#Yandere arsenal

[anxiousnerdwritings]

TW: Mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, yandere themes, angst

(Name)

You know, I always imagined that it would be me who wouldn’t get to come home to you and Lian. That the worst outcome I could have imagined at the time would inevitably happen and I would die to some crook or villain on the job no matter how hard I fought. I feared the day I wouldn’t get to hold the two of you in my arms again, to feel your warmth, to be able to be with my happy little family ever again. That’s where my mind would always go, but I never once considered that it would be either you or Lian that I would end up losing in the end. I wouldn’t let myself be eaten alive by that thought because I would never let that happen. Ever.

But it did. It fucking did and I couldn’t do a damn thing to keep it from happening. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t do anything as you lay dying in my arms. I felt your warmth slowly leave you. I heard your shallow and labored breaths until they finally stopped. I watched your life fade from your eyes. And I experience it all over again and again every time I close my eyes. No matter how hard I try I will always be reminded of the moment I lost one of the most important things in my life. The reoccurring feeling of helplessness, the hole in my chest, the emptiness that now consumed my entire being; none of it will ever go away. Not even going after the person who killed you could ease any of my anguish. It didn’t take away from the feeling of having my heart ripped out of my chest every time Lian cried out for you, asking where you were and when you would come home again. It didn’t do a damn thing but give me something to take my frustrations and guilt out on, and even that didn’t last long.

I can’t begin to explain how hard it’s been without you, how much I haven’t wanted to continue living without you. If I could I would end it all just to be with you again but I can’t leave Lian behind. I can’t do that to her and I know you wouldn’t want me to. I have to stay for her, make sure she’s taken care of first and foremost, then and only then could I not feel guilty about doing something so selfish.

I know I have to stay strong, especially for my daughter, our daughter. I need to keep going for her. I need to keep fighting for what remains of our little family, but the fight in me is getting weaker and weaker the more time passes. My will is slowly waning to the point of giving way and that selfish part of me just wants it to hurry up, to let it all go and be able to end up where I want to be.

But I have to remind myself it’s not about me, not now. Where I want to be isn’t where I need to be and that has to be my focus. And it will be. I will continue to fight, to live for what’s left of our family. I promise. And when the time is right we’ll be reunited once more, together again but until then please continue to wait for me. And just know that I’ll never stop loving you, my heart will only ever beat for you and Lian. Nothing will change that. No one ever could either.

Always Yours,

Roy

[2-dsimp]

that one yandere priest has me on a CHOKEHOLD so ASDIAUSGJDLHKASDLAS we need more of this creep

My eyes have been BLESSED with GREATNESS

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

A/n: made a typo in the #s XD it’s *Zebad*

[indicate-class]

https://paula-348.mxtkh.fun/p/BJiPoLy

[11queensupreme11]

I just realized that both Hades and Percy have pet dogs, Cerberus and Mrs. O'Leary respectively. I wonder how they will interact, should they ever meet. Will Cerberus be in love with Mrs. O'Leary, just like how his master, Hades is in love with Percy.

what if cerberus was a yandere for mrs. o leary like how hades is yandere for percy 😭😭😭😭

[kurimiaki]

Je te laisserai des mots

the greatest gentleman theif, arsenè lupin iii

tw: yandere, kidnapping, female reader

It’s such a pretty painting. You don’t have a particularly discerning eye, not one artistic bone in your body, but out of the vast gallery, this piece struck you, a portrait, a hidden gem. Maybe not so much hidden, but the relative silence of this section is what initially attracted you to it— nearly 50 people were packed into the main exhibition, eagerly flocking to see the artists’ call to fame. It made you claustrophobic enough to cry.

Handling the museum’s gift shop wasn’t a difficult job, not in any capacity— parents walk in and squawk at the prices, sooner dragging their children out than allowing a plushie to grab their attention, and genuine customers are few and far between. It’s horrible pay, really. Your bones ache from how sedentary you're forced to remain, your eyes bloodshot and dry as energy saps from you by the hour. You'll sooner succumb to brain fog before a paying customer comes in, wasting precious hours and days lost in incoherent musings and daydreams.

