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[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere werewolf & mortal darling.

  trigger warnings: mentions of blood.

there once stood a property of land in an overpopulated city; the territory acted as a habitat for local creatures; rabbits, coyotes, the occasional crows and etc. officials kept their prying hands to themselves and claimed the domain be protected, but those thoughts changed as does always, the desire for income clouding their judgement. so, they tore the forest down.

it came as a tragedy to you. you often explored the terrain as a youth, the trees serving as shade from the blistering summer heat and friends when you built snowmen and tussled to create snow angels. the forest was your closest friend, really. you were perceived as unapproachable by peers and you visited when you were lonely; which was everyday.

you swore to rescue the animals that stumbled to your doorstep, feed the coyotes trudging the streets, welcome rabbits into your yard— anything within your power. not once in your life though, would you have expected a battered wolf to leap through your window and land on your carpet.

but tending to the injured was something within your power, so you did.

cautious of the scattered glass shards, you approached the seemingly dormant wolf. you grimaced at the spilled blood sinking into the carpet. “that’ll be fun to clean later,” you grumbled, heaving a rather exasperated sigh. that wasn’t the main focus though.

your hand twitches when you brace your fingers along their fur, humming at the absolute fluff protecting their skin. a smile flashes on your face momentarily and as gently as humanly possible, you gripped their side and flipped them over. they don’t look too injured, you think in relief.

cleaning isn’t an activity you enjoy. the sight of blood isn’t something you particularly enjoy either. recalling the times you’d trip and fall in the park, when you’d rough-house with your siblings, you wondered where that bold and fearless person had disappeared to. with a tender touch, you wrapped their stomach in a flimsy bandage and moved them to the couch.

wary of the blood that could stain the cushions, you laid a towel beneath them, and left to fetch some dog treats (did wolves eat dog treats? you weren’t sure) from your garage. returning with a bowl of water and food, you saw the wolf wide-awake, staring at you with a piercing glare.

flinching, you cast your eyes elsewhere and approached them, fearfully dismissing the growl rumbling from their throat as you came closer.

“i have food, and water,” you sputtered, realizing just how foolish you sounded; you were speaking to a wild animal, how would they understand human words? surprisingly though, they perked up, relaxing.

bending your knees and stretching your arms out, you went towards them hesitantly and left the bowls on the coffee table and scrambled to the other side of the room. something wet your socks on the way there and you grimaced, knowing it was the blood dripping on the tiles.

that’s how you met them— a meek human and a striking wolf.

in a way, you thought it was like the tale of little red riding hood.

after the wolf healed— you called them alpha— you released them back into the streets. you made sure it was late into the night so there wasn’t the danger of cars running them over, or people capturing them. you saw them off, thinking it was the last you would see of them.

and it was. sometimes you’d think of them, walking into the kitchen for a meal and seeing the two empty bowls near the fridge. when you retired for the night to your room, you’d see the empty dog bed they never used. it suddenly felt emptier, quieter, sadder.

but then someone came, a new neighbor.

they introduced themself as alpha (something you couldn’t help but beam and chuckle at); they came off as your typical charming next-door love interest that was outside the reach of your love capabilities. like the ones you’d see in films. whenever you saw them, you couldn’t deny their beauty.

“hey alpha,” you invited them inside and kicked the door behind you, skipping after them. after your encounter with the first alpha, and getting to know the second alpha, your shyness went away— just a little bit.

“what do you want to watch today?” you inquired cheerily, leaping onto the bundle of blankets and pillows on the couch, reaching for the remote. it felt like one of those cuddle days, relaxing after a taxing week. “disney movies? comedy? anime?”

they didn’t answer, merely staring off into your direction, smiling.

alpha’s eyes were the prettiest, in your opinion. they glowed like the moon and their cute smiles were like the sparkling stars. and you were like the love-struck astronaut who would bring their telescope out every night just to see them. you loved seeing the pretty white in their eyes.

but today they were blood red.

“alpha?” you called their name, swinging your legs around while laying on your stomach, fiddling with the tower of disks beside you. “alpha?” you asked louder, and heard them walking behind you.

their footsteps were eerily silent, like a predator sneaking up on its prey.

before you broke out of your thoughts, there came a vice grip on your wrists, and your world spun back— to face them. your face contorted into a reflection of fear and confusion, paralyzed to the expression you clashed with. alpha, they looked different.

their maddening red eyes flashed in delight at you.

“i’ve waited for days, weeks, months,” they cooed and pulled one hand to touch your cheek, pressing their thumb beneath your eyes, “now, i will finally have you, right where you belong; beside me.”

by now, you were terrified by their change in tone and octave of voice. alpha didn’t care, and if they did they refused to show it, pulling their face closer to your’s and mesmerizing you with their eyes. they weren’t the ones you knew, the vast glitter of space you would peer into.

the shine in their eyes revealed an image of war.

“get away from me,” you cried, lifting your knee to kick them. they didn’t budge at all, even tightening their hold on you. “alpha, stop.”

“call me that again,” they leaned their face to the crook of your neck and purred lovingly, “call me alpha again.”

you thought their eyes looked familiar. when you saved that wolf, that was the first thing you’d noticed. how had you not known before? you heard all the stories, the rumors, the tales of the vicious packs of wolves that’d claimed territory by the outskirts of the city. but you didn’t know they were so fearless, manipulative, sneaking into the city beneath the noses of everyone.

“you, you’re— “

they seemed to know what you were sputtering out and grinned, elated that you remembered them so well. and they hadn’t even revealed their identity yet— you were truly the one for them. tingles rippled across their skin as your fingers twitched in their hands.

“yes, you’re right.” they hugged you tight, sighing happily.

