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Yandere! Keigo Takami General Profile

Yandere! Keigo Takami x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, implied masturbation, possessiveness, lots and lots of guilt, Stockholm Syndrome/you've kind of lost it by the end, mentions of eating/eating healthily, mentions of murder, Dabi makes an appearance and is directly responsible for your kidnapping, insinuation that Keigo's jerked it to some rather icky nasty stuff of yours, non-consensual photography, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 15K (genuinely how)

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

If Keigo was pressed to describe his type, the very first thing that he would blurt out is intelligent. He wants a woman that can match him in terms of intellect. Someone who can follow his quick-paced jokes, his sarcasm, someone that keeps up with him, really.

He finds it wildly attractive when a woman is confident in her own knowledge, and ideally his darling would be knowledgeable in an area he knows next to nothing about.

He likes hearing them spiel on about something they’re passionate about – and he'll be listening, intently, with a hand under his chin and eyes glossed over because while their words are interesting, watching them is really what’s fully engaging him. There’s something wonderful about the way that they’re able to answer all the questions he prompts them with, never missing a beat and fully dissecting his question before giving their best thoughts back.

It’s just wonderful, and although he’d never divulge any sensitive information to them out of fear for their safety, there’s something euphoric about knowing that if he really wanted to, if he could, he thinks they would understand how he feels.

He thinks they could understand how careful he has to be, how he has to think out his every move and word dozens of times in advance, making sure everything is exactly how it should be.

And really, this helps Keigo feel less lonely – it’s less polarizing and solitary if he knows that his darling could support him, even if he won’t tell them anything.

Just the knowledge makes him giddy, his heart beating faster because it feels so very good to not be alone.

Witty

Similarly to their intelligence, Keigo needs a darling who’s able to dish out what he serves. A witty, silver-tongued darling would have him constantly on his toes, finding that speaking with them is entertaining and leaves him wanting more.

His darling isn’t boring, or a drag to speak to – their stories and commentary leave him on the edge of his seat, growing addicted to their voice and finding himself wanting more more more, eagerly asking all sorts of follow-up questions that he normally wouldn’t bother with.

And really, this is one of the first signs that his feelings for them have ventured beyond friendly – he’s never been this invested in someone before, never wanting to interact with them so badly, never wanting to be around them and hear their voice and watch their lips move to form syllables.

He finds his darling’s sense of humor to perfectly match his own, leaving him winded and often more flustered than he’d care to admit.

They’re just so cute – the knowing little look they send him when they crack a bad pun that leaves him chuckling, the way their face scrunches up when they make an accidentally dirty joke.

It’s endearing, really, and it only makes him fall for them harder, his desperation to see them growing stronger with every passing day because god, they’re just so perfect.

Civilian

While Keigo is capable of developing an obsession with a fellow hero, it’s unlikely.

Part of what draws him to his darling is their innocence – they don’t understand the realities of their society, how violent and horrible the darkest members are, how much crime and unrest fills the city streets right under their nose.

It’s the way his darling is able to be so happy and carefree in the face of such terror that draws Keigo in – they practically radiate positivity, talking about their own mundane life and managing to lull Keigo into a false reality that he, too is simply a civilian.

That he isn’t a double agent with a non-existent sense of self, that he isn’t bursting with stress and anxiety at any given time. It’s a nice reprieve, really, and it’s one that he slowly begins craving. The moments of peace and tranquility addict him, causing him to view his darling as a sort of stress-reliever, someone he can go to when things become too heavy, too dark, too much.

He wants to hear about everything happening in their lives – their crazy neighbors, annoying coworkers, the cat they saw crossing the street, the latest thing broken in their apartment. He wants to know about the mundane things, the things he’s never experienced and never will experience.

His darling is a sort of portal to a totally different world – what he could have had if he hadn’t been born into the family he was, if he hadn’t had inherited his quirk, if he hadn’t have done this or that.

His darling represents possibility, a side of Keigo that he desperately, desperately wishes he could embrace – which is why he slowly begins fantasizing about a future with his darling, always complete with a nice little house, a few children, a pretty ring on their finger, and complete domestic bliss.

It’s a dirty fantasy to him, really, something far off and dreamy, but with every interaction he has with his darling, it only stronger, and he only grows more desperate.

Empathetic

Keigo needs someone who is able to see past the layers of persona he puts on as Hawks and instead see him. Keigo Takami. He needs someone who’s able to listen to his words and comfort him, to see the frightened, abused boy he still is at heart.

The idea of a darling who’s able to understand him on such a deep, raw level leaves him feeling equal parts terrified and relieved, because he’s never really had someone there for him before.

The concept of a companion, of someone to rely on and love and cherish is such a foreign concept to him, and although he finds the idea enticing (having watched more than his fair share of rom-coms and trashy romance movies), Keigo doesn’t believe that he’ll ever get to experience it.

His life is too busy and hectic, and having a woman to hold and love and protect would add too much unnecessary strain. Except once he meets his darling and he feels seen for the first time, things begin changing. No longer does he find himself alone, internally grappling with his real identity and his hero identity, slowly losing himself with all the stress and obligations towards the commission.

No, he’s not alone because he has them – his darling, the one who’s smile and a simple brush of their hand leaves him breathless, feeling like a little kid with a sense of wonder and hopefulness and love that makes his heart pound in his chest.

A darling that’s able to incite these feelings in him is really the key to catching his attention in the first place – a cruel fate, really, considering his darlings is only trying to help him, only trying to help reassure him that he doesn’t have to be the ever strong, ever cool Hawks in front of everybody.

It’s a noble thought, really – but ultimately one that dooms his darling, forcing the blond to latch onto them with incredible strength and never, ever letting go.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

It takes quite a while for Keigo’s obsession to form. He’s never really had the time nor desire to get close enough to someone to even consider a relationship, and while he’s a had a one-night stand or two, that one night of intimacy is the closest he’s ever gotten to someone. He’s just not emotionally available, and for very good reason – he’s lived his entire adult life (and much of his youth) completely under the Commission’s control, his every desire, action, and thought controlled by others.

It’s sad and some part of him knows it, pitying himself even, but Keigo’s just not interested in developing any kind of romantic relationship with anyone. He doesn’t have time, and there’s a small part of him that questions if he’s even able to form that kind of a connection with someone. A childhood full of abuse, training and emotional neglect has fucked him up in more ways than one, and he’s genuinely unsure if he’s even capable of something like love, if he’d even be able to give someone a healthy relationship, his heart.

He swears off romance, finding it trivial and just not something for him, but things begin changing the longer he knows you, the longer he’s around you and spends time with you. His feelings are purely platonic at first – you’re funny, someone he finds himself actually getting along with and not dreading seeing, and it’s always a pleasure when he happens to run into you when he’s out on patrol or just wandering around the city in a rare moment of free time.

(And at this point, it genuinely is random – there’s no pre-planned meetings, no orchestrated attempts at just so happening to run into you, no attempt to follow you or know your location at all hours of the day. It’s just fate, really.)

He slowly warms up to you, deciding that he actually really likes you, and as the weeks turn into months, there’s this feeling that starts tugging at his heart. It’s this strange phenomenon where when he’s lost in thought, planning out his next moves in making sure he balances his double agent lifestyle, there’s this lingering thought of you.

He’ll gear up in his hero suit, shrugging the jacket on over his wings and checking himself over in the mirror, only to let his hand linger over his jacket lapel. He’d never noticed the small speck of blood on the tan material – had you? It was surely an enemy’s, some criminal that he’d roughed up a bit too badly before capturing, but it was still an unfortunate sight. His lips quirk down a bit as he thinks of whether you’d noticed it when you’d ran into him at the end of his patrol yesterday – you hadn’t mentioned anything, but maybe you were just being polite.

Something about the thought of you seeing him with blood on him leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

It’s not until a notification on his phone gets his pocket buzzing that he snaps out of his small reverie, blinking at his reflection and feeling a small bit of confusion settle over him. Why was he thinking of you? Surely it wasn’t your blood, and you hadn’t been present during any of his fights yesterday – why had the thought of you popped into his mind?

Keigo’s not sure, but he pushes aside the thought as he jumps off his balcony, the wind catching his wings and letting him soar towards the Hero Commission building.

He doesn’t give it much thought, but then it happens again the next day; he’s out on patrol, flying a good ten feet above the skyline of this particular neighborhood, when he sees a woman walking with a bouquet of flowers. They’re pretty, he supposes – roses mixed with some greenery and tulips, the kind of perfect bouquet you’d see in a rom-com or some cheesy movie.

He smiles a bit, seeing the way the woman was sighing down at them with a dreamy look on her face, and before he can stop himself there’s this flash in his mind of you with flowers in your arms. They’d be a different color, of course – your favorite color, and maybe even a different flower. Whatever one was your favorite, that’s what he’d get you.

He freezes as the last thought flits through his mind, his wings freezing too and causing him to falter a bit mid-air, desperately flapping them to stay afloat. What the hell?

He doesn’t like it, at first – the way you’re slowly seeping into every aspect of his thoughts, always some little twinge of you sitting at the sidelines, an idle thought of wow, you’d look great with that shirt on or a small question of would she like this?

It makes him uncomfortable, because he doesn’t know how to deal with this strange new development – sure, he's heard all about love and falling for someone, because while he may not look like it, he’s watched his fair share of chick flicks and raunchy romances.

But still, this is different – it’s different because it’s him, because it’s you. And it’s different because Keigo notices, as time passes, that none of those films or stories mention just how all-encompassing the feeling is, or how it makes him want to swing by your apartment every night, flying outside your window and letting those honey eyes scan the room to find your familiar figure.

They don’t mention anything about the desire that eats him up at night, how he seems to see you in everything around him – his pillow is soft, but he’s sure your stomach would be softer. His dining chair is comfortable, but having you sit in his lap would make it more comfortable.

The ratty shirt with the massive holes cut in the back is loose on him, but where it looks sloppy on him, you’d manage to look cute, he’s sure. It scares him, if he’s being honest, because he feels his control over himself slowly slipping through his fingers – he can’t stop himself from checking over you when he knows you’re at work, repeatedly flying through the area when he really doesn’t need to, just to make sure there’s no villainous activity.

(And always keeping an eye out for you when he knows your shift is over – he always gets too nervous and chickens out, but one of these days he swears he’s going to swoop down and pick you up, holding you in his arms as he flies around with you, chuckling in your ear and pulling you flush against his body under the guise of ‘safety’ – just please ignore the hardness you feel against your back or the labored breaths in your ear.)

It scares him that he can’t stop himself from suddenly paying much more attention to your every word, listening to you like you’re spouting holy epiphanies as you tell him about your coworkers or this new film you watched, biting his lip and nodding along, letting his eyes occasionally flick down to your mouth as quickly as he can, just so you won’t notice.

Thus starts a troubling pattern – Keigo starts slowly craving learning as much as he can about you, because with every thought that pops up into his head, he finds his knowledge about you is sorely lacking. He doesn’t know what your favorite flower is – he can’t get you that bouquet he was fantasizing of.

 He doesn’t know where your favorite take-out place is – he can’t surprise you with dinner on nights he can tell you’re tired. (He can tell because he’d followed you home from the air and noticed your slouched shoulders and the way you’d looked on the verge of tears when you’d stubbed your toe on the uneven sidewalk, but still.)

He doesn’t know what size shoe you wear – he can’t pick you up those new shoes he thought you’d like, or get you a new pair of those fuzzy, warm socks he noticed were looking a little ragged in your laundry bin.

 He doesn’t know what your ideal date is, so he can’t plan one with the knowledge that you’d be as happy as humanly possibly, all smiley and bashful and shy, all because you’re with Keigo himself.

It frustrates him, and he figures it wouldn’t hurt to look into you just a bit more – he’s got access to all kinds of information, security clearances associated with his status as both a hero, an agent of the Hero Commission, and an agent of the Meta Liberation Army making pretty much any piece of information he wants to get his hands on accessible. He’s getting access to your computer and phone, sifting through your search histories, contacts, even your bank accounts and government information.

(How else would he be able to start depositing occasional bits of money into your account, gifts he knows you won’t notice because you never check your transaction histories? You may not know about them, but he does, and it makes him feel good, important when he’s gifting you a hundred dollars here and there, making sure you have a cushion so that you can spoil yourself and indulge in all the things he knows you want to, but you don’t have the funds to do so.)

He’s designating a specific feather to slip into your purse or pocket, attached to your person so that he can track where you’re going, feeling the vibration against your back when you’re talking, when you’re shivering because you’re cold, when you’re standing or sitting or laying or moaning and gasping and shaking –

(He’ll always stiffen up when the feather he’d managed to slip into your jacket starts vibrating with the sound of your cries, his cheeks and neck feeling unbearably hot as he starts to sweat, wings twitching uncontrollably and rushing to the nearest bathroom, clutching the sink and grimacing because god, you’re moaning so damn much, you must be touching yourself and he’s not even there to see it, not able to watch you fall apart – maybe you’re even thinking of him, of how he’d fuck you nice and deep, pushing your knees up to your ears and groaning your name over and over while he fills you full of his cum – He’s in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time, and when he comes back with his pants just slightly askew, Dabi will cock a brow but not make a comment.)

He’s even going so far as to set up cameras in your apartment, having broken in one day when you weren’t home, making sure they’re placed in inanimate objects so you don’t find one and get scared.

(Though, he can’t deny that the image of you running to him in fear, crying and clutching onto him and telling him that someone’s stalking you has a very nice ring to it… Ultimately, though, he knows it’s best for you to not take on the stress and burden of knowing your every move is being watched, recorded, stored onto his phone and computer so that when he can’t sleep at night or is particularly stressed from all the lying and sneaking around, he’ll have something pretty and sweet to look at, something calming and relaxing, something that makes him sigh and his lips quirk up into a small smile as his thumb rubs the technology, imagining it was your cheek.)

It’s a slow slide into his obsessive tendencies, but once his feelings for you have formed in full, Keigo is a lost cause – and once you end up trapped with him, forced to depend on him for everything, this trait will only present itself more strongly, becoming harder and harder to ignore because he won’t bother hiding it anymore.

You’ll be scared and apprehensive every time he arrives with a glass of water right when you were beginning to feel thirsty, but really, you should know better. You’ll be unnerved when he presents a new bottle of shampoo to you right as you start itching to shower, but it’s inevitable.

Keigo knows you better than you know yourself, after all – and he just wants to keep you happy, keep you safe. He's just in love, and doesn’t he deserve someone to love?

Doesn’t he deserve to be happy too, to finally, finally have something all to himself, something that’s his?

Protective

Frankly, though Keigo hides it well, his protectiveness over you is unbearable. He’s a seasoned pro-hero who spends a good amount of time with villains, and as a result he’s more than aware of just how dark of a place the world really is. He has intimate knowledge of just how many horrible people are hiding in plain sight, all the violent and horrific crimes they commit, and just how often they manage to escape unscathed.

And of course, he also knows just how many innocent victims get wrapped up in their schemes, often resulting in injuries and trauma and even death. And while Keigo generally is disapproving of murder, he’s even more staunchly against the concept when it’s your death, when you’re the lifeless body that’s laying on the cold, hard cement, blood pooling around your head and your pretty eyes staring aimlessly above, your fingers cold and your neck bruised and oh god oh god –

The realization that the way he feels for you has wandered into romantic territory is the same moment that he realizes that you could very easily be one of the civilians he was just a hair too slow to save.

He’s helping an older woman crawl out of a pile of rubble left behind from a stand-off with a villain, part of the building having collapsed in on itself, and all of a sudden he sees something sticking out from below a large, cement cylinder – a foot, stained red at the ankle, and immediately he feels sick.

Evacuations aren’t always successful, and oh, look at that – the foot’s complexion is oddly familiar, and he swears he’s seen that nail polish on someone else’s fingers before. Bile actually rises up the back of his throat as he realizes that everything about this unfortunate soul reminds him of you, even down to the hair dotting her leg. It’s a hard pill to swallow as images of you bloody and bruised flash through his mind, each one making his chest tighter than the last.

It leaves his fists clenching and his jaw tight enough to make his teeth hurt, and it’s in that moment that his body almost seems to operate on autopilot – the images of you battered and too injured to be helped are still swirling through his mind as his feet leave the ground, his wings beating faster and faster with every second, his desperation to reach you strong enough to get his heart practically racing out of his chest.

The wind is whistling in his ears as he flies to your apartment, his muscles aching from the exertion, his lip caught between his teeth as he mentally chants that you’re okay, you’re okay, please God you have to be okay.

It’s only once he lands on your apartment balcony and sees you clumsily doing your dishes in the kitchen sink that relief floods his system, his entire body sagging against the railing as he finally lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding back.

You’re okay.

You’re alive and breathing, and as his eyes scan every exposed inch of your skin, he can’t find even a speck of blood. A hand comes up to rest over his heart, and Keigo swallows, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing with the weight of the motion.

He spends longer than he’d care to admit on your balcony that evening, those yellow eyes watching like a hawk as you move about in your tiny apartment, mentally assessing each and every movement. You’re pretty like this, he thinks – you’re entirely unaware that you’re being watched, but there’s something about seeing you be so natural and free that’s exhilarating, making his heart pound and his cheeks flush pink because this is what you’re really like when no one’s watching. It makes his chest ache to see it, his gloved fingers reaching out and pressing against the glass of your sliding door, the urge almost unbearable to be with you and hear what he’s sure is you singing along to some horrible song.

He’s idly wondering if you cook all your meals, and that’s why you have so many dishes – would you cook for him? He's a lousy chef and frankly a bit picky about his food, but he’d eat anything you make for him with a bright smile and trembling fingers, eagerly wolfing down the food and being nearly brought to tears because you made this for him.

He’s imagining the way you’d let him hold you at night, sharing a bed with you and your body pressed snugly beside his, an arm draped over your side and your soft breaths tickling the expanse of his chest. It’s a pleasant thought, but all too soon his phone is buzzing and he’s brought out of his reverie, glancing at the time and sucking in a sharp breath because it’s been an hour and a half of him just sitting here, gaping like an idiot at you.

Embarrassment creeps up his spine, but before he jumps off the balcony and heads to the Commission to report back, he spares a final glance over his shoulder at you, and the smallest of smiles sits on his lips, something warm blooming in his chest.

But from that moment onwards, Keigo slowly becomes more and more consumed by the idea of just how truly unprepared you are for any sort of villain encounter. You have a quirk, sure, but it’s minor and not especially useful, and it certainly wouldn’t help if you were to be cornered in some dark alleyway, or if you were to hear your front door’s lock being picked, or if you were to be caught in the crossfire of a villain robbing a bank.

And it’s small things that remind him of these facts – he'll see you trip over seemingly nothing, losing your footing and stumbling for just a moment, and immediately fear is sitting heavy in his gut because god, you’d be dead meat running from a villain. It’s endearing, of course, but it’s scary.

He hears you giggle sheepishly and rub the back of your neck as you admit to your friend over lunch that you’d forgot to lock your door when you left for groceries yesterday, his skin and feathers bristling and a small prick of anger bubbling inside him because are you asking to be the next tragedy covered on the news?

 He takes you out for dinner (that he hopes you’ll think of as a date, even if the restaurant is a simple diner that he knows you love) and sees a bandaid on your finger, his voice a touch lower than his previous joking tone as he asks if you’re okay, did you hurt yourself? Your response of how you’d accidentally caught the sharp edge of a razor in the shower makes his entire body tense, both at the idea of you in the shower and at the idea of your blood being drawn, of the way you’d probably hissed and bit your lip, the pain acute. You’ll notice the way he freezes up, this look on his face that you can’t quite describe, but soon he’ll be flashing you that familiar grin, taking a sip of his soda and telling you that unshaved is better, hasn’t anyone ever told you that?

(He likes the way you roll your eyes and pretend that you aren’t embarrassed by his comment – at least, he hopes that’s how you’re feeling, because the comment made him himself a little hot under the collar.)

Everything you do is a reminder to him that you’re weak, and it’s this constant mantra that moves Keigo to take his own measures to ensure your safety. He’ll offer to walk you home from work every day, waving off your concerns by telling you that his patrols end right around that time anyways so it’s no big deal.

(They don’t – they tend to end much earlier, but this way he can fly around for a bit, trail you from the air and keep his eyes trained only on you, all with the luxury of lying when you notice his presence about how his patrol areas happen to line up with the district you work in.)

He’ll tell you that he’s sure your cooking is good, but he knows what place has the absolute best lunches – and would you look at that, it’s not too far from your apartment! Maybe you’d be interested in getting lunch with him sometimes? He knows the owner pretty well because he’s always in there, maybe he could even get the both of you a loyal customer discount.

(He’d only started eating there because a late night of watching you through your apartment windows had led to his stomach growling too much to bear, and he’d strolled into the twenty-four-hour establishment absolutely ravenous for food, still glowing from having watched your sleeping face.)

He’s even making unsolicited, subtle remarks about your own habits designed to get you to change some of your more problematic traits – he’ll tell you that eating breakfast is actually very good for you, he’s heard that people who skip breakfast tend to have bowel problems.

(It’s delivered as a joke and you snort because he’d been a little graphic with a bad pun thrown in there, and as Keigo basks in the sight of your smile and the sound of your laughter, he hopes that you’ll remember the sentiment – you need to be eating properly, after all.)

He’s telling you that crime rates have been awfully high in your neighborhood lately – it’s recommended for all civilians to avoid speaking to anyone on the streets – just for safety purposes, of course.

(And because it dramatically reduces the number of men you interact with, something that makes both his protectiveness and possessiveness cool ever so slightly because that means one less man that you could meet and fall for and want and love-)

And why shouldn’t you believe everything that he says? He’s the number two hero, a man who’s saved more lives than you could imagine – how could he not be the authority on safety? Who are you to doubt anything he tells you, any advice he gives you?

And Keigo knows this – which is why he’ll start pushing further and further with time, trying to convince you to drop anything dangerous at all; did you know that more people cut themselves with knives than with all other cutting tools combined? You should really be careful, you know – besides, sometimes recipes are better with whole tomatoes!

(Really, he just wants to avoid seeing a knife in your hands – you’re not trustworthy with something so sharp, even if the sight of you in the kitchen slaving over the stove is strangely adorable, strangely right.)

Did you know that most animal attacks are from dogs? Maybe you shouldn’t consider getting that cute puppy you’d been gushing about – you just never know.

(Really, Keigo’s just worried that you’ll end up spending all your time and attention with said puppy, leaving him with only the most meager scraps that won’t be nearly enough to satisfy him, and while he’s serious about the dog attacks, he’s mostly just selfish. Plus, an animal companion would make slipping through your window late at night almost impossible.)

Did you know that the vast majority of murder victims are women? You should probably take him up on his offer to be your personal chaperone – consider it a favor for a friend, he’d told you.

(Though he’d been gritting his teeth as he said the word ‘friend’, even the feel of it on his tongue making something ugly twist in his gut. The way he feels for you certainly isn’t friendly – it can’t be, not when he’s imagining waking up with you every morning, the way your lips would taste, how you’d look on your knees staring up at him while you gag and choke and suck so hard your cheeks hollow out.)

And once you’ve been kidnapped, this trait is only furthered, his paranoia eating away at him because he knows you’ll be rebellious, that you’ll want to lash out and hurt yourself and hurt him, and just the thought leaves him buzzing with anxiety, stress eating away at him because he absolutely refuses to let you get injured in any way.

You have to stay pristine – his gorgeous, precious partner that he loves, the only woman who’s ever made him feel something so strong. You have to be okay – because if you aren’t, then he isn’t either, and the only thing more dangerous than a powerful, cunning man living a double life is a broken, apathetic man who wants everyone to know just how little life means now that his other half is gone.

Controlling

His controlling tendencies manifest as a result of both his extreme protectiveness, and as a sort of coping mechanism from the lack of control he has over his own life. He does love you – at least, he thinks this is love.

(If it’s not love, then Keigo doesn’t know what the fuck this could possibly be – what else would cause him to be thinking of you at all hours of the day, his body physically aching and yearning to be with you? What else could cause his breathing to hitch and become so uneven when you’re in his presence, his quirk nearly out of his control as his feathers ruffle and flutter and come down around you like some sort of cage?)

He loves you, sure, his obsession festering into something darker, deeper, more unmanageable and impossible to come back from, but there’s a part of him that begins exerting this control over you as a way to satisfy himself.

By dictating your life, it’s almost like he’s dictating his own – like he gets to choose what happens, like he has self-autonomy, like he isn’t just a puppet being used by others. It’s euphoric, cathartic, and this only furthers his dependence on you – not only do you make him feel something warm and gooey and suffocating in his chest, but you also make him feel calmer, more grounded, more whole.

But as lovely as it is for Keigo to finally get a grip on his own mental health, this has rather disastrous effects on you – even before he’s stolen you away, these controlling tendencies are present. Of course, they’re difficult to spot when Keigo is still just the handsome, flirty hero who seems to have a soft spot for little old you. You’re in a metaphorical honeymoon phase at that point, beyond flattered that someone like him has noticed someone like you.

And so, you don’t really notice the way that he tells you to stop hanging out with a particular friend that you keep rambling on about. They’re going through a hard time, you’re sure of it – it’s the only reason they’ve been so snappy and distant lately, and it’s only natural for you to bear your burdens to Keigo, telling him how they were rude to you last weekend, how they’ve been ignoring your calls, how you’re at a loss because what could possibly be happening?

And Keigo will grit his teeth, his smile tight and visibly strained as he clutches onto his coffee cup with white knuckles, eventually telling you wow, that really sucks, some friend. Maybe you should stop hanging out with them – obviously they aren’t as invested in the friendship as you are, sound like they’re not as good of a friend as you are, frankly.

It’s good advice, all things considered, but it’s presented in a way that flatters you, that makes you sound like you’re the reasonable, good friend and they’ve simply dropped the ball. And so, you’ll follow his advice – that friend isn’t contacted again, and Keigo personally sees to it that you’ve blocked them, having gone in and manually done it on your phone while you were fast asleep.

You won’t notice how he makes subtle comments about what you should order when you’re at a restaurant together – he’ll never make comments about your weight, but he’ll prompt you to eat something healthier, something more, something that’ll leave you happy but nourish you as well. The comments are again difficult to spot – when he opens up the menu, he’ll pipe up and tell you that they’ve got that salad you were talking about the other day – you know the one? Yeah, sounds good – do you want to split it? I think we should get some extra chicken on top, too.

(Once the salad arrives, of course, you’ll be eating the majority – Keigo will nibble at it, picking at it and making a bit show of always having his fork packed with the greens – and a lot of the chicken – but you’ll be the one shoveling food into your mouth, feeling full by the time Keigo’s eaten roughly ten bites.)

You won’t notice it much at all, really – which is why it’s such a shock to one day wake up in Keigo’s luxury, king-sized bed, the soft white sheets smelling like fresh laundry and the pretty red, silky pajamas he’d changed you into feeling foreign on your body.

But just like his more needy and clingy tendencies, Keigo’s controlling nature will start to show itself once he’s stolen you away. There’s no point in hiding how he feels now, is there? You’re aware that he’s in love with you (he tells you every fucking day, after all, with a hushed voice that sounds much too vulnerable for you to bear and a barrage of kisses along your jawline and neck), so what’s the point in dialing down some of the more questionable aspects of his infatuation?

He’d kidnapped you out of paranoia, and now that you’re with him constantly, he’s able to really, fully control your actions and the things you’re allowed to do. He’s not too dehumanizing with it, but there’s a lot of limits on things that you normally wouldn’t even think about – you’re allowed to watch TV, but only for an hour a day and only specific channels and programs he’s approved.

(Generally, the cutoff for what he considers ‘appropriate’ for you are things without graphic violence, nothing terribly sad, and nothing that would cause you tension or stress. So, all horror movies are off the table, all dramas, all action films, really only leaving the things he wouldn’t mind watching with you – romances, mostly, and the occasional film with much more erotica than he realized. His face will turn red as the actors moan and whisper hushed I love you’s, his yellow eyes nervously flicking over to you from his spot beside you, his fingers itching to reach out to you, the blanket covering you both suddenly feeling much too hot.)

You’re allowed to eat what you want, but with a few very strict guidelines – you can’t have anything over a certain amount of grams of sugar, nor are you allowed to consume anything that isn’t paired with a vegetable. He’s forcing you to eat protein, and if you don’t eat meat he’ll count out a specific number of nuts you must consume that day, just to make sure you’re getting proper nutrition.

He especially loves if you’ll let him feed the nuts to you, or any food, really – he likes to feel needed and helpful, and to have you looking at him with those pretty eyes, the fork pressed against your lips while you swallow and thank him for the food… It makes Keigo’s breathing get a bit heavy, his mouth watering because god, he wants to use that fork after you, would you think that’s weird?

He’s not taking away any of your basic privileges like dressing yourself or using the restroom alone, but Keigo has a way of making you feel pathetic without even trying to; there’s just something about the way he looks at you, all soft smiles and wide eyes, his palms always clammy and nervous, his touch always hesitant but eager.

He won’t explicitly create a schedule for your daily life under his thumb, but you’ll essentially be in one, anyways. He leaves for work in the mornings, parting from you with a very, very tonguey kiss, and while he’s gone on his patrol all day, you’ll cycle through reading a few of the (pre-approved) books he’d gifted you, practicing your art skills, practicing your musical skills, and staring out the fifteen-story window, the one-way, bulletproof glass not giving you even the option to crack it if you wanted to brave the fall.

You’ll be stagnant, really, something that Keigo doesn’t appreciate at all once he notices it happening, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely can’t relinquish control – you’re his, and even if you’re unhappy, Keigo will be damned if he gives up caring for you and making your decisions for you. That’s love, isn’t it? He knows what’s best for you, so why can’t you see that? Why do you fight him and tell him he’s a monster, a horrible, horrible man?

He just wants to keep you safe and happy and loved, so why are you making it so fucking difficult?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

While Keigo isn’t too terribly possessive as far as yanderes go, he really only has so much self-control. Of course, he doesn’t like seeing other men around you, those already narrow eyes of his growing even sharper and smaller because he does not like this.

But what sets Keigo apart from others is that while he’s enraged, anxiety and anger prickling at his skin and causing goosebumps to litter his entire body, he’s smart. He’s good at reading people, at fully assessing situations and making split seconds analyses, and that’s exactly what he’ll do whenever he sees you in a situation where another man is showing interest.

He’ll examine the man’s face – is he smiling? Laughing? Serious? Frowning?

Smiling and laughing generally means one of two things – either the man hopes to become friends or acquaintances with you, or he’s flirting and he thinks it’s going very well. Keigo can’t decide which option he hates more.

A serious expression or a frown normally means that the man is trying to create a mysterious air – to embody hypermasculinity, to try and lure you in by looking the part of the strong, dominant man who’s only weakness is you. It makes Keigo cringe, his nose scrunching up in a wince as he thinks of how terribly stupid this man must be to think you’d fall for something like that – he obviously doesn’t know you or your intellect, at least not like Keigo does. Nobody knows you like Keigo does – not even yourself.

He’s looking at the man’s body language – if he’s leaning towards you, he probably has less than innocent intentions, either trying to intimidate you or get close to you to fulfill some sick, perverted urge.

(An urge that Keigo knows all too well – the urge to feel you, to touch you, to smell you, to have your skin against his. It’s an urge that he’s had to fight more times than he can count, stopping himself from scooping your into his arms and burying his face into the crook of your neck, his hands roaming every inch of your body because god, you smell good and you’re so fucking pretty and your voice is like heaven to his ears and you feel too damn good pressed against him like this and fuck you drive him absolutely insane.)

If the man has his hands in his pockets, that generally signals to Keigo that he’s not as confident at this as he’d like you to believe, showing the hero that the man is more than aware that you’re wildly out of his league, that really the man should have absolutely no business speaking with you.

Keigo’s noticing the distance between your body and the stranger’s – if it’s more than three feet, he’s able to take a small, minimally relieved sigh because at least the man isn’t likely to try something. But if he’s closer to you, dangerously close to being in your space and making you feel uncomfortable, immediately Keigo’s wings are flapping, the movements harsh and unconscious as his fists tighten and he grits his teeth because he’ll be damned if he lets anyone make you uncomfortable.

And he’s analyzing your body language, too, of course – if you like the interaction, if you’re pleased by the attention, if you’re scared, if you want to leave, even if you want to leave with the stranger himself. And while Keigo wishes he was wrong, the moments where you actually seem to be enjoying the flirting of a stranger make him bristle, a deep scowl settling on his face while insecurity and panic grip his heart because he has to stop this before it's too late – before you let yourself get wooed by another man before Keigo even gets the chance to fully earn your trust and adoration.

Seeing you approached by potential rivals for your love really brings out the worst side of Keigo – it brings out all the skills the Commission drilled into him, those eyes of his dissecting the other man like he’s merely a slab of meat, the blond finding every possible point of weakness in the man’s stature or attitude, just so Keigo can understand the full scope of what he’s competing with. Just so that Keigo can understand exactly how he can be better than this loser – how he can impress you and get you acting all bashful and dismissive of his witty flirting just like you should be.

Jealousy isn’t too pretty on Keigo, and while he won’t just blindly murder any man that steals your attention for even a moment.

(He’d lose his hero status very quickly, no matter how much he sometimes wants to send a feather clean through their neck, slicing their head off and feeling not a smidge of remorse because now he’ll finally stop running his mouth at you when you’ve clearly already been chosen to be Hawks’s woman – the number two’s sweet, important little partner that he absolutely cannot lose).

His patrol had felt incredibly long today – no large villain sightings, with only a few petty muggers making the time pass. Keigo sighs, wings flapping and wind whipping in his ears as he eagerly scans the streets below.

Normally, you’d be walking to the grocery store right around now – he’d noticed you were low on eggs, so it was only a matter of time before you braved the cold autumn air. Suspicion immediately pricks along Keigo’s spine, however, as he slowly flies along the path that you take to the store. You’re no where in sight – he doesn’t see your familiar jacket or notice the way the sunlight glistens off your hair, and immediately something uncomfortable is settling in his gut.

This wasn’t like you – you’d told him once that you prefer this time of day for your shopping because the store is the least crowded, and Keigo knows how you feel about interacting with strangers. And yet, you’re missing – something that makes him immediately pick up his speed, brows knitting together and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Eager eyes scan every sidewalk as he quickly makes his way to your apartment complex, every second that he doesn’t see you only furthering the feeling of dread slowly eating at him.

He’s near the point of whipping out his phone to call you and check the tracker he’d installed into your phone when he lets out an audible sigh of relief, having spotted your familiar form on the sidewalk below. You’re only a few blocks from your apartment at this point – and with a look of disgust, Keigo identifies the reason why.

There’s a man with you.

You’re standing and speaking with him, tucked away at the corner of the sidewalk, and immediately the feeling of panic is replaced by anger, his shoulders tensing up. As he swoops down and lands on the top of the building above you, he cranes his neck to get a better look at this man. Keigo’s never seen him before – you’ve never interacted with him in all the months he’s been watching you, leading him to believe that this man is a stranger.

Keigo taps his foot impatiently, trying to decide if this is good news or bad news. On the one hand, it’s always good news to know that you don’t have many men in your life – Keigo should be the only one, really, the only person, even, not just man.