But you're not so lost in misery that you fail to find a single positive-- it's a museum, with portaits and sculptures and countless different interesting mediums that come and go. You can't eat in the gallery, can't sip on coffee or even water, but you're willing to make the sacrifice for sights like these. The woman’s eyes are so soft, her face delicate and deftly painted, illuminated by the gold patterns and brushtrokes that make up her body. You lose yourself in it, dazed, and close your eyes. The room’s empty. It couldn’t hurt to take a moment to rest.

“I always circle back to this one, in the end.”

Torn from your trance, you startle, stepping back in rapid succession away from the stranger behind you. Bizarrely, you hardly even heard him enter the room, much less took notice of his striking blue jacket and red tie. He smiles, sheepish and apologetic for having startling you, and it is then that you notice the hand around your bicep.

Ah. You’d tripped.

You mumble a quick apology, feeling yourself flush, and hope to exit the room as quickly as possible. But his hand lingers, and eventually you come to stare at him, quizzical and embarrassed at how immediately awkward the atmosphere became. “Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that… You’re on break, I’m guessing?”

Nodding as he gestures to your nametag, and flushing deeper as this (handsome, you note) stranger tests the sound of your name on his tongue, smoothly complimenting it all the while lightening the air of the room. It’s nice, you quickly decide. So different from your routine, twelve hours spent isolated behind the register, thirty minutes of a break always filled by more silence and solitude.

“I meant to say that you have good taste.” He points to the portrait. “When Klimt’s on display, people flock and fawn over The Kiss, but the Bloch-Bauer is well worth the visit. Sold for 150 million, the last I heard.” You furrow your brows again, and he laughs, dark brown eyes crinkling in mild amusement. “The painting, my dear! What, you work here without knowing what’s on display?”

Your blush is permanent, it seems. He teases you, pokes and prods while he eagerly awaits your response, but you don’t feel any real malice or ill will from him. He isn’t some art snob, you hope, aiming to one-up you with his knowledge of the niche and obscure… though, this is Gustav Klimt, you fluster, feeling quite embarrassed with yourself for not recognizing his work. Even still, this stranger looks upon you earnestly and in kind.

Stepping closer to him, keeping your eyes trained to the canvas at hand, you explain, “I work the gift shop. Admittedly, I’m usually too tired to take notice of the little plaques and banners hanging around, obvious as they are.”

He beams, nodding in understanding, asking how you like it, what you want to be doing, and why you choose to spend your moment of reprieve here, if the museum is so constantly the cause of your misery. And you’re hesitant, at first, as the two of you sit at the bench in the rooms epicenter, knee to knee, shouldering the entirety of his attention.

But you tell him how hard it is with money, how difficult it became to support yourself in your third year, and how painful it was to have to give up on it all. A lonely little girl down on her luck in Europe, all alone, he muses, leaning back on both his arms lazily. And you bristle, of course you do, straightening up and asking him what do you mean by that, but he only rests his hand over yours and smiles an easy smile.

Bewildered, and frankly disturbed by his casual, friendly caresses, you huff and question what he does for a living. You want to ignore his words, rather liking how special he made you feel, how immediately you became the focus of his attentions and he of yours. But he’s a stranger, and you’re much too deprived of companionship, much too eager to snap up the smallest scrap of human connection.

“I’m a thief,” he admits, cooly unwavering in his tone. You chuckle at that, ridiculous man, and he continues to smile, “here to sweep our darling Adele Bloch-Bauer off her feet.” You’re giggling, now, though more at how incredulously confident he is— it‘a not revolutionary, his joke, not original in any capacity.

But he’s eager to hear more of your laughter, perhaps noticing how quickly your mood soured at his small, by your light, jeer. This stranger somehow eliciting elicits more of your unfiltered, unabashed laughter by narrating the specifics of his ‘grand heist’, each step more ridiculous than the last. He illustrates such strange technology, such bizarre alternatives, plans A-Z, you had to ask if he was really a writer, a creative at the museum for some inspiration. You play into it, after a little while, remarking at how nice it’d be to get some thrill and excitement in your life, how fun it might be to enthrall yourself in an adrenaline-fueled chase with the law, ‘just like in the movies’. (Gosh, he smiled so wide at that, cat that ate the canary.)