“i’m your one and only mate.”

through the window, you saw the blood red moon, and heard howls in the distant lands of places you could’ve ventured to. but there you were, trapped in the arms of a barbaric, sadistic wolf, who’d returned once more to claim your affection.

  dedicated to @imaginebnhaomegaverse,, was planning to work on this for a while and the scenario became longer than expected because i wanted to expand on it more; please appreciate them and their stories, they were one of the first authors i encountered and i love their writing!!

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere sculptor & artist darling.

you’re an artist who serves art to royalty. carving a prosperous path in a kingdom collapsing from debt and the aftermath of wars is difficult, but you somewhat manage. you were a victim of a conflict, a soldier forced into slavery, and were released in your early teens. to express your story and traumas in a harmless way, you took to creating art.

as years passed, you befriended another artist, one of your kind. they were a war commander who’d been stripped away from family and friends, tied to what seemed to be an endless loop of bloodshed and loss. when peace settled, they were discharged from their service, but the memories remained and haunted them.

you connected in a sense that the world turned its back on you, and yet you still prevailed. a relationship formed through spite and victory.

entering a home, only a candle illuminated the room. curtains pulled shut, dishes piling in the sink, laundry scattered everywhere, the place looked abandoned. but when you looked to the side and spotted someone slumped on the couch, you realized the owner was just lazy.

you spoke, “it’s already late into the afternoon. why won’t you get up?”

they rolled over, sighed, and grumbled. the bags sinking beneath their eyes told of their sleepless nights and their bloodshot gaze revealed the price for art; both of which that unfortunately, don’t mix well.

“i’ve got another request from the king, for the coronation of the princess. wants some beautiful sculpture of her, apparently.” the level of rage in their voice can’t be measured. they’ve always revealed a disdain for the royal family, something that amuses you to no end.

you watch them struggle to stand and rush to their aid, placing a firm hand on their back. you’re aware that all artists bear a certain trouble, maybe different but still with the same effect, and for their case it’s the worst of all— they don’t actually like art, they do it for money.

“you sure you don’t want me to finish this one for you?” you inquire with evident concern, studying their sluggish self and feeling immense pity. the scowl they wear in response to your ask is the only answer you need. “all right,” you raise your arms in defense, “just tell me if you need anything.”

proceeding days follow the same routine; wake them up, offer help, usually get denied, stay to clean the place up, and leave. there’s nothing more to it than a patient and their caretaker.

“hey, what’s this one for?” it’s the afternoon and they’ve surprisingly invited you into their room, the place where they carry out projects for sculpting and painting. their work never fails to fascinate you, really, and it’s a whole change of scenery just stepping inside.

you’re looking at a statue, one in the very back of the room. they’re holding a rope and knife, an odd combination, and their gaze seems to drill through you. it’s as if they’re alive and know exactly what they’re doing and exactly what they’re looking at. it gives you chills.

they grunt and cast you a glance, waving it off. “it’s nothing,” they state, ushering you over, “just another important project.” they’re not one to lie, and it surely doesn’t appear like some dangerous scheme, so you drop it.

they sling an arm over your shoulders and draw you close, thoughtlessly tracing their fingers along your ear and hair, a habit they’d formed over time. they’re scanning a recent painting you’d finished for a noble in case of some mistakes and for advice.

“it feels like something’s missing, but i can’t point my finger on it,” they conclude, scratching their cheek. “it’s on the tip of my tongue . . ”

you slap their arm enthusiastically and agree. “that’s exactly what i’ve been thinking! i just don’t know what it is!” you ruffle your hair in frustration, throwing your head back and groaning. “and it’s due by tomorrow morning! god, i don’t have enough time!”

they laugh at you. “you can stay for tonight and work out whatever might be needed,” they suggest. “your client’s place isn’t too far from here either, so it won’t be much of an issue, right?”

you hum. they’re not wrong, but you wonder how they got that information— you don’t remember telling them anything about the requester. it’s suspicious, but you wave it off as simply being paranoid.

“yeah, that’d be great!” you grin, giggling when they place a sloppy kiss on your forehead. they’re always so intimate with you, not that you really mind. it compensates for the lack of affection you received as a child. “hey, that tickles!”

everything is normal after that. you figure out what you’re missing and hastily add it on with the equipment you dragged along on your trip, enjoy dinner with them, and pass out on the couch. the last thing you hear before slipping into a dream is pounding footsteps drawing closer to you. you wave it off as your imagination and drowsiness.

“good morning, did you have a nice dream?”

when you wake up, you realize it wasn’t.

you’re trapped in the arms of someone, a rope keeping you in place and a knife pressed to your neck as if warning you of your position. you’re inconclusive if it’s intimidation or a threat, but either one would work. your eyes focus on a familiar face. your throat suddenly feels dry.

“do you like my new piece of art?” they step toward you and place a hand on your cheek, running a finger across your skin. their smile is the same, yet something is different— like a dagger slowly sinking into your back as you bleed out, but unable to reach it. it’s . . terrifying. “i made it just for you. do you like it?”

you glance at the arms holding you in place. they’re frighteningly pale, almost like a vampire in a folktale, but you recognize the material. it’s marble, rock you use for sculpting. you’re in the grasp of a sculpture, an inanimate object. then why did you hear those footsteps last night?

they answer your question, reading right through you. “it’s magic.”

digging a hand in their pocket and pulling out a veil, the liquid is a murky magenta. a distant memory sparks in your head and you recall a time when a fellow soldier told you the tale of a potion that animated the dead and brought life to the empty. you’d have never thought the rumors were true, but merely a myth created to entertain.

“but how?” you sputter, “how did you get it?”

the sculpture, well— the person, presses the blade to your skin. you assume you’re not supposed to ask that question and immediately seal your lips, stiffening. you do nothing when they slide their thumb across your lips and grin.

“let’s just say that love is the most powerful magic of all.”

the sculpture tightens their grip on you and you scream in pain. it feels like your bones are cracking and you’re being shaped into a little box. you’ve always been weak to pain, even in the army, and it’s something you’ve cursed. tears prick in the corner of your eyes and you gasp in ragged breaths.

they coo and wipe away the tears, kissing beneath your eyelids.