But it also means that this stranger probably stopped you to strike up a conversation, which can only means two things – either the man is asking an innocent question, or he’s interested in you. Interested in you, as in wanting to date you, to kiss your pretty lips and hear you whisper those three words and bend you in half and make you scream and moan and gush-

Keigo grits his teeth, left eye twitching slightly at the mere thought of this man being brazen enough to approach you like this. And based off the way he keeps steadily stepping closer to you and you keep subtly shifting away from him, Keigo suddenly understands exactly what’s going on.

He hesitates for only a moment, a small pang of doubt registering in the back of his mind (wondering if this is how you look when you’re with Keigo himself, that annoying insecurity revolving around anything romantic and anything with you once again filling him with false worries), before he’s jumping from the rooftop, landing with a small grunt onto the sidewalk a few feet away from the two of you.

Clearing his throat, he walks with a bit more urgency than normal towards you, slinging an arm around your shoulder and leaning in.

What’re we talking about? Keigo asks, yellow eyes fixed on the man, any semblance of a smile gone from his face. His chest is puffed out ever so slightly, wings spread to make his physical presence as big as possible, to make him as intimidating as possible. Immediately you’re jumping, slightly embarrassed and slightly relieved at Keigo’s sudden presence. He feels you relax slightly against him and tries to ignore the way his throat goes dry and his pupils dilate – he’ll relive the memory of you feeling safe around him later tonight, but now’s not the time.

The man steps back immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking at the hero sheepishly, guilt written all over his face. Keigo scoffs under his breath, examining the man’s face in closer detail. He’s somewhat attractive, and that same nagging voice comes back, idly wondering if you’d prefer brunettes like this man over blondes like Keigo, or if you preferred slightly taller men, because this stranger is easily a few inches taller than the hero. He frows, biting the inside of his cheek and willing the thoughts to go away – at least until he’s sorted this out.

Oh, Hawks, hey man, I didn’t – we’re not talkin’ about anything. Nice to meet you, miss. The man fumbles for his words, before quickly backpedaling and practically running the opposite direction, peeking over his shoulder every once in a while and wincing.

Keigo holds his ground, not moving, keeping those eyes locked on the man’s figure until he’s eventually a good block or two away. Only then does Keigo turn to you, his cheeks a little pink as he flashes you a smile. He’s still got his arm wrapped around your shoulder, and he gives you a small squeeze that he hopes isn’t too forward – he wouldn’t want you to get the idea that he’s after the same thing that stranger had been.

(Though really, isn’t he? He just wants all of you, not only your body – and he can take much better care of you, can’t he? Better than that gangly, sleazy man ever could, better than any other man ever could.)

He’s brought out of his small reverie by you profusely thanking him, telling him that the man had just approached you out of nowhere and you didn’t know how to leave the situation without it potentially escalating.

Keigo only smiles lazily, nodding at you and telling you not to worry, that he’s a pro hero, so it’s kind of my job, you know? Though for my favorite civilian, I don’t mind working overtime.

He winks at you after that, feeling only slightly anxious that you’ll find the action too arrogant, but you only blink owlishly at him, mumbling something about feeling guilty that it’s ‘overtime’. Keigo waves off your concerns, releasing your shoulder and trying not to show loss on his face.

You thank him again, smiling at him in a way that gets his knees very close to buckling, but he just clears his throat and nods, saluting you playfully and letting his wings flap, already a few feet in the air as he tells you to enjoy the rest of your night and to call him if any other creeps show up. You’re still smiling as he flies back over the roof of the building, but you don’t notice how he stops, peeking over the roof to see you make your way in the direction of the grocery store.

A small smile sits on his lips at the sight, smaller and more genuine than the smirk he’d been wearing moments ago.

Knew it, he thinks earnestly, already mentally predicting what you’ll pick up from the store. And as he hovers back into the air, cracking his neck and knuckles, he decides following you there couldn’t hurt – just in case any more men decide to mess with his woman. 

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Keigo’s obsession with you is overwhelming, terrifying, and pushes him to do a number of things that force his morals to be flung out the window of favor of keeping you safe, happy, his, but there’s still a few things that he can’t push himself to do, even with you in mind. One of these things is to steal you away.

 Kidnapping you is not something he wants to do – he may nurse a few beliefs about how you’ll eventually forgive him for being so obsessive and domineering over you, but Keigo isn’t stupid. He knows your image of him will never recover if he presses the chloroform-soaked rag up to your mouth and coos at you while you fall limp and into his arms.

He knows you’ll never truly forgive him if you wake up one morning in his apartment, breakfast in bed waiting beside you while he stares eagerly down at you, apologizing for having to be so extreme but trying desperately to convince you that he had no other choice, that he did it for you, that he did it to keep you safe.

He knows it won’t go over well, and Keigo already feels so unsure of how to properly court you and make you genuinely like him and not just Hawks that he doesn’t want to do something even slightly risky. He already knows that stalking you, breaking into your home at night to restock your refrigerator and lay beside you on your bed is crossing enough boundaries and grounds for you to be seriously afraid of him, but kidnapping you is a line he simply isn’t willing to cross.

At least, that’s how he initially feels – until something drastic happens, something that seriously threatens your safety and Keigo can’t just simply sit back and allow it to happen. And of course, it’s fucking Dabi – Keigo’s stomach drops when he hears you mention something about running into a man on your way over a cozy cup of coffee in a local café, the air warm and smelling of espresso.

He’d picked the café because he knew it wasn’t super busy – as much as his pride swells when civilians notice him and beg him for autographs and photos right in front of you, it also makes him nervous because the last thing he wants is to come off as cocky or arrogant or rude.

(Plus, the thought of making you jealous of his fans – especially the adoring women – gets his heart racing, his face and ears feeling hot because it makes him feel good that you’re being possessive over him, but he really doesn’t want you to worry. He’ll always be yours.)

But now he’s wishing it was full to the brim, voices chattering and making it difficult to hear the way you describe a man with so many piercings and a pretty serious skin condition came up to me, he knew my name! Keigo, why do you think he knew my name? Do you think I should be worried?

He’s stiff, every muscle in his body tense and his grip on the coffee cup in his hand so tight that it shatters, coffee and ceramic shards getting everywhere. He’s still staring at you, though, even as you gasp and stand up, running to grab some napkins and wipe up the still steaming coffee. There’s some on his hand but he doesn’t seem to care – to even notice, really, if the way he’s just staring and not even flinching is any indication.

Your brows furrow as you wipe the drink off of him, chest heaving slightly as you ask him if he’s okay, if it hurts, if he’s even listening to you. Keigo just swallows, still looking at you, before telling you with an unnervingly flat voice that it’s certainly weird, but I wouldn’t worry about it.

You don’t mention it again, instead trying to ignore the heavy atmosphere and the way he’s looking at you, all wide-eyed and not a single bit of emotion on his face. It’s scaring you, to be honest, and you’re quick to give him a small side hug and thank him for meeting you for coffee. Keigo mumbles something back as he watches you walk away, something prickling at the corners of his eyes that almost feel like tears as he imagines how Dabi could’ve possibly learned about you.

He’d been so fucking careful – always making sure to not let his phone ever directly point at your face or your address, never explicitly saying your full name in case he was being bugged, never even breathing any bit of information that the greedy bastard could get his hands on.

And yet, it’d all been for nothing – because now that Dabi knows about you, everything has changed. You’re in danger, because although Keigo believes that Dabi won’t immediately kill you, he can’t simply rely on his gut – you’re in danger. And although he’d promised himself he wouldn’t snatch you away, that he wouldn’t betray your trust and make you hate him, he doesn’t really have a choice now, does he?

And so, with a heavy heart and red, puffy eyes, Keigo slips into your apartment, the sleeping pills he’d mixed into your water sitting on your nightstand leaving you out like a light, even as he fabricates the crime scene. He’s shattering your window to mimic a home invader, tangling up your sheets and leaving dirty prints coming out your front door, your clothes ransacked and your television and computer destroyed.

It has to look real, after all – faking a death is difficult but he’s done it before, and as he soars away across town to his own apartment, with you clutched in his arms and your hair tickling his neck, Keigo can only whisper apologies against the crown of your head, squeezing his eyes closed and hoping that even in your unconscious state, you can feel how terribly, terribly sorry he is.

Of course, even though your kidnapping isn’t the idea situation for you or your captor, Keigo still tries to make the best of it. He doesn’t pretend to think that you’re happy with him – he expects the crying and screaming when you wake up the next morning, his expression carefully neutral as you accuse him of being a villain, a creep, even though it makes his chest ache in a way no injury ever has, his lips feeling numb because god, he can’t breath with how you look at him in disgust and hatred.

It’s horrible – but he grits his teeth and bares it, avoiding the pillows (lush and top-quality, of course, covered in sheets of your favorite color) you’re throwing at him, not saying anything until you’ve had your fill. And really, his explanation once you’d calmed down enough to listen to it isn’t nearly enough – he’s at a loss for words, really, looking at you with such honest eyes that it only makes you cry harder.

He’ll tell you that I need to keep you safe, and I – I’m selfish, so this is the only way. It’s lackluster and it’ll have you despising him, but as the days slowly pass, you’ll find yourself growing less and less enraged at him, instead growing more and more complacent about your new life.

Because really, Keigo absolutely fucking spoils you. He’s certainly not hurting financially, and he won’t bat an eye at buying anything and everything he thinks you could possibly want.

He’s getting takeout every night, ordering all your favorites (without having to ask you, of course, something that’d scared you at first, but there’s something about the way he eyes you as you eat it that makes you pause, his small, almost shy question of do you like it sounding rushed and nervous) and making sure to pick up snacks and goodies on his way home from almost every patrol. He loves to see you smile, and even in the beginning, when you’re still afraid of him and betrayed, the way your lips quirk up ever so slightly into the shadow of a smile when he hands you your favorite snack makes him gulp, something warm and overwhelming and hopeful bubbling up inside him.

He’s buying you pretty necklaces and jewelry that remind him of you, all the pieces startlingly within your tastes, his memory of the jewelry you used to wear so acute and strong that he knows your style even better than you do.

All of the clothing he buys for you (mostly comfortable clothing, lounging shirts and sweatpants and giant blanket ponchos) fits you perfectly, almost seeming to be tailored with the way they fit around your bust, hips, ass, shoulders, and thighs.

(He won’t buy you any formal clothing, however – he’s faked your death, and he can’t exactly take you out for a nice date now, can he? He wouldn’t mind doing a candle-lit dinner in his own apartment, maybe sprinkling a few rose petals over the table and cooking you something that he really, really needs you to like, but he knows you aren’t willing. You’d thrash and refuse, not eating his food and looking at him with those eyes, the ones that are hard and calloused and sting with pain. So, he instead purchases the pretty dresses with low tops and slits up the leg, storing them in his spare closet so that you never see them, so that you don’t feel forced into anything more than you don’t want. Kidnapping is enough – romantic dinners would be amazing, the kind of thing that Keigo thinks about with a small, sad smile on his face as he watches you sleep late at night, but certainly not a thing that could happen. Absolutely not – at least, not any time soon.)

He’s embracing each and ever artistic and creative passion you’ve ever had, buying you unfathomable amounts of supplies and instruments of the highest quality, waiting with baited breath to see if you like them, hoping with his hands clutched into fists at his side that you’ll smile at him, that you’ll look at him in anything other than hate – and perhaps, if he’s lucky enough, you’ll even thank him.

(Just the thought makes him shiver, a blush rising from his chest all the way up his neck because he can’t not immediately imagine the way you’d thank him – perhaps you’d give him a kiss, full of tongue and spit and moans, or maybe you’d even sink to your knees for him, telling him that you appreciate his thoughtfulness, his love, how he works so hard to keep me safe, won’t you let me thank you, Keigo? Please?)

It’s wishful thinking, of course, but Keigo tries to do everything humanly possible to keep you as happy as you can be given the situation. Of course, he’s still controlling, laying down rules that you’ll be too afraid to disobey, because although Keigo is soft with you and treats you like you’re made of glass, you’ve seen the televised fights, the way his knuckles are sometimes bruised after patrols, the way he snaps angrily into his phone when the Commission calls him with yet another assignment. He’s still dictating what you can eat, how much contact you get with the outside world, your limited sources of entertainment, anything and everything. But he tries his absolute hardest to respect you in every other way, if only to perhaps plant the seeds of you one day growing to tolerate him, of you one day even perhaps loving him.

And so, Keigo forces himself to do the hardest thing of all – not physically crowd you. He’s always wanted to be touchy with you, the years of not having anyone to hold or even give platonic physical affection causing him to be touch-starved, and so once you come into the picture?

Well, he’s only a man – he can’t help but imagine the way your hand would feel in his, fingers intertwined and your soft skin pressed against his own rougher hands.

He can’t help but imagine kissing you, feeling how soft and gentle your lips would be against his, how you taste, how you’d make little sighs and whines when he starts kissing you harder, deeper, letting even just the smallest sliver of his desperation for you shine through.

He can’t help but imagine pulling your body against his own, keeping every inch of you flush with him while you watch a movie together, his fingers toying absentmindedly with your hair, deep exhales sounding from behind you each time he leans in to catch a whiff of you.

He can’t not imagine the way you’d get all shy and bashful when the hand that’s been running up and down your sides suddenly dips lower, cupping at your ass while he lowly mumbles your name, telling you that he can’t hold back anymore, angel, can’t I have a taste?

He’s being good – he’s forcing all those urges and fantasies to the side, not putting you in a position where you feel forced into physical contact of any kind, sexual or otherwise. He’s respecting you, prioritizing you, even if it slowly destroys him. Having you right there, stuck with him, permanently bound to his side makes him want to grab onto you and never let go, to latch onto you like some sort of leech and take everything you have to offer and then some. It drives him fucking crazy, but he knows he’ll get nowhere by forcing anything onto you.

And so, he holds his tongue, forcing his hand to not reach out and touch, forcing himself to not say the compliment on the tip of his tongue that’ll likely make you more uncomfortable than flattered. He’s good, and eventually you’ll end up slowly coming to tolerate him. Sure, he’s kidnapped you and sure, you’re still understandably upset at him, but isn’t he right? You’d seen the man that approached you before Keigo stole you away – if he’d attacked you, what would you have done? You’d have hoped and prayed that Hawks would have shown up, that you’d been saved because you were too weak and incapable of doing it yourself.

So maybe he’s right – maybe you do need him, like he tells you late at night when he thinks you’re asleep. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, sounding more and more sure of himself as the night wears on and he repeats aloud that he’s keeping you safe, I’m keeping you safe, I know you don’t understand it now but someday you’ll realize that I only took you to keep you out of harm’s way.

And once you get past that barrier of hatred and animosity, it’s disturbingly easy to let Keigo take full control, to give into him in every possible way.

You’ll stop fighting his diet planning, you’ll gladly thank him for any book he gives you as entertainment, you’ll eagerly listen when he tells you about his patrol and how he encountered so many villains who’d done horrible things. And Keigo will notice this change in your attitude – it’s too early to tell and he’s always been too pessimistic to be hopeful, but you almost seem to be liking him. You’re starting to revert back to the woman he first became obsessed with – all smiles and laughter and snarky comments that left him choking on his drink.

And he can’t believe it – he has to pinch himself, staring at you in shock with a flushed face as you make some comment alluding to him being ‘too handsome for his own good’, the fork in his hand clattering down onto the plate. From there, it’s a steady trajectory up – you’ll start getting even more little knick-knacks, shiny things and expensive things that he leaves in pretty, bow-wrapped boxes for you, a card written in his best handwriting that says something along the lines of for my angel.

It’s cheesy and makes you laugh a bit, but Keigo keeps doing because god, please laugh like that again, say his name while you do it and maybe even reach out to touch his shoulder…

He jumps at the opportunity to further your changing opinion of him, determined to make you like him, determined to let him love you like he knows he can – like he’ll do anything to prove to you.

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, getting Keigo upset with you is kind of difficult. He views you as his own personal slice of heaven, the only thing that he truly has. You’re the only thing that belongs to Keigo Takami, not Hawks, not the Commission, only him, and because of that he tends to idolize you.

You’re his first real romantic partner, his first real romantic experience, and the combination of that plus his intense, pitifully strong desire to please you makes it hard for him to stay angry at you for any significant period of time. And so, while he’s far from the ideal captor (too clingy, too controlling, too awed when he looks at you), Keigo will avoid punishing you at all costs.

He just doesn’t see the point – he doesn’t want you to hate him any more than you already do, and the thought of purposefully hurting you makes him feel physically ill. He hates seeing you in pain – it’s part of what drove him to steal you away, after all, the terror he felt at knowingly putting you in harm’s way. He’s protective and frankly anal about your health, and so to purposefully bruise your pretty skin or make you cry makes him angry enough to want to hit something, angry enough to literally writhe in his own rage.

And so, Keigo swears off any sort of physical altercations with you – he’s just too strong and you’re just too weak, and it would break him to know that he was the source of your pain and misery.

(He knows he is, already, but he can’t be the source of it physically, too, otherwise he might just shatter, feeling entirely numb and carrying out his missions like a robot, utterly unaffected by the world because he hurt you, and can he even call himself a decent hero, a decent man after that?)

However, while causing you physical harm is off the table, Keigo is realistic enough about your situation to know that punishing you entirely is something he can’t avoid. You will act out, he’s sure of it – he’d be concerned if you didn’t, really, and so he’s expecting you to lash out at him and try to hurt him. If he were you, he’d do it too.

But as much as he expects this behavior and wouldn’t fault you for it, Keigo knows that if he wants to make any progress, if he wants to give you even a chance at eventually growing complacent (it’s a selfish desire, really, but it’s the only route he can see to where you’ll be even remotely happy, or at least not fighting tooth and nail at all costs), he has to establish repercussions for when you’re throwing tantrums or acting poorly.

It feels condescending and Keigo hates it, but he decides that where physical punishments fail, he must rely on emotional ones. It’s manipulative and it makes Keigo feel dirty, disgusting, like a poor excuse for your so-called-protector, but it’s his only choice. He has to get you into shape, both for your sake and his. It’s the only choice, he swears.

You really hadn’t meant to stumble upon something you weren’t supposed to find, really. As a general rule, you don’t snoop through Keigo’s things – he’s a clean freak, first of all, the apartment he keeps you in minimalistic with everything in its correct spot. It’s classy and pretty, sure, but it’s boring, and can you really be blamed for wanting to explore after a few weeks cooped up in this penthouse?

Certainly not – which is how you find yourself tiptoeing into Keigo’s bedroom – he’d brought up the idea of sharing a bed multiple times only to be outright refused by you, and so he kept his things in this separate room. And it wasn’t explicitly off-limits, your captor never actually telling you that you couldn’t venture in. And so here you are, opening up the tall, wooden cabinet in the corner of the room and immediately sucking in a sharp breath at what you find.

You’d known Keigo had stalked you, the confession slipping from his lips early on into your captivity and the evidence difficult to deny.

(How else could he have known all your preferences before you ever voice them, knowing the way you like your morning drink, the products you use in the shower, hell, even the way you sleep – getting the pillows you like, pajamas similar to your own, even the type of sheet you prefer.)

You’d known, sure, but this – this is something else entirely. The cabinet’s housing a variety of items that send a chill down your spine because they’re yours.

An old bottle of perfume sits on the corner, the brand name smudged off from wear, and you bite your lip as you notice it’s still got just a bit left, though not nearly the amount you remember when it’d gone missing a few months ago. Your nose scrunches at the thought of him using your perfume, and bile rises in the back of your throat as you start imagining exactly how it’d been used, for what purpose and how often for that much to be gone.

There’s a few old lip balms sitting there, organized by flavor – cherry at the right, then melon, then mint, then peach and coconut. You don’t bother looking at them closely, too nervous to find signs of usage from someone other than you. (Which is good: the mint flavored Chapstick’s missing a chunk, with  what looks like teeth marks sunken into the material.)

There’s an old hairbrush you thought you’d left at a friend’s place, still a few tufts of hair left between the bristles, though something seems to be crusted against the handle, and you wince at the thought of what that could possibly be. You’re scared, really, your heart screaming at you to stop searching, begging you to not look deeper because you don’t want to know what else he’s stolen from you, but your mind urges you to keep going, some sort of sick urge to know exactly what he’s taken, why he’s taken it.

(Though, you think you already know – the way he leans in close to smell you when he thinks he’s being subtle is telling, as is the way he has you sort out your used period products into a separate waste container, telling you that it's because the pads he gives you are compostable. You’ve seen the way the bags linger, though, staying in his bathroom, blood sometimes sitting under his nails when he emerges, eyes dilated and licking his lips at you.)

But as soon as you spot the photographs, you crumble.

Of course you’d known he was stalking you, following your every move and watching you at your most vulnerable, but somehow this is worse – there’s dozens of them, stacked neatly in piles that you can’t even begin to understand. Leafing through them with shaking fingers, they only seem to get worse and worse, images of you laying on your couch, cooking, doing your makeup, changing into your bathrobe, sleeping, and oh god, there’s even one of you on your bed, legs spread and fingers thrusting and rubbing and oh god you’re going to be sick-

The photographs fall from your fingertips as you shakily take a few steps back, the sound of the front door opening and Keigo’s call of I’m home making panic swim in your veins. He’s quick to come find you, asking you in a voice that’s edging on concerned where you are, but when he steps into his bedroom and spots you against the far wall, hands covering your mouth and the wooden door open and askew, Keigo’s clenching his teeth, jaw working.

Oh, is all he has to say, and it snaps you out of your horror.

Oh? That’s it? That’s fucking it, Keigo? What – what is this? You’re sick, a sick freak! Why do you have my stuff? What’s wrong with you? You’re yelling, pushing yourself further against the wall, and he can only frown, irritation and worry eating away at him because god, hearing you so upset is physically hurting him but there’s nothing he can do.

You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s, uh… He trails off, mind racing and panicking as he tries to think of what to say, but you don’t let the silence sit for long.

There’s something wrong with you, you’re a fucking monster! You think you’re a hero? Stalking some poor civilian, stealing her shit, photographing her while she’s sleeping? You’re disgusting, a horrible, twisted, sick creep! Stay away from me!

You’re crawling backwards away from him as he comes towards you, his hands in front of him as a sign of peace. You’re crying, he can see, and it only makes his chest ache more, shame and self-loathing away at him because you’re right – he’s sick in the head, he knows it, but he can’t help it.

I know, I know, calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop crying, angel –

It's the wrong thing to say and he immediately knows it, because you give him a glare that makes something sharp dig into his heart, so much so that he physically clutches at his chest, wincing and averting his eyes from yours.

I hate you, Keigo, you whisper, and it makes something ugly come from his throat, a mix between a gasp and a whimper. I hate you I hate you I hate you.

He’s frozen for a moment, before swallowing, nodding his head and blinking the tears out of his eyes. I know, he starts, before turning on his heel and walking towards the doorway to the bedroom. I know you hate me, but you’re stuck with me.

And with that he walks to the front door, slamming it behind him and leaving the apartment empty. You stay curled up on the ground for a few minutes, still crying and hiccupping, the influx of emotion making your head ache. You’d been here for weeks now, and you thought you’d moved on from these crying episodes, from these emotional outbursts, but something about the photos had opened the floodgates.

After another ten minutes, you shakily get up, still rubbing at your eyes and avoiding looking at the wooden cabinet. You all but sprint to your own bed – the bed he gave you, at least – and curl up on top of it, letting your eyes shut and exhaustion fall over you. It’s not until you wake a few hours later that you notice Keigo still hasn’t returned home yet.

That was odd – he’s not on shift, and it was the middle of the night by now. Where was he? Shaking your head, flashes of the photographs race through your head, forcing you to stop thinking of Keigo. The night is quiet as you make yourself something small to eat – a piece of bread and a small amount of the low-fat butter Keigo eats, the apartment still eerily quiet.

You fall into a restless slumber soon after, your dreams filled with the sensation of something – someone – watching over your sleeping form.

When you awake, there’s still no sign of him – everything’s quiet and empty, and you bite your lip, equal parts relieved that he’s nowhere in sight but also slightly concerned. The feeling looms over you as the day slips away, his presence still gone. It’s not until two days later that Keigo finally returns home, and by that point the paranoia at his absence leaves you perking up when you hear the faint jingling of keys.

You’re immediately on your feet, practically tripping as you run to the front door, eager for him to return, eager to not be all alone and scared – something you’d realized about a day ago. You’d actually been afraid of his absence. Perhaps it was survival, wanting to make sure you had enough food and someone with the locks to all the keys that’d be able to let you out, or perhaps it was that you needed him. Maybe you needed some human contact, the total silence and your inability to contact anyone driving you stir crazy.

Regardless, you wait with eager anticipation as Keigo opens the door, those yellow eyes immediately catching yours, his expression carefully neutral though you can see something behind the practiced apathy. It’s relief, you think, and something else – something more desperate, something more vulnerable, something that makes you launch yourself into his arms, nearly knocking the wind out of him as he stares wildly down at you, shock written all across his face.

He’d expected that you’d be relieved that he came home, happy to have your source of food and care back, but not this excited – he swallows, frantically trying to not focus on the way your body is pressing against his and how he can feel all of you, instead letting his arms hesitantly wrap around you, not wanting to scare you.

You’re saying his name, he realizes, and he furrows his brows, closing his eyes and letting the sound ring through his ears. It’s wrong to be enjoying your clearly distraught state and he knows it, but he can’t help it – you’ve never initiated physical contact like this before, and is it really such a crime to be enjoying it?

I’m here, angel, ‘m here, he tells you, petting a hand over your hair and letting you squeeze him tighter. Please never leave me again, Keigo, please!

You’re begging him, he realizes, and it forces him to hug you just a bit tighter, his wings coming down to join the hug to. Closing his eyes again, Keigo lets out a slow, deep sigh, relishing in the way you’re clinging to him for comfort, begging him to never leave you for a moment.

And as he whispers a small I’m yours, I’ll never leave you again, you can only nod against his chest, disgusted with yourself for this display of your dependence on him. Because really, when had you become so fond of your captor? The photographs are still on the ground in his bedroom, all the things he's stolen from you sitting in that damned cabinet, but you find yourself not caring.

As you breathe in the now familiar smell of his cologne, hear his heart pounding away in his chest, you find that you don’t care about anything, really – because perhaps what he’s been saying along is really true.

Maybe you are in need of protection, needing him to provide for you. Because you’d been left alone for three days, and what do you have to show for it? Panic, loneliness, fear that he’d left you behind? Maybe you really are just as weak as he makes you out to be – and as you slowly pull back from the hug, you find yourself ever so briefly being thankful for him.

Thankful that you’ve finally, finally found where you belong: by Keigo’s side, letting him fawn over you and keep you locked up like some prized pet.

OVERALL DANGER:

6/10

Keigo is less dangerous and more paranoid. He has so many alter egos and warring identities that once you come along, encouraging him to just be Keigo around you rather than Pro Hero Hawks or PLF Hawks, he can’t let you slip away.

There’s something about you that doesn’t leave his mind – perhaps it’s your mannerisms, your looks, the way you speak, how you walk and how you smell and how you think. Maybe it’s some twisted form of fate, or some long-repressed part of his quirk that’s beginning him to finally find a companion, a mate, someone to share himself with.

Regardless, once Keigo’s obsession forms, he’s a lost cause – he’s thinking of you constantly, unable to stop his mind from wandering into idle thoughts of what you’re doing or how you’re feeling. He finds himself unconsciously trailing behind you, watching over you from above with those sharp eyes of his narrowed in on your form, studying and memorizing the curves of your body underneath your clothing, the way you walk ingrained into him so deeply that when he closes his eyes all he sees is you.

His paranoia grows as his obsession does, too, the worrying realization that you’re weak making it difficult for him to ever part from you, anxiety swimming in his gut because what if you get hurt and he isn’t there to help you? What if you get into trouble and he isn’t there to swoop and be your savior?

(Some sick, twisted part of him almost wishes you would run into trouble, just so he could put himself into the position of being your knight in shining armor, of making you swoon for him, feeling the way you’d be so very grateful and want to make it up to him in any way you could. He forces the thought down, disgusted with himself for fantasizing about you being in danger, but during long nights where he tosses and turns in his too-empty and too-cold bed, the thought of you looking at him in such awe and gratitude makes something warm, wet, and shameful throb to life between his legs.)

He does eventually kidnap you, yes, but as time passes you’ll find that slowly you’ll stop caring about how he keeps you trapped by his side, how he controls your every day life, how he forces you into all sorts of loungey, comfortable clothing that always smells like him. Because really, Keigo is awfully pathetic – he thinks he’s good at hiding just how badly you affect him, but you can see the way he perks up when you enter a room, looking so hopefully and lovesick as he gazes at you that it almost hurts.

You’ll be able to tell how his heart is racing in his chest when you get close to him, his breath turning ragged and his palms so sweaty that when he wipes them on his pants they leave wet marks. It’s pathetic, sad, cute, and as time passes with Keigo as the only person in your life, slowly you’ll begin wondering if being loved by him isn’t bad.

Is what Keigo can give you – protection, adoration, reliability, devotion – really so bad? Is it so bad to just be loved?

And Keigo will be there waiting for you once you finally come around, his hands trembling as he hugs you, burying his face into your neck and you swear you feel something wet against your skin, his tears tickling you as his shoulders shake. He just loves you, and how cruel can you be to reject him, to leave him without the only person he’s ever cared for?

How could you be such a monster?

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of dub-con, masturbation, stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, toys, clothed sex, hair-pulling, this one is actually kind of soft and feels less yandere-y to me so sorry that this one is a little less creepy than normal, Shouta is a pleaser and lives for your praise, he gets off with a blanket you gifted him, very mild somnophilia, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS

In general, Shouta isn’t that perpetually horny. He’s a busy man with constant stress weighing on his shoulders; working as a pro while being a full-time teacher leaves him drained during the few times he gets to relax, and it’s a lot of work to get himself hard, to get off, and to clean up afterwards.

It’s just not worth it to him – especially because it’s a bit sad to be left with just his fist and some low-grade, unrealistic porn as a man in his thirties, isn’t it?

He doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t had one for quite some time – there was a girl a decade or so ago, but she didn’t last long, and the sex was subpar at best. And so, Shouta finds himself neglecting any sort of sexual activity most nights that he’s off work, not bothering to get himself all worked up and fuck away some of that pent up stress.

Except, then you show up.

His feelings for you form, and although it takes a long time for them to solidify, it takes an even longer time for them to turn lewd, any sort of sexual thought involving you not really taking root into he’s much further into his obsession.

This is for a few reasons – firstly, he just doesn’t have that high of a libido, and while seeing you naked when he’s watching from outside your window certainly gets him hot and bothered, he isn’t constantly fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you’re screaming his name.

(Not never, just not constantly – and at inopportune moments, sometimes. Moments where he really should be focused on the mountains of paperwork on his desk, not focused on how the desk is the perfect height for you to be standing on your tiptoes, ass poised out and your chest pressed against the hard wooden lacquer, your soft skin glistening in the dim light and your pretty thighs twitching and quivering as his fingers press deeper and deeper and deeper -)

Secondly, Shouta’s already feeling such crippling guilt regarding his infatuation with you that adding on overt sexual fantasies for you would push him too far. He already hates that he thinks of you constantly, that he’s always idly worrying about your safety, wanting to know your location and who you’re with and what you’re doing.

He already dislikes that he can’t stop himself from swinging by your apartment at the end of his patrols, making sure that you’re in your bed asleep, safe and sound and looking so fucking pretty in the moonlight. He doesn’t like how wrapped around your finger you have him, so how could he justify wringing himself dry to you, depraved fantasies running through his mind as he imagines the way you’d cream on his fingers, how you’d clench down on him so, so tightly when he fucks you just right?

Shouta can’t – it would breach too many protocols of trust, the friendship formed between the two of you precarious enough as it is with Shouta’s obsessive, disturbing feelings. He doesn’t think of you sexually, banishing every thought from his mind the moment it appears.

Or, at least, that’s what he wishes could be true – unfortunately, his hormones get the better of him sometimes, leaving him rolling around in his bed, cock painfully hard and his mind insistently flashing images of you changing behind his eyelids.

He’s embarrassed, more than anything, that he doesn’t have enough self control to successfully halt any lewd thoughts of you – it’s pathetic, really, because is he so desperate to touch you that he literally can’t stop himself?

Is he really so painfully, pitifully aroused by you that just the mere idea of you licking your lips or smiling at him can get him breathing hard, thankful for the bagginess of his pants?

He hates that the answer is yes, that his body is really that pent up and eager to get you under him, naked and soft and pretty, all for him and only him. It’s demoralizing, but Shouta only has so much restraint – he tries to hold out for as long as he can, really. He swears.

It’s torture at first, popping melatonin and chugging Nyquil, hoping he’ll be able to pass out and sleep off the horniness, but it never quite works. Instead, his dreams are full of you – on your knees, sucking him off so well that your cheeks are literally hollowing, drool spilling down your chin, a string of saliva and precum connecting your puffy lips to his swollen tip when you pull off for air.

He’ll dream of you on your hands and knees, peeking back at him with glassy eyes and biting your lip, clearly embarrassed as you ask him to touch me, please Shouta, I need you…

He always wakes up with soiled sheets, his entire pelvis sticky with now cold cum, and it becomes very, very difficult to look you in the eye that day, only able to conjure up the image of you all tied up in his scarf, your breasts perfectly framed and your thighs spread, slick covering them as you whine his name, desperate for him.

And though he tries to stave off, not letting himself actively fantasize about you sexually while he’s conscious, a particularly rough day of teaching and patrol have him giving up, throwing caution to the wind as he decides that he needs this, that a release is the only way he’ll be able to stay sane.

In the past, the few times he’s masturbated he’s always just fucked his fist, not needing anything too fancy. But for you, something about that feels disrespectful – it’s stupid and he knows it, but the idea of just thrusting into his hand over and over until he eventually spills all over his knuckles seems tacky, low-class, almost offensive to your image, like he’s tarnishing you and the way he idolizes you.

So, he relies on the next best thing he can scrounge up – you’d given him a blanket a few months ago, a birthday present that he’d tried desperately to cover his blush at receiving.

(Hizashi had pitched in, helping you decide which color and texture, having an expert’s opinion so that it would be perfect for the dark-haired man – a level of detail and attention to his desires that still, to this day, makes his heart flutter to think about. You cared, wanting him to be happy, and just that thought leaves his chest swelling with pride, his palms getting a bit clammy and his cheeks feeling too hot.)

He’s kept the blanket on his bed, using it every single night for the limited sleep he manages to get, making sure the material is always, always touching his body. It’s the only way he really feels close to you – the blanket was for him, sure, but you’d touched it, picked it out, held it in your arms while Shouta was dumbly gaping at you and struggling to utter out a strained thank you.

(If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell you on the fabric – it’s not as good as if you were actually here with him, laying in his arms, touching him, but if he strains enough and pretends hard enough, there’s the faintest whiff of you.)

He’s gulping, throwing his uniform off and leaving it crumped up in the corner, before gently, daintily grabbing the edges of the neatly folded blanket (a stark contrast to the harsh pulling and tugging at his costume he’d thrown off moments earlier) and laying it out on the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath, gulping, before tying his hair back into a messy, low ponytail, excitement flitting through him because he’s really about to do it. He’s really about to touch himself to the thought of you, allowing himself to fully indulge in the fantasy that is you, the fantasy that is imagining the way you’d feel against his body, your lips against his own, your hands in his hair and your thighs around his waist.