But that’s all it is— fiction, is what it comes down to, your every daydream and fleeting hope. Your alarm rings, and it’s time to get back on the clock, and you fear that whatever connection you’ve formed with this stranger will cease to exist. It’s uncomfortable, the total silence that falls over the two of you, but he doesn’t look even slightly offended or disappointed at your inevitable departure.

“You have a very pretty laugh. Like bells, isn’t it?” He rises from your seat with you, looking down upon you pleasantly, and a sharp warmth collects in your chest. It doesn’t feel misplaced or sleazy, his compliments. Perhaps a bit excessive, to a girl he’d only just met, but you give him your blushing thanks all the same.

You fidget, twiddling your thumbs and shifting your weight from one foot to another, unsure of how to depart, knowing that you really rather not. “I hope your heist goes well…?” Genuinely unsure of his name, hoping he’d assist you, you trail off, but he only grins. “And I hope your shift goes by in a jiff.”

The Adele Bloch-Bauer gleams in your peripheral, golden swirls taunting and glimmering. You depart, providing him one last smile before creeping out of the room and into the flocking museum crowds.

Turning back slightly, feeling a little guilty at how eager you must have seemed to weasel away, you find him staring up at portrait once more.

-

Overtime was seldom a problem you had to endure. The extra money was always good, when it did happen, but these occasions were so scarce. Occasions where, by luck and a gross amount of funds, the museum curators are able to secure world-renown art pieces and place them on display— your strange companion was right, Klimt was vastly popular, far more than you were led to believe.

You were left gaping in awe to find your poor manager mauled by an onslaught of customers when you returned, shelves in disarray and boxes of excess product messily opened and distributed to meet the demand.

Right again, his hopes for you had come true— your remaining hours had breezed by. But you’ve come to reap the consequences of the curators’ successes. Plushies, prints, postcards, candies—virtually all of your new stock had been stripped from the shelves, and you were left to place a new shipment.

Now finalizing this seemingly insurmountable task, you sort all communications to the suppliers, powering off the computer and finally having time to breathe.You’re worn, and your bones have an ache worse than usual, but you decide that you prefer the rush and haggling customers over solitude.

Locking the doors and closing shop, you fish around your pockets for your keys, fingertips grazing a piece of firm paper rather than cool metal. The corner of it slices your skin, an annoying little laceration, and you tear it from your pocket to throw it away. A little bloody, with just a drop of crimson staining it’s corner, you realize that it’s a note. Flipping it over, a smile breaks out on your face at the words inscribed.

‘I am coming to steal the Adele Bloch-Bauer I at 10:00pm tonight. And you, as well!’

Signed Lupin III, you note, with a little caricature drawing slightly reminiscent of your companion from hours before. It’s very cute, and you’re happy to have a little memento of your chat, if not a little saddened by the lack of phone number. You doubt you’d have the gall to ring him up if he had- but you did like him, found him handsome.

You hoped Lupin would’ve felt just the same, but maybe he made a hobby of chatting up dreary little things at their lonesome. That would at least explain his sleazy little comment from before. Or maybe he was a writer, as you had guessed with his vast imagination and long-winded, elaborately structured plans. He was smart. Perhaps this was a promotional bit, and he’d pop up as some widely-known crime novelist if you were to search his name.

All unfounded musings of yours, but nevertheless calming to think about. Truthfully, though, the card is a little odd to find. You didn’t feel him place it on you, didn’t see him write it, but staring at it a little longer, feeling that bit of warmth in your chest bubble up again, you really can’t bother to further question his intentions.

Looking up towards the clock, and nodding to a passing security guard, you decide you can spare a few minutes to revisit that pretty painting. You’re thankful to not be charged in closing the entirety of the building.

It’s quiet, but not totally empty, and you find yourself reveling in the relative darkness of the museum, save for the small warm lighting that illuminates the paintings from directly above. You spare passing glances to each individual work, smiling as you come across The Kiss. The softness of your footsteps is the only sound to permeate the exhibits, the guard’s jingling of keys having ceased a little while ago.

Continuing from room to room, it feels a little colder the more you progress. The exhibit before your destination has one or two lights shut off, and you take note at how some of them flicker, but don’t think to raise concern with in-house authority. It’ll be fixed in the early hours of the morning.