“don’t worry,” they whisper, still smiling. you can’t help but want to believe that damned smile and those words. “this time, i’ll take care of you.”

“i’ll make you into the most beautiful sculpture in the world.”

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere police officer & darling.

you’re a sheltered child, spoiled too. a cliche case of helicopter parenting and minor insecurities, anxiety, and paranoia. a delicate flower in the storm of a land unknown and unwanted. for university, you move to an urban region for better access; needless to explain, you’re terrified.

sirens blare through the thin walls of your apartment and a noise you can’t decide between a firework and gunshot is your alarm; both of which are illegal. the alleys you pass are home to crimes you barely avoid, and your brush with organized crime left you with the murky scent of blood and screams clinging to your nightmares.

your encounter with police was . . interesting.

“i’m going to have to arrest you,” a smooth voice soothes you from a daydream but the words are sharp, stabbing your nerves. you jolt, the phone in your hand slipping past your fingertips and shattering. you cursed your poverty, knowing that it surely cracked.

you stumble and face the officer, offering a bow. eyes scanning the discarded shards of glass on the floor, you apologize. “i’m sorry for causing trouble,” the sentence escapes in stammers and gaps. “have i done something wrong?”

you’re trembling, barely maneuvering through your panic. through your dazed state, you hear a sigh and a hand grips your cheek, forcing you to meet their gaze. the stars reflect in their eyes and the smile resting leisurely on their lips reminds you of the crescent moon. albeit their looks don’t provide any comfort, you admit their beauty is admirable.

“possession of drugs,” they finally respond. they’re not giving you any choice, dragging you to a car and shoving you inside, cuffing your hands while you struggle to process the situation. that slip of vulnerability opens the chance for them to slam the door closed, enter the front seat, and start the car, effectively locking all exits.

you sputter, “but i don’t have anything on me!”

your parents often praised you for your obedience, something you came to recognize as forced willingness to comply to their desires. you didn’t get in trouble, were the example of a perfect child to the neighborhood, and always stood in the spotlight to success. you were trained to be and do the best. as a result, being arrested was your worst fear.

you don’t know how, but presumably through your anxiety attack and scattered thoughts, you fall asleep.

when you awoke, your hands were bruised and your ankles are bound. tape clasps your mouth and a cloth over your eyes prevents you from assessing the situation. despite these . . issues, you’re able to comprehend something— you weren’t arrested, but abducted.

police corruption isn’t news to you— in fact, it was the first thing people warned you of. the drug deals, unexplained deaths, accidents; they were lies for something bigger. and you feared the possibilities of what. predictions of your future run wild and you feel fear sinking into your bones at every passing moment.

someone’s coming closer, you register through an approaching mental breakdown, as footsteps tap to near you. a hand locks in your hair and lifts your head; you can’t see them, obviously, but their voice washes a wave of memories over you. it’s them— the police officer.

when you desperately jerk your body to somehow escape their grasp, they tuck you in their arms and hush you. the pleased and serene ring in their voice is aggravating and alarming— they’re so confident, so amused by your resistance; what exactly did they have in store for you?

“good morning. i missed you,” they whisper and press a kiss to your cheek, smiling against your cheek when they earn a huff. “don’t be so angry dear, i’ve done nothing wrong.”

they remove your blindfold and hold your face in their hands, their stare drilling into your skull. “and you won’t get hurt if you do nothing wrong too,” they speak in a snarl, before smiling once more. they’re terrifying, a chill running down your spine as you suck in a shaky breath.

they didn’t lie when they said that, you come to realize.

you snuggle into the embrace of the sheets, your arm sinking beneath the pillow. the sensation of blankets protecting you from the chill of winter is always comforting no matter what, however old you become. you don’t hear the door click as someone sneaks near you, examining your form.

“good morning,” they hum, startling you from a peaceful rest. you flinch and fling yourself back, catching their mischievous grin. you heave a weary sigh and grumble, running a hand through your hair. “did you sleep well? are you hungry?”

you nod to both, craning your neck and yawning.

moving to stand, you wince. your legs quiver and your back aches, a pounding headache arriving as you move. you wrap the sheets around yourself and stagger, before falling into their arms.

they chuckle and brush a few strands of your hair to the side.

“guess i was too rough last night?” they question, though it’s more of a statement than anything. you smack your lips and murmur in agreement. they stifle another laugh.

“well i made breakfast, so maybe that’ll help the pain a little.”

your neck is littered in bruises and bites. they can’t take their eyes off the painting they’d created on your canvas. they claim it as a sign of their victory and your compliance, something they’d wished for so long. there’s a sly grin on their lips as they skip into the kitchen.

“i didn’t think you’d like role-playing that much, you laugh with a tremor, “you could have told me; i wasn’t prepared.”

they laugh and ruffle your hair. wiping away a pool of maple syrup running down your chin, they lick the sugary goodness. you swat their hand away and flush, shoving a few more slices of pancakes in your mouth to prevent any more embarrassing exchanges.

“you’re always so sweet,” they hum, tilting your head and giving a chaste kiss. “you’re always like a drug to me, and i can never get enough.” 

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere siren & darling.

humans are considered inferior to neighboring species, an example being sirens, also a prominent party on earth. after all, seventy-one percent of the earth is covered by the ocean. it’s no shock to be dealt with.

you don’t remember when the trades began.

“buy this one for two-hundred rubies!” howling with the passion of a salesman and desperation of a peasant, your owner rings bells as to gain the attention of a crowd. you’re cowered in a cage, shivering, clinging to your shirt in a final attempt for warmth. “only two-hundred!” they shriek again, that cursed bell screeching.

a shadow casts over you. you barely possess any energy now, much less enough to raise your head. a hand grips your chin and forces you to meet the gaze of what you recognize as a man, not that you can really confirm it; your vision is specked in rays of light and black blooms in your stare.