He’s moving slow as he settles onto his knees on the bed, staring down at the blanket with furrowed brows. This isn’t quite right – the image of you laying before him, body nude and your legs clenched together in anticipation feels very, very right, but there’s something missing.

A thumb comes down to idly rub at the blanket, tracing small circles against the material as he wracks his brain. What’s missing? How can he make this feel like you, like it’s your body he’s touching, like it’s your perfect little cunt he’s fucking?

He’s not sure, but suddenly it hits him – your body, just as he’d been dreaming about.

The blanket doesn’t look enough like you – it’s two dimensional, flat and having no surface area to grip onto, nothing for him to fondle and touch and squeeze.

It needs to have more of your shape – quickly, methodically, he’s reaching down, grabbing handfuls of the blanket and bunching it up, forming a shape that vaguely resembles your torso. He’s careful to get the exact shape of your waist and hips, making sure to leave mounds of crumpled blanket to represent your breasts, even creating a little space between your thighs that represents something soft, something warm and wet and tight – your precious little pussy, something Shouta would literally kill to feel.

He gulps as he looks down at his work, the atmosphere suddenly seeming much thicker, heavier, hotter, because now, the solid colored blanket seems like you, at least having your body shape and your vague proportions. Aizawa lets his hand run down what would be your side, pausing right over your pretend hip.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath, before shifting forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his knees and one hand as he carefully guides his cock to the space between your crafted thighs.

He’d been careful to leave a fold in the fabric, a pouch of sorts – a place for him to push into, slowly spreading the two layers, trying to mimic the way your pretty lips would part for him, your walls sucking him and clenching him nice and tight, wanting to keep him inside and never let him pull out.

Shouta curses as he rubs his tip against the fabric, noting with a small, far-away sense of disdain that there’s precum smearing all along the fabric, certainly leaving a stain that he’ll have to scrub out later. His thumb comes up to gently swipe along where he imagines your cheek to be, even feeling phantom sensations of warmth, of softness, just as you’d be.

He leans down slowly, throat bobbing, before letting his eyes flutter closed, his lips pressing against the blanket – right where he imagines your own to be. The kiss is soft, gentle, heartfelt, his tongue flicking out to lick against the blanket material, groaning and wishing it was your own tongue meeting his, your own spit coating his lips.

As he gets closer, body inching further down until his chest pressed up against what’s supposed to be your breasts, he shuffles his hips forward, pushing past the fabric fold and into you. He groans, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against where he imagines yours to be, letting his eyes shut tight, nearly squeezing them closed as he slowly rocks his hips.

The friction of the blanket feels a bit strange, not how you’d feel, but it’s better than nothing – and it’s so, so very easy to imagine you instead; your warm, slick walls, the way you’d squeeze at him when he brushes up against your spot, the way your legs would wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles and pulling him in closer, begging him to go deeper. He sighs out, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, the pleasure slowly beginning to mount.

He imagines the way you’d moan his name – he bets you’d be airy, a soft sound that gets his hips stuttering ever so slightly because he knows the way his name would sound spilling from your lips would be heaven, the sultry Shouta upturned at the end as he fucks into you just the slightest bit faster.

His hips pick up their pace at the thought of you crying his name, back muscles flexing as he slowly gets faster and faster, the slow, sweet, intimate pace he’d set blown to dust in the wake of his thighs propelling him forward, hips flying and smacking into the blanket so quickly and harshly that the mattress is shaking, bedframe slightly pounding against the wall.

Shouta groans, low and deep, imagining the way you’d beg him to go faster Shouta please, please please please you feel s’good, wanna come for you! Memories of seeing you touch yourself flash behind his closed eyes, seeing the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how you gripped at your pillows and bucked your hips and trembled and arched your back and gasped and came –

Shouta’s chanting your name, his hips sinking into the fold of the blanket over and over, and quickly he’s bringing a thumb down to rub frantic, uneven circles where he imagines your clit to be, desperate to get you coming, wanting to time your orgasm with his.

Fuck, come for me baby, give it to me, god you’re s’damn tight fuuuck - !

His eyes fly open as spurts of warm, milky cum spray from his tip, getting all over the blanket and making his hips stutter and jerk, the sensation of coming in something leaving his arms feeling weak.

He’s panting, still saying your name under his breath, dark hair falling around his face as his thighs flex and clench, the last bits of cum dribbling from his tip and leaving him feeling spent. He can’t help but imagine the way you’d take him, if you’d thank him for giving him everything he has to offer, if you’d hold onto him until you both caught your breath, if your walls would still flutter and clench sporadically even after you’d come down from your high.

He closes his eyes again, heart practically in his throat as he leans down once more to kiss the blanket, tongue sneaking out and wet noises filling the room as spit and drool get slobbered all over the fabric.

He’s still out of breath, panting when he pulls back, but it’s not until he leans back onto his knees and takes a good look at the blanket that his high begins to fade, the reminder that you’re not really there making a sharp feeling dig into his gut.

He stares for a moment, before sighing, slowly pulling out of the blanket and grimacing when he feels cooling cum sliding across his cock, the white mess all over the material and smeared across his skin.

He brings a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and sighing. What was he doing?

He’d just fucked a blanket – a gift, from you no less – while pretending it was you, his desperation to get you naked and in his grasp strong enough to make him lose him mind.

Pathetic, he was truly pathetic.

He’s ashamed as he throws the blanket into the laundry, hoping the cum stains will come out with all the bleach he’d thrown in alongside it, and as he chugs his coffee, deciding to get to school early and try to collect himself, Shouta can only sigh.

You make him such a fucking fool – a freak, perverted and creepy and gross, and as soon as he catches sight of you in the staff loungeroom, looking all pretty in your simple blouse and slacks, he knows he’s a lost cause, every bit of self-respect falling by the wayside.

 Because as soon as he looks at you, all he can think of is how you’d look underneath him, stuffed full of his cum and a dazed, fucked-out expression scrawled across your face. All he can think of is how you’d be absolutely perfect to sink his cock into – and as he darts off to the nearest restroom, desperately trying to get rid of the insistent, raging erection in his pants, he can only sigh, letting his head hang.

He really is a fucking creep.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS

Your thighs

Shouta isn’t one to sexualize women’s bodies. He’s a man with urges, sure, but he’s never had trouble separating sexual attraction from respect for his female friends, even for strangers in the streets. A body is a body, and they aren’t made to be stared at and ogled.

Except where you’re concerned, of course, because while Shouta tries his hardest to not sexualize every thought of you, it’s difficult to hold himself back when he’s so utterly attracted to every single part of you.

It’s hard to not fixate and stare and want when he looks at you, and so while he gives a valiant effort to not obsess over your figure in a less than innocent way, eventually he can’t help himself.

And Shouta discovers that while he loves every inch of you, there’s something about your thighs that drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

Maybe it’s their shape – pretty expanses of your skin that look perfect to grope and squeeze, the soft curves making him salivate in a way that feels almost predatory.

Maybe it’s the way they feel – your skin is so soft, especially if he moves his hands further up, between them, nearing somewhere warm and wet and throbbing.

Maybe it’s the way they feel when they’re around his waist, caging him in and keeping him right where he wants to be, and when they’re around his head?

(Don’t mention the instances where he’s orgasmed just from simply eating you out – it’s embarrassing, and while he won’t deny it, he will change the conversation and pray you don’t see the soft, barely-there pink blooming on his cheeks.)

Maybe it’s even the way you respond when he touches them – how you jump a little bit, his calloused hands feeling a bit cold as they skim along the sides, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, a comforting finger brushing along the juncture of your legs and pelvic bone.

He’s not entirely sure, but one thing he does know is that just seeing your bare thighs is enough to get him gulping, his dark gaze struggling to move away as he watches the area jiggle and flex while you walk, every step you take only making him want you more and more.

Even before he’s stolen you away, he’s fantasizing about your thighs – he’s bought more pairs of stockings and thigh-highs than he’d care to admit, keeping them neatly organized in a specific drawer in his closet, often fingering the material and biting his lip.

(The image of you wearing them makes him drool, the idea of the top hem squeezing your thigh and making a little bulge appear right above the socks getting his hand wandering down his torso, his fingers making quick word of his belt buckle because fuuuck, would you keep them on while he throws your legs over his shoulders and absolutely destroys you?)

He’s always taking extra time and care to properly worship them when he’s got his head between your legs, letting his lips and tongue trail all along the soft skin, leaving teasing bite marks and hickeys and feeling the way you tremble under his touch because he’s so close yet so far from where you need him.

He’s always got a hand on your thighs when he’s fucking you, his fingers clutching and digging into the skin while he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to last longer, to prolong the moment, to give you more more more, just like you deserve.

He just really, really likes your thighs, so don’t be surprised when he’s got his hand casually placed on one when you’re watching a movie together, his gaze purposefully not looking at you because you can’t see how flustered he is from touching your clothed thigh in a non-sexual context.

You can’t.

His hands

In general, Shouta lives to please you in bed. He’s by no means submissive (though he could be persuaded if you really, really wanted to be in charge for a night), but he’s a caring partner in every possible sense of the word – sex is about you, and any pleasure he gets from it is just a fun bonus.

And because of this, he takes every opportunity to learn new ways to please you, trying everything from teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, buying a collection of vibrators, even letting you grind against the expanse of his thigh.

But his favorite method by far is using his fingers on you. They’re thick, with scars and callouses dotting the rough skin, but they’re so gentle with you, always touching you like you’re something fragile and delicate and breakable. He's careful with you when he’s rubbing circles over your clit, the pressure consistent enough to feel good but not too hard, sometimes even teasing you. He’s gentle when he’s running his fingertips over your folds, occasionally dipping in just a hair to feel the warm wetness he wants so very badly to sink into.

(He often sucks in a short, nearly inaudible gasp when he does this, his Adam’s apple bobbing because god you’re wet, and he’ll pull back to lick off his fingers, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tastes you.)

He particularly enjoys fingering you – he’s dexterous, and he always goes slow and purposefully, learning quickly exactly where you like to be touched. He’ll angle the pads of his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your face twist up, hearing your pretty sighs and moans, feeling the way you clench around him, your hips twitching a bit as if to get him deeper, to get more of him. He keeps his pace sensual, the come-hither motion slow and controlled, all the while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, drawing shapes that stay just consistent enough to get you closer and closer.

All the while, the other hand is gently working at your clit, his fingers expertly getting the exact pressure and pattern you like, making your thighs twitch and your little gasps and mewls louder and more insistent.

And when he’s not actively working between your legs, Shouta’s always got his fingers pleasuring you in other ways – gently kneading at your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between a thumb and index finger, groping and squeezing at you like a man starved as his tongue flicks and sucks at your clit.

They’re grasping a handful of your thigh and squeezing reassuringly as he’s fucking you, his pace slow and deep, making sure you feel every possible inch of him as he folds you in half.

He’s even slipping a thumb against your tongue when you take a break to breath, your chest heaving and your fingers wrapped around his girth, a groan slipping from his lips because god, the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin is enough to get his cock twitching on its own. He’ll press down on your tongue, his lip caught between his teeth as you stare up at him, the sight indescribably erotic, a few praises falling from his mouth about how good you look, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him.

(All the while, he’s feeling you suck on his thumb, eagerly running your tongue along the skin and even swallowing around it to give the extra suction. Shouta curses under his breath, and suddenly stands, grabbing you by the hips and forcing you to bend over the chair he’d previously been sitting on, roughly spreading your legs and immediately diving in to lick and suck against your clit, a finger slipping inside of you because he just can’t not touch you after watching you drool all over him.)

He just likes to make you feel good, and while he enjoys pleasuring you with his mouth, nothing can beat the way you moan and shake when he’s working his fingers on you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent, your poor body trembling, the only thing you can think of him him him.

DRIVE

Though you inspire more sexual desire and drive within him than he’s experienced for the last twenty years, Shouta is still not absolutely desperate to fuck you at all times.

Sure, the idea is nice – being intimate with you is something he craves, but nine times out of ten this intimacy takes the form of simply holding you. Sitting beside you with your head resting on his shoulder, a blanket covering the both of your bodies as you snore softly and cling to him in your sleep, showing that you feel safe with him, that you trust him to protect you.

(Shouta is normally able to keep his staring in check and not be too terribly overt with it, but in times like these he allows himself to openly gape at you, those dark eyes of his examining every detail of your face. Every small wrinkle, every hair and mole, even every lash and baby hair that frames your cheeks. You’re just too damn pretty, and like this he can commit every last detail to memory – as if he hadn’t already, as if he doesn’t sleep at night with your face dancing through his dreams, as if he sees flashes of you in everything he does. As if he isn’t thinking of you as unconsciously as he breaths.)

He generally imagines sleeping with you (and genuinely just sleeping – curling up with you in his arms and his face buried next to your neck, the scent of your body and shampoo filling his senses and making him breathe out something that walks the fine line between a sigh and a moan), the peacefulness and tranquility of just having you close to him in the safety of his protection and home.

It’s a type of intimacy that gets Shouta red in the face, the idea so domestic and taboo and foreign that he comes to crave this on a near constant basis, serving as motivation and a way to calm himself when his students are out of control or a villain is being particularly difficult.

But of course, Shouta is only a man, and men have needs – no matter how he tries to keep his obsession with you as innocent as it possibly can be, sexual thoughts trickle in through the cracks of his mental fortitude and leave him with a phantom wonder of how you’d taste – would you be sweet, like the jellies Hizashi had gotten him? Would you be rich and savory? He hopes you’d have a strong musk to you, a smell that he can breathe in and think of you, something that gets his salivating and his body growing hot and his fingers restless and his breath heavy and labored and god –

He’s hard before he knows it, immediately covering his face with his hands because it’s equal parts embarrassing and terrifying how easily you manage to affect him, just the simple thought of you getting his entire body on edge.

And so he eventually takes up masturbation with you in mind, feeling dirty and disgusting each time he recovers from his orgasmic high, making it more and more difficult to look you in the eye without thinking of all the depraved things he’d imagined doing with you mere hours before.

But Shouta thinks he can survive – sure, he wants to fuck you, needs to kiss you, has to see the face you make when you’re coming, but he can control himself. He won’t succumb to the urge to break into your (frustratingly poorly protected) apartment to run his fingers along your pretty skin and fuck his fist mere inches from your face, no matter how badly his body yells and begs him to. He won’t cross this boundary – it’s hypocritical to think of himself not as a pervert at this point, but it’s the only way he confidently resists you.

Except, then you go and force him into kidnapping you – and now you’re with him nearly all moments of the day, your scent in his bedroom (though he knows you never willingly enter there, and he doesn’t force you to), your body always just a heartbeat away, the idea of holding you and kissing much, much closer now.

And even with the constant temptation, Shouta manages to hold out – it’s torture, really, forcing himself to be a good man and giving you privacy, to not touch you, to not press himself against you and feel the contours of your body against his own, but it’s worth it to him. He can’t force anything – he doesn’t want to scare you, and he has this horrible, sneaking suspicion that if he propositioned you, you’d feel too afraid to say no.

And just the thought is enough motivation to keep him from touching you, to keep him celibate from you purely by his choice – even if it starts affecting him physically.

(He’d never, ever admit it to you, but his lust for you becomes so extreme that if he’s gone more than a week or so without having touched himself to the thought of you while you’re under his care, his cock starts physically hurting when he sees you, his hips involuntarily twitching when he hears your voice, his throat feeling dry and his cheeks blooming bright red because god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad.)

And so, Shouta forces himself to be an outstanding man – but no one can be alert every moment of every day, and it’s only a matter of time before you catch him in a moment of weakness. Because really, while Shouta was suffering, you were certainly undergoing a struggle of your own – you’ve been stuck with him for a few months at this point, trapped in his modest apartment with everything you could ever need with one glaring, important exception: human touch.

You don’t necessarily want to be physical with your kidnapper, but as the days pass and you slowly come to accept the fact that you won’t be escaping Eraserhead, things start changing. You’re still understandably frightened of him, worried that although he’s not harmed you in any way and hasn’t forced you into much aside from your captivity, he’ll show his true colors and make your life even more of a living hell.

But that doesn’t happen, Shouta staying that familiar presence you’ve become accustomed to; steady, quiet, consistent. Except the more days that pass, the more you start noticing other things about him – he’s strong, isn’t he? You see it when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom with the towel tightly fastened at his waist, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and torso.

(He can feel your eyes sometimes, but tries not to dwell on what your staring at his naked chest could mean because getting his hopes up means getting them inevitably crushed.)

He’s awfully attentive, isn’t he? He listens when you speak, those dark eyes boring into you and your every wish – aside from escape – granted without so much as a complaint.

And sometimes, he’s a little attractive, isn’t he? In a rugged, man-ish way – a way that makes you gulp and press your thighs together a bit, because something about the stubble that coats his chin and the veins that litter his hands and forearms makes it difficult to breath correctly.

And then the daydreams start – little thoughts about how it would feel for those hands to touch you, for those lips to brush against your own, for his hair to tickle your neck as he hovers over you, his hips moving slowly and rhythmically against you, gruff grunts of your name filling the air between you.

They scare you at first, really, but soon you can’t stop yourself – you know it’s the lack of human contact that’s influencing you, but as time passes and you grow more desperate to know if he’s as attentive in bed as he is everywhere else, you’ll stop caring.

And Shouta can sense that something’s changing – he feels you watching him, notices the way your eyes follow him through a room, how you suck in the sharpest, smallest breath when he nears you, how you grow stiff when he has to flex a muscle in front of you to lift something heavy. Shouta knows that something is different – but it’s not until you grow brave one day that everything is confirmed.

It’d been a long, tiresome day for Shouta – his class had been especially rowdy today, with a simulation villain attack that the teachers participated in, and of course he’d ended up assigned to spar with Todoroki – meaning he’d been moving about, his muscles tired and sore from multiple hours of repetitive fighting. Then he’d had an extra patrol directly after, the villains particularly restless and causing more trouble than normal. Coupled with a nasty rainstorm that had him half freezing to death, Shouta wanted nothing more than to melt into bed, ideally with you beside him but knowing better than to wish for foolish things.

And when he’d stepped in the front door, you’d been waiting for him, sitting nervously on the couch. You’d stood up, but Shouta – despite feeling slightly more awake and alive at the sight of you, like normal – was still exhausted, already on the brink of unconsciousness as he gruffly greeted you. You looked nervous, twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, but Shouta was too tired to properly ask about it, only mentally noting to check on you tomorrow.

Slumping towards his bedroom, he was abruptly stopped with you grabbed his hand, his entire body going rigid. Your voice was quiet when you asked him why he always seems to avoid touching you, asking if he didn’t want to, if he was repulsed by the idea of touching, if he was repulsed by you.

And Shouta, still half delirious with exhaustion, let the truth slip from his lips before he could help himself – explaining just how badly he craves to feel you, imagining you in every lewd position he can think of, noticing the way your pajama shirts sometimes grow tight when you sleep and roll over, exposing the outline of your breast and nipple and making him physically stop in his tracks and nearly drool like some horny teenager.

Every secret was spilling out of him, his voice still tired and coarse but making your jaw drop, the admission that he’s been fantasizing about making you a mess on his fingers and tongue and cock stunning you. You’d known Shouta harbored some sort of feelings for you, but this?

When he finishes detailing the fact that he regularly fucks his fist to the thought of you at least twice a week after you’ve fallen asleep, you release his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

Shouta rubs at his eyes, still not facing you, but muttering a small goodnight and retreating to his room, only realizing what’s happened the next morning. His hands shake and he bolts from his bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing, something horrible and feeling like shame and dread sitting in his chest because why the fuck had he told you that?

Facing you the next day has anxiety sitting in his every nerve, his actions jerky and on-edge, an he’d nearly bolted back to the safety of his room when he sawy you sitting at the kitchen table, but then you’d done something unexpected – you’d walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, then grabbed his hand. Shouta had been confused, unable to ignore the way your hand fit into his own and the softness of your skin against his, but you’d not given him a chance to even ask questions – soon your lips were on his, and your hand had placed his on something warm and soft and squishy –

Shouta gasped against your lips, the feeling of your breast in his hand and your tongue swiping at his lips nearly making his knees buckle. He didn’t respond to your kiss for a few moments, forcing you to pull back and stare at him, something like worry and rejection reflected in your eyes, but it’s not until you whisper in a very small voice that he snaps out of his stupor.

I want you Shouta, and I know you want me.

You were in his bed moments later, his hands frantic and eager and shaking as he practically ripped off your borrowed pajamas, fingers moving fast and settling over every part of your body, seemingly unable to decide on where to stay.

It was rushed, desperation clouding both of your senses, but as Shouta threw your leg over his shoulder and pressed wet kisses against the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his whispered affirmations of his love for you only had you pulling him closer, adoration and shock and something so happy it nearly hurt filling his chest.

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in you loved him as he loved you.  

MAIN THREE KINKS

Clothed Sex

It’s about convenience for Shouta – he’s not lazy in the bedroom, but although he finds you irresistible and is normally willing to expend what very little energy he has on sex with you, he’s willing to take any shortcut he can.

Of course, sex with you in an ideal world sees the both of you completely nude, your bodies pressed as close together as physically possible so that not a breath of space lays between them. He likes being close to you, feeling every inch of you, the intimacy of it unmatched and making Shouta revel in the fact that you’re really there with him, that he’s really getting to touch you, that he’s really getting to kiss you and touch you and fuck you, just as he’s been fantasizing of for months.

But that said, there’s a strange allure to clothed sex – it’s taboo and a little dirty, something that makes him feel a little warm, his palms growing a bit sweaty because it could happen at any time. Whenever the mood strikes him or strikes you, he could simply unzip his pants, shuffle them down a bit and fish out his cock, and he'd be ready to go – already half-hard, the eager anticipation of your touch exciting him from nearly the moment you entered the room.

And it’s easy access to you, too – not that he’d ever take advantage of that fact, your consent still something he asks for every time he touches you. It’s easy to slip your panties to the side, sinking you down onto his lap as he groans and his head lolls back, the feeling of your warmth making his toes curl. He just likes how easy it all is – no time is wasted with struggling to get off your shirt or his pants, and the desperation to be inside you that always seems to overwhelm him at the most inconvenient of times can be attended to that much faster.

He just thinks there’s something so hot about it – he’ll specifically stock you with clothing to wear that makes this easy – flouncy skirts and shorts that make shoving everything to the side and bunching his fist into the cloth to get better leverage while he pounds into you.

He’ll get you tank tops and things that make fishing your breasts out of your top easy, so that they can freely hang and jiggle as he bounces you up and down on his lap, your nipples hardening and shivers racing down your spine as he flicks his tongue at one.

He’ll buy underwear that doesn’t chafe when he shoves it to the side, the pretty sight of lace against your skin making him feral, making him fuck into you harder and more frantically because you almost look like some sort of lewd present when you’re wearing that lingerie – like his very own present, the one thing in the world he wants more than anything else.

And he’ll wear clothing that makes this easy, too – pants that can be unzipped and boxers he can tuck underneath his balls, making sure that nothing gets in the way. And although having sex without clothes is much more common than with clothes, Shouta will surprise you and suddenly press up behind you in the kitchen, telling you that you look too good, that he can’t help himself, that he needs you, and has to fuck you right here, right now, I can’t wait.

And so when you nod, he’ll flip up that skirt of yours – the main culprit for the throbbing between his legs, of course, because the clear view of your legs and thighs makes his mouth water – and slip aside those panties, his cock already out and hard and dripping for you.

It’s spontaneous, more than anything, and it’s one of the only ways in which Shouta is a little carefree with sex – one of the only times that he isn’t serious, or at least as serious.

The main way Shouta likes to engage in clothed sex, though, is through cockwarming. He just likes being close to you – he’s touch-starved, and although he doesn’t have the energy to actually fuck you, he still wants to be inside you, to have your body against his, to have you near and be smelling your scent and hearing your voice.

And so, it’s not a rare occurrence to have him pull you into his arms on his modest leather couch, your frumpy sweatpants and t-shirt (both his, of course, a fact that isn’t lost on him – he will not be washing either of those items when they eventually are off your body) covering your form and his own loungewear covering his.

He’ll shuffle up behind you, pulling you against him so that he’s spooning you, and before long you’ll feel something poking at your ass – something hard and insistent, something that seems to be bobbing and moving every few moments.

Truthfully, Shouta couldn’t say what got him hard – perhaps it was just being with you, or maybe smelling you, or the sight of you in his clothes. It could be any number of things – but his breath hitches as you swallow and carefully tug down the hem of your sweatpants, pressing your exposed ass back against him.

He makes a sound like a low whistle, and then he’s fishing his cock out of his own pants, the tip already wet with precum as he shifts his hips to slip between your legs, propping your leg up over his so that he can push inside. He does so with a small groan, resting his forehead against your back, and he feels you clench down on him.

He’s content to lay there – the warmth of his clothing and from you almost too much, but seeing the way you snuggle deeper into the shirt sending something warm and hot and possessive through his chest. He’ll just pull you against him tighter, the slight shift making the both of you hiss at the small burst of pleasure. He’s content to fall asleep that way – relaxed, his cock still nestled inside of you and hard as a rock, the feeling of your cunt lulling him into dreams filled with you naked and moaning his name, all bouncing breasts and desperate hands and begs for more.

(Don’t be surprised, when this happens, to wake up feeling something dripping out of you – yes, it’s cum and yes, that wet dream was enough to get him there. Don’t mention it, either, because Shouta’s always disappointed that he wasn’t awake for it - after all, call him old-fashioned but finishing inside of you is arguably his favorite selfish part of sex.)

Overstimulation

Shouta is not a stingy lover. In the bedroom, he lives to see you enjoying yourself – it soothes this primal, horrible ache in his chest that yearns or your approval and happiness. A lot of his obsession is born out of a desire to please you and keep you happy and safe, and this translates into making absolutely sure you’re satisfied in every possible way between the sheets.

Sex isn’t really sex until you’ve had at least two orgasms, whether that be because of his fingers or tongue, and only then will he throw your pretty legs up over his shoulders, sinking into you with a sharp exhale and letting his face rest against your sternum as he wills himself to not get too excited, to keep his cool and not rut into you like wild animal. He wants you to enjoy sex with him – he craves intimacy with you and he needs you to crave it too, and he’s hopeful that by giving you the best attention and care in bed, you’ll be more inclined to kiss and hold him, to touch him and whisper those three little words in his ear.

(The three little words that make him gasp and shudder, cum immediately spurting out of his red, swollen tip, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto your thigh and the bedsheets tightly enough to keep himself grounded through the pleasure.)

And so, Shouta finds that there’s something darkly pleasing about being the one to get you orgasming, being the source of your pleasure – seeing your face twist up, your mouth forming that pretty ‘o’ and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Shouta develops a bit of a sick fascination with seeing just how often he can make you come for him, and from what. It stems from a good place; a genuine desire to make you happy and get you shaking with pleasure and incoherent enough that all you can say is his name.

 He likes to choose how you come – will it be his fingers? Will he draw pretty circles on the inside of your thighs, teasing you and feeling the way your breathing picks up a bit, a whine of his name telling him that you’re growing impatient, that you need more, that you need him?

He’ll get closer and closer to your folds, pressing a thumb against them and dipping in ever so slightly, the dull pleasure making you bite your lip, embarrassment eating you alive because it feels so dirty to be teased like this, to keep your legs so wide open for him, to feel the way his eyes are staring at you so fully and intensely, the adoration and lust swimming in those dark depths nearly too much for you handle.

He’ll press two fingers against your clit and get to work, rubbing with light pressure and slowly increasing it, feeling the way the nub gets harder and more swollen, fingers swiping down to collect a bit of your slick to make things easier, the pads of his fingers gliding along your sensitive skin and making your hips jump and twist.

He’ll use his other hand to finger you, rough calloused skin dragging against your walls and pressing right into the spot he knows you love – the one that makes your back arch up, your head pushing back against the pillow, your nails digging into the bedsheets and tangling through his hair. Working you through an orgasm with his fingers is his favorite and what you’ll most likely get – he gets a front row seat, watching with rapt attention as you fall apart for him, feeling the way your thighs tremble and close in around him when you’re right on the edge.

There’s this feeling of power, pride and desire making him light headed and only work harder at his ministrations, ignoring your yelps and gasps of overstimulation because he needs to see that again, to feel the way you clench down onto his fingers so tightly that he has to work to pull them out to thrust back in. You’re just so damn sexy, the sight of you laying before him with your pretty legs spread wide open making him swallow so hard you can hear it.

But of course, Shouta also loves using his mouth to get you off – pink lips attaching to your nipple, sucking and running his tongue over your areola to make you squirm, your little keens making his cock twitch against your thigh.

He’ll kiss at your hips, making a trail down to your clit, giving you little kitten licks while his eyes flick up to look at you, seeing the way you sigh and bite your lip, the rising and falling of your chest making him near feral.  

He wants to see you moan and writhe, to feel you grasping at him and needing him, and so his patience wears out and he dives between your legs, slick coating his nose and chin as he licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue against you, eyes closed in concentration and hair getting in his face but he doesn’t care – how can he, when you sound so pretty moaning his name like that?

How can he, when your thighs are clenching around his head and you’re just so fucking wet for him, showing him exactly how much he’s affecting you?

It's euphoric, and soon you’ll be crying out his name and creaming all over his lips, shaking in his grasp so hard that he has to hold you down by the hips to help you ride out the pleasure, the taste of you making him so hard that it hurts.

And god, there’s something about the way you respond to voice and his commands in bed that makes Shouta curse under his breath. You look up at him all wide-eyed, pleasure written across your face as you look to him for guidance, his voice gruff and thick with lust as he tells you to let go, come for me, want to see you come for me.

You immediately furrow your brows and bite your lip, grinding yourself harder against his fingers, feeling the pads of them brush against the spot that has you seeing stars, his name a prayer as you chant it over and over, only stopping to moan or gasp.

The sight is intoxicating, leaving Shouta gaping like a fish with parted lips and heavy breaths, staring at you like you’re something heavenly, divine, unable to tear his gaze away because he still can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re moaning his name, that you’re letting him touch you and oh, he knows what that change in your facial expression means, how you’re blinding grasping at him, how you’re stuttering out a rushed ‘m coming, Shouta ‘m coming fuck-!

Watching you come undone right before his eyes has Shouta’s cock throbbing, his hips subtly moving against your thigh because he needs friction, the sight of you and the knowledge that he made you this way nearly too much for him to bear.

And when you finally calm down, your breathing wild and your eyes a little glazed over, he’ll just swallow and quickly situate him hips between your legs, gripping himself at the base and impatiently prodding at your entrance, his words dark as he tells you that you’ve got another one in you, give it to me.

When he pushes in – slowly, so as not to hurt you – he lets out a groan, only muffled by the way he leans down to kiss you, feeling the way you tense up and eagerly return the gesture, wrapping your ankles around his waist and pulling him deeper, showing him that you need more more more if you’re going to finish like he wants you to.

And Shouta’s happy to oblige – snapping his hips into you until his muscles are sore and screaming, a thumb relentlessly toying with your clit, his lips against your neck and whispering praise tainted with curses.

He’s encouraging you to feel good, telling you to tell me how it – fuck, how it feels, you’re so goddamn tight, tell me how to fuck you – o-oh…

Because really, while he loves to get you coming and falling apart on his terms, Shouta’s pride flies out the window where you’re concerned – he’d do anything to get you clenching down on him and begging him to finish inside you.

Anything.

Voyeurism

Honestly, it’s a byproduct of having stalked you for such an extended period of time. Watching you was the only way to feel close to you – he wasn’t able to hold you and kiss you, to feel you and lay with you and make you whine his name, and becoming your shadow was the only possible substitution.

And even then, it wasn’t enough – all the guilt he harbors from watching you in your more intimate moments never fades, not even after years of having stolen you away, your pretty body and mind fully his to do as he pleases. He’s still ashamed, but some things he just simply can’t unlearn – and so, even once your sexual relationship begins, Shouta finds himself still utterly excited by the prospect of watching you pleasure yourself.

It’s dirty, horrible, something that makes him feel so guilty he can hardly stand it, but he can’t not stop and watch through the crack in your door when he hears what sounds suspiciously close to muffled whimpers.

He can’t not press his ear against the wooden door, closing his eyes and imagining what you’re doing to yourself – maybe you’re playing with that cute little clit, rubbing it in circles and biting your lip because it just feels so damn good, mimicking the way that Shouta works you up slowly and steadily, getting you so sensitive that your hips jump and twitch at just the slightest bit of pressure against your sensitive nerves.

(He’s had dreams about the way you taste – he thinks you’d be musky, something natural and strong and savory, a taste he wants in his mouth at all hours of the day. And the way you’d tremble and gush for him if it was his fingers and mouth toying with the nub, how you’d tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer and closer to you, needing as much of him as possible, needing him him him…)

Maybe you’re sinking your fingers inside of you, working up from one to three, stretching yourself out and imagining it’s him instead, that he’s the one filling you up and making your toes curl, that he’s the one causing all those pretty noises to fall from your lips.

(He knows just how much bigger his own fingers are – he’ll imagine the size difference, his eyes shutting tight when he thinks of how much more he can stretch you out, how much better he can make you feel, how the texture of his fingers must send pleasure up your spine in a way that your soft, comparatively dainty fingers can’t.)

Maybe you’re perched up on a pillow, straddling it with your cunt pressed snugly against the fabric, slick smearing across the cotton as you grind your hips back and forth, hunched over so that the angle is just right, imagining it’s him underneath you and it’s his thigh or cock you’re rubbing against.

(He’s had wet dreams about this sight, always hoping and fantasizing that you’re just so desperate for him that you’re imagining it’s his face you’re riding, his mind conjuring up the sound of your voice moaning out his name and telling him yes yes o-oh fuck yes, Shouta ‘s so good, you feel so good! He’d never seen you riding a pillow during all those months of stalking, but the idea’s just too graphic and wanton and lewd for him to not fantasize about, the idea satisfying the part of him that’s embarrassed and ashamed of just how badly he craves you – because surely if you’re humping some piece of cotton and pretending it’s him, then what does he have to be embarrassed about? Lots, really, but it makes him feel slightly better.)

Or maybe you’ve decided that you want something a little more physical, something to really mimic him – he’d seen you using your vibrator many, many times before he stole you away. His face always turned pink at the sight, his throat going dry and his grip on his capture weapon a little loose as he simply stared, the sight of your pretty body contorting and the plastic held against the crest of your pelvic bone making everything else fade away.

You’re so damn pretty – the way you moan and sigh, how your legs twitch, how your breasts sway and jiggle with every motion, making his fingers ache to reach out and squeeze, to knead and touch and grope, like some sort of pervert.

And this fantasy and mental image has stayed with him long after kidnapping you – once your physical relationship begins and Shouta no longer feels it would make you even more uncomfortable and scared of him, he’s buying you a replacement for that trusty vibrator you used to use to death. He’d left it on your nightstand one morning with a hasty note simply saying I’m gone a lot, I don’t want you to get lonely.

Of course, this is only half the truth – he does want you to be happy, and he doesn’t want you to grow resentful of the times when he’s too exhausted to give you proper sex. But of course, the unspoken portion of this gift is that he wants to watch you use said vibrator – and badly.