Passing the threshold of the gallery you were in hours ago, shivering a little at the misplaced frigidness of the room, you gape and gasp and freeze at the sight of an empty wall. You’re face to face with it, so close to where the woman once hung in golden glory. 150 million, you remember, hand raising to your throat, feeling as if you were bound to choke in your state shock and horror.

The painting is gone, and as you rapidly look about the room, you know that he hadn’t been lying. You want to think it’s under special protection, kept locked safe in some vaulted room and not in Lupin’s arms, but something within you insists that could not possibly be. You want to think he really was lying, that he really could have been a writer or playboy tugging at your heartstrings with a silly story, but the pretty painting is gone. But it couldn’t have been possible. There was security, there were sensors, cameras.

You hope and you cry and you search, but it’s not lying in some corner, not under the bench, as you thought to check, and looking up, you find that a skylight had been there all along, much too high to enter in and out of without some equipment, but a window pane has been cut open and god, Lupin had told you about some precise glass-cutting technology in his funny little pretend plan.

It was real, and as you go to yell for help, to scurry through the exhibits without taking the time to rationalize your assumptions, you fail to take note of the man approaching you from behind. Too caught up in your worry and terror, all alone in the museum, a lonely little girl down on her luck. In your peripheral, moments before you even had a chance to feel the puncture in your neck, you see the red needle. You see a man, too, but not Lupin, and you curse yourself for having been so eager for a friend.

She slumps against him, falling into waiting arms, and Jigen shoulders the entirety of her weight, cupping the back of her head. Checking her pulse, he’s relieved to feel it’s faint thrumming. He’d been pissy all week, having to deal with the incessantly endless chatter Lupin had to spare about this girl, how sad she was, how good she’d be with him, how he’d take good care of her.

Jigen had to endure a painful six hours by his side, waiting and watching for her to get on break, listening to Lupin prattle on with what he planned to do with you. He could only guess how long his partner had truly been watching you, but really, he didn’t want to know.

Eyeing the puncture wound on her neck, he hardly thinks this is the right way to go about courting any girl— but Jigen would remain complicit, so long as this heist was worth it’s weight in gold. Grunting as he slings her over his shoulder, meandering down to pick up her fallen purse, he prays Lupin’ll remain happy and complacent with this hefty loot, if only until the next treasure comes along.

Sending a thumbs up to the sky, he groans as the rope ladder falls into his hands. If you were to be Lupin’s girl, as he so fiendishly called you, he could be the one to whisk you up and away.

-

A detective Zenigata releases a statement following the small heist, right the next morning, informing the public that it was anything but small. Arsène Lupin III and Daisuke Jigen are brazenly named as persons ofinterest, one the two men smiling cheekily in the mugshot chosen for public display. Detective Zenigata declares himself the right man for the job, to catch Lupin, aname the man utters with vexation and drive. An additional suspect, he adds, as you stare at the screen in abject horror, faced with the released security footage of Lupin and yourself sat knee-to-knee, right before that pretty painting. Your full name listed alongside his. The gift-shop-girl, charged with burglary on a mass scale, an accomplice to the very thief who sits right by your side.

[theokusgallery]

Fuck Yandere Simulator let's replace it by Nick Simulator instead

I like how 'Nick' just implies 'sick and twisted' in this. Nick is a whole trope now.

[femcelhood]

[gonuclear]

that’s it i’m stealing yubel’s name it just has too much gender

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Tw: Mention of breeding kink, pregnancy

This is regarding a request I have but I can’t help but believe that yandere Roy, Kory, and Jason have their own individual breeding kinks. But it only gets so much more intense when all three are in a poly relationship/obsession with their darling.

Roy can’t help but fall in love with the idea of getting the darling pregnant, not only to have a child with them and bind them even more to him but also to give Lian a sibling or ten. Not to mention seeing them progressively swell with his child growing inside of them really gets him feeling some type of way.

Kory feels that having a child/children with the darling will only connect them all the more. Whether she’s the one caring the child or the darling is (depending on the darling) or even both, and she believes that the more children they have the more connected they become to each other.

Jason would be petrified to become a father but the thought of his darling caring his child is just something far too good to pass up. The more he thinks about it, envisions it, the more he wants it to become a reality. Not to mention a child would keep his darling tied to him and anything to make his darling all the more his, Jason is completely willing to do.