“i’ll take this one,” they speak. their voice is a refreshing breeze on a smoldering summer day, a pile of blankets on a freezing winter night, a mother comforting their infant, a commander ordering soldiers in a war— anything you could possibly imagine.

they release their grip and your head presses on the bars of your cage. you can’t decipher the brief exchange they share with your owner before your eyelids peel closed. you wish everything were a simple nightmare and your father would rush in to wake you up, but instead, you’re greeted with the unpromising chill of an embrace and a purr.

“how long i’ve searched for you, my dear. you’re in safe arms now.”

it feels like an eternity, how much time has passed since that encounter.

you trudge the halls while reminiscing memories of your past and the sobering situation of the present. servants regard you with respect and adoration as you pass, but you pay no mind to them. your response is nothing new, so they coo and bid you farewell and a wonderful day.

a pair of doors loom before you. it’s the lord’s chamber.

you knock, wait, and don’t fight when the entrance flings open with the aggression of a lion pouncing upon their prey. arms envelop you and a tail laces your frame in a frightening grip. you greet them with a murmur and flinch when they place an eager kiss on your neck.

“i’ve been waiting for you, my love.” their voice flows like caramel and you immediately melt, you barriers collapsing in on themselves. “i’ve been so lonely without you,” they whine as their arms glide your body, finally settling at your waist, “what made you so busy that you couldn’t come to give me a single greeting?”

fingers drum and nails scratch their way across, a single warning you receive. you’re thankful— usually, they have the patience of a toddler. you take the chance to reach into the pocket inside your shirt and fiddle with the box sinking into your hand. you’re afraid of their reaction and bite your lip, starting with a quiver.

“um, i was preparing a present for you. because, because you were just crowned and . . i wanted to, give you something,” your voice drops a few lines later and you’re reduced to anxious whispering by the end.

they study the box and open it. a pair of rings shimmer.

they’re well accustomed to human traditions, you assure yourself. they surely wouldn’t mistake this as a proposal— it was merely a gift. your previous confidence began to shrink when they brightened and fit it on their ring finger. something lodged in your throat.

“i didn’t expect you to take initiative,” they cooed. you didn’t have the necessary time to form a somewhat coherent response, only stumbling over your retort. “let’s get inside, shall we?”

you shiver, “no, this isn’t . . what you think, this isn’t a proposal!” you manage in a squeak, your hands flying to cover your face as you await their inescapable rage. when they fall silent, your heart drops to your stomach. 

they whisper in your ear and capture you in their heated hold, laughing breathlessly. “sweetheart,” they hum, eyes glittering in amusement, “you don’t have a choice.” 

their hands land on your throat and give an authoritative squeeze. you fling back and thrash in their grasp, knowing their intentions, but they continue pushing, and seal your lips in a kiss. they smirk against your skin. they’ve won, they realize, and in the best way possible.

“where you going to say something, darling?” they muse. watching you bring your hands to your mouth with tears dripping down your cheeks, nothing but bubbles flowing out, they grin. “that’s right, you can’t.”

they taunt in an addictive tune, “you won’t ever escape from me, not without your voice.” they giggle and lead you inside their room. you’re sobbing now, trying to beg for their forgiveness and mercy. “you can’t refuse me,” their sultry voice warned.

“we’re forever connected now.”

[mmanjuu]

ooh, for the yandere cannibal: they could be called Estlyn? it's a fairly rare name that was from what i could tell used among girls and boys when it was popular

it has a nice ring to it!! i personally like it!

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere ceo & darling.

you met them through a movie arrangement where managers organized a duo cameo for an anticipated film. you’re an idol but tend to separate everyone and everything at a comfortable distance, so your appearance on television would positively earn favorable feedback.

your attention wandered off as staff scurried around like fleeing ants, building a pandemonium you couldn’t dismiss. your lips tugged in a frown and your eyebrows creased, an evident display of exasperation overcoming your face. this was one of the countless reasons why you avoided social contact; too many nuisances.

but when a hand swipes your shoulder and a breath tickles your neck, you jolt. that was the fateful introduction to your significant other, who you discovered was a friend of the director and a ceo themself. you don’t deny the interest you took for them, but the feeling wasn’t great enough for you to accept their invitation to dinner. you loathed venturing out into the open and going out would be a hassle to deal with.

oddly though, their presence caught your eye more often as time gradually passed. in meetings, practices, photo-shoots, concerts— it became difficult to ignore. you’ve confronted these appearances before; you’re an idol after all, and you identify these occurrences as stalkings. a ceo is stalking you and is not doing it well.

events led to the next and soon, you ended up dating. you don’t accurately recall how things happened but seeing how kindly they treated you, you couldn’t find the energy nor effort to complain. they showered you with affection, gifts, wealth; if you name it, they gave it.

one trait about yourself is that you’re aloof. when they faced you with an accusation saying you’re cheating on them, you weren’t shocked. you tend to evade shows of endearment and it’s something you didn’t bother improving. you deny their claims but become the one who apologizes, for “being incompetent and failing to love.”

their power over you plays heavily in your relationship. deny them of one thing and they could very well ruin your life with the snap of a finger. you’re painfully aware of this fact. and to put it simply, you hate it. why are you the one thanking them whenever they loosen their grip on your throat? it’s frustrating and isn’t the love you hoped for (though you weren’t searching for one in the first place.)

they rarely allow you to leave the house (the one you’d moved into after hours of persuading you) but you don’t mind because you’re a hermit. they forced you to quit your occupation as an idol but you didn’t mind because you don’t particularly enjoy slaving away on a contract. they’re very pleased by how easily you’re swayed and comply to their wishes.