He wants to sit in a chair at the side of the bed, legs spread wide as he grips the base of his cock, absentmindedly squeezing at his balls while his dark eyes stay trained on your figure. He wants you to be spread out for him, perhaps a skimpy set of lingerie covering your pretty body (or perhaps none at all, if you’re comfortable with it) with your legs spread wide, the vibrator in your hand hovering against your clit. He wants to hear the steady, dull buzzing sound mixing with your whimpers, to see the way your body tenses up and you whine, feet flexing and shaky breaths slipping past your lips as you slowly work towards your high.

He wants to see the way you eventually grow impatient, changing the vibrator’s setting and immediately crying out, the feeling much more intense and making your orgasm hurtle towards you, getting slick all over the bedspread as you cry out his name and writhe.

And Shouta doesn’t want you to look at him – he doesn’t want you to acknowledge that he’s there. Ignore him, just as you would have back when he was simply watching from outside your window – he wants to watch you, not have a show be put on for him.

You’re just too pretty, and there’s something about watching you that gets him hard as rock, his fist twisting and flicking so quickly it’s nearly a blur as he watches you transition to fucking yourself with the toy, your cries loud and wanton as Shouta grunts and curses under his breath. He wants to finish with you this time, his hips thrusting against his hand in an effort to match the pace you’ve set for yourself. It’s a dirty secret of his, and while Shouta won’t force you into it, just know that he would love to catch you masturbating – just the sight of you pleasuring yourself is enough to get him hot under the collar immediately, hand rushing into his trousers to cup himself because god.

He just likes to watch you, and even during regular sex when he’s folded you in half, those eyes are alternating between watching your face, your bouncing breasts, and your cunt swallowing his cock again and again and again, his cheeks a rosy pink and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.

You’re just too pretty, he can’t take it – how can he not immediately want to get something of his on you, staining your lovely skin and gorgeous face with his cum?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE

Hair Pulling

But not on you – unless you like it, in which case he might consider but will only ever do it lightly. He doesn’t like causing pain in general, and would only be willing to do it in very specific scenarios – and even then, it will be as gently as he possibly can.

Rather, Shouta likes when you pull his hair – he doesn’t let most people touch it, and it’s a rare day that he actually runs a comb through it, so as a result his scalp is extremely sensitive. And so, when you tunnel your fingers through his dark locks and pull, Shouta audibly groans, the tingling pain sending pleasure racing down his spine.

There’s just something naughty about it – only you get to touch him like this, so only you get to run your fingers through his hair and tug at it.

He particularly likes when you pull it while he’s got his face between your legs. He likes how your fingers tunnel through it and scrape against his scalp, and he’ll often use it as an indicator of whether he’s doing a good job or not. If you pull often and hard, he knows he’s doing what he needs to do – he’ll keep the pace up and stay in that same spot, doing everything and anything in his power to keep you pulling at it, working through any pain in his jaw or tongue because he needs to make sure you’re feeling good even at his own expense.

When he’s got you perched on his face, your pretty thighs framing his head so that all he can smell and taste and feel is you, he likes to have you reach down and still pull lightly at the roots, your breasts squished together and nipples taut, the visual alongside your taste and the slight pain from his scalp making his eyes roll to the back of his head and precum dribble down his length.

When he’s hovering over you and thrusting into you, balls clapping against your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist, he likes to have you tug at his hair, moaning out and crying his name with each tug and letting his ego swell, each burst of light pain making his hips go harder, faster, deeper, anything to get you louder and clenching around him tighter.

Even when you’re just kissing – simple, innocent kisses full of smiles and his hands gripping you just ever so slightly, Shouta likes to have you running your hands through his hair and tugging lightly, keeping him on his toes and forcing his cock to life.

He just really, really likes to have you touch his hair – it’s something intimate and something he’ll only ever let you do, so really, you should count yourself lucky. Shouta sure does when he’s buried deep inside you, watching your face and feeling your hands in his hair as he gives you every last drop he has to offer.

Mirror Sex

In general, Shouta absolutely loves watching you in bed. He thinks you’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when you’re gasping on his cock and moaning his name, you’re even prettier, even more breathtaking and lovely and perfect.

And while he prefers positions where he can see your face, he wants to be able to see your expressions always, even if he’s got you bent over while he presses his back to your chest and mounts you like some sort of wild animal.

And so, to solve this problem, Shouta invests in a modest, simple mirror that he keeps facing the end of your ‘shared’ bed – it’s roughly four feet tall and two feet wide, the perfect size so that when he’s got you on your hands and knees for him, your back arching and your arms threatening to give out, he can watch your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He’ll experiment with the pacing of his thrusts, going deeper and harder to see the way your brows scrunch up, how your jaw drops and the most depraved whine slips out of you, pride and arousal swelling in his chest because he made you make that noise.

He’ll go slower and keep his thrusts brushing against the spots that make you gasp just so that he can see the way your lips twitch.

He’ll speed up, fucking into you so fast that his balls slap lewdly against your ass, the noise filling the room alongside your pants and his groans, watching all the while how your eyes flutter and your back arches. He’ll sit you in his lap facing the mirror, spreading your legs and getting to work with his fingers curling and rubbing inside of you, a thumb circling your clit and his lips at your ear as he tells you to watch, pretty, see how good you look?

He’ll kiss a line from behind your ear, down your neck and over your shoulder, occasionally glancing up to the mirror to make sure you’re actively looking, whispering praises against your skin each time.

And he’ll bring you close to the mirror, too – sitting you only a foot away from the reflective surface, letting you get a nice view of Shouta’s favorite sight – your cunt, all spread out and wet, practically begging for something big, heavy, and throbbing to fill it, to stretch it out and make you see stars.

He’ll spread your lips, exposing your clenching hole, smiling at your reflection and making you tell him that you’re pretty, forcing you to grow comfortable with your body because he knows that it makes you insecure to see so much of yourself, and it drives him crazy.

He’ll even fuck you against the mirror – forcing you to watch your face from mere inches away, your hot breaths fogging up the glass, and he’ll make you come like that – holding your chin straight ahead and telling you to watch, sh-shit, watch, don’t take those fucking eyes off your face in a strained voice.

He just likes getting a good view of you during sex – you’re too pretty not to be seen, after all.  

BIGGEST FANTASY

In general, Shouta absolutely loves being intimate with you. While he’s no virgin, he doesn’t have an extensive amount of experience, and frankly he’s never been the biggest fan of sex – it’s too messy, too energy draining, and just a massive hassle.

However, when it’s with you, and when you moan his name just right and leave your nail marks down his back, Shouta will gladly strip his clothing at your beck and call, his lips already on yours before you can even finish your sentence.

And while he loves good, rough, passionate sex that’s full of smacking hips, gasps, moans and growls, there’s something to be said for slower, gentler sex, the kind that’s full of airy breaths and slow, meaningful kisses.

It’s the kind of sex where you can really feel him; every inch of him, the way his body covers yours as he hovers over you, the tickle of his hair against your jaw and neck as he buries his face in the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone, his hips rocking into yours and managing to grind against that one perfect spot that gets you sighing out a moan. It’s just more intimate this way, less of a wild, frantic race to get inside of you and more a slow, controlled love making, as embarrassed as he is to use to term.

Regardless, you’re most likely to get this type of sex from Shouta in two specific scenarios – the first of which being after a very long day, filled with a harrowing patrol where he maybe wasn’t able to save everyone, or things didn’t go according to plan. When this happens, he needs to just hold you, to feel you, to hear you whisper his name under your breath and tell him how good he feels, how he’s the best you’ve ever had, how he’s the only one you’ll ever want…

The second – and far more likely – scenario is in the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight is streaming into the modest apartment he keeps you in, your shared bed feeling warm with your bodies pressed against one another. Soft, sleepy morning sex is Shouta’s favorite, and something that he tries to incite as often as he possibly can.

There’s just something about it that gets him hot under the collar; maybe it’s the casualness of it all, the way it feels so natural, so human and so right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Maybe it’s the way it feels so intimate, like you’re both raw, yourselves in the most wonderful way.

Or maybe it’s the way you’re still just slightly sleepy, and you’re much more likely to be clingy at this time, touching him more and letting your real noises come out, not hindered by any shame or hate or embarrassment.

Regardless, Shouta loves it – so on the rare weekends where he’s off, expect to be woken up on the brink of an orgasm just as you deserve.

A yawn slips past Shouta’s lips, eyes peeling open and seeing the gray of his bedsheets. Everything is warm and soft, and as he shifts slightly, something moves next to him.

Nothing seems real for a few moments as he gazes down at you, your body curled up next to his own. It doesn’t feel real that you’re really here – in his bed without any clothing, happily sleeping without a care in the world. He swallows, something coming over him and moving him slowly – carefully – peel off the covers, moving down to where your legs slightly part.

He leans down, face mere inches away from the tufts of your pubic hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales. You’re perfect – and as he gently pries your legs open further, Shouta can’t help but think of how often he’s fantasized about this very moment – how often he’s dreamt of what’s between your thighs, how he’d lay awake at night and press his fingers between two pillows, grinding his fingers against the cotton and pretending it was you, imagining how warm and wet you’d be for him.

He swallows, determination setting his brow as he lays onto his stomach, shuffling so that he can lightly lick at your inner thighs, eyes closing at the familiar taste of you. He takes his time, going slowly and softly, licking closer and closer to your pretty folds, eventually reaching them and licking his lips at the taste.

A thumb comes up to slowly press against your clit, knowing too much pressure would hurt and not warm your body up the way it needed. He continues his licks, before switching roles and starting to suckle at your clit as a finger dips between your folds, collecting the slick and rubbing it between his fingers.

Soon he’s pressing one inside, feeling the way your thighs twitch slightly, a small, sleepy moan ringing in his ears. God, you’re so damn perfect – even unconscious you’re enough to get his cock throbbing against the cotton sheets.

He keeps his pace slow, but as time passes you stir a bit, and when he hears your sleepy voice mumble out his name, Shouta curses, his fingers speeding up a bit.

That gets you more awake – soon your fingers are carding through his hair, sighs and murmurs of his name sounding like heaven.

“Mm, Shouta, that feels good…” You mumble, still dazed from waking up. Your hips are twitching now, a sign that the pleasure is slowly beginning to build.

Shouta groans against your cunt, the sound muffled.

Soon his fingers are picking up the pace again, his circles and licks at your clit growing more insistent, and the hands weaving through his hair start to tug – the sensation gets him humping at the bed for a moment, the morning glow still shining on you as he glances up at your face. You look like an angel – shining in the sunlight, your lips parted in a moan, head thrown back in pleasure.

Shouta pulls back for a moment, sending a kiss to your clit that makes your hips buck. He chuckles a bit, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispers against your thigh, pressing open mouthed kisses against the skin. You hum at his compliment, and he watches as you smile, his breath practically punched out of his lungs.

“Shouta, you’re too good to me…” Your voice is soft, too, and soon he’s back to sucking at your clit, feeling the way your body jolts slightly, the pleasure making you sigh and swallow. He watches the movement of your throat.

“Feels good, mm yes, oh Shouta - just like that,” You start, eyes closed again, and Shouta finds himself abandoning the gentle pace he’d adopted, instead being more insistent, more pushy – suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get you coming on his fingers.

You gasp lightly at the new change in pace, grinding your hips to match the new stimulation, and it makes Shouta dizzy. How can you be so attractive? How can you look so perfect in this moment; in his bed, moaning his name, looking and tasting and smelling like his own personal slice of heaven?

It’s cheesy and he’s almost embarrassed, but tears prick at the corners of his eye.

Soon your gasps have turned to moans, and all too soon you warn him in a slurred voice that you’re coming, your back arching up off the mattress and your moans light and airy as you gush against his fingers, white coating all the way down his knuckles and onto his palms. It makes him choke a bit, the feeling of your cunt rhythmically clenching down on him and your chest heaving, and with a final lick to your clit that makes you jerk, he’s moving up to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, his tongue brushing against yours and wet sound filling the room, but Shouta doesn’t mind. How could he, when he’s never felt this relaxed before?

His eyes slowly open as he feels your fingers wrap around him, a thumb brushing along his tip to collect a bit of the wetness there.

“Shouta, let me make you feel good.” You tell him, your voice just a whisper.

He looks at you, his lips parted for a brief moment, before a small smile quirks up the corners of his mouth. “Why would you do that?”

You trace the line of his jaw with your free thumb. The slow strokes of his cock have him a bit distracted, but he hears every word you speak to him. “Because I love you.”

He swallows, the words making something feel tight in his throat.

You laugh a bit at his silence and the dumbstruck look on his face. “What? Do you not love me too?”

And to answer that, Shouta scoffs, leaning down to kiss you again as he grasps himself around the base, pulling himself away from you and pushing into you, feeling your sharp intake of breath against his lips.

His pace is slow, soft, like he’s trying to tell you something – hips moving slowly and deeply, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses your neck as your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed.

Pressing a kiss against your collarbone, Shouta smiles against your skin, a groan falling from his lips.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

And he means it – you’ll don’t know half of the things he’s done for you, and as he squeezes at your breast and hears your soft moan, he knows he’ll never tell you.

[depravitycentral]

Enji Todoroki General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Enji Todoroki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, power imbalances, financial trapping, mentions of physical/domestic abuse, mentions of non-con, sexist undertones, Enji wants you to be his cute little housewife, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, a few mentions of making sure you eat enough/food, Enji is patronizing whoo boy, he makes you share a toothbrush and yes he's weird about it, this is set in a divergent timeline where Enji and Rei are formally divorced and his relationship with his family is loose and not super tight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Kind

Enji is, simply, harsh.

His quirk, his mannerisms, his attitude, his everything, really, is a bit rough around the edges, forming a man with only enough self control to get what he wants. He’s lived his whole life bitterly, constantly jealous, constantly wanting, willing to throw everything away in order to achieve his goals.

And once everything starts caving in around him, his family and career both taking unexpected turns, Enji finds himself so, so painfully alone. He doesn’t pretend to delude himself into thinking he’s not deserving of his fate, but this places him into a position where he shoulders the guilt while desperately trying to find any outlet to forget it.

And this is where a darling who is kind comes into play – he needs someone who won’t judge him for his past. He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like scum, who is still polite and empathetic to him and his emotions. A darling who is able to consistently praise him will have him smitten quickly, growing emotionally dependent on hearing their sweet words in order to function, in order to not let the depression and stress get the better of him.

And even once his obsession has formed and he’s deep in the depth of his infatuation, a darling who is just too kind to kick him to the curbside is absolutely essential for him – they must be doting and caring, helping rebuild his shattered confidence and psyche, and with every compliment they dish out, Enji vows that he’ll return the sentiment tenfold, in his own way of course.

(This means buying his darling millions of yen worth of their favorite things, all kinds of wonderful gifts that he hopes will sway them in his favor, that will get them drooling over him and all that he can provide for them.)

Hardworking

Although he’s in a mental state that leaves him much more susceptible to finding a partner once he divorces Rei, Enji is still a picky man. He won’t fall for just anyone – no, they must fit his standard, be acceptable and meet the rather long and detailed checklist he has for those he considers as potential romantic partners.

And near the top of this list is determination. He’s a man motivated by his own goals and is willing to stop at nothing to achieve them – and so, a darling that can at least somewhat match this aspect of his personality is critical.

He has no patience for a darling that gives up easily; he wants someone that’s willing to put in the effort to see it pay off, someone who understands the concept of self-discipline and holding yourself to certain moral standards.

He finds it wildly attractive when someone has strong character, and his interest would immediately be piqued with a darling who brings an attitude of perseverance and hard work into every aspect of their life, be it work, their hobbies, their relationship, and everything in between.

He wants someone who is perhaps not quite as stubborn as him, but is still serious in their goals.

(He hopes that one day, making him happy and pleasing him will be one of these goals – just as pleasing his darling is one of his own. And he’s more than happyto please them in whatever way they so desire. More than happy.)

Motherly

Because he views his darling as the perfect wife, his darling absolutely must possess at least somewhat of a motherly air about them. He likes the idea of having a nurturing partner, if only because he finds it endearing when they care for others.

As a hero he shares this sentiment, and although it may sometimes be overshadowed by his need to become the best, deep down inside he does very much wish to help others – his methodology is just a little more violent, a little more overt.

His darling, by contrast, should prefer a methodology that’s much gentler, something that focuses more on making others feel safe and heard and cared for.

Besides, Enji very much desires to have children with his darling; to build a second family, one that he’ll care for and nourish much better than his first. And so, if his darling is to be a good mother, they must embody these traits.

Besides, although he doesn’t fall for his darling because of his fantasies of making them a mother, once the feelings are formed these daydreams only further his feelings, deepening his obsession because oh, he’d give absolutely anything to see them pregnant with his child, carrying his seed, creating something that symbolizes the love and dedication between them.

And so, his darling needs to be someone who naturally takes care of others – and in return, Enji will take care of them. Just how it should be.

Pushover

This trait is a bit less crucial compared to the others, but it’s still most definitely a positive from Enji’s perspective.

Of course he likes a darling who has strong opinions and stands up for them, but he loves a darling that will let him guide them through any hard decisions, or really any decisions at all.

Although he’s not as outright controlling with his darling, he still very much feels that he wears the pants in the ‘relationship’, and thus he is the one calling the shots.

A darling who is happy to let him take over their life like this is a massive help to him – he doesn’t have to fight for control, nor does he have to argue with them about why certain decisions really should be made by him as the more dominant partner, as the one who knows more about the world, as the man. It’s an outdated view and it’s one that he doesn’t really want to admit out loud, but he enjoys the idea of a partner who will revere him and allow him full control.

He wants to be loved and cherished, and in return for a love like this, he’ll do his best to provide for and take care of his darling in every way he possibly can – so really, if his darling knows what’s best for them, they’ll step back and let him make all the tough decisions.

They’ll nod and smile and agree with whatever he chooses, pressing a kiss against his cheek and telling him how much they trust him, how they know he’d never hurt them, how he only wants what’s best for them.

Just the thought makes something warm swell in his stomach, the level of trust making him feel wanted, needed, a concept so foreign that it almost feels wrong. But oh, how he likes it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

But in a very, very strange way – a lot of what fuels Enji’s obsession is this desperate, innate need to right his wrongs. He’s very, very aware of how thoroughly he ruined his family, how horribly he treated Rei, how he was a poor excuse of a father and husband, and he sees his love with you as almost being his second try. With you, he can do all the things he should have done with Rei and his children – he should have been sweet and loving, a present father that cared about each of his children equally. He should have been a doting husband, spoiling his wife and making her feel loved and desired.

But he didn’t, and although Rei has long since divorced him, Enji finds himself feeling lonely, incomplete, restless to try again, to properly provide for a sweet little thing he can call his own. And this is where you come in – and from the moment he realizes his feelings for you are more than a simple attraction, he dives in head-first.

He decides he'll approach everything with you in a way as opposite from his previous marriage as possible – he's all grand, romantic gestures, always showing up with a bouquet of flowers in hand and just the slightest pink tint on his scarred cheeks.

The grand, romantic gestures are, of course, merely things he’s seen in rom-coms; the women always look happy when the love interest swoops in with flowers and gifts and pretty clothing, the beaming smile and large hug the man gets as a reward seeming very, very appealing to Enji, despite his rigid exterior.

(Just the thought of you hugging him has his heart racing – it’s something so intimate, so entirely new that it makes every nerve in his body stand on edge, a shiver running up his spine as he imagines the way your body would feel pressed against his, how you’d sigh and sink further against him, how you’d squeeze him and god, the view he’d get when he looks down to see your body pressed so tightly against him that not even a breath of air could separate you -)

He’s scouring through women’s magazines, burying his nose in the glossy pages and searching for ideas and clues as to what women enjoy as courting gifts.

(He has to scoff under his breath every time he sees a new dieting tip or regiment, internally frowning and worrying that you’re seeing these ads and potentially obsessing over your weight. The last thing he’d want is for you to be unhappy with your body – certainly not when he’s so very happy with it. Not to mention the nutritionally heinous foods the magazine recommends – he’d sooner have you eat raw paper than follow this ludicrous advice.)

He’s even caving and very, very awkwardly asking his female sidekicks and employees at his agency about their tips on how to seduce a woman. He struggles to make eye contact with them when he asks, his imposing figure almost reminding them of a shy, nervous teenage boy with the way he’s so earnest about his question, his eyes lighting up when they mention an idea he hasn’t tried yet, pressing them for details and specifics and you must tell me what to say to her – how does one follow up gifting a puppy?

It would be sweet, really, how devoted he is to making sure that you’re absolutely spoiled, that you get a whole variety of lavish gifts designed to sweep you off your feet. It would be wonderful, really, except that Enji has never understood the concept of being too much – which is how everything will start to feel very, very early on in this process.

 It was nice at first to receive a fresh bouquet of roses every morning at your desk with a handwritten card attached. (Written in impeccable handwriting, the cursive letters looping and elegant as they spell out short, simple, sweet messages signed with a capital E at the bottom, reading please make sure to eat enough today and that skirt looks lovely on you.)

 It was nice at first, but after the second week of daily bouquets and even a few finding their way to the doorstep of your apartment, the sight of the pretty red flowers makes a sinking feeling swirl in your gut.

(Enji notices this, dismayed and frustrated by your lack of a positive response, and decides to double down and just gift you bigger flowers, because maybe your lack of joy at receiving the bouquets is because they aren’t big enough, aren’t grandiose enough, aren’t good enough.)

It was nice to get the cute, small stuffed bunny on your desk one morning, and you’d even grown so fond of the little thing that you perched it on the edge of your desk, assuming it was a one-time gift. But it wasn’t – the stuffed animals kept coming, getting bigger and more detailed and much, much more expensive, you’re sure.

(Enji is careful to remove each and every price tag on every gift he sends you, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel that you owe him financially, nor does he want you to be swayed into accepting him as your partner by mere economic standing – that’s an asset that you’ll come to know, of course, but he’d rather lure you in via more traditional ways. It doesn’t exactly stay secret, though, because once the necklace with a delicate array of at least five diamonds in it arrives at your front door, your secret admirer’s wealth becomes very, very difficult to hide.)

He’s gifting you jewelry with more precious jewels and gold and silver than you could possibly wear, and outfitting your closet with all kinds of dresses and skirts out of materials and cuts you could never hope to afford for yourself.

(And, of course, they’re all tailored to fit you perfectly – how Enji managed to get your exact sizes is still a question that haunts you, one that makes you scared to upon the nicely wrapped boxes that you find in excess outside your front door.)

It’s all just too damn much – Enji is suffocating with his attempts to woo you, his every gift and gesture leaving you feeling uncomfortable. What he’s trying to do is very, very obvious – and it feels wrong. He’s the number one hero, a busy man with much more important things to be doing – so why is he going after you? And why with such ferocity?

His forwardness will scare you off, driving you to avoid him and grow suspicious of his motives, and Enji does not like this development. This wasn’t supposed to happen – you’re supposed to want him, to be seduced by all of his efforts, to be swept off your feet and swooned by his gifts and words (delivered with the grace of a garbage truck, of course, but the sentiment is there – even if looking at your pretty face distracts him, all the words leaving his head and making him stand there gaping like a fool).

 Enji doesn’t like it, and so he presses harder, stepping up the frequency and volume of his gifts, only effectively pushing you further and further away from him as you grow more uneased and unsettled. And if you were to confront him about it?

Well, this is where his controlling tendencies come into play – denying who he naturally is can only last for so long, and despite being a man with superb self-restraint, the moment that Enji feels you’re slipping from his fingers he’s morphing back into the man that commands your every move.

Suddenly he’s no longer presenting you with the newest shampoo you’ve been talking about (it’s salon grade, the best stuff out there, and much too expensive, but not for Enji – nothing is too expensive for him when it’s for you) but rather letting this expression wash over his face, one that you’ve never seen before.

It’s cold, remarkably so; his lips are pressed tightly together, his brows perfectly straight, those eyes lifeless as he tells you to stop fighting, go inside and change into the green dress I gave you last week. We’re going for dinner, and you’ll order the house salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Do you understand me?

 It’s weird and unexpected and scary, and it’ll have you immediately stuttering out a yes and scurrying inside, too frightened to disobey. And really, while Enji winces every time he does this, eventually he finds himself trying to justify it as simply ensuring your relationship will last.

Obviously it’s not good that he has to force you into these small, minor, inconsequential things (like going on a date with him or letting him accompany you home afterwards), but this is different from with Rei – you want this, right? You’re just too shy to tell him how flattered you are about all the attention he’s giving you.

You’re just playing coy, acting on your age-old feminine instincts to make men chase after you, to be demure and make your partner work for your affection and love. And eventually, Enji will convince himself that this is different, he’s wooing you and getting you into a relationship with him willingly – you want him.

You practically love him already – things are going well. They’re successful.

They have to be.

And so, while Enji doesn’t mean to be controlling, the end results is that although he plays the nice guy that spoils you and gives you anything your heart desires, at the end of the day he is the one in charge, and he is the one dictating your relationship.

And really, what can you do to stop him? He’s strong, both physically and with the general population – one word from him and you’d be hunted for like a madman, ostracized from the community, brought back to him like a pup to its owner.

You belong with him, and it’s his job to make you see that – even if you want to remain blind.

Possessive

Enji Todoroki doesn’t share. Once he decides that he wants you, you become unequivocally his.

Sure, he wants to do things a bit differently with you and get you to harbor more loving feelings towards him, but from the moment his infatuation forms you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

 You can pretend like you do, if it makes you feel better (and it will, because at least you can pretend that you have even an ounce of control in the relationship, that you aren’t just some adorable little thing he’s decided he wants hanging off his arm and warming his bed), but at the end of the day you’re subject to Enji’s whims.

And although Enji lets you harbor this fantasy of your relationship being truly consensual, the moment something occurs that threatens it, his true colors are shown. Namely, when he thinks your attention is veering away from him, his jealousy and anger become difficult to keep in check, his quirk acting up and letting off small sparks and flames all along his body. His fists clench and his jaw tightens when he sees another man around you, and although he tries to rationalize that the man likely doesn’t want anything to do with you, just simply being in your presence is enough to make Enji suspicious.

Even if the man isn’t talking to you or acknowledging you in any way, he’s anxious – he’s scared that something about this man will attract you, that you’ll somehow find him better than Enji.

Maybe the man is friendlier – Enji’s aware that he isn’t exactly the most approachable person on the planet.

Maybe he's funnier – Enji knows he can’t crack a joke to save his life.

Maybe he’s a better conversationalist – less formalities and awkwardness, able to get you laughing so hard you snort.

It makes Enji’s skin crawl, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s fisting his hands, and before long he will intervene. He’ll grab you as gently as he can on the elbow, guiding you carefully but quickly away to the other side of the room and physically maneuvering so that his body is blocking your sight of the man – and more importantly, blocking his sight of you.

He’ll try to talk with you, trying to distract you and get your mind off of the other man, all in an effort to get your attention back on him. He’s reminding you that you have him, that you don’t need some other man, that you already have one who’s capable of providing for you and caring for you as you deserve.

Frankly, he discovers just how deeply his feelings for you run in a situation where jealousy gets the best of him – you’d been approached at a small gathering by a man from another agency who was clearly hitting on you. He was leaning in close, smiling with a smarmy smirk and nursing on his cocktail like a lifeline.

Enji had noticed the two of you out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he’d gone stiff. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the man kept getting gradually closer to you, how he kept leaning in further, how his hand slid from his pocket to your shoulder, then your arm, down to your hand and oh, oh god, it looks like he’s bringing it down to your waist –

Enji had been by your side in mere moments, his gaze card and harsh as he’d stepped in front of you, making some poorly toned excuse about needing to speak with you for a moment, before unceremoniously dragging you away from the stupefied man.

From that day, Enji absolutely refuses to allow anyone close to you. And really, can he be blamed? After all, he fell for you, so why wouldn’t anyone else? You’re beautiful and caring, smart and dignified, and if he can see your potential as a lovely, perfect little wife, surely others can too.

And so, Enji ramps up his controlling tendencies the more he’s presented with situations where the green-eyed monster accompanies him. And this control takes its main form through financials – that is, while Enji originally didn’t want to attract you to him via his material wealth, he decides it’s a necessary evil in order to have you staying by his side only.

He starts ‘forgetting’ to peel off the price tags of the gifts he gives you, pretending not to notice how your eyes practically bug out of your head when you unbox the pink pendant he’d bought for you.

He starts inviting you out for lunches and dinners more often, ordering for you and choosing the most expensive items off the menu despite your numerous pleas that you’ll opt for something – anything – cheaper.

(It’s frustrating, too, because as angry as you want to be at him for ordering for you, he always chooses something you end up liking – of course it’s because he’s done extensive research and stalking, finding out your favorite foods and what flavors you dislike, but it all seems like one large, awfully strange coincidence to you.)

Exerting financial control over you keeps you complacent, because the guilt you’ll feel at how much money he’s sinking into you will have you following his every word, even if it his commands are a little strange and off-putting – like spending less time with any male friends (or really any friends for that matter) or slipping the small photograph of him into your purse (it’s weird and you do so hesitantly, making sure the polaroid is at the bottom of the bag – and trying to ignore the way his muscles are oh-so fucking defined in the tight black shirt he’s sporting in the photograph).

It’s all just a big ploy to keep you from running off with some other man – but really, if you somehow did manage to do that, Enji won’t be particularly merciful. He will be cornering the man as he leaves your apartment and he will be holding him by the neck against the cold concrete wall, threatening him to leave you alone or experience the rather unpleasant sensation of burning alive.

It’s not particularly heroic, but Enji doesn’t care – he can’t, not when the threat of you leaving him for another man is very much present and real. It’s too scary, too much for him to handle – it would mean you rejecting him, his second fuck-up in love, and the loss of someone who fits absolutely every one of his desires in a woman.

You’re too perfect for him to lose – so instead, he’ll own you.

Dependent

He will never admit it, but there’s this part of Enji that grows stronger day by day, every time he sees your face, that tells him in the most raw, real way that he absolutely needs you.

He’s essentially lost what he had of his family, and with the sharp uptake in responsibility as the new number one hero, the new symbol of modern peace, Enji finds himself turning to you in his time of need, in his more vulnerable moments.

Because really, though his exterior is tough and jaded, he’s only human – he too needs someone to love, someone to hold and latch onto, and latch he does. You’re his, and he expects you to understand that even if he doesn’t verbalize it.

He cherishes your very existence, each and every thing you do, finding you to be remarkably weak yet remarkably endearing, your inability to defend yourself simultaneously adorable and frustrating. He needs you to realize that you’re his everything; his whole reason for living now, even if he doesn’t give you many clues into this.

He isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, and although the love and desperation he feels for you is constantly overwhelming him, overflowing from his chest and making him dizzy, he doesn’t articulate just how deeply these feelings run.

Of course he’ll tell you how you’re beautiful, or that you’re my responsibility to protect, but he’ll also say significantly less romantic things like how you belong to him, how he's never letting you out that front door, how he’ll never let those disgusting, filthy villains touch something as perfect as you.

He thinks it’s sweet and exactly what you want to hear, but it’s not – it’s scary and strange and weird, but these are your biggest clues as to his dependence on you.He won’t tell you, but his expectations for you are honestly monumentally high; he wants you to be his perfect little wife, everything that Rei wasn’t, and this includes giving you every ounce of his love.

He wants you to be diligently cooking him hearty meals, keeping the house tidy and clean for the two of you, to be massaging his shoulders while he relaxes from a stressful day at work. (Hell, he even wants you to wear cute little aprons, collars with his name stitched onto them, those maternity/breast feeding bras before you’re even pregnant…)

He wants a domestic fantasy with you, and this extends to other, more vulnerable things as well. He expects you to embrace him as he walks through the door everyday returning home, to give him a light peck on the cheek and ask about his day, to let him hug you from behind and kiss your neck as you slave away over the stove.

He never really got the chance to do such loving things with Rei (not that he particularly wanted to), and as a result he honestly feels like he’s having to make up time, that he needs to be taking every single ounce of affection and love you can possibly give him, and he’ll feel no guilt at all.

He won’t outright ask you to cuddle him, but when he sits on the large, overstuffed leather couch and stares at you expectantly, you’ll quickly learn to run over to him and snuggle up into his side, to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms and legs around him even if his body heat cooks you alive.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to give him those fluttery, soft morning kisses he’s seen all the time in terrible corny rom-coms he religiously watched for inspiration while trying to court you, but the moment you smile sleepily at him and press a kiss against his lips while you holds you close in the morning glow?

God, it’s in those moments that he wants to give you absolutely everything he has – every part of his body, soul and heart, every single cent he owns, every piece of fame and fortune he’s ever amassed.

Enji just wants to please you, and although he comes off as an odd mix of demanding yet generous, terrifying yet strangely awkward, inside his heart is hammering against his ribcage every time you so much as smile at him, every time you so much as look at him. In the hazy afterglow of a round of passionate morning sex (in which you’ve realized that fighting will get you nowhere – it’ll only earn you an Enji that’s more frantic and desperate to get you moaning and crying out his name), when he latches onto your smaller, exhausted and sweaty body, pressing you as tightly against him as possible, sometimes his demeanor will crack.

He’ll lean down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair, to watch the way your chest rises and falls, and he’ll whisper in the softest of voices that he loves you, you’re the light of his world. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you, but Enji is hellbent on never finding out – after all, there is no chance of escape with him, and he’s sure you’ll learn your place soon.

After all, pretty, submissive girls like you always do.

DEALING WITH RIVALS: 

Enji is, regrettably, terrible at hiding his jealousy.

He’s always been in a constant state of envy, whether it was vying for the top spot in the heroing world against All Might, desiring the perfect offspring in order to have the Todoroki name and himself live on, and countless other examples. He’s prideful and so fucking jealous of everyone around him, and this is only heightened when it comes to you – his possessiveness over you is nothing to sneeze at, and the minute he feels that your attention is threatened, that you could possibly be yearning for another?

He’s wasting no time stepping in, mercilessly shutting down each and every opportunity you could possibly have of being with anyone other than himself.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, his jealousy and possessiveness stems from a place of insecurity; he’s aware that he’s by no means the perfect partner, and he rationally knows that you could do much, much better than him.

And so, as a sort of panic-induced response, Enji decides that you simply aren’t allowed to interact with any other men – this way, you aren’t presented with the opportunity to even let the feelings form. And he’s diligent with this theory, too – he’s always standing near you, acting as your shadow with watchful, hawk-like eyes trained on your figure.

He’s never been the best at reading people, but he’s able to tell from miles away when someone approaches you with intentions that are less than innocent, and immediately his lips are thinning, his brows furrowing, his entire body temperature raising by five degrees because you’re his, and this piece of scum disguised as a man obviously doesn’t realize this.

He’s your guardian angel in many ways (though really, he takes the guardian portion much too far – even men who have no romantic intentions with you are viewed as potential threats, shooed away with a vengeance that will make them too afraid to even think about you without imagining themselves engulfed in flames), though at times it will make you feel more than a little patronized.

It’s as if he doesn’t trust you – you don’t really have a relationship, at least in your eyes, but you know the number one hero wants something more than friendship with you. And so, you do your best to avoid evoking his anger and wrath by not romantically involving yourself with another man – and yet that’s not enough for Enji.

It can’t be, simply because as pretty and sweet and smart as you may be, Enji will always know better. It’s a controlling tendency and a mildly sexist view, but he thinks of you as his doting, loving housewife-to-be, and it’s the man’s job to make these sorts of decisions.