But mix all three together and their joined desire to breed their darling only grows all the more fervent. They may get a little possessive and jealous when the darling is or isn’t caring their respective child but that all goes away for the most part when the child is born and their little family grows. But one isn’t enough. They’ve just gotten a taste of something they’ve all been deeply and desperately yearning for, there’s no way in hell that they’re going to stop at just one. Best of luck to their darling though cause they’re gonna need it.

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Satoru and Suguru sharing a darling is what makes me OwO

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: yandere, noncon, condescension

fem reader

It wasn’t really that you were weak… You were just unfortunate.

Unfortunate – to have been placed in the same year as them – Gojo and Geto, the two most promising students Jujutsu High had ever seen.

If only you would keep a lower profile like Shoko – and not be so determined to become the best – you’d be better off and not wind up on your ass each and every day sparring with the two boys – who really were the best. 

But something about their high-and-mighty attitude just makes them impossible for you to ignore.

The way they taunt and jeer, grinning their shit-eating grins – grinding your gears to no end – forcing you to try about anything to just, at least once, come out on top. 

Like now, in the padded sparring room – where you, again, could only barely find a foot to stand on – with what ground you had managed to keep thus far, visibly only thanks to your cocky opponent allowing it.

“You sure you wanna be a jujutsu sorcerer?” Gojo asked nonchalantly, his lanky arms slung around your smaller body with ease, resting his chin off the nook of your neck – unbothered by how you tried and struggled to shake him off.

You were dewy-faced and panting already while he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. And it only aided in making your head grow ever hotter with vexation. “Take this seriously-” You growled back at him.

But he ignored you – the same way he ignored whatever amount of cursed energy you tried fighting him with. “I mean… I’m sure there are a lot of other things you’d be better suited for.”

After all… the last thing you’d want is for him to take this seriously. 

“Tch- like what exactly?” You bit out, hating his suggestive tone though needing him distracted with the conversation – thinking it would be a good stall to give you some much-needed rest where you stood, trying to hide how tired you were – forcing heavy breaths into smaller ones that made your lungs ache for air and your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Your weapon had already been thrown to the other side of the room – burst into a shattered broken mess of fragments you wouldn’t even be able to butter toast with anymore. And it hadn’t been the first one. In fact, the entire arsenal had been turned to splinters, leaving you to fight the boy who’d broken them all with only your hands to spare.

“Oh- you know….” He drawled, thinking it cute how you tried withholding your exhaustion from him. Pulling you a little closer to his chest – snuggling into you while thinking – his tongue out in concentration before calling out to the other boy. “Oh- help me out, Suguru.”

Geto sat waiting his turn next to the door, smiling like a cat with eyes closed. “Hmm… something cute…” He began before answering. “Like a maid.” 

You sneered – eyes lowering into a glare at the raven-haired boy who still, without a hitch, kept calmly smiling back at you.

Gojo offered a small snicker, adding to the ridicule, before whispering. “Or a housepet.” His voice, low and mocking in its whispering, yet loud right at your ear – with lips brushing your ear in a way you could tell he was smirking like his equally grating friend.

And it all just coaxed another spur of much-unrewarded effort where you once again tried your best at getting free – another growl spurring up from your gut with a vengeance. “Shut up-” 

“Don’t you agree, Suguru?” The white-haired boy ignored you again – though tightened his grip in correspondence – his long arms thrown in a cross around your front with slender fingers curling, now almost painfully, into the soft flesh of your midriff – having lifted your shirt enough for him to touch your skin directly.

“Mh, I can see it… doing laundry, cleaning the house, making dinner-” The other agreed, standing up with an unbothered sigh, taking slow and soft steps over the white padding to reach the two of you – his shape always much larger, growing like a mass of something menacing – dark and towering and shadowing like some great statue – making you feel so unbelievably small. 

Pulling his hand from his baggy pant pockets, you flinched as it thumbed your chin to make you look up at him – all your struggles gone and almost replaced with shivers instead – now with feeling the intense weight of being not just outmatched but outnumbered too. 

Feeling all but swallowed between the two, an inch of regret steadily crept about your gut, quenching what former fire used to fuel your spirit – leaving you with only an intense sense of defeat and fear.