they’re so disturbingly possessive of you, and on top of that they have a ridiculously high sex drive. whenever they spot you even remotely connecting with someone, get ready to be bound to bed the following morning. sometimes you consider utilizing a wheelchair because your legs won’t cooperate by the end.

people warn you of their peculiar behavior and tendencies. you also notice too. sometimes they return home late at night with the sick scent of blood smothering their clothes or a duffel bag struggling in their grip as they sling it over their shoulder. you know, and they know that you know.

but there’s no point in defying them. they love you unconditionally and that’s all you can ask for. so you kiss them on the cheek, welcome them home, and inform them you’ll be waiting. there’s muffled cries resounding from the basement or blood spilling on the floor but you feign ignorance. what they do to others isn’t your business nor problem.

sometimes you wonder what caused you to become so frighteningly detached. maybe it happened when your parents divorced and your mother delved deeper into unhealthy drinking habits. or when your peers bullied you mercilessly at school and littered you with scars. maybe when signed away your soul for fame. you don’t remember.

“i’m home, love.” they sweep you into their arms and cradle you like a teddy bear, sighing in deep content when you greet them by the door. “were you waiting for me?” they inquire. they smile when you nod rather bashfully, pursing your lips and sinking your head into their shoulder to hide the red painting your face.

you settle for dinner and order take-out. you’re sitting in their lap and can’t shake off the smell of blood seeping off them in waves. “what did you do today?” your voice is hushed. you already know the answer but wait anyway. “you smell weird.”

their lips leech on your skin and offer a feverish kiss. one hand brushes your hair and grips your chin, forcing you to face them. your eyes are a void of emotion but there’s a smile on you, albeit barely reaching your gaze. they peck your nose and bring their hands to the side of your face, fiddling with your ears.

“nothing, sweetie. i was taking out the trash.”

you don’t pry any further past the topic and hum. you sweep in and kiss their cheek, smiling when they freeze. “well the trash can wait. i get lonely sometimes too, you know.” you tease, though it isn’t really a lie. there isn’t much to do when they’re not home and you can’t help but feel isolated.

they gasp, “i’m so sorry. i’ll take the next week off for you.”

you laugh and sling your arms around their neck. your noses brush together and you grin. “i was only teasing. but i wouldn’t mind spending a few days with you.” you flash a wink.

“god, the things you do to me,” they grumble and tangle their fingers in your hair. unable to deny the pleasure of knowing you also miss them, they grin. “i love you,” they chirp softly, like a bird ringing into the morning sun. 

they speak so suddenly, you think. you blush and avert your gaze, scratching your cheek. they’re waiting for you to respond, passion burning in their eyes as they study you. you sigh, “i love you too.”

those words used to mean nothing to you. they were empty vials with no emotions packed carefully in every word. you were raised in a place where love is a weakness and it’ll only hurt you in the end. but recently, things have begun to change.

you eat more often, you smile and laugh easily, you’ve picked up some hobbies, and you don’t dislike hanging around others anymore. there’s light in your eyes and a tune in your voice. it feels like happiness.

“thank you,” you murmur, brushing their hair to the side and kissing their forehead. “i love you.”

[mmanjuu]

op whats the name of the yandere cannibal? 💞

well,, they're gender neutral so everyone can enjoy, so possibly a name that can be for all genders?? like,, alex? i'm not too creative with names so i'll take other names instead of alex though!!

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere cannibal & darling.

   trigger warning: cannibalism, gore.

working at a mental institution and nursing patients to an ideal health is an occupation you wholeheartedly adored. your motherly nature revealed a tendency to activate for anyone so long they were in need, a feature people often praised. that explains your determination to support a known psychopath. and to everyone’s surprise, your presence is helping.

you enter the room and greet them, a vibrant smile worn across your delicate features. you offer them your favorite candy as a gift and steal a seat beside them, legs swinging as you prepare to initiate conversation. they’re bound to their bed but that serves as no difference, your conduct never faltering as you hum cheerily.

“how was your day?” is usually how you start— oddly though, they interrupt, inquiring as they studied your response melt into something of confusion. it’s a simple question, really, but it’s a change for them to interact without being addressed.

“what time is it?” they ask, head tilted and resting against the headboard. they curl their wrists to calm a sudden itch and wait for you to form an answer, which took much longer than usual. but they didn’t mind, as long as they got to see your face and hear your voice.

“it’s,” you glance at your watch, “around eight pm. you were out for quite a while, you know.” you arch a brow with a smirk and laugh. they smile and shift to perch their head across your lap, successfully receiving a better view. “why do you ask though?”

“i have a few plans,” they state simply, sparking an unrelenting interest. you know not to pry for details though, respecting their privacy as you know they’re somewhat reserved. “you’ll know soon enough.”

your lighthearted chat proceeds until the clock strikes midnight, the grandfather clock groaning in the hallway. you frown and brush strands of hair behind their ear, expressing your disappointment. while not conveyed verbally, they understood, and nod their head.

“i’ll see you tomorrow!” you chirp and grip the doorknob, swinging it open and stepping out to send one last glance. they’re watching you leave with a knowing smile and murmur that resonates within the room. “have a good night and sweet dreams!”

they seem to fiddle with an object in their hand as they wave you farewell. “you too. don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

the web of light streaming into the room like an intricate spider’s web disappears as the door closes and your footsteps fade into the distance. a lonely darkness envelops the room but they’re unfazed, their attention solely concentrated on the key tucked in their hand. they jerk and shove the pin into the cuffs, turning until it released a satisfying click. they grin.

it’d taken years of patience but they’d prevailed. now all they needed was to escape the building and visit you; the latter wouldn’t be a hassle, seeing as they already knew your whereabouts as you slipped your home address into a conversation months prior. these thoughts mixing in their mind, they followed your actions and opened the door, gaze flickering throughout the empty hallway.

well,was empty. a trio exposed themselves after turning the corner, freezing in their tracks upon noticing the escaped patient. their mouths fell agape and terror twisted on their features, their faces contorting into panic so beautifully.