You’re just too sweet and outgoing for your own good – you’ll get mixed up in all sorts of trouble if you’re not careful, and lucky little you has someone like Enji to watch out for you and make sure your pretty head has nothing to worry about. And so, Enji sticks to you like glue, warding off potential suitors with grueling stares and a presence and reputation too strong to ignore.

Enji’s day had been long, and one of those days that made him seriously question his abilities as a hero. A villain had managed to trick him, and although Enji had of course eventually arrested the perpetrator, his deception had led to a lot of wasted time and more damage to surrounding buildings than was acceptable.

His head was pounding, his body still feeling overly hot from all of the fighting, and though not normal, he’d decided he was done for the day and left the rest of the agency’s calls to his sidekicks. Leaving early had felt almost freeing in a way, the world looking a bit different with all this extra time – walking down the sidewalk, Enji scanned the windows of each shop he passed.

As per usual, you’d been on his mind all day – flashes of your face sitting just behind his eyelids, your name just a hair away on his tongue, the feeling of your phantom touch sending shivers down his spine. It was irritating, distracting, heavenly, and with each window he passed, he kept an eye out for anything you might like.

He’d gotten you a pretty tea cup set yesterday, and although you’d been hesitant and visibly uncomfortable at receiving such a gift (the set was very, very obviously expensive, the marbled china too perfect and pristine to have costed anything less than a year’s worth of your salary), Enji was eager to gift you something that would be received better today.

Streets passed by, nothing quite suiting his vision for what you deserved – he’d need something more subtle today, something simple and sweet and something he knows you like – The confectionary is small, with swirling black letters over a baby pink banner spelling out the name of the store. The windows are lined with all sorts of chocolates and candies, all wrapped up in pretty, ornate packaging that makes Enji immediately pick up his pace, practically storming into the small shop.

It smells like vanilla and sugar as the door shuts behind him, and although it makes him wince, he knows you’d love it. Shelves nearly as tall as him line the shop in narrow rows, displaying all sorts of sweets that he’s never heard of before – caramels, gumdrops, chocolates, lollipops, anything and everything under the sun.

He’s only been in the store for roughly five minutes, staring at a collection of truffles with furrowed brows and a downward curl of his lip when he hears a small laugh over the gentle, happy classical music playing quietly over the speakers. Immediately he’s perking up – the laugh sounds familiar; the lilt of it, the tonality, the soft intake of breath right after it stops.

His lips part, eyes going wide, and before he can even really control himself he’s rushing towards the source of the noise, his entire face growing warm when he sees you – you’re at the register, a few candies sitting on the wooden slab, your purse in hand as you fish for presumably your wallet.

You look gorgeous today – you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before and your favorite pair of jeans (the ones that make your ass look so, so very perfect – perfect to squeeze at, to grope and touch and smack and press himself against…), and although he’s briefly disappointed that you aren’t wearing an item of clothing that he’d gifted you, he notices the clerk all too soon.

The clerk – Hyoshi, his nametag says – is smiling at you. He’s all teeth, a grin that makes the hairs on the back of Enji’s neck stand up, his nostrils flaring because you’d been laughing, and it must be this man’s doing. This man, who’s visibly weak even under the ridiculous confectionary uniform he’s sporting – arms that couldn’t hope to lift even a fraction of what Enji can, a chest that isn’t ruggedly defined like the hero’s, and a stature that’s frankly pathetic compared to the frame of the redheaded man behind you.

Enji’s angry, and as the man opens his mouth to presumably say something else (potentially something that’ll make you laugh again), his words die on his tongue as he glances behind you to see the behemoth of a man who’s quite literally acting as your shadow.

His eyes widen and immediately he’s stuttering out a w-welcome in, Endeavor! At that, your shoulders go stiff, your mouth parting into an adorable little ‘o’ that Enji can practically see in his head, and you slowly turn around.

Oh, hello Endeavor, aren’t you normally on patrol right now?

Enji’s jaw works, and although a small part of him is pleasantly surprised that you’d remembered his patrol shift, your words only serve to further frustrate him. You knew it was his time on the clock – and yet, you’d still ventured out into the heart of downtown, completely on your own, defenseless except for the measly, very sad pepper spray you keep in that worn purse of yours – both of which he keeps pleading with you to let him replace.

(He’ll get you new pepper spray and a taser and a pocketknife, just because he knows how dangerous these streets can be, and with your pretty face and your pretty body he’s sure villains would be lining out the door to get a taste of you. And of course, the new bag – he’s bought you plenty, in a wide variety of styles and colors, each gift getting more and more desperate to be the one you finally deem as being good enough to use, but alas.)

Enji doesn’t even bother with a greeting, instead stepping up to the counter, slamming down his credit card and stepping in front of you. I’ll be paying for her sweets. His voice is cold, firm, and sends the clerk into a scurry to process the transaction, meanwhile you’re staring in mild shock from behind the hero.

Of course you’re not surprised – how can you be, when he insists on spoiling you in every possible way? And yet the raw animosity he’s radiating right now can’t be ignored – you get the feeling as if you’re somehow in trouble, though you can’t figure out what for. As soon as the card reader beeps, Enji’s scooping up the card and your sweets, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist just barely too tightly and marching out the door, telling the clerk over his shoulder to keep the receipt.

It takes every bone in his body to not turn back around and swing at the man behind the counter, his eyes shutting tightly in concentration as he tells himself that it’s not worth it, the media will find out, your reputation will be damaged. But as his eyes peel open and he realizes the way you’re squirming in his grip, he only sighs and releases you, those teal eyes of his appraising you with a frown.

You’re feeling guilty again, unsure of yourself as you gently rub your wrist, and for a moment Enji feels regret – did he hurt you? He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been angry and it was already hard enough to not harm the man who’d made you laugh, and surely you’d understand that he didn’t mean to –

You break the silence before he can voice his concerns, clearing your throat and thanking him in a meek voice. Enji merely nods, a small grunt your only response as he begins walking again, your sweets – and your purse – firmly in his hands, just so that you won’t have to carry them.

When you don’t immediately follow him, Enji pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a brow cocked.

What? Follow me – we have dinner reservations this evening, at that new seafood restaurant by the harbor. Fuyumi tells me it’s quite good; order the crab legs and the caviar.

There’s no room for disagreement in his tone, and for a moment you just blankly gape at him, the situation too strange for you to really process.

But all too soon his eyes are narrowing, and you’re practically tripping over your feet to follow him, keeping your gaze cast downwards as Enji’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you even though there’s not a civilian in sight on the desolated sidewalk he leads you down.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Honestly, Enji is complicated as a yandere; there’s a part of him that knows that there are aspects of his relationship with you that mirror that of his previous marriage. He knows that although you may not be treated as terribly (and that you have more purpose to him than simply an incubator), you’re still trapped, essentially a slave to his will.

And yet, as time passes and his dependence on you grows stronger, he can’t help but justify his actions, deciding that yes, you may be stuck with him, but at least he spoils you rotten with your favorite foods, expensive clothing and jewels, an unlimited supply for each and every hobby you may have. He may have you trapped between a rock and a hard place in terms of leaving him, but at least he genuinely loves you - he aches to spend time with you, to hold you in his arms, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, your lips against his, your body writhing below his.

He’s convinced himself that this time is different, that you’re different, and as such he eventually decides that it’s really in both your best interests to just relocate you, to get you officially by his side. It’s really paranoia that drives this decision – he’s a working hero and a man with many, many enemies, and so it’s really the only option that keeps you safe.

Stealing you away into his private home – he’s the sole inhabitant, aside from a cleaner or two, since moving out of the Todoroki household – is the best option for a multitude of different reasons. You’re safer this way – the state-of-the-art security systems he’s installed around the estate are the best money can pay for, able to detect intruders and any suspicious activity in the blink of an eye. Enemies don’t have much of a chance of getting inside, and even if they had managed to, Enji will be right there to burn them to a crisp for even daring to get close to his beloved.

And even aside from outside threats, keeping you trapped at home will allow him to keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself – you’re ridiculously clumsy to him, your every action having him hold his breath slightly in anticipation, in fear that you’ll somehow trip or fall or bruise your pretty skin. Plus, this way he’ll know that you’re eating healthily and in the right quantities, that you’re getting proper exercise, that you’re relaxing as you should, that you’re spending adequate amounts of time in the interior courtyard he’d prepared in preparation for you.

(It’s beautiful, as loathe as you are to admit it – all kinds of flowers bloom along the walkways, bamboo and tall grasses and trees growing in neat lines and providing shade for the flowerbeds on hot summer days. There’s even a small stream flowing through it, the gentle trickling noise almost enough to cancel out the painful silence that exists between you and Enji when he decides to join you for your scheduled garden time in the afternoons – uninvited, as always, and yet still unable to sense how desperately you wish you’d get these times alone to yourself.)

Aside from your safety, keeping you in his home helps feeds into his domestic fantasies of the two of you – you’re so very precious to him, and from nearly the beginning of his obsession with you, he’s always viewed you as the perfect wife – specifically, the perfect housewife.

He’s a traditional man, believing in traditional gender roles, and although he doesn’t view you as being less-than based upon your status as a woman, he does expect certain things from you. He’s the breadwinner, the strong, capable one who provides you with a roof over your head, food, and any gift under the sun the moment you make even the slightest inclination of wanting it.

And in return, you’re to be his caring, nurturing wife – the one who keeps the house neat and tidy, a room dedicated to only cleaning supplies that you get always stay stocked and ready for you, should you become inspired and wish to fulfill this domestic fantasy of his. The cleaning products are all diluted down to a level that wouldn’t be dangerous if you were to ingest them – you’d get sick, surely, but it’s nothing a home-trip from a doctor who’s been sworn to secrecy can’t handle.

There’s also, unfortunately, a drawer within the room that a particularly bored you had one day opened only to immediately slam it shut. Dozens of cleaning outfits sat neatly folded in the drawer, the black and white getups looking much too tight and much too short. A few weeks later you’d returned to the drawer, bored out of your mind while Enji was away at work, peeling one out with careful and trembling fingers. And of course, to no one’s surprise, the outfit fit like a fucking glove – hugging your curves and accentuating them, the skirt full and flouncy and very easy to flip up, the bustline practically choking your breasts with how tightly the black cotton pressed them together. You’d changed out of it shortly after, the rather disturbing and shameful fleeting question of whether this was the type of thing Enji liked making you too disgusted, guilty, and bashful to really consider.

In his idealized domestic world, you’d cook for him, too, but it takes a very long time for him to trust you enough to not purposefully burn or cut yourself in the kitchen. He has daydreams about coming home from a hectic work day to see you standing over the stove in a cute apron, humming some song and lighting up when you hear the door open and close, his announcement of being home making you practically bounce on your heels.

He wants to have you cook for him, to see you slave in the kitchen putting every ounce of your concentration and time into making him a meal you know he’ll enjoy, but that fantasy has to wait for the time being – just until he thinks you’ve finally lost that rebellious streak of yours, just until you finally come to realize that you belong by Enji’s side.

And so, in the meantime he’ll have you make him small things that hold little potential for you to hurt yourself with – simple sandwiches with pre-sliced ingredients, so that you won’t cut yourself chopping tomatoes or slicing bread. He'll have you prepare a sandwich for him and one for yourself, too, ordering you to sit down at the dining table with him and share a meal – though the conversation is hard to come by, and each attempt he makes at starting it is only met with single word answers from you.

(Another domestic fantasy he harbors but would never tell you about is to have you sitting with him at the table, looking at him with those pretty eyes and your voice dropping to a sultry volume, your chopsticks bringing the food you diligently and loving prepared for him up to his lips, your tone teasing as you tell him to open wide! He’d keep eye contact the whole time he chews, never once breaking it as he tells you in that low, gruff voice of his that it’s perfectly done, the seasoning is impeccable. He wants you to be bashful, to smile and hide it with your hand, your lashes fluttering as you glance at him then back to the food again, too shy to say much but your body language showing just how much his praise effects you, just how good it feels to be the center of his attention, the apple of his eye, his absolute everything.)

He wants you to be his sweet housewife, and although he won’t force you into any of the work, it’s extremely obvious what he wants of you – he’s always telling you about when you get adjusted, how you’ll be more open to fulfilling your role.

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be happy to iron his clothes; perhaps you’ll spritz a bit of the perfume he buys you onto his shirts, just as a reminder of you during his long days.

(As if he needs a reminder – certainly not, when you’re on his mind nearly every minute of the day.)

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be pleased to see the positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands, your voice riddled with joy as you announce the good news to him, watching him drop the phone and keys in his hand and instead hoist you into the air, spinning you with a grin on his face so bright it nearly blinds you, concluded with a passionate kiss and a few tears on his cheeks because he just can’t fucking wait to have you as the mother of his child.

It’s all this talk of ‘when this’ and ‘when that’, but the strange thing about Enji as a captor is that he’s incredibly patient with seeing these fantasies come to fruition – sure, he may be forcing you into being a housewife just as he did with Rei, but this is different – you get a choice about some of it, unlike her. You don’t have to do the dishes, but you can if you’d like. You don’t have to bear his children, but you can if you’d like.

(And frankly, it’ll be hard not to – once your need for human contact and your strange, mixed feelings for him grow, you’ll eventually give into his requests for intimacy, and once the floodgates are open, you will end up pregnant from the sheer frequency and volume at which he pumps you full of his cum.)

All that being said, life as Enji’s captive will honestly not be too terrible – he’s still following you around the house like a shadow, but he’ll let you sleep in your own bed at the start, let you have your own bedroom and bathroom, and he won’t even force you into spending time with him at the beginning.

Because really, as tortuous and painful as keeping you away from him is, he repeats the mantra over and over in his head that eventually it’ll be worth it – eventually you’ll see things his way, and eventually you’ll come to see just how deeply his feelings for you run. You’ll realize that he’s only ever loved you, that he cares for you more than any other man possibly could, that he only has your best interests at heart – that’s why he always swung by your apartment at the end of his patrols, peering in at you through your windows, just to make sure you were safe and sound.

That’s why he kidnapped you, to ensure your safety and keep you in the arms of the only man truly capable of providing for you, just as you deserve.

That’s why he’ll never let you escape him, no matter how you beg and plead for your freedom – you don’t understand the outside world like he does. You think you do, but each villain he arrests is a nail in the coffin of your freedom – you have no fucking clue how dangerous the world is, and Enji isn’t hesitant to remind you of this.

You’re unhappy with him? Well, your options are here, in his warm house where he’s willing to give you every ounce of his attention, love, and touch, or out in the big, scary world where women like you are easy targets for men who love destroying easy targets.

So really, you’re in the best hands with Enji – he knows how to take care of you, and he’ll spoil you with every possible treasure you could want. What’s not to be happy about?

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Enji doesn’t ‘do’ punishments. Because he views his relationship with you as his second try at finding a companion, there is no part of him that actively desires to hurt you. He loves you, in some sick, twisted way that’s much too obsessive and desperate to ever be considered healthy, but it’s still love nonetheless.

And as such, Enji does genuinely want your relationship to be as wholesome and sweet as possible; he wants you to want him, to actively choose to spend your time with him, to want to be in his presence every moment of every day. He wants everything to be as perfect as possible – the idealized life, a life where he’s the number one hero coming home to his lovely wife who cherishes him and he cherishes in return.

And so, when you do something that doesn’t quite line up with this fantasy, Enji is understandably upset. Why can’t you just accept that this is your reality now? Why do you insist on fighting him, even when you know you won’t win? How could you?

He’s Enji Todoroki, Endeavor the Flame Hero, and you’re just you. You’re pretty, of course, and smart and sweet and caring, but you’re still just you. There’s nothing you can do against someone like him – which is why Enji is able to excuse your poor behavior most of the time.

He understands; it’s difficult to accept that you’re weak and powerless, and he understands that when you lash out and act out, you’re just expressing frustration and fear at being taken care of so wholly and completely by someone so much stronger than you. It must be scary, after all – Enji can be so intimidating and he knows it, so he’ll try his absolute best to calm down anytime his anger starts to flare.

The last thing he wants to do is harm you, and he wants everything in your relationship to be as different as possible from that with Rei – and hurting you in any way would too closely resemble his previous marriage, ruining the beautiful illusion he can live under with you.

And so, most of the time Enji is able to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, letting the anger subside by telling himself about all the wonderful things about you – things that always get him feeling calmer, that make the buzzing sensation in his head and the suffocating feeling of anger dissipate. Nine times out of ten, he’s able to calm himself down this way – and if that’s not enough, normally exiting the room and getting a breath of fresh air is enough. He’ll tell himself that he absolutely cannot fall into the same habits he did with Rei – you’re different, you’re special, and he’ll calm himself down as often as he needs to in order to avoid being seen by you as the big, scary man who will hurt you if you disobey him.

Thus, getting Enji angry enough to the point where he can’t simply calm himself down is actually quite difficult – generally, this involves you hurting yourself. Most other things he can twist into seeming not so bad, rather just being you not having adjusted to life as his woman quite yet. He can write off your escape attempts as you still clinging to this ludicrous sense of independence you seem so hellbent on keeping.

Attempts to harm him can be discarded as your misplaced sense of anger at your situation, because although in your heart of hearts he’s sure you’re happy to be in your natural familial setting (as the wife of a strong, capable man of course), you’ve confused yourself by trying to reject something that’s just so right.

Of course these events don’t make him happy, but they’re able to be disregarded – but when your blood is drawn by your own accord, even Enji can’t pretend this is something else. This is you purposefully trying to injure yourself, purposefully trying to show him that you aren’t happy, that you don’t want this – an idea that makes him panic, that sends his fists clenching, that gets him pacing and his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to set you straight without harming you. And so, Enji eventually decides that after he cleans up your injury, rather than simply hitting you

and physically showing you that he won’t stand for this sort of misbehavior, he has to be more restrictive with you. He won’t be so lenient for the days following your bad behavior – you won’t be so spoiled, your rights won’t be so freely handed to you.

You must understand that Enji is charge, and that he’s being generous and loving and kind by allowing you such free reign around your shared home. Really, he doesn’t need to be so generous – and he’ll teach you that an angry Enji is much, much worse than the normal doting, lovesick Enji you’re used to.

Enji is frozen as he opens the front door. He’d come home a bit early from running some errands, the groceries in his hand dropping onto the hardwood floors below him. His jaw is dropped a bit, the sight of your bright red blood staining your forearm making a wave of sickness wash over him.

Who did this?

Who could’ve hurt you like this? There’d been no security alerts while he was gone, and there was absolutely no way that you’d left the interior of this house in the two hours he was gone. In the next breath he’s rushing forward into the kitchen, by your side before you can even blink, paying no mind to the way you gasp and stumble away from him, as if you’re afraid of him.

It makes Enji’s chest ache, but the sight of your blood is too distracting for him to focus on the uncomfortable ache. Instead, he’s thrusting your arm under the kitchen sink, the lukewarm water making you wince ever so slightly as it runs over the wound.

Enji’s brows furrow as he examines your arm; the cuts are long, zigzagging in every direction in a way that looks strange, not like any normal attack pattern he’s seen before. This doesn’t look natural, either – not like a regular scratch, not like you just slipped and fell and had unfortunate luck. No, this looks like something else entirely – like something purposeful, like their appearance marring your pretty skin isn’t accidental in the least. It’s only then that Enji sees the glinting silver fork out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bit of red staining the ends.

Immediately his body is freezing, his grip on your arm squeezing tighter as the gears turn in his mind. You must have…

His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth, those blue eyes of his slanting over to look at you with such intensity and anger that you physically shrink in on yourself. His grip is too firm for you to pull your arm back, Enji absolutely unwilling to let you run away from this.

Did you do this to yourself?

His voice is surprisingly even, given the look on his face, and immediately you’re shaking your head, your entirely body paralyzed with fear. You’ve never seen Enji look this scary before – or at least not towards you.

Your answer only serves to further anger him, it seems, because soon he’s literally snarling, his face twisted up into this ugly look of  rage that’s only heightened by the scar across his eye.

Don’t lie to me, I will always be able to tell when you’re untruthful with me. He pauses, taking a deep breath, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. Did you do this to yourself?

This time you nod yes, tears prickling at your eyes and starting to spill down your cheeks, and at the sound Enji makes, they only flow faster. He looks like he’s in more pain than you are – his face is red, and a few flames lick up around his shoulders. The heat washes over you, and soon the begs are slipping off your tongue before you can help yourself.

Enji pays you no mind, every ounce of his self-control going towards not slapping you in the face for your blatant stupidity. Soon he’s letting go of your hand, stomping towards the small first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen, entirely silent as he carefully wraps your arm in bandages, not paying your rambling any attention or mind.

As soon as you’re securely bandaged, he leaves the room and you hear the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberating throughout the house.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, with you somehow getting from the floor of the kitchen where you’d laid down and eventually fallen asleep all the way to your bed, with the blankets carefully slotted over your body.

Nothing seems to be amiss the next morning, your footsteps cautious as you approach the bathroom, your brows shooting up when you notice that the counter is completely bare – your toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash are all missing, as are all the expensive lotions and facial scrubs Enji normally keeps in piles for your convenience.

The kitchen is empty, too, you notice – the silverware drawer is completely empty, and there are no cups or mugs of any sort in any of the cupboards. It’s unnerving, and immediately you’re getting goosebumps all over your body, the air feeling prickly and cold, as if there’s something lurking that you don’t know about. Biting your lip, you make your way to the table, gingerly sitting down and trying not to jostle the bandages too much – the bandages that had been changed, you distantly notice.

A few minutes later, Enji joins you in the kitchen, his expression not exactly jovial, but not particularly hostile. He greets you as he normally does, before placing the mug you now notice is in his hand under sink. The sound of rushing water gets your mouth watering, not having realized how thirsty you were until this moment.

Wide eyes watch him turn towards you, making his way to your seated figure with slow, heavy steps that get your heart thudding in his chest. He stops right next to you, before telling you to open your mouth. Hesitantly, you do as he says, jerking slightly when his fingertips – always unnaturally warm – cup your chip and bring the cup up to your lips, the water cold as you’re forced to drink it.

Enji watches with neutral eyes, though you see the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you drink the entire glass, the pacing of the water flow nearly too much and nearly choking you. Soon it’s gone, and Enji uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of your lips.

Since yesterday’s little spectacle has shown me that you can’t be trusted with basic household supplies, let me know if you require another drink, if you’d like to brush your teeth, or if you’d like to wash your hair. You obviously can’t do it alone, so I will be joining you. Now, go lay down on the couch. I need to change your wrappings again.

You’re dumbfounded, watching him keep the mug in his grasp as he heads towards the living room. And though the threat seems too extreme, Enji means it – you only last a few hours before you reluctantly ask for another drink, your throat too dry and sore to go without it.

And that night, when you shamefully ask him for your toothbrush, you’re not particularly pleased to find out that he’ll be the one brushing your teeth, using his very own toothbrush to get the job done, just to make sure you don’t even think about trying to choke yourself with the brush.

(And when you finally have to shower, well, Enji’s face turns bright red when you ask, rushing to his feet much too quickly, grasping your hand and practically pulling you to the bathroom before applying all sorts of soaps and scents to the bath he draws for you. His breath is hitched as he turns around so you can change in privacy, but don’t be surprised to see him sneaking glances at your bare body beneath the water’s bubbly surface. Don’t be surprised when later that night you hear a suspiciously rhythmic thumping sound and muffled groans through the wall that  your bedrooms share, the faintest wet, squelching noise accompanying them.)

And, roughly a week later when you wake up to the cups and mugs back in the cupboard and your shampoo back in the shower, you’ll decide against hurting yourself anytime soon. It’s not worth it – not if that’s how you’ll be treated; forced to ask permission for your basic needs.

And Enji couldn’t be more pleased – now you’ll think twice about using that fork again, or anything else for that matter.

(And he can still force you into using his toothbrush – under the guise of furthering your bond and intimacy, of course. And because he’ll use it after you, savoring the feeling of the bristles against his tongue like some sort of drug.)

OVERALL DANGER:

 7/10

Enji isn’t necessarily dangerous, but rather inevitable.

He’s a determined man, driven by motivation for his goals, no matter the methods he uses to get there. And once he sets his sights on you, deciding that he wants you, that he loves you, you’re certainly no different – he will have you, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and really, what sway do you have?

He’s a professional hero, known in the public sphere responsible for saving more lives than you could ever hope to, and who are you? You’re just a pretty face, a woman who happened to have the exact set of traits and physical appearance that Enji finds desirable – you have no real way to combat him, and who would believe you, anyway? Enji is the new symbol of peace – as far as the Commission is concerned, he can have whatever the hell he wants, and if that one thing is some civilian, then you can kiss your freedom goodbye.

But really, all things considered, Enji isn’t too terrible – he’s trying desperately to right his wrongs, to love you in a way that prioritizes your happiness and is just better, and although you’re certainly not happy being trapped by his side, he can at least pretend like this is better.

He wants you to be his pretty little thing, to be his housewife and treat him like your devoted, loving husband. He wants you to greet him with a kiss on the lips when he comes home from work, helping him out of his jacket and asking about his day, then lead him into the clean kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him, then join him in the shower and then the bed, letting his hands wander to where they please, then fall asleep on his chest, letting him feel like he’s protecting you even in his sleep.

Is that really so much to ask for? Enji thinks not – besides, isn’t that the dream for you?

All you have to do is let him take care of you, to spoil you with flowers and chocolates and jewelry and all sorts of things that make women swoon. You’ll be spoiled rotten, treated like a goddess, and all you have to do is let Enji make all the decisions for you, to let him take control of your life and your future – it’s better this way, he promises.

This way, you’ll be properly cared for, kept safe and secure and comfortable by his side. You may not see it yet, but Enji is sure this is really what you want – you’ll come around eventually, he’s sure of it.

And if you don’t? Well, at least he’s not a monster, right?

[depravitycentral]

General Yandere! Jin Bubaigawara Profile

Yandere! Jin Bubaigawara x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of masturbation, mentions of non-con, mentions of murder, threats, slight emotional manipulation, Jin is a creep and goes through your stuff, breaking and entering, mentions of horrible men who don't respect women (not our lovely Jin), brief mention of strip clubs, mental breaks/Jin's Splits, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Perceptive

More than anything, Jin looks for a darling that can understand him.

He so desperately craves a human connection full of trust and caring, and having a darling who is able to read him like a book would be absolutely perfect.

He needs someone who is able to tell at a glance what he’s thinking – not getting bogged down by the multitudes of personalities shining through at any given time and instead seeing what the real him is feeling.

He craves someone who can offer him a sense of normalcy, someone who can make him feel like less of a freak, like less of a fuck-up, more like a real man. He grows attached to a perceptive darling quickly, feeling at ease in a way that he normally doesn’t.

They’re just perfect – he feels like he can be himself, letting himself be truly authentic and truly Jin.

It’s a luxury he’s nearly never afforded, his darling creating a safe space for him without even realizing it – something he’s beyond grateful for, and something that keeps him running back to his darling at every turn because it feels so damn good to just let himself go and not hold himself back.

It’s wonderful, and as soon as his darling displays this quality, Jin is helplessly, hopelessly hooked.

Sweet

At his core, Jin is a good person who’s made many bad mistakes.

He’s not a bad person by nature – and as a result, Jin finds himself attracted to people who are similar to him. He wants someone who is genuinely a good person – someone who is nice, sweet, someone who’s heart is generally positive and full of happiness.

And Jin particularly likes when this trait is aimed at him – compliments melt his heart. As soon as the words slip off his darling’s lips, Jin’s gaping at them, his heart racing in his chest and his face feeling hot because when was the last time he was complimented?

 When was the last time someone praised him, the last time they smiled at him like that, the last time they seemed so genuinely happy to see him?

It doesn’t feel real when he first meets his darling, his interest immediately peaked because god, it really feels like they see him, like they understand him.

 It’s euphoric in many ways, leaving his skin prickling in excitement and his stomach fluttering in nerves and pride.

A sweet darling is ideal for him – because even as his obsession festers and his behavior becomes more and more extreme, a darling who remains kind to him will only fuel this infatuation, only pushing him to try harder to win them over, to become more and more desperate to have them as his, just as he begins daydreaming about.

It’s just perfect for him – and he’ll do his absolute best to return the favor, complimenting his beloved as often and as honestly as he can, even if the compliments are more disturbing than flattering.

Calm

Jin needs a darling that can handle his Splits. He needs someone who is not only patient with him, but is also able to take the things he throws at them in stride, not even blinking when Jin falls into a particularly nasty split that’s got him spouting nonsense and panicking.

They need to be able to be calm and help them, assessing the situation and knowing exactly how to talk him down from the episode, to keep him breathing steadily and hold him so that he stays oriented.

He needs a darling that can handle the way his mouth doesn’t seem connected to his brain – random words spilling from his lips that sometimes embarrass him.

When a personality reveals something embarrassing that Jin did as a way to get closet to you, his darling needs to be able to calmly respond, to assess the situation and hopefully come to the conclusion that it’s not true, that there’s absolutely no way that Jin would do something so crazy and strange.

And yet, a calmer darling will be absolutely shocked when they learn that all of the things Jin had divulged without meaning to are true – all of it, down to the stolen socks and stalking to the graphic dreams and preparations of his apartment to make it seem a little more like his darling’s – a little more like them.

A calmer darling is ideal for Jin because he’s simply too excitable and tightly strung to not have a calm darling.

Oblivious

A darling that doesn’t notice the multitude of red flags in his behavior would make Jin’s life much, much easier.

A darling that is oblivious or perhaps blinded by their positive assumptions about people would work in Jin’s favor, because it would allow him to push the boundaries just a bit, just as he does without meaning to, all without having to explain the slip-ups he makes, all without having you grow scared by the way he seems to become more and more present in your life.

He needs a darling who doesn’t realize just how deeply Jin has invaded their life – so they can’t run before he manages to ensnare them, so they can’t leave him and abandon him like he’s so afraid they will.

Plus, there’s something endearing about this trait that Jin just can’t shake.

It makes him feel like a protector, making it easier to convince himself that his darling needs him to be around in order to safely function, to not be taken advantage of by some creep with bad intentions.

It makes justifying his actions much, much easier, lessening the small sense of guilt that eats away at him, lessening the insecurity that pushes him to draw back every once in a while, convinced that he’ll never be good enough for his precious lovely darling.

An oblivious darling would allow him to operate with less secrecy and fear, something that Jin is grateful for. Plus, they’re just so damn cute – cute enough to eat.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

Once Jin’s feelings for you take root, it’s over.

He’s so broken and lost, quite literally unsure of his place in the world, his purpose, himself. And so once you step into his life, with your pretty face and even prettier voice that says the nicest, most caring things to him, Jin’s reaction is nearly out of his control.

How can he not become absolutely, utterly enraptured with you when you’re so kind to him?

When you smile at him like that, all teeth and appled cheeks and this sparkle in your eye that he can tell isn’t forced, how can he not find himself swooning? How can he not be smitten with you when you look at him like he’s a person, like he’s worth something, like he has value and isn’t just a waste of space?

It’s euphoric, something that makes his pulse race and his cheeks tinge pink, and so of course he’s desperate to spend time with you, to be in your presence and soak up every ounce of you that he possibly can. In the beginning, when his feelings are freshly formed and still having some semblance of normalcy, Jin’s too shy to directly ask you to be with him.

He’ll struggle to look you in the eye, rubbing the back of his neck and letting his gaze flick to you every few seconds as he mumbles out a rushed, awkward, so um, I was uh, wondering if you’d like to see that new movie this weekend…

It’s hard to hear and you’ll ask him to repeat himself, only furthering his embarrassment and making him wince because obviously you’re going to say no – you’re too pretty and smart and sweet for him, why would you ever say yes to a washed-up criminal like him? But before he can even get the chance to respond, he’s blurting out a let me take ya to the theater, yeah? We can get seats in the back where it’s just the two of us.

He’s mortified, immediately clasping a hand over his mouth and his eyes going wide; he didn’t mean it like that! Well, okay, maybe he did, and maybe the idea of being a dim, warm place with comfortable velvet seats and sugary drinks with his body pressed right next to yours is incredibly enticing and enough to make him salivate and pant like some fucking dog –

Except you’ll still say yes, because at this point Jin’s infatuation – while still painfully obvious – seems like just a crush. He’s awkward and flustered around you, but that’s kind of endearing and sweet, isn’t it?

A fully grown man – and one who’s seen more horrors than you can imagine – is bashful over you?

It’ll have you looking past the way that he always seems to show up at the places you frequent, that same nervous and hopeful look on his face as he scans the crowd for your familiar figure.

It’ll have you looking past the way he puts his hand on your back and keeps it there for much, much too long, never moving downwards but always staying firm, as if he’s glued to you, as if separating himself from you is physically painful.

It’ll have you looking past the way he begs you to share just one more glass of cheap booze, telling you that it’s good for you, that it’ll help you relax and destress from that job of yours that you hate.

(Plus, you look so damn cute when you’re tipsy – all clumsy and giggly, your inhibitions lowered so that you don’t notice when his gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long, when his hand skims across your thigh, when he leans in much too close and inhales much too loudly.)

You’ll write off most of Jin’s clingy behaviors with a wave of your hand and an excuse that it’s simply how he processes his trauma. And it’s true, to some extent. Except you don’t know the full extent – you don’t know how he follows you home every night, trying his best to stay quiet as he lurks in the shadows, making sure no one approaches you on your commute back to the quaint little apartment he’d give absolutely anything to share with you.

You don’t know the way he borrows small items of yours, keeping them on his ragged nightstand next to the bare mattress he sleeps on, your hair clips and toothbrushes kept as pristine and safe as he possibly can.

(He’ll pick them up with trembling fingers, scared that even simply touching something of yours will break it, yet simultaneously thrilled that he has something of yours, something of an angel’s.)

You aren’t aware of the way he fantasizes about you constantly, imagining everything from linking your pinkies together to burying his face between your legs. (And in vivid, vivid detail, too – even going so far as to mimic your voice and sit on his own hand so that it'll go numb, just like some teenage boy.)

You’ll write it off, but Jin sees this as permission to push further, to try harder, to test the boundaries of your ‘friendship’ as far as he can without you growing suspicious. He’ll pull you into hugs with higher frequency and longer times, keeping you pressed against his body while he buries his face into your neck and tries not to moan at the smell of you.

He’ll spam your phone with text after text, conveying conflicting messages that showcase just how little control over himself and his split personalities where you’re concerned.

(You’ll have to turn off your ringer permanently with him around – he will drive you insane, the buzzing noise and the obnoxious little bring making you lose your mind. He texts you day and night, your peaceful sleep interrupted with the notification of fifty unread texts from him, ranging from single sentences to near paragraphs.)

He’s not exactly subtle, and while you’ll cling to your excuse of him just being lonely and struggling to cope with his past, eventually you’ll have to realize that Jin isn’t just using you to help him work through his previous experiences – no, he wants more.

He wants you. He needs you, to a degree where his every waking thought revolves around you, and most of his dreams do, too. He’s clingy and needy and always, always demanding your attention, and eventually you’ll find yourself nearly ripping your hair out because you just can’t seem to get a moment of privacy around the blond, his eyes always watching you and his fingers always itching to reach out and touch, to press against your skin, to make sure that you’re real and present and with him.

He just needs the reassurance that you won’t leave him, that you’ll stay with him, that you’ll always be with him – you keep him from splitting after all, and how could he ever thank you?