His smile split with teeth, and you paled in light of it – breath thin as he leaned in closer.

“You’d look pretty natural wearing a pretty kimono… waiting for your man to come home.” He whispered, and you swallowed thickly in return, looking up into his slim eyes, who looked down at you with that small smile of his which seemed to carry a weight that felt crushing.

You tried keeping cool – tried grasping for any semblance worth of calm you could manage – even as Gojo’s hands, warm and soft, gently started messaging circles into your sides – his lips still at your ear in hot breaths and playful whispers. “Sure, it doesn’t pay the same way being a sorcerer does, but I’m sure a girl like you’d be grateful for pretty clothes and a big house.”

Geto hummed in agreement, his hand sliding from your chin to cup your cheek – with hot breaths fanning your face making goosebumps spring to the surface – adding to the statement. “And a warm bed to sleep in at night.”

You let out a whimper then, with lips quivering. The atmosphere had changed – turned thick with something else, something suffocating – something that left you faint, both speechless and breathless – whilst you warily looked up into the dark set of eyes above you and shivered at the feel of the teeth behind you. 

“All in exchange for some cooking and cleaning,” Gojo murmured against your neck, pulling your body closer while it shook unsteadily between the two of them.

“Don’t forget the other thing….” Geto hinted beneath his breath, his lips brushing your silently parted ones with a smirk, savoring that terribly troubled look on your face with an amused one of his own.

“Right~ The other thing~” Gojo purred, also enjoying your faltering, liking the feel of your heartbeat quickening beneath his fingertips.

“What thing?” You asked weakly – warily – as though scared of the answer.

Gojo snickered while Geto answered. “I think it’s better we show you this one.”

You were on your back the next second – your wrists pinned beneath the strength of Gojo’s fists where he kneeled above your head – his black shades slipping down his nose as he stared down at you with his smile and eyes gleaming in a look you could only call crazy.

Geto was kneeling at your other end, still towering over you – with big hands spreading your thighs, holding them tight to keep you from kicking. 

Your mind hadn’t really processed the possibility yet – hadn’t really allowed it to sink in – but it was dawning on you now – rapidly – while watching the boy lift your skirt up passed your panties.

“Hey! Stop-” You squealed, trying to bring your knees together to hide yourself. But you seemed smaller than you’d ever felt now, on the ground beneath the two boys who just dwarfed you in comparison.

“Think of it as part of training.” Geto offered casually while shuffling closer – his hands holding you beneath the knees, keeping you spread. “As a housepet, you need to learn these things.”

“And if you’re still adamant about becoming a jujutsu sorcerer… this is a realistic field exercise too.” Gojo added, his eyes big and ice-blue, glowing with something that seemed to seize you by the throat as he stared down at the growing hysterics on your pretty face. “I mean, with a face like this, I’m sure both curse users and curses themselves would want a taste before killing you.”

Geto removed his jacket, casting it aside. “We just want to help prepare you for what’s out there.” He excused, leaning over you with hands running over your chest, undoing button after button while you squirmed.

“No, please-” You shook your head, eyes closed tight in a desperate wish to wake up – the initial disbelief of the situation quickly leaving you every second of feeling hands touching more and more of your naked skin.

You choked on it, never having felt fear quite like it – soon finding hot streams of tears rushing down your face where you struggled to find air.

“We wouldn't want you going out into the real world thinking everyone’s going to play nice with you like we have.” Geto mouthed – eyes thirsty while looking at your cleavage – his large hands cupping your tits over the bra, making you squeak.

“Stop-” You sobbed, but like always, both of them ignored you.

“I’m sorry to say it-” Gojo cut you off, bowing down closer until his eyes were but an inch away from your teary trembling ones. “But the real world doesn’t care about you the way we do and won’t protect you like we will.” 

Geto’s hands slipped beneath your skirt – his fingers carding into the fat of your hips, smoothly hooking his fingers onto the band of your panties before slowly beginning to peel them down your thighs. “This is for your own good.”