“to have three meals all at once must be a blessing,” they laugh. a deathly silence falls after the comment drifts into the air, and what remains are the rhythmic drips of blood staining the tiles and sickening chews.

when your doorbell rings in the morning, around two or three, you groggily rise from your bed and trudge to the door to answer. maybe they’re the mailman, but you don’t remember receiving papers so early— you shake it off and open the door. what you discover is horrific.

“hello, darling.” their arm slips around your waist and their nose fixes on your neck, the close proximity revealing the stench of blood. they kick the door close to avoid any unwanted eyes and looked up, the delight painting their face contrasting the confusion and fear on your own. “did you have a sweet dream?”

you can’t speak. your lips quiver and tears pool in your eyes, fists clenched and nails digging into your palm. blood spills between your fingers and you can’t ignore the weight in your stomach. you twitched when they stole a kiss, resisting the urge to slap them. you knew what exactly had happened, but why was unknown.

“but— but things were getting better! you were recovering!” you’re sniffling and hastily wiping away tears, evading their touch and backing away. “why would you do this?”

they wet their lips, eyes glittering in fascination. you looked so helpless and adorable, they wanted to eat you up then and there. “it’s all for you, so we can finally be together.” they flash a grin and cock their head, approaching you with open arms.

“you’ll learn to love me, and when you do, we’ll finally be one.”

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere shape-shifter & darling.

   trigger warning: force feeding.

your compassion and empathy passes beyond limits capable for a mere human. when encountering an abandoned stray resting in a box along the road, you stumble to rescue the poor creature. tears are springing in your eyes and no act of comfort will ease your wailing heart as you cradle the feline in your arms.

after tending to it and offering a pleasant environment in your humble home, you’re glad to note their ecstasy as they venture around the corners of your apartment. it’s not much and may be unfitting for an animal, to be confined in a relatively compact space, but it’s the best you can offer at the moment.

they often exhibit tendencies only humans possess, though you prefer to wave the observations off as your imagination or frivolous fascination with supernatural entities. you’re confident they don’t exist though. albeit sometimes, you doubt yourself when you maintain eerily long eye contact with your pet.

you often work from home, so the constant worries of a disaster occurring during your absence never strikes you. you’re able to enjoy simple yet memorable moments with your newfound friend, gazing at the stars, watching shows and cuddling on the couch— comically, they’re similar to things couples do in their spare time.

you peel open your eyes to the sensation of breaths tickling your skin and a hand laying on your waist, clutching you in a possessive hold. a gasp shakes your form and you struggle to escape. there’s a groan and a yawn, before a voice speaks. “good morning, love.”

fingers brush the tips of your hair. you come to eventually grasp your surroundings; the weight on your bed, the scent of strawberries— there’s someone in the room resting beside you, and you don’t know who they are. the panic kicks in and you’re flailing, sputtering for help.

 “calm down, you’re okay,” their words supply no comfort and only pursues you off the edge, your anxiety increasing tenfold. a burglar? then why would they go out of their way to join you in their sleep? do they plan on murdering you? the predictions running wild in your head don’t plan on calming down either. the person obviously don’t seem to catch your discomfort despite your labored breaths and wrestling to escape their unyielding grip.

you don’t recall the events following their unwelcome introduction, but you can assume the details when you awaken, tied to your bed and blindfolded, tape stuck to your mouth to prevent your cries from alerting the neighborhood.

in the time you’re left in your thoughts, you wonder where your cat had disappeared to. you hoped they weren’t starving outside your door; they were a glutton and usually asked for snacks every hour or so— you didn’t get to feed them breakfast, so they must be even hungrier too. you couldn’t help but express concern for them.

someone enters the room and suddenly there’s a hand on your cheek. a deep sigh of pleasure echoes and you can only guess what they’re doing behind the blindfold, not that you wanted to know. they rip the cloth off and you wince to the lamplight burning your eyes.

they chirp, “open your eyes darling, it’s time for lunch!”

drinking in their appearance, you distinguish the tone of their skin, the color of their eyes, and the scar marking their left cheek— all resembling your cat’s. butterflies flutter in your stomach but you begin to recognize it as building fear. hesitantly, you speak, but unfortunately don’t do the most spectacular job.

“are you— you’re— ” is all that comes out.

your eyes stretch to the bowl of oatmeal in their hand. they don’t respond and carry a spoonful to their mouth, eyes on you the entire time as they do so. their faces closes in and you realize what they’re about to do. you turn your head but they get a firm grip on your chin and force you forward.

you’ve never liked oatmeal. the cold porridge forced into your mouth and the invading tongue exploring its territory doesn’t give any appeal to it either. the sludge falls and you swallow the mush, gagging and screwing your eyes shut to fight the taste and disgust.

“you need to eat,” they state, “so i’ll feed you.”

 before they get back to feeding you, your voiced speculation reaches them first. “you’re a hybrid? shape-shifter? a monster?”

they smile. you’re always so intelligent, gathering information so quickly. that’s one of the countless things they loved about you. you’re so kind, so pretty— you’re everything anyone could ever want. they feel blessed to be the one to have received you.

“shape-shifter, yes. a monster? no.”

they stir the bowl and steal another scoop. their eyes glow and your reflection glimmers in their gaze. “don’t worry. i’ll be the one to save you this time.” and after saying that, they thrust the utensil in their mouth, and seal your lips in a passionate kiss.

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere deity & mortal darling.