By being your personal watchdog and eagerly completing each and every request of yours, no matter how depraved or inhumane and dehumanizing. Anything for you.

Obsessive

Tying hand in hand with his clinginess, Jin finds himself drowning in a sea of you once his feelings form. He finds himself so overwhelmed with all the warring desires in his heart – he wants to see you, his fingers twitching and itching to set his eyes on you, to be in your presence and bask in you you you.

But he also wants to spend time laying on his dingy mattress, his eyes closed as he mentally lists all of the things he loves about you, all the things that leave him breathless and blushing and reaching out towards you with trembling hands.

He wants to speak with you, to maybe make you laugh and hear that wonderful laugh of yours all because of something he said, but he’s also too afraid to instigate conversations with you because he’s worried he’ll somehow fuck up and scare you off.

(And just the mere thought of that gets him in a cold sweat, hands gripping at his blond hair and his eyes squeezing shut, lips moving like lightning as he repeats the mantra that you want him you want him you want him… Splits caused by his doubt for your feelings for him are always the worst – they last longer, they leave a more harrowing impact, and – worst of all – he’s so distracted by his feelings that he loses all awareness of his surroundings. He’s no longer aware of the vase nearby, knocking into it and sending the thing shattering against the floor, the sound and the feeling of glass shards pricking at his feet not even pulling him out of his stupor.)

He’s a mess in every meaningful way, and yet the only thing he can regularly, consistently bring himself to do is amass more and more information about you. You’re his own personal drug; one that calms him slightly, that makes him feel more whole – thinking of you is the only thing that can keep him focused, and this manifests itself in many ways.

Mainly, Jin takes to stalking you very, very early on. He’s simply too intrigued and attached to not follow you home, unwilling to let you out of his sight for even a few seconds. He’s worried for your safety, sure, because he’s sure that a sweet, lovely thing like you could never defend yourself should a villain confront you, but that’s not why he’s trailing you in the shadows like some loser, like some freak.

No – the real reason is much more depraved, sadder and more pathetic than Jin himself would like to admit. It’s really because with every moment he watches you, he learns more and more about you.

Each night that he trails you home from work, he’s learning enough things to fuel his dreams that night – you avoid sidewalks with people when it’s late at night, preferring instead to cross the street so that you won’t pass them.

(Not that he’d let anything happen to you – he’d kill whoever laid a finger on you. He’d start by punching them, getting them to the ground and sinking his fist against their cheek and jaw again and again and again, then wrap his fingers around their neck and squeeze, feeling the way they’d wheeze and choke and desperately grapple at this fingers, begging him to save their worthless life. Begging with that same voice that they could’ve been calling out lewd and inappropriate things to you in, touching him with those hands that he’s sure they would’ve used to touch you, to taint and mar your pretty skin and leave you scared and trembling and shaking and needing someone like Jin to come and rescue you –

The man would be dead before Jin knows it, his lip caught between his teeth because although killing someone doesn’t necessarily feel good, there’s something pleasant swimming in his gut because now this person will never, ever get near you again.)

He learns that you always stop to look at pretty window displays, the glittering Christmas lights and decorations making you twinkle in turn, the colors shining against your skin and clothes in a way that makes Jin swear you’re an angel, as if you’re a personal piece of heaven just for him, no matter how undeserving he may be.

He learns that you keep your spare apartment key under your welcome mat, always fishing it out before you slip into your apartment. Your apartment, which he’s visiting numerous times – enough times that if he had to, he could navigate with his eyes closed. He’s poured through every square inch of your home – digging through drawers and marveling at each little trinket he can find, no matter how mundane.

He rifled through your kitchen drawer last month, noticing with baited breath that you have a variety of spices in your cupboard – you must like your food well-seasoned. He’s not a very good cook, but for you, he could be – and all too soon images of you leaning close to him, your lashes fluttering and your eyes sultry as you eat the bit of food off his outstretched fork, making a show of swallowing and telling him that his cooking is so good Jin, you’re so wonderful for me…

He’d also found a pair of scissors, something that’d made his brows furrow in worry because although he trusts that you’re responsible, it still makes him nervous for you to have something like this laying around your house – something that could easily cut you, something that has the potential to hurt you.

He’s gone through each and every piece of silverware you own, looking at each fork and knife and gulping, his cheeks red as he thinks of the way you’ve used these pieces of metal – your lips and tongue have pressed against the material, your saliva coating the fork’s prongs, the slurping and sucking noises you make as you eat the soup off of your spoon.

He’ll gulp, looking around your empty apartment, then quickly shove the fork into his mouth, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head because although you’ve washed it, he swears the fork tastes like you – and isn’t this almost a form of an indirect kiss? Aren’t his lips touching something yours has, his tongue rubbing and caressing the prongs just as yours might have?

(The thought leaves his knees weak, his pants unbearably tight, the fork clutched tightly in his fist as he wills himself to stay strong, to keep going and not crumple to a ball in the middle of your kitchen and fuck his fist like he so desperately needs to.)

He’ll sit on your couch, his breath uneven as soon as the soft cushions rest below him, his muscles tense and tight because he’s seen you sit here, watched as you laughed and roared at some television show, your pretty body molding to the couch’s cushions, your pajamas looking so cute and adorable and sexy on you.

His hands idly run over the couch fabric, his Adam’s Apple bobbing because oh, you’ve touched this before, haven’t you? He’ll meander into your bathroom, fingering your towels and letting his tongue slip over his lips, internally debating if it’s really such a good idea, if it’s crossing a boundary, if it really wouldn’t hurt…

And soon he’s stepping into your shower, the hot water (set to the temperature he knows you like) cascading down his nude body. He’ll open each of your shower products and eagerly smell them, something like a strangled groan slipping past his lips with each smell. He’s using your hair care products, lathering himself in your body wash, using your loofah and even using your razor, just because he wants the full experience of you, to be as close to you as possible given your current absence in the apartment.

And of course he’ll be using the towel once he’s finished – your towel, the one that still smells like you and has a strand or two of your hair sitting so perfectly and neatly on it.

(Jin picks up the hairs in awe, swallowing and bringing the hair up, his tongue brushing against the strand, his teeth clenching down as he chews at it.)

He wants to touch your toothbrush (so badly that it nearly hurts), but he stops himself, deciding that he should save that honor for when you’re sharing a toothbrush, when you’re with him every morning and night.

And of course, he’s tiptoeing into your bedroom, his eyes going wide and his nostrils flaring because oh god, it smells exactly like you and he thinks he might faint because it feels like you’re really here with him, like you’re by his side and hugging him and he’s surrounded by you you you.

He’s mostly respectful – or at least, as much as a man breaking-and-entering into your apartment can be, avoiding your underwear drawers despite the voice in his head urging him to snatch a pair of panties.

(The sexy ones, you know ‘em – the lacy black ones, the ones you were thinkin’ of last night when you jerked off so many times you were shootin’ blanks.)

He’ll open your closet, whistling at the sight of all your clothes. He’ll try on as many things as he can, hoping that things will fit him, always careful to hang them back up exactly as he found them, though a small part of him hopes that you can smell him on the clothing, that you’ll be reminded of him and be comforted. He’ll sit on your bed, breath hitched as he feels the way the mattress sags under his weight, before laying down slowly.

He’d showered that morning and was suddenly thankful for it – he wouldn’t want to sully your comforter with any dirt or grime. He’ll even dare to get under the covers for a moment, letting his eyes flutter closed as he imagines laying with you, spooning you with sunlight streaming in through the window, feeling your body (nude, of course, because he sleeps nude and all couples should sleep without clothing, yes?) against his and relishing in the smell of your hair and the nape of your neck.

All the while, Jin is noticing and mentally cataloguing every little detail he can process while in your apartment – the color scheme, what photographs you have up, what decorates your walls, whether there’s dirty clothes on your floors or bed or if you’re perfectly clean. Because really, everything is important – every little scrap of knowledge he can glean about you feeds the insatiable desire he harbors for you, this uncontrollable urge to be with you at all moments of the day.

This satisfies him, for now – it’s enough for the time being to be living as your shadow, but soon he’ll want to be by your side, hearing you say his name and feeling your soft hands touching him.

And he’ll do absolutely anything you tell him – all with an eager nod and a franticness to his actions that would leave him wildly embarrassed if it was anyone other than you.

Anyone other than the woman he’s hopelessly infatuated with – the one he'd get on his knees and literally beg for, even just for a simple glance his way.

Gentle

As a general rule, Jin absolutely does not want to hurt you.

Despite his status as a villain, he’s caring and soft to almost a debilitating degree, the notion of violence often necessary but not something he actively pursues. And so, of the small list of people in this world that he cares about, he would never purposefully harm any of them – and because you sit smack at the top of that list, this sentiment is only more extreme.

He thinks of you as perfection, idolizing you in every possible way, and so to even entertain the idea of leaving any sort of physical or emotional damage to you makes Jin physically ill, a Split oncoming as his stomach heaves, his head feeling dizzy and light as panic engulfs him. He absolutely does not want to harm you or upset you in any way, and this ultimately results in Jin being a yandere who is neither harsh nor patronizing, but rather simply gentle.

He treats you like an absolute queen; though he’s in a financial position that makes legally procuring gifts for you a little trickly, Jin goes out of his way to try and provide you with everything and anything he can to make you happy.

Before kidnapping you, this looks like buying you small, simple little token gifts – a small, modest bouquet of flowers (bouquet being a stretch – more often than not it’s just a single flower that he himself plucked from the ground, keeping the flower safe and preserved on his journey to find you – searching your most frequently visited locations, of course, and tapping into the tracker he'd managed to get Skeptic to install into your confiscated phone).

It looks like him offering to treat you to dinners and lunches, always at places that are within his price range (because stealing food in front of you would be a tacky move and although he can’t keep the façade of his occupation away from you forever, he’d like you to think of him as a dignified man), with greasy tables and even greasier meals, dingy lighting and seats with duct tape holding the leather booths together.

It’s not much, but it’s all Jin can offer you – and he does so with the most heart-melting, hopeful smile, his eyes soft and this look of utter vulnerability scrawled across his face that’ll have you giving in almost immediately, agreeing to getting lunch with him despite the way that his blatant staring bothers you.

(As does the way he leans in and inhales deeply when your back is turned. You can hear the breathing, the strange gulping sound that follows, and although it makes the bad kind of shivers race up your spine, you don’t bring it up with him.)

And once he’s stolen you away, that façade of being a dignified man is up – he’s still spoiling you, even more so than before your forced captivity with him, but now he doesn’t feel that he has to pay to spoil you. Now, he can steal your favorite things – because really, anything is worth seeing your smile light up your whole face when he brings home that expensive pastry he knows you love.

(The sweet is perfectly preserved, not a single wrinkle in the pretty, ornate parchment paper it’s wrapped in, nor is any portion of the sweet itself squished. He’d paid extra care to keep everything perfectly in-tact – perfect for you, because anything less than that would be an insult to his love for you.)

He’s bringing home all sorts of movies for the two of you to watch together, his hand slowly inching to your thigh as you sit side by side on his shitty old couch, the television on but all his attention focused on trying to be subtle about showing you just how badly he needs to touch you. He’s trying his best to get your favorite foods every night, getting you a few new clothes (and some of his own – he’s got a few sweatshirts that he will be forcing you into wearing, the sight of you in his clothing making his face scarlet and his face buried in his hands, his lip caught between his teeth as he tries and fails to compose himself because god, you look so good and it looks so fucking right to see you in something of his.)

Really, while Jin knows that he can’t buy your love and acceptance of his feelings, he’s desperate for any sort of help to get you moving that way. Any aid he can enlist in helping spark and develop any sort of reciprocation of his obsession with you is eagerly used, hope springing up inside his chest that maybe, just maybe, if he can make you happy enough you’ll forget that he’s a criminal, that he’s kidnapped you, that you’ve found out about all the stalking and stealing used socks and living in your apartment while you weren’t home.

He’s hopeful that all his hard work will pay off – you’ll see him as a man who really, truly loves you, even if he doesn’t deserve you.

God, he’ll never deserve someone like you – but he’ll never stop wanting you, either.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

In general, Jin’s jealousy stems less from a place of selfish possessiveness and more from a place of insecurity and genuine worry for your safety.

Jin is more than aware that he’s not your ideal man – he’s a criminal with deaths to his name, renting a shitty apartment he can barely afford, riddled with mental health issues stemming from his quirk, and perpetually smelling like cigarettes. He’s very aware that if you were left to your own devices, you’d never pick him – and he can’t blame you, honestly. He’s a loser, a grown man with so many voices inside his head that he can’t keep track of them, and if he were a woman as pretty, sweet, and smart as you, he’d choose someone more successful, wealthier, more stable, just better.

And so, when he sees another man interact with you, his initial thought is that this is it – you’ll like this man more than you like Jin.

Maybe he’s funnier and wittier, or maybe he’s charming and suave with his words, two things that Jin himself certainly isn’t. Maybe he’s more attractive – without a nasty scar down the center of his forehead, or maybe you prefer brunettes like him, or maybe he’s taller.

Regardless, insecurity immediately eats away at Jin, forcing him to notice all of the things that man does better than him, all of the things that could pull your attention and feelings – whatever those may be – away from Jin and instead towards this stranger.

And while he initially feels that this is true, that this is the natural course of things and it’s how it should be, the longer he watches the interaction, the less satisfied with that he becomes. He grows restless, his fingers twitching at his sides, his muscles tensing and flexing and urging him to do something, whether that’s interrupting the two of you or causing a large enough distraction to end whatever conversation you’re having. It’s nearly unbearable, an internal war raging the longer he watches on, his lips moving and all sorts of different arguments and urges slipping off his tongue.

Go interrupt them!

No, it would be wrong of me to insert myself into a conversation that I’m not a part of.

Fuck that, he wants to steal her! He wants to make her his own!

You don’t know that, you can’t claim something that extreme without any foundation to base it on!

You can see his face, you can tell he wants to fuck her – look at that, he’s practically undressing her with his eyes!

It goes back and forth, seeming to never end, until eventually Jin forces himself to turn around and walk away, the part of him that’s insecure finally winning out the longer he notices things that are simply better about this stranger. It’s torturous and makes him bit his lip so hard it draws blood, his steps labored and heavy, but it’s the right thing to do.

And if you respond to his texts later that night, Jin will know that you haven’t completely forgotten him – perhaps you’ve forgotten this stranger, though, because you’re choosing to respond to Jin’s texts, not his. And this idea makes a wobbly smile spread across Jin’s face, his thumbs typing away at his cracked phone, deleting and retyping over and over again as he tries to think of ways to keep the conversation going, wanting so very badly to keep talking to you and keep your attention on him.

However, although Jin is fairly complacent and non-confrontational when it comes to most of your interactions with other men, there are a few circumstances where he’s not nearly as controlled – that is, when Jin can tell that the man has bad intentions.

It’s one thing to see you talk with a man that clearly finds you attractive, but it’s an entirely different story when Jin can see the gun or knife glinting in the man’s pocket, or when he recognizes the man’s face as a petty criminal known for pickpocketing defenseless women. It’s in these circumstances where Jin’s face will harden up, his lips a thin, straight line as he approaches the both of you, butting his way in with an excited greeting aimed at you, his eyes cold as he stares the man down.

And frankly, most petty villains will recognize him – sure, he isn’t the most famous villain, but he’s still a member of the League, and the perpetrator will often make some excuse and scurry away, not wanting to stir up any trouble with the League over some stupid woman.

And though Jin won’t want to explain why the man fled so quickly, he’s absolutely smug that his mere presence was enough to deter the man from bothering you anymore. He’ll look at you with excited eyes, his cheeks lightly flushed, hoping and praying that you’ll compliment him, that you’ll praise him and thank him because really, you wanted the man to go away but you were too scared to do it yourself.

And maybe, just maybe, if he’s really lucky, you’ll even give him a peck on the cheek as a thanks, the feeling of your lips against his skin making his heart race, this strange half-whimper slipping from his throat because you’re so close that he can smell you, and it’s fresh and real this time – not just the residual scent of your pillow your towel.

It’s wishful thinking, but Jin likes being your guardian angel – he’s anything but an angel, really, but it makes him feel important, needed, good. Like he’s actually giving you something, instead of just taking and taking and taking.

This is wrong, and Jin knows it. He shouldn’t be here – the cute little café is a public space, sure, but there was absolutely no chance that he would’ve found himself here if he hadn’t been trailing you for the last thirty minutes.

And he’d enjoyed it – watching you walk, seeing how your hair flittered a little in the breeze, the sway of your hips (something he tried hard not to look at but still found his gaze wandering down to every few minutes, his cheeks growing pink and palm coming up to smack at his cheek).

But the moment you’d entered the café, Jin following a few steps behind, he knows something is wrong. Instead of sitting at your own table, you make a beeline to the larger wooden one by the window – the one where a man is already sitting. Jin sits at his own table, some twenty feet away, bringing a flimsy newspaper up to cover his face.

The man greets you with a smile, introducing himself, complimenting your outfit and even pushing your fucking chair in, and suddenly it becomes very apparent what’s happening.

You’re on a date. A fucking date. Jin feels his face slip, a deep frown etching its way onto his lips. It’s torture to listen to you; your voice is a little higher than usual, he notes, and something sharp wedges its way between his ribs.

You never speak to him with that kind of voice – does that mean you aren’t interested in him? Does that means you don’t like him? Don’t say stupid crap like that! Are you stupid? It’s probably true! He winces, knocking at his head with his hand as a feeble attempt to get the warring thoughts to stop.

The date goes well, as far as Jin can tell – conversation flows easily, and with every passing moment he finds himself growing more and more restless, the hopelessness beginning to take its toll. He wants to interrupt – badly, really, with every fiber of his being. But that wouldn’t be fair to you – you obviously seem to like this man, perhaps even more than you like Jin, as loathe as he is to say it, and what right does he have to take that happiness away from you?

It hurts him, yes, but if it means staying in your life and seeing you happy, even if it’s with another man, he’ll grit his teeth and not play dirty. Your happiness is top priority, after all – and as you leave the café, you and the man going your separate ways, Jin can only hope that you will not be receiving any calls or texts from the man, even as you happily give him your number. He’s still gripping his hands into tight fists, even as he begins trailing the man.

This sight is significantly less pleasant than when he follows you – he doesn’t mind looking at you, not when you’re all pretty and sweet and you seem so very innocent. But this man? Well, as he approaches a bar a few blocks away, Jin’s brow cocks up. A mid-afternoon drink seems a little strange, and as Jin steps inside the bar after the man, a small burst of pride blooms in his chest.

Because really, this is not just a bar – there’s a stage, at the far back of the establishment, with all sorts of different colored lights beaming down on the main act: a scantily clad woman leaning back on a pole, winking at a man sitting in the front row. Jin’s taken aback – surely this can’t be a good sign, right?

You didn’t need to be seeing any men who frequent strip clubs – and with the way the man immediately went up to the bar, ordering a shot and acting friendly with the bartender, Jin’s sure this isn’t the first time he’s visited.

With a smile, Jin decides that this is finally something that Jin is better at – he’s many things, sure, but he only has eyes for you and he’d never seek out the visual comforts of another woman.

And as Jin approaches the bar, ears perked up, anger brews in his gut. Yeah man, just wrapped up a date – girl’s awful, talking about her family and shit, who the hell wants to hear that? She’d look better if she just shut the fuck up.

Jin’s jaw is on the floor, rage swimming in his veins. How dare this man speak about you that way – as if you’re just some random woman, as if everything you say isn’t gospel, something worthy of being revered and paid the utmost attention to. How dare this man dismiss you like that – after you’d been so happy, after you’d thought the date had gone so well, after he’d asked for your number, for God’s sake.

And with that, Jin sinks into his jacket, closing his eyes and trying to subdue the urge to walk over and sock the guy across the face so hard that he spits out a few teeth. No, that wouldn’t accomplish anything except a few moments of satisfaction – no, Jin has to take more drastic measures, something that will ensure that you and your fragile little heart won’t be hurt by this horrible, disgusting man.

And so, as Jin slips away, it’s not so hard to send you a fake text from the man, asking if he can swing by your apartment.

And you, being flustered that your date had contacted you to fast and so eagerly of course say yes, inviting him over for dinner. Jin smiles down at the phone with a big, bashful beam, able to pretend for just a few moments that he was supposed to be the recipient of that text, that really it was him you were inviting over for a homecooked meal, then maybe a movie, then maybe you’d stay up and talk with him for hours, falling asleep in his arms and letting him hold you like he spend hours dreaming of.

(Or, if you’re feeling a bit frisky, perhaps you’d let him spread your legs and spend hours with his head trapped between them, your taste and smell clouding his senses as he brings you to your high over and over and over…)

It’s not hard to make a copy of the man, to get him at your apartment door, that same suave walk and the high cheekbones making you bashful as you open your apartment door. But then, the man sneers at you, looking you up and down just as Jin had instructed, scoffing under his breath and telling you that you’re even uglier the second time I see you. I just came by to tell you that I don’t wanna see you anymore – you’re not my type, you know? I like ‘em a little more interesting. But if you wanna fuck, I’d be more than happy to –

You slam the door in his face, chest heaving and tears pricking at your eyes, and although it nearly braks Jin’s heart, he closes his eyes and breaths deep, reminding himself that although hurting you is making every bone in his body feel brittle and about ready to snap, this is necessary.

It’s necessary because the man probably would’ve done worse if left to his own devices – if his conversation with the bar tender was any indication, you would’ve been used for your body and then unceremoniously dumped in the trash. And you deserve so, so much more than that – Jin is sure of it, and Jin can give you that if you’d just let him.

He gives you some time, sure that you’re sobbing behind the front door, and it’s only an hour or so later that he texts you (from his real number, of course) if you’d like to grab dinner. He’s equal parts nervous and ecstatic when you respond with a simple yes, already eager to get you distracted from that loser – and, perhaps, even manage to show you how much better Jin can treat you.

He's charming that night, on his best behavior, telling you all sorts of jokes and asking about things he knows you love to ramble on about, just wanting to hear your voice and watch your lips move. And soon, the guilt is totally washed away – because really, would you have ever been able to speak this freely with that man? Absolutely not. Jin may not deserve you, but at least he can treat you well – so why can’t you see that?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Jin doesn’t want to kidnap you, but he will eventually reach a point where his anxiety, paranoia and profession leave him with no other choice. He’s fully aware that his obsession with you has grown to such astronomical proportions that it’s literally controlling his life, but he doesn’t seriously entertain the notion that you’re just as deeply in love and devoted to him as he is you.

(Obviously he likes to think that you are – pleasant daydreams star you with your lips pressed against his jaw as you tell him just how much he means to you, just how badly you want him, just how much you need him, but he’s always brought back to reality with a cruel slap, Dabi barking his name or an alarm clock going off and leaving him feel empty, alone, restless for you.)

He knows that he possesses a one-sided love for you, and in the beginning of his obsession, that was enough. It was enough to simply be seen by you – to have your attention on him if only for a few seconds, your smile and warm and inviting and genuine as you spoke to him. It was enough that he was a silent admirer, watching you from the shadows of your life and eagerly anticipating your next encounter, no matter how large or small.

It was enough, until suddenly it wasn’t. Suddenly Jin needed to have more contact with you – getting your phone number had been one of the most nerve-wracking things he’d ever done, his fear of rejection so incredibly high that it made his voice a bit scratchy and he’d almost stuttered, leaving him mortified but only more enamored with you when you just laughed and gladly filled out your contact information into his phone.

And that had been enough for a time, too – he could text you, sending you photos of the sunset that he spent five minutes trying to find the perfect camera settings and angles for, just so that he could send as good of a photo to you as possible and have you be impressed.

(He’d been hoping you’d even compliment him as a response, perhaps telling him that it’s so beautiful, Jin! You’re so talented at photography! Or, in an even more idealized world, you’d tell him how beautiful the stars are and then immediately follow that up with an offer to go star gazing, to spend the evening together curled up in some remote field staring up at the sky and using each other as body heat to stay warm in the cold night air.)

But then the texting and calling wasn’t enough – soon he needed more, and that’s when the stalking began. He’d follow you to work, then immediately return to your apartment and snoop around, touching everything and picking everything up just so that there was at least some memory of him on everything you own.

And this had to be enough – this was the furthest Jin could get away with without you noticing, without you cutting him out of your life completely once you realized just how truly deranged for you he was. 

But then somehow a hero finds out about you, and suddenly your position in his life is threatened, and Jin panics. He totally, utterly panics, a Split intense enough to bring tears to his eyes forcing him to rely on the one person he trusts more than any other soul on the planet: you.

He comes to you, babbling and going on about some sort of internal debate that you can’t follow, and as you try to calm him down, your words start slowly sinking into Jin’s psyche. You keep saying that you’re there, that you’ll always be there for you, I promise.

You’re pulling him into your side, a cloth bag placed over hie head while you rub at his arms and back, shushing him gently and even rocking him back and forth every so slightly. And so, as the Split slowly fades and he calms down, two things happen – one, you sigh in relief and hope that Jin has processed some of his emotions and will leave, and two, Jin hearing your words as a promise that you want him, that you need him, that you want to stay by his side for the rest of your life.

And so, in the aftermath of a horrible mental health episode, Jin decides that you’ve essentially given him permission to make sure you really are always going to be there for him, just like you said.

It’s not hard to sneak into your apartment that night, the chloroform soaked rag sitting underneath your nose in a way that made it difficult not to swoon over your adorable sleeping figure.

(Jin gulps and swallows as he stares at your limp body, his hand reaching out to very, very lightly brush his fingertips over the expanse of your clothed hip, wide eyes staring at you as if you’re some piece of art, something for him to keep and cherish and love.)

And when you wake up the morning, you’ll find yourself in a strange bedroom with a strange man who’ll spoil you rotten – even if you beg him not to, even if you say the only gift you want is to be let free.

As a captor, Jin isn’t too terrible – all those desires to spoil you and make you happy are still very much present within him even once he’s stolen you away.

In fact, if anything he’s even more desperate to get you smiling, to see you be happy and looking at him with anything other than fear and hate. Because really, after that Split that led to him kidnapping you calms down, Jin is only left with complete and utter regret – you’ll hate him now, he’s sure of it.

You’ll be afraid of him, thinking of him not as the sweet, funny, and harmless Jin you’ve come to know but instead a monster, a criminal capable of hurting you in more ways than one. And this kills him – he hates being looked at like he’s ruined your life, even if he basically has. And because of this, he decides that the only way to get you to slowly see him in a positive light again is if he makes your life with him as good as possible – if he spoils you, treats you like a queen, pampers you and cares for you with the level of devotion that you deserve.

And frankly, Jin is more than happy to give you this – he’s a worshipper through and through, already revering you like you’re something holy and in need of constant praise. He’ll outfit his dingy apartment the best that he can – there’s freshly stolen furniture in your favorite colors and fabrics, changed lightbulbs for his overhead lights work, a stocked refrigerator, a new mattress.

(Only one though, so you’ll still have to share with him – but don’t be too worried, because he won’t actively try anything without your explicit permission. At least, he won’t while he’s awake – when he’s asleep is an entirely different story, because that’s when his real desires come out, unchecked and uncontrolled as he grinds his hips against your ass, his little moans and whispers of your name as he presumably has a wet dream about you more than a little awkward to lie next to. Don’t mention it to him though, please – he can tell that his cum is staining his boxers, but he’s always hopeful that you slept through it all, that you didn’t notice the way he was probably trying to get stimulation, that you didn’t see just how depraved and desperate for intimacy he is.)

He’s getting you comfortable clothing; lots of sweatshirts and lounging pants, fuzzy socks and even a few hats for when the heating in the building goes out (as it often does).

(He really likes to see you in his clothing, of course, but Jin isn’t too terribly pushy – he’d be ecstatic if you willingly wore something of his, his face bright red and all sorts of things coming out of his mouth, but he’s really and truly pleased, a satisfied and smug feeling burrowing in his chest that’s difficult to hide. Sometimes he’ll even wear the new clothing first, making sure that it smells like him, before handing it off for you to hear, biting his lip and struggling to stay calm because god, you look so damn good in what he’d just worn, god you’re really here with him right now and looking at him and touching him and acknowledging him.)

He’ll stock up on all your favorite foods, paying special attention to making sure he has every snack under the sun. And while he does care about your health, when he’s buying you all these snacks, he’ll get absolutely anything you want, even if there’s so much sugar and such little nutritional value that it makes him nervous.

He can’t cook very well, but he’ll order takeout or swing by a restaurant and steal something for dinner, always loving the look of hunger and shy thankfulness as you bite into the meal he’s brought you, trying hard to ignore the way he’s blatantly staring at you and awaiting your approval.

And really, that’s another part of your captivity with him – the staring, the touching, the constant talking, the constant him. He’s always been clingy with you, but it’s even more so once he's got you trapped under his thumb. He always has to be looking at you, observing you and feeling like he’s a part of whatever you’re doing. He wants to see everything you’re up to – when you’re watching television, he’s watching you.

(And nervously playing with his fingers, like there’s something he wants to ask you but is afraid to, right up until he blurts it out, something crude and rude and it immediately makes him apologize, gripping at his hair a bit and telling you about how he didn’t mean it, oh man I promise I didn’t mean it!)

When you’re doing one of the puzzles he’d stolen to help keep you entertained while he was busy, he’s sitting on the other side of the table, those eyes of his glued onto your fingers as you try each piece, watching with rapt attention and marveling at how you slowly make progress, feeling smug and prideful because his girl is so smart.

When you’re stepping into the shower, you can see him out of the corner of your eye, not peeking at you but simply staring at the open doorway of the bathroom, his back facing the shower but his presence still suffocating you.

(He refuses to leave alone during showers, simply because he’s terrified that you’ll slip and fall, that you’ll crack your head open or accidentally swallow shampoo or any number of other wild, outlandish things. And, as he listens to the sound of running water, he’s hoping that one day he’ll get to join you – that one day you’ll be able to bathe together. He’ll run his fingers over your roots, massaging the shampoo into your hair slowly and deeply, your body pressed close to his as the water cascades down your back. He’ll have you lather up his body with that scented body wash you love, and maybe you’ll even draw shapes with the bubbles, press kisses to his naked chest or press yourself against him, whispering in your ear that you love him...)

Truly, Jin is not so bad – he's clingy and you’ll have absolutely no time to yourself, but he’s not too invasive. He doesn’t treat you like an incompetent child, and he at least tries to make you happy – he won’t push you into a physical relationship, not does he demean you in any purposeful way.

The only true negative with Jin (aside from your kidnapping in the first place, not to mention the stalking and hyper fixation) is that although he tries his best to control it, Splits are not pretty, and you’re always the one he comes to her help. When you’re around they happen significantly less often, his comfort level higher and his concentration wavering from his own identity crisis and instead towards you, just as his thoughts often do, but they still happen.

And when they do, he’s blindly searching for you, reaching out bleary, teary eyes and all sorts of babbles and rambles coming from his mouth, every muscle in his body tensing up as he clutches onto you, begging for you to help him, to please, please make me whole again, ‘m not sure what’s – what’s real.

And while you may hate Jin for kidnapping you, for occasionally breaking into your apartment while you’re asleep and watching you rest, for threatening others in your name, for keeping you safe and sound, you still can’t watch this. Somewhere buried inside the monster that stole you away is the Jin that you were friends with – and that’s the Jin you want to help, the one that’s driving you as you shove the paper bag down over his head, letting him engulf you in a nearly too-tight hug as he sobs and his shoulders shake.

It takes him a while to calm down, but as his grip grows tighter and he starts murmuring your name under his breath like a chant, he’ll slowly pull away, swallowing heavily and telling you that he loves you, that he needs you, that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And perhaps it’s Stockholm Syndrome, or perhaps you’ve simply gone crazy, but as time passes something about that sentiment will start becoming romantic to you, something that makes your heart race and gets your palms sweaty.

Because really, eventually you will end up playing out Jin’s fantasies – where the two of you are deeply in love, living together, sleeping together, bathing together, eating together, doing every possible thing in one another’s company because he simply can’t stomach the idea of being aware from you for any small amount of time.

It’s bliss, everything he’s ever dreamed of – and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get there, even if it means acting like your slave just to see you smile at him once a while and give him any scrap of positive affection you can muster.

Anything at all.

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Jin worships you. He finds you to be absolute perfection – you’re beautiful and caring and patient, everything wonderful and nearly too perfect to even be real. You’re certainly too perfect for a fuck-up like him – and yet he wants you, in such a primal and raw way that he can’t hope to fight it.

You’re like air to him, and because he’s grown so attached to your praise and presence in order for his mental health to stabilize for a few moments, Jin can’t stomach the thought of punishing you.

You’re supposed to be happy with him – you’re supposed to be growing to love him, something that he works hard at every day that he has you trapped with him. He gets you flowers (they’re a little wilted and old, but they’re the best he can find), little chocolates (never quite in the flavors and styles you like, but as close as he can get), and tries to keep you happy and placated by having all your favorite things in the apartment.

And so, even more than being upset that you attempted to escape or hurt yourself, Jin can’t really fathom why you’d even bother doing something worthy of a punishment in the first place – are his efforts not enough? Is it not enough for him to run himself ragged trying to think of ways to keep you happy, to show you that despite having kidnapped you, he’s not an entirely bad person?

It’s demoralizing and sends him spiraling into a state of panic and confusion, leading to particularly bad Splits that get him ripping at his hair and frantically grabbing for something, anything, to stop the episode in its tracks.

And so, punishments aren’t common at all – with a few hard exceptions that he does, with time, deem as worthy of his punishments.

(Harming yourself is a large one, as is attempting to harm Jin. Most other things are fair game, and things that he understands why you’d do. But once there’s the question of safety, Jin’s hairs are standing on edge, worry eating him alive because he absolutely cannot have you bleeding or in pain or any number of horrible things.)

You’ll never, ever be physically harmed while with him – the mere thought makes him anxious enough that he feels like he’ll hurl, the images of you bruised and battered flashing behind his eyes and making him feel on edge, anger boiling up in his chest because he absolutely will not stand for you to be harmed in any capacity, whether by another person or by himself.

And he doesn’t even really like to emotionally punish you – he’s not the best manipulator in the world, and something about purposefully warping your mind makes him feel dirty, a grimy feeling that makes his skin crawl and that he wants to avoid at all costs. But sometimes, certain infractions – especially towards the beginning of your captivity – have to be addressed, the bad behavior in you stomped out before it can really take root.

And so, Jin relies on other methods to get these points across – that is, he decides to show you just how good you have it with him by taking some of that good away.

He’ll revoke your dinner privilege for a night, or showering privileges for a few days.

He’ll forbid you from listening to music by removing all electronic players in the apartment, his phone hidden on his person (and yours having been long destroyed, even from before he laid your unconscious body out on your bed, marveling at the sight of you and oh-so-gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face).

It doesn’t feel good, you being even minorly uncomfortable in any way a difficult a difficult sight, but Jin pushes through, his personalities arguing audibly but all eventually agreeing that showing you exactly what you do have is the best method to go about making you as happy as you possibly can be with him.

Besides, there’s something inexplicably satisfying about the moment that you finally admit that you need him, that as much as you hate the hell he’s created by kidnapping you and keeping you all for himself, you must rely on him if you want to survive.

