attempting to get in your room for the cute paper lantern lamp on your desk but gets distracted by your teary face.

It presses their face against the glass window, chirping softly as they push and pull and pout as they try to get it open.

Yandere Moth Demon that finally figures it out soon after you got into bed and is quick to crawl into your room, wings fluttering softly as it grabs at your face.

They’re curious over your tears, softly wiping the tears away in awe and happily squeaking when you blink in shock because there’s a giant bug on your bed??

Yandere Moth Demon that you kick out soon after, confused and scared because what the fuck is this thing doing in your home and why?

They point at your lamp as you push them out the window, chirping happy as you sigh and hand it to it.

Yandere Moth Demon that returns the next night in tears with a broken lamp, sniffling and squeaking as it shows it to you through the window.

You’re confused but let it in, having hoped that you hallucinated or something the night before while you were sobbing over the comments on your pictures.

Yandere Moth Demon that rests its chin on your shoulder, watching you scroll online for a globe lamp and chirping happily when you find the perfect one.

You can just sigh softly as they nuzzle your neck in happiness, refusing to leave from that moment on.

Yandere Moth Demon that insists on sleeping on your bed during the day, feeling safest under your covers and even more when you are there as well.

They show up about an hour before you wake up to get under the covers, wings fluttering softly before settling over you like a second blanket.

Yandere Moth Demon that watches humans kissing and doing other activities on your tv and gets curious about it all, pointing at it once it’s got your attention.

You’re hesitant about it, especially after you taught them how to do your hair and now they refuse to let you do it yourself, but eventually give in.

Yandere Moth Demon that loves it when you dress them up, a bath and some accessories makes it feel attractive and even more when you compliment them.

Yandere Moth Demon that rarely leaves your home, carrying the globe lamp in its hands as it wanders your home all night.

It eats some of your honey and sugar packets (yes the whole paper packet with the sugar in it), and makes sure that you’re safe all night.

Yandere Moth Demon that is quick to squeak aggressively the moment someone is at your door with flowers, ready for a date that you were in the middle of getting ready for.

Why are you going out with anyone but them? Do you not know that you belong to them now?? This human clearly wont take good care of you!

Yandere Moth Demon that watches you sigh at your phone an hour later, all dressed up and ready to go, chirping softly as you make yourself dinner.

They’re quick to follow, holding up the flowers for you to take.

Yandere Moth Demon that grabs your hand and tugs you to the living room once your dinner is done, chirping happily as it curls up into your side and hands you the tv remote.

Hopefully you don’t smell the metallic scent on their fur, they’d hate to make you have to wash them again.

[lemonyuza]

Ideas:

•Depressed Stalker{His only purpose for life now is to grovel at your feet and to worship

•Group of new best friends{A group of popular girls become infatuated with the new student and can’t keep their hands to themselves. Reader should be male or female?

•Coworker{I don’t know? He seduces you and bangs you on the printer and finds out you’re a nympho?…maybe)

•Or something original (Ik🙄)

(GO INTO MY TRUE FREAK MODE???)

•Bunny hybrid??{Brought a wild animal home not knowing anything about their biological half.

•Yandere schoolgirl??{She falls for an older boy a few classes from hers and stalks him. Eventually being caught by the reader which is actually-A pervert?

[lemonyuza]

I need to find smut.

And searching ‘desperate’ ‘needy’ ‘clingy’ or any type of worship I can’t find anything new-

I really like sub males especially when they adore the reader UGHHH!!

[lemonyuza]

Needless to say you were concerned.

The constant shuffling, sneaking and snooping that has been done by non other then your stalker

Whom? Well your favourite Ex Boyfriend.

•He is the most submissive little thing. So kind, so compassionate. Such an artist. His current muse? Of course, it’s you. Why did you break up? Well you didn’t really. You moved away in 4th grade and didn’t tell him because you never came back from winter break. Oh well. You always thought looking back on your little love life you had in your adolescence. But now it’s different. A Boy doesn’t have urges, a man does. If you could even call him that.

•He’s a few inches taller and meaty. Nice tanned skin and dark silky hair with beautiful pleading brown eyes. He’s not a loser but he doesn’t do much to highlight his features. He’s a little more sporty unlike how he was in fourth grade.

You’d call him a bear if he ever stuck a conversation with you.

He spotted you at the college coffeehouse in the window. He would never doubt that it was you. So long ago and he remembers you by your nostalgic aura. His stars have aligned. All he needs to do is race against time to come claim you.

And he waited outside that coffee shop until you came out and followed you to your dorm. Turns out you won a scholarship and was in a program that allowed you to have a dorm. It’s far from his which is irritating. The throbbing feeling he had in his chest guided him to follow you from afar and found which dorm was yours.

Now his quest:Follow you, Find out what you like Love and gain the courage to talk to you without being caught

But he lost the first day. You seen him. You heard his feet dragging behind you in your dorm hallway as you unlocked the door. But you had a guess why, it’s not a new thing he got from puberty, he always had a deep love for things he was fond of. He was a creative guy and drew a pretty good picture of you for a fourth grader on Valentine’s Day the first week you moved into his classroom.

Sweet guy

Now here he is, Sneaking around in your room as you pretend to sleep. You’re in disbelief of how ballsy this dork is. Not only is he super clumsy and loud, he talks to himself. So all you hear is-“W-wow I’m so close.” With heavy pants and a camera shutter with a bright flash as he curses himself for leaving it on. “Fuck! Sh shh shh” He coos and takes a step admiring the beauty he has been following for the past few weeks.

“I missed you…” you heard him whimper and sniffle “Y-You’re so beautiful..so grown now..” you cringe as a tinge runs down your tummy and lower region.

{Chat what else should I put?! Lowkey made this cuz I’m bored😭}