“this is for the prosperity of us,” the priest announces in a bellowing roar, their lusterless stare piercing you in inexpressible horror. they dismiss the tears rushing down your cheeks and the struggling you ensue, your begs coming to nothing but pathetic cries of a bunny.

the town banishes you into the forest and saves no farewell. chains grip your wrists in a threatening hold and the bell attached to a collar around your neck appears to advertise you as some abandoned toy. you’re praying for a rescue that may never arrive.

a shadow materializes before your very eyes and you recoil, though you can’t travel far from the restrictions binding your body. a sob settles in your throat and you can’t breathe. this is it, you think, this is how everything ends. betrayed by your village and thrown into your death.

you’re the sacrifice offered to a deity with an unpromising fate. you’re trembling as the immortal draws closer, their devious sneer providing no assistance in comforting you. as their arms envelop you and a tender touch traces your skin littered in goosebumps, you shrink.

“what a prize they’ve offered,” they purr and press a kiss to your wrist, grip tightening as they cradle your cowering frame in an embrace. you assume they’re entertained by your fright because they continue their advances. murmuring of how beautiful you were and kissing you as if your body were a canvas, treating you like delicate porcelain.

you manage to gather courage and speak, “have i done something to deserve this?” you’re not sure who you’re addressing the question to, yourself or the other. “i just want to be happy. please don’t kill me.”

a brief period of silence passes. they hum and finally respond, hand curling in your hair and brushing strands between their fingers. “you’ve done nothing wrong, i assure you. that’s why you’re here.”

the innocence existing in your soul is as valuable as thousands of years of knowledge and wisdom. you’re the embodiment of light and the sun your ancestors searched for. the kindness you offer without expecting a return is precisely what wound you up in this position.

“your energy is what’s going to keep me alive.”

the chains biting your wrists come undone when they snap their fingers. they grip your hands and transfer your hold to their cheeks, simpering. you’re so helpless, quivering in their grasp— that’s why they’ll protect you. so you’re never pained by the sins of humans you once cherished.

they’ve watched countless mortals die and empires collapse. the humans they came to love left without a single word and rot in the dirt, all coming to leave them in a castle of bones and lost memories. but that’s not how things will go anymore; things will change.

“i’ve watched you for years and know you will be different,” they murmur. their eyes are burning in passion yet gradually sinking in melancholy. you can’t voice a retort and sit wordlessly, completely mesmerized by their stare. they’re drawing you in and you can’t look away.

“i will love you and you won’t refuse me— you can’t.”

you’re just an offering to their desires and a slave to their misery. this is your resigned destiny and you’re a human— you have no power to change what has been decided. the truth attacks you in waves and you’re crying for the umpteenth time that night.

they coo and wipe your stray tears with a thumb. “you’ll be safe with me from now on. this is for the best.” you can’t help but hope for their words to be true. you have nothing left and they’re all you’ve been left with, regardless of what you argued.

so you nod and hide your face in the crook of their neck, accepting their soothing strokes pacing your back. this is all you have left and all you can do— at least for now, that is.

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere priest & darling.

you’re a resident occupying property on land littered with crime, not a fact you enjoyed sharing nor acknowledging. once you’re capable of maintaining a stable paycheck and cozy home, you think, you’re positive things will improve— they have to. you might lose hope if odds settle against you.

one thing the lively neighborhood frequently spoke of were cults, the news of their rituals printed in bold letters across news and media. they’ve built a name for themselves, for better or worse (in your opinion, the latter), and that haunting knowledge doesn’t let you sleep some nights.

your encounter with a member wasn’t lovely, put simply.

they’re decorated with captivating jewelry and a scheming smile. you’d been abducted in the street on your way home and brought to a church of some sort. the shadow looming over you— the leader, you assume, is studying you; it’s as if you’re a tool, a toy, exposed in the gaze of children starving for affections from a simple doll.

to your surprise, they release you unharmed. the only difference is the contact in your list of phone numbers; it wasn’t difficult to discover, seeing as you can count the names previously recorded with one hand. you decide not to act. it’s better not to do something worse and wind up in a dungeon, you attempt to reassure yourself.

you could be a fortune teller. weeks passed and “something worse” occurred. the mastermind pays a visit without notice. their arrival wouldn’t be as startling if it weren’t in the early morning when you laid in your bed, fast asleep and vulnerable to whatever desires they came to fulfill.

they kidnap you and this time, they don’t plan to let you go.

the organized group is a cult formed to search for your one and only, your soulmate, your destined to be. the boss just so happened to find their own. which was you, to your crippling dismay. alas, your motivations aren’t the same, and when they announce this, you immediately refuse their confession (if even able to be considered one).

a bad choice on your end. you’re confined in a cell for what stretches to feel like years. your memory runs gray between the lines and you can’t recall when you last basked in sunlight. hope for a rescue slips between your fingers but you grasp onto the little faith remaining.

you wake up and you’re adorned in a cloak, hearts scattered and tainting the fabric. you question the outfit and the shadows explain that they’re traditional wear, attire designed for rituals. the word doesn’t sit right with you, albeit you’ve no choice but to follow their commands. you’d rather die than rot in that cell again.

your abductor is cooing, tracing their hands along your skin and whispering your name like it were something holy. they speak of you so fervently and you ponder what you’d done to receive such affection and faith. no matter how much love they offer though, the situation is twisted in a manner that doesn’t allow you to accept their regards.

you’re perceived as their deity and they worship the grounds you walk on. you lay on their lap as councils discuss progress among members but you pay no heed. your mind is locked on escaping this hellhole. you don’t belong here, you’re well aware, but your “lover” begs to differ.

everyone treats you as royalty and ornaments you with robes and jewelry. the personage you loathe most, the puppet master lingering behind the scenes, praises every breath escaping your lips. you come to realize after a while that there is no opportunity to escape. you’re destined to perish in a field of ruby red roses as a daisy.

dedicated to @your-yandere-kiss,, another one of the authors i respect; their writing and ideas never fail to inspire and entertain me, especially the details including individually dedicated cults. i apologize in advance for the lengthy list, i tried to shorten it to avoid issues,,