And Jin is smug – finally, you’re starting to see that he can be good, that he’s really not the monster you’ve cracked him out to be. And as soon as the punishment is over, Jin is back to the ever-loving, clingy mess that he always is, desperate to be around you and get your attention.

Jin’s hurt, more than anything, when you lunge at him and swing your fist like you’re trying to punch him.

He stops you easily, of course, but there’s something about the look in his eyes that has you shrinking back, shame withering through your body because god, how can he look so genuinely heartbroken, so genuinely betrayed?

It’s silent for a few moments as he holds your wrist in place, his mind too distracted to even focus on the feeling of physical touch that you initiated, even if the intention was less than ideal. His voice is small when he asks you what you’re doing, hurt lacing his words as he asks why are you trying to punch me? Are you mad at me? What did I do?

And in a different voice, though still somber are you on your period?

And although you have a few choice words to spit at him, all kinds of answers popping into your mind immediately, there’s just something about the way he’s slumped over, shoulders drooping and defeated, the downturn of his lips and the soulful look in his eye that have you unable to speak, the words simply not rolling off of your tongue.

Jin waits for a moment, expecting a barrage of hatred to spew from you, but nothing comes. And so, with careful fingers and slow movements, he slowly lets go of your hand, watching with careful eyes for your next move.

When you don’t swing at him again, Jin takes a step back, the action looking like it physically pains him.

It’s late, we should get to bed. It’s silent again for a moment, but then he moves towards the couch.

Listen, I don’t want to be the bad guy, but tonight you’ve gotta, uh, you’ve gotta sleep here tonight.

You look at him like he’s a little crazy, and he sends you a sorry glance, that same hurt written across his features.

You’ve gotta understand that I’m trying to do what’s best for you, I promise! I know kidnapping you was wrong, but you’re here now and we’ve gotta make the best of it.

God get over it already! It’s already been a month!

You watch with wide eyes as he grabs the blanket off of the back of the sofa, folding it over his arm and gesturing to the furniture.

Sleep here, you’ve gotta learn that hurting me isn’t okay, and neither is hurting yourself so don’t you try anything!

I’ll sleep with an eye open, you hear?

The night is long without the blanket, the apartment’s heating out again as you shiver against the material, using the mangy couch cushions as a makeshift blanket. It’s horrible, and you roll over with a sigh, sure that you’ll never manage to fall asleep in this position but fully knowing that Jin would wake up if you tried to join him in the warm bed. Shutting your eyes and sighing, you again try to drift into sleep – unaware of the way Jin lays in the bed, staring across the room at you with fully awake eyes.

Watching you struggle is torture; he wants more than anything to get up and come bundle you up in the blankets, the sound of your clattering teeth and shivering audible even from his position. But he can’t – not if he wants you to learn your lesson.

Not if he wants you to understand that you absolutely cannot be trying to instigate violence between the two of you – you’re supposed to be a loving couple, happy with one another and perfectly content to live out the rest of your days together.

A punch doesn’t exactly fit that happy dream that Jin has whipped up, and although he knows it’s far off in the future, he fully expects it to become reality one day – you’ve just got to stop fighting it so hard.

And as morning arrives and you both lie in your respective places, neither of you having slept a wink, Jin decides it was worth it. Because when you get out of bed, crawling over to him and asking with that fucking look on your face if you can use the blanket or get in with him, he’s crumbling.

You’ve never asked before – you’ve never used the word ‘please’ with him since being kidnapped, and here you were now, asking him for a favor, politely, sweetly, like you actually appreciate him.

All he can do is stare dumbly at you for a few seconds, but then he’s sputtering out a yes and scotting over, opening up the sheets to expose the beaten-up white tank top he’s sporter and the boxer shorts. Immediately you jump in, the sudden warmth feeling heavenly on your chilled bones, but Jin can only shudder, the feeling of your body so close to his driving him crazy, your smell engulfing his senses and he swears he can even taste you.

He’ll pull you close, experimentally, and when you don’t fight it he’ll let out a slow, long breath, letting his hand rest on your side lightly, almost as if he’s afraid to touch you.

Almost as if you’re not real – and by extension that this sort of fondness you seem to be developing for him isn’t real either. But God, he hopes it is.

OVERALL DANGER:

5/10

Jin is not particularly dangerous.

Mostly, he’s just incredibly and overwhelmingly needy. He’s so sure that he’s not worthy of you, that you’re much too good for him that it causes him to overcompensate, to try much too hard to get you to like him, to get you to want him.

He’s always texting you, running into you at seemingly random places and times, always talking your ear off and looking so genuinely enraptured and intrigued when you respond to him that it’ll make you a little uncomfortable, the intensity in his eyes a bit scary.

He sees you as being something genuinely divine, his idolization of you terrifying in its sheer degree. He spends every free moment trailing behind you, always living in your shadow, pretending with a dopey grin that he’s actually living out your life with you, that you’re somehow aware of him stalking you, that you actually want him to be involved in your day to day life.

(And he only feels a little pathetic about this – his love for you and his intense desire to be recognized by you too strong to bar him from having some dignity and stopping this disturbing obsession.)

He’s always trying to interact with you, becoming addicted to hearing your voice and feeling your attention on him, becoming addicted to the feeling of protecting you, of being needed. And when he eventually snaps and steals you away, Jin only becomes more needy, trying desperately to compensate for the fact that he’s kidnapped you by spoiling you with any gift he can, respecting your privacy and autonomy, trying to keep you as happy as possible given your situation.

And really, while you’ll hate him at first, betrayed beyond belief and scared of this strange new person that seems to have replaced the Jin you knew, eventually you’ll slowly come around. You’ll start to realize just how truly pathetic he is, how he can’t help himself but want you and your attention, and although you’ll hate yourself for it, some part of you will be flattered by how badly he wants you.

Some part of you will be pleased that someone desires you so much that they’ve become such a mess, that they want to please you badly enough that they’re willing to throw their pride out the window for you. You’ll feel guilty and like you’re betraying yourself, but really it’s in your best interest to not fight this new development – because really, while Jin may seem a little scatterbrained and easy to manipulate, he’ll find you if you escape.

And he’ll find you remarkably fast – and although he still won’t hurt you upon your reunion, you’ll come to find that Jin has treated you very, very well. And when that’s suddenly taken away, you’ll find yourself wishing that Jin – your Jin, the one that would steal the stars and sky for you – was back, that he was with you and telling you just how beautiful you are.

You’ll slowly learn that you need him just as badly as he needs you, now – a sentiment that makes Jin beam so brightly that it nearly hurts.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Kai Chisaki General Profile

Yandere! Kai Chisaki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, mentions of dub-con, Kai is awkward and literally can't not pop boners around you constantly, threats, mentions of blood, mentions of needles, slight objectification, allusions to neglect, Kai forces you to watch him kill someone, masturbation, fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

Tidy

First and foremost, being Kai’s darling requires a certain level of cleanliness.

They by no means need to be a germaphobe or obsessively making sure every surface is spotless, but keeping their living space fairly clean and orderly is something incredibly appealing to Kai.

And once his darling is living in the base and has a room all to themselves, it pleases him greatly to see his darling’s bed neatly made every morning, their clothes (all hand selected by him, of course) hanging up in the closet, or any other small display of them just generally wanting the area to be somewhat neat.

He likes the reassurance that his darling has a bit of sense about them, that they understand that cleanliness is important.

And honestly, one of the most heartwarming things Kai can imagine is his darling purposefully cleaning something for him, that they’re willing to spend their time and energy voluntarily making sure that something has been sanitized, cleaned or straightened up all in the name of making him more comfortable, of helping alleviate some of the disgust and fear of his everyday life.

He loves the idea of his darling being a sweet little domestic partner, a housewife of sorts, and if they have a natural liking of keeping things on the cleaner side?

Well, it only makes Kai fall harder, deeper, more completely, because god, how is his darling so fucking perfect for him?

Sweet

Kai is honestly a bit pessimistic; he’s not especially positive about things in life, not especially kind or forgiving, and though he hasn’t really given much thought to what he does and doesn’t find attractive, even he can’t deny that there’s a certain allure to someone who’s the opposite of him; of his brash and cold words, someone warm and sweet and soft.

A darling that doesn’t hesitate to throw kind words at him, to praise the people around them and just generally make people feel good about themselves is something he quickly becomes enamored with, the compliments at first catching him off guard.

His darling saying something along the lines of wow, the gold in your mask really brings out the shades of your eyes – it’s really pretty, is only met with Kai’s cryptic, stoic stare, making them shrink in on themselves while he internally tries to process the idea that his darling likes his eyes.

He’s confused at first, slightly irritated and wondering if they meant it in some sort of derogatory or mean way, but as his cold eyes search their own warmer, slightly nervous ones, he’s taken aback to realize that they mean it, that they’re being genuine with their words.

In all honesty, growing up in the yakuza and being surrounded by criminals and an parental figure that used tough love more than anything, having someone actively praise him or deliver compliments is something he’s completely unused to, completely confused by

But he can’t deny the way a little seed of warmth grows in his chest, the words feeling strange but nice.

And as his darling only continues with their offhand compliments, their small, sweet words, Kai only grows more and more addicted to them, and though he tries his best to compliment them back (it comes off more threatening than anything – your hands are very clean, I wish I could keep them for myself), it’s a bit difficult for him to recover from their honesty, from the way his heart hammers against his ribcage at just one mere kind smile from them.

It’s disorienting, but Kai would be lying if he said he didn’t absolutely love it.

Patient

He is, admittedly, a bit poor with processing and expressing his feelings; he’s never experienced a relationship or romantic feelings of any sort before he met his darling, and as a result he’s a bit clueless when it comes to courting them, to how he should act around them.

Of course, he wants nothing more than to completely woo his darling, to sweep them off their feet and get them to fall madly in love with him, but he’s realistic enough to know that no matter how many cheesy, dreadful rom-coms he watches, no matter how many articles or pieces of advice from colleagues and clients, it won’t change the fact that he’s just naturally not romantic, that he’s just not good with expressing himself.

He wants to be a wonderful partner, always spoiling his darling and making them feel treasured and loved like how he really feels, but it’s difficult for him to break away the layers of carefully built shields around himself, the thick skin he’s acquired through years of working in the underground mafia.

And, because of this, his darling absolutely needs to be patient – they need to be able to give him the time and space he needs in order for him to process his feelings, to try and make sense of how and when he should approach them about his desires to hold them, to see them smile.

And while it’s likely that his darling won’t even be aware of his obsession and romantic feelings towards them until much later in his infatuation, they need to be understanding of how fucking hard it is for Kai to be vulnerable, to allow any sort of happiness or weakness into his life.

Because really, his darling is his one true, huge weak spot – one he loves dearly and would give his life for, but still isn’t quite sure how to rely this to them.·      

Smart

In Kai’s world, strategy, power and manipulation are absolutely everything; he needs to be at the top of his game at all times, making sure that he’s making the right decisions, playing the right cards and just generally making every possible move towards the restoration of the Shie Hissakai.

He’s constantly strategizing, thinking through decision after decision, scenario after scenario, and as a result he’s grown to absolutely demand intelligence out of those around him, to require brains and a general threshold of understanding for those he deems close to him, and his darling is no exception.

They don’t need to be book smart per se, but he needs to have confidence that if he were to explain something to them (though he avidly tries to separate his darling from any and all yakuza business) that they would understand, that he wouldn’t need to spend hours going over the same piece of information again and again before they finally understood.

There’s a certain attractiveness to intelligence that he can’t quite explain, but very much feels – when his darling makes some sort of quick remark or statement in response to something he said, there’s a sense of pride swelling in his chest, because that’s his beloved who’s so smart, so understanding and quick thinking.

He really likes the idea of his partner and him being a bit of a ‘power couple’ (though he absolutely refuses to give up any of his own power over his work or them – he is in charge, as he always will be), in that they’re both forces to be reckoned with, smart and strong and a powerful team together.

It’s enticing, and though his darling likely couldn’t change his mind about anything, Kai enjoys asking them about their opinions and thoughts on certain matters, just to understand how deeply they agree or disagree, how deeply his darling’s smarts run.

That, and Kai will be taking every possible opportunity to bond with beloved, even if talking about hero society is the way to do it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

Kai is, as in most aspects of his life, absolutely desperate to be in charge of every little thing around him.

He needs to be dictating every single thing you do, everything you say and think and feel, otherwise things get ugly, quickly.

There’s a part of him that’s absolutely terrified that you hold so much emotional weight over him, that he cares so much about you, that he does things because of you.

He doesn’t like the way he feels so helpless in the face of you, even as unassuming and weak as you are.

He doesn’t like that you hold such power over him, knowingly or not, and as a result it helps to quell down this anxiety and fear when he’s telling you that you’re not allowed to leave your room, that you must wash your hands every ten minutes on the dot, that you aren’t to speak to another living soul besides himself.

Kai craves for you to feel the same overwhelming, disorienting love that he does for you, but more than anything he craves absolute control over you.

He wants power over you, to know that you will follow his every word, his every command, anything and everything he could ever want.

To him, it shows that you trust him, that you love him and that you’re giving yourself to him, to let him love you and show you how much you mean to him.

In his eyes, it’s all actually strangely romantic – you’re his sweet little quirkless woman, the girl he thinks he loves, the one he’d do anything and everything to protective and keep his, and in return all he asks is that you let him decide everything for you, that you depend completely and solely on him.

It’s a fair deal, really, and after all, he knows what you need much better than you do - after all, he knows you better than you know yourself.

He has a, for lack of a better term, brutal schedule that he keeps you chained to – he’s rigging an alarm for your room that goes off at exactly 6:30 in the morning, a steady beeping noise that does the job quite nicely, if the camera feed showing you frowning and covering your ears with the single pillow he’s given you is anything to go by.

He’s sending in a henchman (masked, so that there’s no chance of you finding him attractive) with a tray of nutritionally balanced breakfast items that you will eat, lest he’ll use force against you.

Your breakfast will consist of a pile of meat of his choosing, steamed vegetables on the side, and a small container of starch next to the plate.

A smattering of vitamins are enclosed in a small box in the corner of the tray, the some ten different pills ranging from the size of his pinky nail to a quarter patiently waiting to be swallowed.

(When you ask, he doesn’t tell you what they’re for - he just tells you they’re good for you, that you’d better take them, we wouldn’t want you getting sick, now would we? You don’t need to know that they’re all for diseases or conditions that run in your family - he checked - but you don’t have - it’s just a preemptive measure to make sure you don’t develop them, that nothing could ever harm you and take you away from him. Plus, the small white one you eye suspiciously will help him in the future, he hopes - after all, he’s certainly not ready for you to fall pregnant anytime soon.)

You’re scheduled for testing most of the day after that – various blood tests, check ups on your physical and mental health, mandatory meetings with him in his office to discuss your ‘progress’.

(You’re still not exactly sure what he means by that - he won’t give you details when you press, instead getting this weird sparkle in his eye while he stares at you, the eye contact making you squirm while he tells you that you’re very important, you’re the key to my success.)

Dinner is the same as your breakfast, and directly after is a shower that lasts for ten minutes – no more, no less, where you’re required to shampoo, condition, and scrub your body.

(You don’t know it, but there’s a camera set up in the corner of the shower that’s constantly rolling, just so that Kai can get some peace of mind and make sure you’re doing as you say - it’s certainly not to aid him when it’s late and he’s sitting in his office, eyes trained to the screen as he aches and throbs and yearns for you, both aroused and disgusted by the thought of being intimate with you, of being inside of you…)

You’re to be in bed by 9:00 at night, tucked underneath the covers and eyes closed so that you get the proper amount of sleep, ready to be awoken so rudely the next morning and repeat it all.

Deviation is quite rare in his itinerary for you – sometimes he’ll join you during your meals, or inform you that certain tests are being postponed until further notice, but for the most part Kai will absolutely be keeping you on his regiment – having such obvious control of you is something that he absolutely needs, a requirement he’s simply unwilling to compromise on.

The feelings you give him are already disorienting enough, strong enough to leave him feeling weak, dependent, angry, and the only way to regain some semblance of power is to show you that you utterly and completely belong to him, that you have absolutely no control over your new life, over your life in which you’re Kai’s beloved, perfect little woman.

Possessive

Because Kai has never really developed feelings for anyone in his life, romantic or really even platonic outside of Pops and Chrono, you present an anomaly for him.

The way that he feels for you, the desperation that overtakes him where you’re concerned is something he’s completely unfamiliar with, something strange and new and something he isn’t entirely sure how to handle.

(He’s never been a fan of romance, and has spent very little time indulging in any sort of media discussing the topic, and as a result he does genuinely feel like a fish out of water, even if he doesn’t entirely hate the experience.)

And really, the strangest thing about the development of his feelings for you is the way that he just reacts to you, unconsciously moving or thinking things he would never do otherwise.

There’s a part of him that he completely loses control over when you walk into the same room as him, when he sees your lovely eyes fixed on him, when you say his name, when you so much as breath in the same space as him.

(He’d requested you start calling him Kai in private a few months into your ‘stay’, if only because the way the letters roll off of your tongue makes his eyes flutter closed and a sharp exhale sound from below his mask.)

His eyes are snapping to you every time you enter his peripheral, amber eyes appraising you and scanning up and down your body, noticing a new detail every single time - he wasn’t aware you had a mole there, or a small scar here.

(But now, don’t you worry, he’ll remember well.)

And because he’s so unsure of how to manage the new urges and responses that you present him with, he falls back onto his more aggressive traits, the more primal parts of him that don’t really express themselves much in his day to day life taking center stage.

That is, Kai suddenly turns into a jealous, possessive freak because of you – he’s plagued with worries that you’ll leave him, that one day he’ll wake up to find your bed empty, your smile vanished along with your body he was just beginning to crave touching.

(Though he rationally knows the security system of the Shie Hissakai base and the numerous tunnels and henchmen would prove your escape extremely unlikely).

He’s paranoid that you’ll find someone else within the organization that you like more - someone more conventional, friendlier, more intimate with you.

(Just the thought of another man touching you makes Kai’s muscles stand taught, fists flexing and his quirk spiking up out of control, his bloodlust skyrocketing because absolutely nobody should be laying their filthy, disgusting hands on you and ruining you.)

And though it makes him feel stupid, weak, pathetic, he can’t help the way jealousy sits heavy in his stomach as he watches you smile and thank Chrono for dropping by with a new book to read, one Kai himself had heard you mention something about offhandedly, one Kai remembered and went out and personally bought just for you.

He can’t help the way his fists clench as he stares behind the computer screen, vowing to himself that he’ll be the one to deliver you gifts from now on, so that you won’t associate anything sweet or thoughtful with anyone but him.

He hates the way you make him feel (at least, that’s what he tells himself – but even he can’t deny the warmth spreading through his entire chest when you softly murmur thank you, Kai, I love it as he places the elegant, dainty gold necklace with his initials in your palms), but he knows that there isn’t much he can do to change it.

He knows that for all the negative feelings your smile and touch stir up within him, he’d never really choose to let go of his devotion for you because god, do the positive feelings make up for the negative ones a thousand times over.

And so, once he comes to terms with the fact that you do inspire jealousy within him, that he’s territorial over you in a way that makes him feel more animal than man, he’s taking it and running with it – he wants everyone within the Shie Hissakai to understand that you are completely off limits, that you’re property of Kai Chisaki himself, that you are quite literally owned by Overhaul.

He’s threatening undermen, buying you expensive clothing and jewelry and trinkets to make you feel loved, appreciated, even if the ring he presented you with while you ate the mystery dinner from Chrono’s tray the other day looked much too similar to a wedding ring to comfort you.

He sees you as his possession, an item he can have and own and cherish, and while he does want you to love him, to want him in the same way he wants you, there’s just something about marking you as his, dressing you up in clothing that he bought for you, covering you from head to toe in antibacterial lotion that he chose the scent of, keeping you his sweet little partner that makes him oddly giddy, an honest, genuine happiness washing over him that he hasn’t felt in years.

So really, just let him dress you, feed you, bath you and remind you that you’re nothing without him, that he’s the only one you can trust and should care about, and Kai will be over the moon. He might, maybe even smile fondly at you, petting your hair and whispering a soft I love you to your sleeping form.

You’re just that special.

Dependent

Although he’s strong and almost infuriatingly independent, once his emotional connection with you develops, Kai is a bit of a lost cause.

You mean absolutely everything to him – his whole life before you revolved around re-establishing the Shie Hissaikai and ending hero society, but once you show up?

Well, it’s still important to create and harvest the drug, to be using Eri and making sure the organization will continue on strong and prosperous, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to take just a small break from vigorously rubbing in some hand sanitizer after a business meeting and let his mind wander to you, to imagine how you’re probably curled up on your bed trying to nap, looking all peaceful and calm and - dare he say it - cute.

It’s not too big of a deal to take a few minutes to drop by your room and check up on you, right?

(Besides, seeing the way you brighten up when he steps into the room makes something in his chest swell with pride; you wanted to see him, didn’t you? Not really, no - it just gets so lonely all alone in the windowless room, but Kai doesn’t need to know that.)

Surely it wouldn’t be bad to take a break from the mountains of paperwork and watch the live footage of you in your room, working diligently at the puzzle he gifted you with the other day, right?

Kai is, for lack of a better term, completely whipped for you – your safety, happiness and health are things that are constantly on his mind, swirling questions of what you’re doing at any given time, when you last ate or slept or used the restroom circling through his head so much it feels like a never-ending loop.

Once Kai gets a taste of how good it feels to care for someone, to have a special person in his life that makes his heart race, his throat get a bit tight and his hands to start sweating, he’s clutching onto it with desperation, doing everything in his power to keep the sensations of happiness, of contentedness, of genuine love blooming in his chest.

He’s addicted to you, and while his every waking thought is either fixated on the drugs or you (though as time passes it slowly becomes clear to him that you take more of his headspace than his work, a disturbing discovery but not one he bothers to fight), his devotion to you only deepens.

Of course, Kai is absolutely terrible at expressing how much you mean to him – he’s so emotionally stunted, so unsure of how to approach you and the way you make him feel, that more often than not you’ll be left wondering what you did to irritate him, why he’s always staring at you so intensely, why he’s always stopping by your room and asking you personal, strange questions.

(Do you prefer cold or warm climates? What’s more upsetting to you – seeing a child or a puppy kicked? What areas on your body are ticklish? Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?)

Honestly, Kai will likely just be one huge mystery to you – he doesn’t want to expose himself and his feelings, and as a result he won’t show any traces of vulnerability to you – you’re left completely in the dark, left to wonder why and how you’re still alive, and when the yakuza boss will decide that you’ve lived past your expiration date.

Sure, he does buy you gifts; jewelry much too expensive for your tastes, dresses and skirts that accentuate your form in darker colors (he’s particularly partial to greens and golds – always dressing you up in gold necklaces, gold heels and sleek jade dresses that dip just a bit too low on your chest), occasionally a bouquet of flowers in your favorite colors that he insists brighten up the mood a bit.

(Though you don’t have the heart nor the courage to tell him that a bundle of roses sitting in a vase in the corner of your stark white room doesn’t make you any more comfortable there.)

Sure, he spends hours upon hours upon hours behind the computer in his office staring at you through the screen, the many cameras and audio bugs placed around the room picking up your every action, word and movement, his wide eyes feasting upon your innocent, perfect form as he simply takes in the beauty that is you, the feelings of love, adoration and utter want swimming in his chest intoxicating him.

Sure, he’s killed guards left and right for staring at you for a beat too long, for making some crude, disgusting joke about how they’d love a piece of you, that Overhaul’s too uptight, bet he doesn’t even fuck her – what a waste, she needs a real man to show her how its done.

Sure, he spends the majority of his time obsessing over you, doing daily check ups on your health and your safety, but Kai won’t ever display a moment of weakness to you – he only says he loves you when you’re asleep, laying so gracefully across your bed, his form seated at the edge of the mattress while he lightly strokes your cheek, his mask discarded onto your nightstand as he leans down, closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale of your scent, pressing his lips ever so lightly, softly, tentatively against your forehead.

He doesn’t want you to understand how much hold you have over him – because if you did, Kai is absolutely sure that you could manipulate him into getting whatever you want with just a simple kiss and whispered word of affection.

After all, Kai Chisaki needs you, and although he’s embarrassed by how much you mean to him, how crazy you make him and how absolutely obsessed with you he is, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

After all, he’s never been able to love someone, to touch them and protect them and desire them, and he’ll be damned if he ever loses you.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Kai is, to put it simply, insanely possessive over you; you’re his girl, the only one he can love and touch and really feel happy around, and as a result he absolutely refuses to allow any other man to get even remotely close to you.

It’s a combination of jealousy and deeply rooted insecurity about his romantic skills that makes him so quick to snatch you away from other men.

He won’t ever admit it, but he’s very aware that he probably wouldn’t be your first choice, that his issues with intimacy and expressing himself and the fact that he kills on a daily basis likely does nothing but push you away, make you more hesitant to fully give yourself to him, to actually love him.

But instead of communicating with you, of putting himself in a position where you could actually see how much of a mess you make him, Kai instead decides that isolating you from every other man in the complex is the best solution.

This fear only serves to make him more strict on limiting your contact with every other person on Earth who isn’t him, every other man that could possibly draw your attention, that could make you forget about Kai and instead fall heads over heels for them.

He’s methodical in his approach to keeping you utterly and completely his – making sure that your contact with others is incredibly limited, that you understand the consequences of becoming too chummy with anyone but himself.

Because you’d have to be his captive before his feelings for you even really form, he doesn’t have to worry about any men that he doesn’t know approaching you, fighting for your affection and love.

He only needs to consider the possibility of one of the very few people he allows you to have contact with – namely, a select group of the eight bullets, himself and Chrono.

It’s an ease to his mind to know that he’s really only competing with a few other guys, and although it makes him feel stupid, pathetic, weak to be comparing himself to someone like fucking Rappa, there’s a certain part of him that can’t help but wonder if it’s really someone more like him you’d like – muscular, social, not hesitant to touch you, all of the things he really isn’t.

It’s stupid and he knows it, but as he stares into his mirror with an expressionless face, looking at his nude body and his hands that can so easily take and give life, there’s a certain amount of insecurity settling in his chest.

Obviously, you don’t really have a choice in who you spend your time with, who you’re forced to depend on, who you’re destined to be with until your dying breath, but Kai really truly would prefer you to want him, to actively be choosing him.

And when one of the few people he lets have contact with you starts pushing the boundaries too far, getting a bit too friendly?

Well, all of those pushed down insecurities and destructive thoughts are rearing their ugly heads, forcing him to take measures he would prefer to not deal with, to not have to feel such terrible, sick things in his heart as he watches you laugh and smile.

You’re his, whether you like it or not, and Kai will absolutely make sure the fact is drilled into your pretty little head, even if the methodology is less than tame.

When he spots Sestuno leaning on the doorframe of your room, smirking down into the space while your lovely, tantalizing voice gushes about some show you used to love watching before you got kidnapped, immediately he’s scowling, thin eyebrows drawing taut as he realizes how fucking close Setsuno is standing next to you, how his gaze is aimed directly at you, how you’re just letting him stare.

Kai’s pissed, and as his footsteps grow harsher, more distinct against the cement of the underground hallway, he’s nearly growling.

He hates when he gets like this – it’s so painfully obvious how much of an emotional hold you have over him when the jealousy is seeping through his every pore, when he’s nearly driven insane just by another man looking at you.

It’s infuriating that something as simple and weak as you are able to make him a complete mess with just a few actions, just a few smiles and looks directed towards others.

It’s infuriating, but as he approaches Setsuno, the anger at himself is drowned out by the rage he feels towards his underling – immediately he’s clearing his throat, piercing eyes staring right at his subordinate as he interrupts the conversation, letting out a surprisingly calm sorry to interrupt, but tests are scheduled for right now. Wouldn’t want her to be late, would we?

And although Setsuno holds respect and genuine awe for his boss’s abilities, a twinge of fear climbs up his spine, making him hastily nod his head and return back to his station a few hundred feet away, nervously awaiting what he’s sure won’t be a pretty sight whenever Kai is done with your tests.

All throughout the blood draw that day, he’s tense, not really responding to your questions as thoroughly as he normally would, not paying as much attention to you as he’d like to.

(He’s staring at you, yes, but he’s sort of staring through you - not as observant as normal, not with the same concentration as normal, as if he’s counting your eyelashes or memorizing every blemish and pore on your face.)

Instead, he’s thinking of exactly what he’ll be doing once he safely escorts you back to your room, once he makes sure that you’re safe and sound and completely unaware of what he’s about to do.

And once your door is closing, he’s immediately scowling and stomping over to Setsuno, approaching the man with a deadly glare and scolding him in a voice so eerily calm that it has the other man gulping.

You know your place – you aren’t to look at her, touch her, speak to her, be anywhere near her. So tell me, what did you do today, Setsuno?

And when the other man can only respond with the truth, Kai won’t hesitate to disassemble him a few times – each with an interval longer and longer, sometimes not assembling every limb back together until it’s just barely not too late, letting him feel the excruciating pain of his arm being ripped off again and again.

There’s this twisted, maniacal look on his face as he does it - like he’s enjoying hurting Setsuno, like with every time his leg is ripped from his body, he’s ripping away some of the damage that him talking with you caused, ripping away any semblance of attraction or even a friendship between you two.

If Setsuno wasn’t busy in excruciating agony, he’d almost be scared his boss’s expression.

Kai’s pissed, and it’s only after twenty or so rounds of assembling and disassembling that he’s finally calmed down – though he won’t leave without hearing the words I’ll never come near her again, I promise! She’s yours, Overhaul, all yours!

And once he does, he’ll only firmly nod, leaving Setsuno on the cold ground, assembled yet terrified, as he retires back to his office to review the last hour’s worth of footage from your room.

Jealousy isn’t a pretty look on Kai, and he holds back absolutely no restraint when he feels that his claim on you is being tested.

So when Setsuno, one of the only people here you feel you can call a friend, begins avoiding you like the plague, don’t be surprised when Kai shows up, telling you how Setsuno’s just strange like that, always changing his mind back and forth. Don’t worry about it – I brought you a deck of cards, would you like to play?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

To really catch Kai’s attention, a very specific set of circumstances must occur.

You must be quirkless, a civilian, and he must have stolen you off the streets for testing.

Only then, once he’s got you under his grasp already, do his feelings begin to form, in all their horrible and wonderful glory.

But, because had stolen you away before his feelings for you even manifested, there really isn’t a forming-the-obsession-and-stalking-before-kidnapping phase for him.

You’re already at the Shie Hissaikai’s base, already under his control and grasp, and as a result you’re already accessible to Kai, already close to him and so very vulnerable to his wants and whims, to him being around you as much as he pleases.

He doesn’t experience any sort of longing to steal you away, nor does he have any kind of dilemma on kidnapping you.

However, because of the way in which Kai got to know you, it creates a bit of a unique situation as his captee – you’ll find as his feelings grow and develop, as he becomes more and more dependent on you, that your surroundings seem to change, that you periodically get moved to different rooms, different spaces in which you spend the majority of your time.

The rooms get progressively nicer, larger and more private, soon getting to the point where you even have a small kitchenette in the corner, where you’re able to prepare little snacks and food items.

(Kai must always be present in the room during your little cooking episodes, however – you need to be eating healthy, making sure that you have a balanced diet, though the minute that you turn around excitedly and ask him if he’d be willing to sample whatever you made, he’s fighting a blush and nodding stiffly, trying to calm his racing heart and quell the thoughts of how you look so much like a lovely, domestic wife cooking for him…)

You won’t be sure of why you’re gradually being treated better and better, getting spoiled with gifts that you didn’t ask for, spending time with Kai in quantities that make you cock your brow but shrug, knowing that if you confront him it’ll likely be more trouble than it’s worth.

You won’t know, but Kai sure as hell does – he wants you to like him, to love him and need him, and as he progressively decides to upgrade your living space until your room is right next to his own, allowing quick and easy access (and thin walls, of course) it helps quell his desire to be near you every moment of the day, to be on your mind just as constantly as you’re on his.

And really, it’s only a plus that he can press his ear to the wall and listen to you breath at night (he moved his bed to be right next to yours, only the thin wall separating the two of you), or that he can basically speak to you through them - even as much as it terrifies you.

It’s better this way, really - it helps quell the fear of you somehow slipping through his fingers.

As his captee, your experience with him really depends on your own behavior and tolerance – the only way you would’ve ever caught his attention is being a mix of quirkless and kind, reaching out with soft, understanding words rather than screaming, fighting or cursing him out like every other test victim he’s picked up.

And so, if you keep this behavior up, Kai honestly isn’t too terrible of a captor; he’s relatively clear on what he expects from you, relatively easy to please as long as you follow his every command and keep talking to him about your day, about yourself, asking him how he’s feeling at any given moment.

He’s possessive and controlling to an almost staggering degree, yes, but his expectations are crystal clear, if a bit sterile.

And so, if you can put up with him placing cameras in your room to keep an eye on you every minute of every day, of him regulating what you eat, when you bath, how you sleep, you’ll be fine.

If you can deal with him bringing you into his office for hours on end, just having you sit and read or chat to him while he works simply because your presence is enough to help ease the stress of running the organization, then you’ll be just fine.

If you can deal with the daily check ups that progressively get more and more personal (it started with a simple blood draw, checking your temperature and an eyesight test, then gradually moved in a full body examination over your clothing, then without the clothes, then with you sitting in what appeared to be a gynecologist’s chair), then you’ll be just fine.

It’s about tolerance with Kai – if you’re patient and generally obedient, life under his rule will be surprisingly easy, even if loving the man who kidnapped you isn’t as simple.

As his feelings grow, Kai honestly gets a bit clingy; you calm him in a way he didn’t know was possible, the warmth spreading through his chest foreign and strange yet addictive as you place yourself on the leather couch opposite his desk, trying to ignore the way his amber eyes pierce through you, or the way there’s a very obvious tent in his pants when he reaches across his desk to place a strand of your hair behind your ear.

He’s wanting to visit you constantly, though he rations himself a bit if only to keep some semblance of self-control.

And though he wants to be constantly touching you, feeling your soft skin against his own (that he knows he can touch with no penalty, and since the day you willingly held his hand, he’s been harboring the fantasy of hugging you, resting his hands on your waist, cupping your cheeks, running his hands through your hair, kissing you…) and just being around you, his awkwardness when it comes to opening up to you persists even once he’s absolutely sure that he’s in love with you, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you by his side.

It’s just not that easy to tell you that his happiness depends on you now, that you’re on his mind in both the waking and sleeping world, that he’s devoted to you in every sense of the word – and so, he tries to show it to you by making sure that you’re in pristine health, that you’re spoiled with the most lavish gifts and items and goods that he can find, that you’re treated like a queen by everyone in the Shie Hissaikai, or else they’ll have hell to pay with Kai himself.

He hopes that you might understand via these methods, as it’ll take him years to fully admit to you how much you mean to him, for him to feel comfortable actually telling you those three little words he’s thinking as he stares at your sleeping form, as he watches you smile while you read a particularly happy part of your new novel.

He loves you, and as long as you stay good and obedient and personable with him, life under Kai’s rule won’t be too difficult – removed and odd, yes, but as long as the feeling that you’re some thing he’s studying and obsessing over doesn’t bother you, then you may even find yourself being okay with the locks on your doors, the threats of his men down the halls.

It’s okay, you tell yourself as he traces a single, ungloved finger across your collarbone.