[yanderemommabean]

Oh, oh, oh! Yandere virus, but it one day coming into school, the girls who normally bully you are acting strange. When you see them in the hallway, you are expected to be laughed at or shoves to the ground. However, you didn't expect to be shoved against the wall as they stare you down with a dangerous and lustful glint in their eye, telling you about all the plans they have in store for you. They force you to wear matching clothes and make sure everyone knows who you belong to and not to even try anything. Maybe you're forced to live in the house. Bonus if the other hold you down as the ring leader eats you out, as the others tell you how cute you are uwu

“Ah ah ah. You aren’t going anywhere” A voice chirps in your ear. You wince, sighing as the three surround you once again as class is dismissed and everyone heads to the dorms for the evening. Honestly, if you were perhaps a bit stronger, a bit less self conscious, you might spit in their faces and make a run for it. Sadly, you aren’t some badass (and admittedly, one dimensional) character and are frozen in place as they wait for the others to leave. 

They don't intervene. They know better. These young women have power, wealth, and beauty in their arsenal, and aren't afraid to use it to get what they want, and to silence anyone who complains. Phoebe, Sadie, and Naomi, all from powerful families who more or less run this college and the town. You don't doubt they paid the administrators and dean to get into this place, while you had to work hard and prove yourself. 

None of that matters at the moment. Currently, Phoebe was twirling her fingers in your hair like you two were close friends or even dating, smiling almost wickedly at you as her eyes, usually hazel, now with an odd pink ring, stare at you like you were some prey about to be eaten and devoured. Usually they just shove you around and make fun of your clothes, but today…Something's off. Very very off. 

“Isn’t she so cute you guys?” She says, sickly sweet, you want to say mocking but no, it's like there’s something more flirtatious with it. “Oh definitely, I just want to sink my teeth in her, you know? Make her whimper” Naomi adds on, hand to her cheek as she stares at you like one would a puppy being precious. Oh god hearing that made you think they were about to hurt you or humiliate you in some way. 

Sadie just sighs, not in your direction, looking over her shoulder to make sure the halls were clear, and once they were truly empty of everyone else, she made sure the grip on your wrists were tighter. “Listen up. We have some new rules set in place, and you, adorably obedient as you are, are going to follow them”. Oh wow. The audacity. Then again you never really put up a fight so, are they really wrong? What other choice did you have anyway? If they wanted to, they could make your family kicked out of town and their jobs nonexistent. It’s best to just grit your teeth as best you can. 

While you tried to listen, Phoebe made sure she got closer, her hand on you as well, but more exploring, sliding up and down your sleeve and trying to dip her fingers into the hem to feel your wrist, dragging them up and down softly as Sadie began to speak again. “You’re ours. Simple as that. No more avoiding the lobby when we’re there, no more trying to get little study dates away from the school library, no more trying to hide from us”. “I'm sorry what-” “Ah ah, she’s not finished cutie” Naomi says with a gentle touch slowly sliding to your waist, her cold fingertips acting like they wanted to slide under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin, her brown eyes also having that odd pink ring in her iris. “Go on Sadie, she’ll be good and listen. She always is” 

You felt your cheeks grow impossibly hot, words failing you as all three of these girls began to more or less feel you up and tell you that…That you were theirs? Whatever that could mean? Sadie just sighs, more playful this time as she cups your cheek and makes you look at her, the same weird coloration in her eyes. “You’re ours. No more private study dates, no more drabby clothes, no more avoiding food when we’re in the commons or cafeteria, just a lot more rules and a lot more dress code for you. Tsk, I can’t tell if I want you in a skirt, or if I'd stab any bastard who’d look at you when you wear one. Maybe some cute pants? Ugh they’d still lay their eyes on you either way, makes me want to just call mom and have the banks foreclose their houses”. 

“Please Don’t-” “Ah ah, don’t even try it. You’re ours, if we want to punish people for looking at our puppy, we will” Phoebe comments, her fingers moving to hold your hand and give the top of it a gentle kiss. “Speaking of puppy” Naomi mentions, nodding her head towards the others, and before you can blink you’re turned over, face to the wall. You hear Sadie murmur something as she rummages through her bag for a moment, and you feel her hands slide around your throat before something clicks behind your head, and your eyes widen in horror.

“There we go! I made sure it wouldn’t be too tight, the guy who made it for me was such an artist about it, I love it! If he would’ve said no, you know I’d have his business ruined” She mentions casually, getting a few soft giggles in agreement. 