[mmanjuu]

please consider: yandere author & darling.

you’re not a prominent bookworm, but your adoration for all arts alike easily sinks through your personality and is expressed in your conducts and occurrences from daily events. that’s why, after encountering an individual in a somewhat secluded library, you’re instantaneously captivated by the animated work of art.

they’re beautiful and your limited vocabulary does no justice in describing them. mustering up the dwindling courage in your heart, you approach them with near silent footsteps. your heart rocks violently against your rib cage when they turn around, coincidentally to face you.

their beauty is a federal crime, you think, swallowing the developing lump in your throat. you share a handful of words, albeit your sentences are thrown with stammers— fortunately, your bashful self manages to obtain their phone number, a feat you can’t help but boast about.

you interact a bit more and end up as quite a pleasant match. love isn’t something you often partake in; frankly, the topic of affection isn’t suited for your reserved and perpetually shifting behavior. this relationship comes as a shock, but you’re definitely not denying the delight swelling in your heart.

they’re an author and their works are acknowledged in widespread regions across the map, something that adds to their unceasing charm. they whisper tales of literature and vibrant colors of fantasies in your ear as you fall into rest every night.

you couldn’t be happier— everything feels like a dream.

when you awaken to another morning (or so you assume), you’re alerted by the unfamiliar scenery enveloping you. this is the setting to a novel they’d presented you a few weeks prior, you realize in confusion. just as anxiety penetrates your senses, an echo resounds in your ears.

it’s your lover’s voice, but there’s an underlying poison lacing their every words. a shiver crawls your spine like malicious spiders preparing for a bite.

“this is to keep you safe,” they coo. “it’s better this way, far away from everyone else, just you and me.” their tone is plagued by a revolting adoration and devotion, cherished feelings only for you. they proceed with their twisted monologue (as does any villain) and that time spares you a few moments.

before you even take a single step, vines are curling onto your body in a vice grip with thorns sinking into your skin. your jaw slackens and your head rolls back, all your strength escaping your bones in a matter of seconds. you can’t move, you register in a daze.

you can hear the smile dancing on their lips as they hum, “you’re in my little story now, you can’t run from an inevitable fate.”

a writer, they said— but what kind? they never announced contact with fans, but there’s bound to be a few when they’re so famed, right? the intermingling puzzles don’t match and something is crawling in your stomach, a terrible horror.

“i’m the author and you’re the protagonist. anything will happen as long as i have a pencil in my hand, and that means— ” a pause, and they continue with a pleased laugh. “you will never escape me.”

is this a nightmare? something with dark magic? you’re begging to whatever superior deity exists above to save you from this situation but there’s no return, at least not yet. then again, clinging onto hope brings nothing right now.

this isn’t the love you desired. where did the morning kisses and sweet conversations, the coffee dates and baking sessions, the story telling and movie nights— where did they go? a choked cry creeps onto your tongue but it only comes strangled.

 you lover is all smiles and laughs, purring about how amazing things will be from this point on, how they’ll always be protecting you from the evils of the world. how they’ll always give you a much deserved happy ending, with flowers and kisses.

this isn’t the happy ending you desired though.

  dedicated to @yandere-daydreams,, thought about creating yandere personas for authors i esteem, and they’re what first came to mind. please appreciate them; their stories and individual personality is both wondrous. i,, hope i don’t displease nor disappoint anyone,, 

[mmanjuu]

please consider: mortal yandere & vampire darling.

the expected trope is that the supernatural creature is the dominant party in the relationship, considering their heightened senses and overwhelming abilities, additionally their experienced history.

but as a vampire who was forcefully turned and aged to become an entity you loathed, a species that killed you in your former life, you’d be increasingly devastated as dragging years stacked.

but, a certain human enters your black and white picture, someone who radiated the colors of the universe you’d never encountered. you’re captivated, and your heart is pounding.

after a few dates, events you consider to be trials (which the human regards as adorable), your relationship becomes official. the issue is: you’re yet to reveal your secret, that you’re immortal and need blood to survive. little do you know, the human is already aware and prepared.

the human stalked you for years, years without you realizing. it’s amusing to them, considering vampires are intelligent and keen concerning senses.

you’re curious yet shocked and horrified to discover this. you’re shaking, tears springing in your eyes— how are you supposed to respond? be happy that they care so much, even before meeting, or be frightened by the notion of them grasping every detail of your prolonged life?

surprisingly though, when things manage to calm (after hours of your shaky sobs and their comfort), the passing days prove to be normal. great, even— and you’re puzzled, yet pleasantly informed.

you no longer need to hunt for essence in the dead of the night, preying on defenseless individuals happening to wander the streets alone. albeit, there’s still a remaining twinge of guilt for your actions and cowardliness.

years continue to fly by and there’s no obvious changes or problems. that’s until the human requests they’re turned, so they’re able to spend an eternal life with you in serenity and joy. to their disappointment, you refuse.

you don’t have a choice though, really.

the following morning, you’re confined in silver chains and a collar (both in which you don’t know how they managed to obtain). you’re refused to be fed, gradually starving and craving the soothing sunlight of the open. you’re too weak, lacking the energy and consumption of essence— you’re slowly dying in the hands of your once trusted lover.

but one day they enter the dimly lit room, wearing a sickeningly sweet smile and cradling you in welcoming arms. you hear the steady flow of blood travelling throughout their body, their intoxicating scent, and for a moment, your vision flashes to white and you can’t remember the rest.

when you awaken once more, you meet penetrating ruby red eyes. they’re not your own, you realize, and knows there’s no more escape anymore. the deed has been done and you’re forced to lead an infinite life with them, and unless a miracle occurs that future will remain the same.

you can do nothing but cry and curl into your lover’s chest, who’s pleased and content with the gesture. after all, their darling has finally submit and accepted their fate. they couldn’t be any happier.

no matter how far you run, they will always find you in the end.