“Here sweetie! Have a look at how cute you are when you show that you belong to us” Naomi says, handing you her phone as a mirror. You feel weak and shaky as your fingers come up to touch the bright pastel pink leather, a metal heart in the center pressing against your throat. You reach around to feel the back and feel a harsh shock to your fingers, making you yelp. 

“Oh, sweetheart, don't try and take it off! It was so expensive but I got a cute one to work as a shock collar. Shower safe but anytime you take one, one or all of us will be with you, so you won't have to worry about taking it off yourself. We’ll talk more about the rules later in our dorm”. You shiver, unable to think of how to talk. What in the fuck could you even say? You just had a designer shock collar put on you by your bullies! Who are now acting like you were their chew toy or pet no less. “O-our dorm?”.

Phoebe nods, gently stroking your hair “Yeah, duh! How else will we keep a better eye on you? Cameras are fine and all but I prefer to make sure you’re warm with one of us sharing a bed with you. Plus, it’s easier to kiss you good morning faster”. “K-Kiss?!” You almost shriek, only for Naomi to softly hush you with a finger to your lips. “Now now, don’t get loud! We don’t need that just yet”. She pouts, hearing her phone going off and checking the time. “Well, we have to split for now, I have a dinner with mom and dad. You two take her to the dorm and tell me how she acts! Don't do anything more pretty please? We said we’d share her”. 

You don't get much out before Naomi heads off, Phoebe and Sadie gripping your arms a bit too firmly to lead you, talking back and forth like you weren’t making a practical death march down to their dorm room. 

Oh God what’s going to happen once that door is shut?

-Mommabean (Hiya! Sorry for lack of smut but I am proud I wrote this much at least lol. If you beans want i can do a part two! Wanted to try and flesh this out before anything too intense ya know? Anyway I hope you like! Lemme know if you do!)

[11queensupreme11]

Ofc its gonna be poseidon goddammit that little bitch lmao

poor percy's gonna try her best to stop it, but the incest is gonna be STRONG in that bloodline 😭

[ickadori]

cws for yandere getou & spiders.

i just know that getou uses his curses as a means to get you to bend to his will.

he doesn’t let them actually harm you —physically, anyways— but he does let them scare you until you’re hyperventilating and latching onto the only thing that you know can make them go away - Getou Suguru.

he doesn’t say it aloud, but getou is greedy for your attention, even if it’s when you’re spewing insults his way and lamenting about how much you hate him and the place he has you cooped up inside of. as long as he’s on your mind, he’s content, and he’s sure that you’re very much aware of this.

that has to be why you’ve chosen this new method of getting under his skin. you ignore him. pretend as if he doesn’t exist. you don’t acknowledge his presence when he enters the room, don’t turn your head towards him when he speaks, don’t react when he lets his fingers ghost along your skin, don’t make a peep when he sinks them into your soft, doughy flesh.

it’s infuriating - it drives him mad. it makes a stiff smile settle on his lips, and causes his eyes to narrow down into slits as he watches you, observes you, tries to recall the times he’s seen you flinch and turn your head away on the many occasions you’ve seen him unleash a curse onto someone.

and then he’s calling it forth and sitting back in wait.

the curse he’s unleashed on you is nothing to bat an eye at, in his experience. it’s incredibly weak and just as ugly as the next one he has in his arsenal, but its appearance resembles one of a spider, and he knows just how much you hate them, maybe even more than you claim to hate him.

your scream is instant, and getou watches as the curse backs you into a corner, its mouth opened wide as it flashes its fangs. your eyes are stretched open in horror, tears rolling down your cheeks in waves, and you gasp and stutter as you shake in your spot.

the curse lunges, pedipalps brushing against your skin, and his name leaves your mouth in a broken shout, your eyes snapping over to where he’s relaxed in a chair, fingers idly drumming against his knee as he tilts his head at you.

he’ll let you call him a few more times without answering, give you a taste of your own medicine, before heaving a sigh and letting his head roll back to hang over the back of the chair, onyx hair dusting at the floor. “it seems i’m having trouble hearing you over that curse, try getting a bit closer.”

only when you’re trembling in his lap, face tucked away in the crook of his neck as your tears wet his skin, will he finally dismiss the curse.