It’s okay, you’re not dead yet, you’ll be okay.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite the general softness that Kai possesses for you, he has absolutely zero patience when it comes to you misbehaving.

He’s still the boss of the Shie Hissakai, a yakuza member who’s used to being completely obeyed, to killing rebels with a flick of his wrist.

He’s still a criminal, even if you smiling at him leaves him flushed under his mask, and the moment you step out of line, he has no problem reminding you of that fact, no problem making it explicitly clear that he’s the one in charge.

He’s very much a worshipper (though more on the down-low, if only because a small part of him is still absolutely mortified that he’s fallen so deeply for someone like you), though despite seeing you as a bit of a goddess, Kai doles out punishments right and left.

Of course, there’s always the omnipresent threat of his quirk hanging over your head; you’ve been told by Rappa how excruciatingly painful undergoing a disassemblement is, and if the muscular, violent Rappa is saying that?

Well, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’d be almost glad to be dead after such an ordeal.

You’re painfully aware of just how much power Kai holds over you; how his every whim and emotion could potentially spell your death, how any small misstep (or lack thereof, to be honest) could result in your blood splattering across the walls.

And call it self preservation, but in the face of a violent, painful death at the Shie Hissakai boss’s hands, obedience begins coming quite naturally to you, as does being hyper aware of every little thing you do.

It doesn’t take long to figure out that Kai is very much not a person you want to cross, as just a few simple demonstrations of his quirk in action on unlucky yakuza underlings are almost violently shoving the truth in your face.

It becomes your mission to be the picture-esque captee, to not give him any trouble and follow his every command to a T.

After all, Kai is a difficult man to please, and while your mere presence relaxes him, makes him happy in a way he can’t remember ever experiencing, he’s not afraid to do what he needs to in order to make you understand that you will be following his every word.

Along with the ever present threat of him using his quirk on you (something which Kai has sworn he will never do, if only because he’s terrified that in doing so you’ll lose some of the precious purity you harbor), he has a tendency to use other methods to keep you in line via fear.

Killing is a part of his daily routine, and while he doesn’t particularly enjoy ending someone’s life, it’s something that he sees as necessarily in order to keep his underlings in line – and when you’re in need of a punishment?

Well, who is he to deny such wonderful timing and opportunity?

And so, when he drops by in the evening to bid you a goodnight, he can’t help but smooth his shirt down slightly and run a hand through his hair outside your door, feeling like a teenage boy with how he so desperately wants to look good for you, to impress you.

He opens the door without a knock, amber eyes flicking across the room to find you sitting on the edge of your bed with the latest book he bought for you perched in your hands, your eyes staring raptly down at the yellowed pages.

You’re so pretty when you’re focusing on something, Kai’s found, and as he watches you read with an air of complete concentration, he can’t deny that a small pang of irritation eats away at him.

He’s here, present inside your room, having sped walked through the hideout to reach you in his haste to see you, and yet you’re ignoring him in favor of a book?

It hurts a bit, if he’s being honest, if only because shouldn’t your attention be solely and completely focused on him, not some mish-mash written down on a page?

His brow twitches as he clears his throat, watching the way you jump and immediately meet his gaze, surprise flitting across your features.

You make some comment about not seeing him that only makes Kai feel worse, the distinct realization that you don’t just sense his presence as he does yours hitting him.

But before you really have any space to say more, he’s telling you to follow him, that there’s someone he’d like you to meet, which you do, hesitance eating away at your gut at the irritation swimming in his eyes.

He’d meant to have a simple conversation with you, to bask in your presence and maybe and lightly hold your hand (something that still makes him flush from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck, though he’d rather die than admit it), but now that you’ve made such a clear choice to ignore him, to prefer your book over him, he’s deciding that the man he’d planned on killing tomorrow for having made openly insubordinate comments about himself and Chrono would be receiving his punishment early, with another set of eyes viewing.

You know immediately that something is off the minute he closes the door behind you, the bald man tied to the chair in the center of the room staring wildly at you, his dark eyes pleading silently as the gag muffles any words spilling past his lips.

You can’t hide the shock and fear on your face, terror at what exactly Kai plans to do eating away at you, though when he moves to stand next to his victim you can only harshly swallow.

Tell me: do you know why I might be angry at you?

His voice is deceptively calm, apathetic yellow eyes boring into yours as you stutter out a weak ‘no’, genuinely at a loss as to why he’s upset. Kai can only frown, humming lightly before tugging a glove off, making the man beside him squirm.

I bought you those books for entertainment purposes yes, but don’t you know it’s rude to ignore others in favor of fictional characters?

You’re freezing at his words, the realization that he’d been angry at you for not noticing him earlier hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Really, I know you’re smarter than that, so I’m letting you off easy this time. But, don’t think you’ll be going completely unpunished – it’s just that Yamaro here just so happened to be willing to take the punishment for you.

The man’s eyes go wide, his squirming and struggling more desperate than before as kai unceremoniously taps a finger against his bare hand, the man immediately exploding in a shower of blood and guts, making bile rise up the back of your throat.

Kai clicks his tongue, shuddering at the splash of blood against his arm, but those cold eyes stay focused on you as you gag and look anywhere but at the sight in front of you.

It’s your fault, (f/n). If you hadn’t been so rude, he’d still be alive. Do you understand your lesson now?

That of course is not true, but Kai won’t tell you – not when you’re nodding, frantic in your desperation to get out of the room, and when Kai nods a few seconds later, opening the door, you breath heavily, staring at the cement ground in fear and shock.

The guilt is overwhelming, the idea that you’re responsible for that man’s death weighing heavily in the back of your mind, exactly as Kai hoped for.

He’s silent the rest of the night, dropping you off at your room without a word, and when you awake the next morning and he steps inside your room, you’re immediately throwing your book to the side, forcing a smile and a chirp of good morning, Kai. How are you?

It’s a bit of a dirty method yes, but Kai couldn’t care less – obedience is what he wants, and he’ll get it from you, even if he has to lie and kill right in front of your eyes.

Anything to keep you in line and his, after all.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

In all honesty, the danger that comes with being Kai’s darling is that there is truly, genuinely no escaping him.

He’s so thorough in his planning, so steadfast in his organization and meticulous thought put into every possible scenario that could play out with you that your future is quite literally sealed the moment he feels the trace edges of his feelings form.

Kai is, without a doubt, not a good man – his devotion to his organization is commendable, but his moral compass is deeply skewed, the mere existence of Eri enough to prove that just as he’s willing to do anything to ensure the success of the drugs, he’s willing to do absolutely anything to make sure that you stay by his side, that he gets to keep you like a prized possession that only he gets to gaze at.

You’re something he revers, his dedication to you unparalleled, and because of Kai is absolutely making sure that you’re spoiled, that he rewards his dearest, as he calls you, with the finest jewelry, the best food and the strictest schedules he possibly can in order to keep up your perfection, to keep you pristine and healthy.

He loves you, in some sick, obsessive way, and poor, poor Kai is so unused to having someone with whom he holds such deep, desperate emotional connection to that he’s honestly floundering a bit.

And lucky lucky you gets to experience every drop of cruelty, desperation and yearning the Shie Hissakai boss has to give you – and receive you shall.

[depravitycentral]

Hii I think I've read all your hxh stuff but the Tumblr blog search is kinda scuffed so if you've already answered something like this just ignore me

Anyway I was curious to know how/if you think the phantom troupe members would share a partner. Like maybe not all of them sharing one partner (that's the dream fr tho lol) but maybe 2 or 3 members sharing one if any of them are into that

Then that leads me to my next two questions, Kurapika and Leorio, would they share a partner or are they just not into that

Then lastly (and if you don't write for them or have any ideas that's fine ignore this) do you think Silva and Kikyo would keep a little "pet" around?

Anyway sorry for the long ask, I guess I could have split this up but I didn't want to spam your box 😅 have a lovely day! ❤️

Please ignore how late this answer is... Also the answer to the Silva/Kikyo question will be posted separately!

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of physical violence, manipulation, mentioned non-con

I was wondering how long it would take before poly yanderes would be discussed on this blog!!

My personal philosophy on poly yandere relationships is that they only work in very, very specific circumstances. The whole concept of a yandere is someone who feels such blinding and overwhelming love and desire for another person that they literally throw their morals out the window just for the chance to bask in a bit of affection or love from their special someone, and adding another person into the equation doesn't exactly fit this vision.

Most yanderes don't want to share you - you're theirs, simple and plain, and often only a very specific person could be the one exception to this rule. Even then, the relationship is often still strained, because unless feelings develop between the two yanderes themselves, jealousy will always be an issue and you as the darling will have to be very careful about making sure you give equal amounts of love and time to each yandere.

But instead of focusing on the logistics of it, let's discuss the actual pairs/their dynamics!!

Machi and Pakunoda are the least resistant to sharing. They respect each other, and while it may be a stretch to call them friends, this respect and trust has led to a solid foundation for them to build off of. Neither are especially forceful with their darlings, instead preferring to hover and take care of them with minimal physical force, and this helps keep both of them placated. Machi is sort of the bad cop while Pakunoda is the good cop, but the reason this pairing works so well is that they help bring out qualities in each other that would normally be their weak points. Pakunoda helps Machi relax and warm up to physical affection with her, because her own natural touchiness is easier to convince Machi that touching you won't be the disaster she's so sure of. And Machi helps Pakunoda attend to every facet of your wellbeing - Machi properly feeds you, tends to any wounds of yours, makes sure that you're getting enough sunlight, that you're still moving and not becoming lethargic, all things that Pakunoda knows she should do but sometimes skips in favor of kissing you or spoiling you. These two are definitely the best pair to get stuck with - still overbearing about your safety and hard to handle always watching you, but certainly better than others.

Shalnark and Chrollo are, admittedly, not equal players in this partnership. Most likely, Shalnark initially became interested in you, and upon Chrollo's eventually learning of your existance, he found himself charmed as well. Shalnark wasn't the happiest at the notion of sharing, but he sees the partnership as an opportunity to help keep you in line and make himself look good. He and Chrollo are both very, very talented manipulators, and by playing off of each other, they're able to present themselves as simply loving partners, managing to gaslight you into thinking that you're overreacting about them being 'horrible' and 'evil' for kidnapping you and forcing you to be their partner. And frankly, it works - they're convincing, and because you get no reprieve or time away from them both at once, eventually you will begin seeing things their way. This isn't a particularly desirable relationship, if only because while you'll eventually be happy (your mind too mixed up to even realize you're unhappy, that is), you'll lose a piece of yourself in a way that you wouldn't with other pairings. You'll be somewhat of a shell of your former self - still you, but with the parts that they like emphasized, and the more problematic parts of your personality (like your desire to leave them) being repressed.

Uvogin and Nobunaga is possible, but it's unlikely that things would last long. This is because Nobunaga is particularly delusional, and Uvogin is particularly lucid. And this combo - Nobuanga's infantilization of you and Uvogin's leniency in your independence - spells out disaster. Things would be tense; arguments would sprout often, with you left to awkwardly stand in the middle, desperately hoping that Uvogin will win the argument. (You don't like him either, but at least his ideas are less dehumanizing than Nobunaga's.) I think it could work, if they worked hard enough to establish how to treat you, but you'd be constantly walking on eggshells around them. (Plus, if you think your poor pussy is getting a little too much action with just one of them as your yandere, then get ready - they fuck you every night, nearly, one taking your cunt while the other shoves himself down your throat. Occasionally they'll even try for your ass, though Uvogin has the sense to force Nobunaga to get you properly prepped before he fucks what he thinks is 'her best hole - it's so tight'. They're just gross, and you'll very obviously favor Uvogin - which once again sparks problems of jealousy. So it's possible, but unlikely to work out.

Phinks and Feitan is another unlikely combo - their types are very different, firstly, but if they did manage to develop feelings for you, things will become very violent very fast. Neither wants to hurt you (at least, not deep down), but they don't exactly agree on how to punish you or respond to your misbehaviors. Feitan is more strict, deciding that you must be punished when you act out because it's the only way to get you to behave how they want. Phinks doesn't share this mindset - he's more of a sucker than Feitan, more inclined to just make you promise not to do it again and then naively believe that you meant it. And this leads to problems - their treatment of you is so radically different, both in the way that they speak to you and how they touch you, that they'll be fighting over nearly everything. And while you won't ever be physically harmed, you'll be subject to watch them physically fight when they're arguing, swinging fists and lightning fast moves making you curl up into a ball because god, they're monsters. Again, it's possible if they can figure out a system that's a compromise for both of them, but it's unlikely.

This probably isn't the answer you're looking for, but it's my opinion! There are probably some more pairings that could potentially work, but these are the ones I see being most likely.

Unrelated to the Phantom Troupe, some other pairs I could see being potentially successful are: Leorio and Kurapika (they're into that!! more protection, as far as Kurapika is concerned, and Leorio is more clingy than possessive, so he wouldn't mind sharing with his best friend whom he is already displaying borderline homoerotic tendencies towards), Knuckle and Morel, Misturi and Obanai, Uzui + wives, Douma and Akaza though it would be very, very rocky and is significantly more unstable than these other matchups, Aizawa and Hizashi, Overhaul and Chrono, Tendou and Ushijima, Bokuto and Akaashi, Hinata and Kenma, don't ask me why but Goshiki and Kindaichi, Kita and Aran, Suna and Osamu

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Toshinori Yagi General Profile

Yandere! Toshinori Yagi x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, manipulation, mentions of assault (not by Toshinori), very, very slight infantilization, Toshinori has a thing for your pubic hair, this actually came out quite sad because Toshinori has some confidence issues, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Caring 

All of Toshinori’s life, he’s been the one wanting to save others, putting his life on the line just constantly in order to save a life. He’s used to quite literally being the hero, the one caring for and making sure others around him are safe, healthy, out of harm’s way.

And while he chose to be a hero, chose to live that life, there’s a certain amount of charm that the idea of a partner who wants to care for him has. 

He doesn’t need to be coddled or treated like a toddler, but he can’t deny the way his heart melts when his darling asks him how he’s feeling, when they press their hand again his forehead to check if he’s running a temperature, when he sees them fret over making him dinner or preparing a bath for him. 

It’s undeniably cute, and Toshinori lives for the domesticity of it - having someone looking out for him is such a new concept, something that makes his entire chest tight as a blush stains his cheeks, and he honestly feels his love only deepen when his darling showcases this side of their personality. 

He loves it, and although he can’t protect his beloved as much as he used to be able to, he’ll still do everything in his power to return the sentiment.

Open Minded  

While being a pro hero isn’t the most unconventional profession, it’s still something that a lot of civilians see as other, something completely different from themselves. 

Heroes are similar to gods in society, and while Toshinori has most definitely lived up to the meaning of the name, he can’t deny the wish to be treated as someone completely normal, to just be seen as himself, the human who still struggles with getting his washing machine to thoroughly distribute the soap.

Having a darling who is able to understand that Toshinori isn’t just some buff, strong and constantly smiling mass of a man would be extremely attractive to him - he wants his darling to love him for who he is off the battlefield as well. 

He wants his darling to be someone he can use as a refuge, to tie him back to civilian life, to understand the real Toshinori Yagi. 

A darling who is more open minded about hero culture and realistic about who heroes are is something that he absolutely needs - he doesn’t want someone who only likes him because of his persona in battles. 

Just as he loves his darling for every part of who they are, he’d love to be given the same treatment.

Passionate 

Even from a young age Toshinori knew what he wanted to be. He’s understood that his calling is for heroism, that saving people will be his future, and he’s worked hard to live his dream, to become who he’s always wanted to be. 

As a result, he tends to gravitate towards those who have a similar love in their life - of course, he doesn’t expect everyone to know what they want to be, what they want to get out of life, and who they want to be, but a darling that has a hobby or two that they really truly love is something that Toshinori adores. 

The hobby itself doesn’t matter - it could be cooking, playing an instrument, a sport, even studying some outlandish subject that only a few people know of; it doesn’t matter because his darling loves it, and therefore he loves it as well.

Once he realizes that his beloved has something they truly care about, Toshinori will go out of his way to learn about said hobby, to hone skills and try to understand what exactly about it that draws in his partner, that catches their attention so wholly and completely. 

And really, as he watches his beloved devote their precious time to it, he can only dream of the day when they’re devoted that much effort and attention to him, just as he does. 

Because really, his darling may have a hobby as a passion, Toshinori has something much different - his beloved.

Friendly 

Despite his larger than life persona within the public eye, Toshinori himself is actually quite shy. Of course, he still talks to others, regularly puts himself into social situations, but he doesn’t feel especially confident in his abilities to charm others, to talk to people he doesn’t know especially well. 

And while he’s had time to master those skills, a darling who is naturally more friendly and willing to start conversations with others is incredibly inspiring to him.

Toshinori genuinely believes that his darling is someone who he should admire, should be inspired by, should strive to be more like, and their ability to simply strike up a conversation is endlessly amazing to him. 

Not only does he admire this about his darling, but there is also a certain relief that comes with this trait - while he isn’t a bad conversationalist per se, it’s a massive weight off of his shoulders to know that the brunt of the work won’t fall onto him, that he won’t have to carry the conversation or keep it running. He likes knowing that his darling wants to talk to him, that they want to spend time with him and get to know him.

It makes his heart melt and his throat feel dry, but with every question that slips from his darling’s lips that he’d give anything to feel against his own, he only falls deeper and deeper in love.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy 

Toshinori has always found his identity through his status as a hero, as a protector of the people and symbol of peace. And now that he’s essentially ended all his relevance as a hero, he’s lost - what is his purpose? 

He’s just a regular man now, unable to help those who need it, unable to do really anything with that frail body he’s left with. He’s angry, really, and finds himself lost in the sense of knowing who he is - but you, sweet little you, give him purpose. 

Being around you makes him feel important, like he has a purpose, like there’s a reason for him to still be living and breathing even if he can’t be a hero anymore. 

Toshinori craves you, the way that you fill a strange void in his heart he wasn’t even aware existed through all the years of stress and being a hero, and he’s found that being around you and seeing you is the only way to help quell some of the intensity burning in his chest, the overwhelming urge to be with you becoming too much to bear much too often. 

However, despite the intensity and depth of his feelings for you, approaching you is an entirely different story. In general, Toshinori doesn’t have a whole lot of romantic experience to fall back on when it comes to approaching you. He is, in a sense, as awkward as a love struck teenage boy – he has no idea how to flirt, how to woo you and make you flustered and embarrassed and smiling up at him, looking up through those lashes with those eyes he could spend hours gazing into. 

In all honesty, he has a tendency to freeze up when he’s talking to you, spouting nonsense with a stutter and shoving the words out of his mouth before he can really think of what he’s saying, leading him to realize mid-way through that what was originally supposed to be a smooth, sweet compliment of you look very beautiful today, the strong color of your shirt really brings out your eyes has turned into a stuttered mess of your eyes are so strong, do you wear them like your shirt? 

It is, in a sense, absolutely mortifying for Toshinori to be around you, because without fail he ends up looking like a fool, and yet he can’t bring himself to pull away from you no matter how hard he tries. Toshinori quickly realizes that having your attention and smile directed at him are all he really needs, that he’s completely content with simply being by your side, spending time with you and showering you in every ounce of his love possible, even if it comes out a bit differently than he’s originally intended it to. 

And so, as time passes he slowly begins inserting himself into more of your plans, wanting to meet up and hang out, chat, have coffee or see a movie, go out for dinner or even spend a night at his place, because he wants you to see him as someone you can be comfortable around, that you’re willing to let into your life. 

And yet, as desperate as he is to have you in his grasp, to be with you every moment of the day, he knows it’s not possible – yet, but he needs to be patient. He knows you aren’t ready to let him hold and kiss you, to wake up in his bed in his arms every morning, to wear that pretty golden ring on your finger, to let him grasp onto you and moan in your ear while he fucks you gently, slowly, purposefully. 

He comes up with other ways to help try to fill the lonely hole in his heart; collections of candid photos of you, taken from outside the various windows of your home, each and every photograph making his heart warm, a soft smile playing on his lips as he traces the outline of your face, your body, imagining being there with you while you cook, clean or just lay around on the couch. 

He has a few small Ziploc bags full of your hair, taken from the walls of your shower or your hairbrush, which he’ll often idly hold in his pocket and mess with when he’s feeling lonely, but by far his favorite way of pretending you’re by his side is through the many, many recordings of your voice he’s collected. 

He loves to hear you speaking – your voice sends pleasurable little shivers down his spine, making his entire body relax as he places the headphones over his ears, your lovely words lulling him into a sense of tranquility. 

He’d felt a bit guilty at first, wondering if recording you without your knowledge was a violation of your privacy, but after the first time, he gives up on my conscience and decides that it’s okay because it’s him, the former hero, and he’d never do anything with ill intent towards you. 

And so, after that first very choppy recording taken from the pocket of his jeans while he talked to you, he shyly asks Izuku to teach him how to edit videos and audios, and his pupil, ever eager to help out, shows him all kinds of fancy settings and graphics on Toshinori’s laptop, even if it takes the older man a good while to get the hang of it. 

His favorite recordings are the ones of you saying his name, or complimenting him. Because you know him as Toshinori rather than All Might, the way your voice whispers to him that he’s so cool, your dad jokes are top notch Toshi, never fails to make him blush and clutch the clump of your hair tighter to his chest, cuddling with his pillow and feeling himself become even more desperate for your touch, to be with you and get to love you. 

When he can’t sleep, he’s listening to your voice talk about your day, how you saw the cutest puppy on the way to work, making Toshinori’s eyes flutter shut and dream of the both of you with your own puppy running around your future home. He wants your attention all the time, and while he’s too awkward and nervous around you to really ask for it, he’ll latch onto any ounce you give him, greedily begging for more and more until you find yourself giving absolutely everything to him. 

But don’t worry – after all, Toshinori will absolutely return the favor; you get his everything, too. 

Protective

Years of seeing the horrible atrocities that humankind are capable of has molded Toshinori into a sort of paranoid mess when it comes to the safety of those close to him. 

He loves you, so much so that it hurts, and the idea of you having to come face to face with any of the horrible, disgusting people he’s fought over the years is enough to have him blindly reaching for you, clutching you tightly with your face buried into his chest and his arms wrapped around you, hoping that another layer of physical protection will be enough to keep you safe. 

He’s answered too many calls that ended with death, pain, injury, disaster that he can’t not imagine what might happen to you, the paranoia slowly beginning to eat him alive as the months roll by, fear pushing him into crossing boundaries he never would have all in the name of your safety. 

With the retirement of his hero career, Toshinori honestly feels a bit useless – he’s no longer able to be in his muscle form, only the lanky, skinny man he’s always disliked, and while you’ve never make any sort of comment about him being less-than when he’s in his natural state, it doesn’t stop him from being hyper aware that he isn’t nearly as powerful now, that if push came to shove, he likely wouldn’t be able to stop any villain from hurting you. 

The idea is fucking terrifying – capable of sending him into a panic attack, his palms growing sweaty and tears forming in his eyes as his mind floods with images of you bloody and broken, crying and screaming, dying in his arms.

And so, Toshinori does the only thing he can; buying everything he can to make sure that you’re safe, healthy, and that you’ll never have so much as a paper cut. He’s investing in the latest, cutting-edge security cameras and systems, rigging the entire house with booby traps for any outsiders. (And traps that, inadvertently, keep you inside.) Floodlights that are hyper sensitive line the property, along with at least ten different styles of locks on each door (yes, even some of the ones between rooms on the inside of the house have them as well, if only because there’s really just no reason for you to venture into the basement, or for you to venture into the second bathroom where he keeps all the shaving razors and medications and things that could hurt you). 

There are passcodes at every step of the way, and all of the windows are made of bullet proof glass. He has a lot of money left laying around from being the number one for so many years, and Toshinori has absolutely no problem spending it this way, spending it on keeping you safe and sound. 

He doesn’t mean to, but quickly you’ll begin to feel like you’re incompetent once you’re under his rule; you can’t have anything smaller than a walnut, out of fear that you’ll choke. You aren’t allowed to shower alone, because he’s scared that you’ll somehow hurt yourself or slip and fall on the tile.

(He’ll never force you to let him actually into the shower with you, but he’ll always be standing in the doorway or sitting on the closed toilet seat, twiddling his thumbs and talking softly to you, so quietly you can barely hear him over the sound of rushing water.) 

You aren’t allowed to sleep unless he’s knocked on your door and heard you respond, his voice calling through the wood and wishing you pleasant dreams (oftentimes he’ll stare longingly at the painted white wood, pressing a soft kiss against it and whispering something about you being so beautiful, I’m so lucky aren’t I that makes you frown and sink into your blankets on the other side, guilt slowly eating away at you).

It comes from a good place, honestly – he wants to spoil you and make you happy beyond belief, and he genuinely believes that by showing you how much he cares and investing in your safety to such an intense degree, that he’s showcasing his dedication to you, his devotion to making sure that you’re his sweet little girlfriend (he wishes wife someday, though he won’t push you)l, his lovely partner that he’d do absolutely anything for. 

And really, while the knee pads and helmet he makes you wear when you’ve been particularly clumsy are demeaning and something you hate at first, slowly you’ll come to be okay with it, to maybe even enjoy it; after all, no matter how loving – or lack thereof – your friends and family were, they’re nothing compared to Toshinori, when compared to how he pampers you, how he treats you like a queen. 

He buys you anything and everything you want, all with that blush sporting his cheeks while he shyly hugs you from behind, and isn’t it the least you could do to just let him take care of you? 

Would it really be so wrong to just give in?

Lucid

Again, despite his lackluster romantic life, Toshinori is aware that there’s something amiss about his feelings for you. He knows something is wrong with the way he grows to slowly depend on you, how his every thought begins revolving around you, how he only starts to feel good and happy when you’re near him. 

It’s wrong, and at first he does genuinely try to fight it - it’s not fair to you or him to develop such overbearing, scary feelings. It’s wrong and, dare he say it, even a bit villainous - except, he’s not doing anything that bad, right? 

He’s not planning on hurting you (the thought makes him physically ill), or kidnapping you (he does, eventually, but only because he’s pushed into a corner and he has no choice - he hopes you’ll understand, one day), or anything else he’s had to read case files of for so many years. 

He’s not a monster - you’ll never be touched without your consent, or treated as subhuman, or neglected. And so, while he is initially ashamed of the way he feels for you, eventually he grows less embarrassed and disgusted with himself, eventually even managing to convince himself that he’s just doing what’s best for you. 

He’s accepted the fact that his love for you isn’t going away, and as such you’re essentially just a big, red, walking target for any of his enemies to exploit, and isn’t it better for him to embrace every instinct he has to protect you? 

Isn’t it better for him to allow the obsessive, disturbing feelings to bloom and grow? 

He still feels a bit guilty about it, but slowly habits begin slipping through the cracks; occasionally driving by your house or apartment, blue eyes appraising the property to make sure everything is normal - your windows are closed, blinds drawn, front door shut, good. 

Then, once that isn’t enough, he’s trailing you on his days off, acting as your shadow just to make sure you get from one place to another safely, without any danger befalling you. 

He’s careful to stay out of your sight, making sure you never spot him, so that you never get the idea that he’s stalking you, so that you don’t grow scared of him. 

Once that isn’t enough, he’s actually entering your home, making sure to leave no trace of his presence, making sure he doesn’t touch anything or leave it askew for you to notice. 

He doesn’t want you to be paranoid or suspect that someone’s been in your home, and he only ever enters when you’re not home - he absolutely cannot have you catching him in the act, accusing him of all kinds of perverted, disgusting things (which aren’t that far from the truth, but he still doesn’t think he could take hearing it from you). 

He’s slowly indulging himself, allowing himself a bit more leeway, slowly loosening up the leash he’d kept himself tightly on. It’s hard, at first, to allow himself to take just a bit more, to give into his less savory side, but as time passes he grows less and less worried, more and more desperate to fulfill his role as your protector, and hopefully someday your lover.

He likes to think of himself as having a decent amount of self control, but where you’re concerned, he’s utterly lost - he’s a slave to his own desires, and while he tries to control it and tame it, eventually it gets the better of him. But, fortunately for him, you don’t know until it’s much, much too late. 

To you, he’s just Toshinori, the awkward, sweet man you’ve come to know as a friend, as someone who always leaves you thoughtful gifts and insists on letting him pay for your meals, for your favorite flowers, even for jewelry you’ve been keeping an eye on. You’re not quite sure whether he’s just bad at making friends, or if he’s interested in you (the nervous eye contact and shying away from your touch makes you think he’s just a friend, and while the thought disappoints you, you’ve accepted it), but regardless, you’re happy that he’s in your life. 

(Really, the only reason he shies away from your touch is because any unwanted touching is the one hard and fast line he will draw - he absolutely will not touch you without your consent, and even if you were to reach out and grab his hand, he still automatically jerks away, if only because he’s scared that once he touches you, he’ll never stop.) 

He hides his true intentions very well, but eventually that facade will shatter - when danger comes knocking, or something happens that forces Toshinori to abduct you in order to protect you. Only then will you realize the depth of his feelings for you, the raw desperation he holds for you. 

It’s scary and overwhelming and you’ll hate him for as long as you can manage, but eventually Toshinori will win you over, if only because he knows what he’s done is wrong. He knows, and the apologies that tumble from his lips while a few tears roll down his cheeks will make it hard to stay truly mad at him, and eventually you’ll crumble, too. 

Eventually, Toshinori will get what he’s always wanted - you, by his side, safe and sound and in love with him. Even if he is a monster.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Because Toshinori’s romantic feelings for you form in full once he’s retired from hero work, jealousy is something that he deals with very, very frequently. 

He’s painfully aware that in his normal form, there’s nothing that he deems especially attractive or unique about himself – he’s lanky, tall, angular, someone that he knows wouldn’t get a passing glance on the street. He knows that he’s not especially charming with women, that he isn’t some romance god, someone that makes relationships and dating and love look like a piece of cake, that he’s just bad at being the dreamy suitor. 

He knows he’s not a young prince charming, that his age and looks and the trauma he’s suffered from so many years of pressure and violence make him damaged goods. And because of his hyper-awareness about his physical and mental ‘shortcomings’, Toshinori is constantly plagued by thoughts about you finding someone else, someone better, cooler, more handsome, more secure, not a disgraced hero, as he can’t help but see himself. 

He’s already prone to poor self confidence, but once you’re thrown into the mix? You, who is so pretty, smart, kind, wonderful, amazing, a dream come true, so out of his league… 

His insecurities and worries about not being good enough for you only amplify, made that much stronger as he loses more and more of his One for All abilities. 

And so, the minute that he sees you show even remote interest in another man, he’s immediately deciding that maybe you’d be better off with this person, that you could thrive and do so much better with them – they won’t hold you back like he would, they wouldn’t force you to settle so heavily like he would. It’s an unhealthy mindset and Toshinori knows this, but he just can’t help himself. 

He’s so in love with you, so sure that you’re something perfect and something that he doesn’t deserve in the slightest, and yet you’re something that he wants so fucking bad. 

It’s a constant mental battle between letting you find someone better for you, or giving into the selfish desires constantly eating away at him, and in all honesty it’s agonizing, the realization that he’s never wanted something as desperately as he’s wanted you. You’re like his last life line; his hero career is over, having been ripped away from him, and yet you’re still here, someone who likes Toshirnori for Toshinori, not because he’s All Might.

Which is why, as he internally flounders, he ultimately decides to not interfere – you’re your own person, a person he loves with every fiber of his being, but a person nonetheless. And besides, how heroic could he really be if he was limiting your romantic potential and your happiness by not letting you find someone better? How can he pretend to even entertain the notion of him being more than just a creepy, desperate freak if he doesn’t let you live your own life, even if watching tears him to pieces?

And so, as he spots you talking to the man with brown hair and eyes, an easy smile on his face as he looks at you, Toshinori’s heart is immediately breaking. 

You’re so pretty; hair rustling in the breeze of the afternoon air, your eyes sparkling as you laugh at the man’s joke, the bags of groceries in your arms looking so domestic and cute and oversized for you.

You’re perfection, utterly and purely, and as the man continues to speak with you, Toshinori’s confidence fades by the second, pushing what little there was to begin with to essentially nothing. He’s nervously tapping his fingers against his leg, gnawing at his lip and mentally listing all the things about this stranger that are better than him - he’s more muscular, his hair is more tamed and styled, his voice isn’t as raspy. 

Toshinori frowns, biting his lip as he watches the interaction. It’s not long, a few more remarks passed between the two of you that get both of you laughing, but every second feels like agony to him. It’s not until you walk away from the man with a smile on your face that he exhales sharply, realizing he hadn’t even been breathing. 

His fist is balled up so tightly that crescent shapes sit on his palms, the pressure of his nails against his skin nearly drawing blood. He’s quick to follow you home, slinking behind you, his mind whirring with possibilities. 

Were you interested in that man? Toshinori doesn’t make you laugh as much as that man had, maybe you found funny men more attractive. 

Had you gotten the man’s number, or had you given yours? Just the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, worry eating away at him.

He’ll do some research later into the man’s identity, checking his criminal record and seeing if anything sinister appears in his files. When you reach your apartment, Toshinori reluctantly peels away, watching with longing in his eyes as you step into the building, heavy grocery bags juggling in your arms as you open the door. 

That night, he sits in front of his computer, the blue light washing over his face as he pours through hero databases, running the man’s description through and finding him, scouring through every single government document just to make sure there’s nothing incriminating in them. (He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved when nothing raises a red flag - the man seems like an upstanding citizen.) 

The thought sticks in his head, replaying the memory of you laughing so freely up until a few days later, when your weekly coffee date with Toshinori rolls around. 

He’s noticeably quiet, just kind of looking at you and absentmindedly nodding along or giving one word answers, until you eventually confront him. He winces and tells you it’s nothing to worry about, only that he’d seen reports of rates of assault going up lately. It’s not technically a lie, just a very exaggerated version of the truth. 

But it does the trick - you stiffen up, worry evident on your expression as you tell him you’d met a man the other day that was very friendly - too friendly, you admit, and something in Toshinori perks up. The disdain in your voice gets him feeling dangerously hopeful, and as you sigh and slump slightly in your chair, telling him that you think you might want to hold off on meeting anyone until this area of the city gets a bit safer, he can’t help but bounce his leg slightly in anticipation. 

Thank god, you obviously weren’t considering seeing this stranger again - his chest feels light, airy, as if a sudden weight were lifted off his heart. He feels bad, truly, as he watches you switch topics to talk about your job, but he can’t help it - he’d been obsessing over whether you were seriously considering the man as a potential partner, something that made his gut churn and his head feel dizzy. 

He’s happy that you’ll remain single for the time being; you may not be interested in Toshinori, but at least you’re not interested in anyone else. 

That’s all he can ask for, really. It would be selfish to wish for anything more - no matter how desperately he does.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

He really, really doesn’t want to resort to kidnapping you. He’s already on the cuff about everything else he’s doing to you, and to steal you away without your consent would present a line he desperately doesn’t want to cross. 

Besides, you would hate him - you’d think he was a monster, a horrible, disgusting pervert, a villain. Kidnapping you would label him as the very thing he’s dedicated his life to eradicating, and although he loves you dearly, overwhelmingly, pathetically, the crushing guilt and weight of how you would see him would be too much. 

And so, Toshinori holds out on relocating you for as long as he possibly can, and god is it difficult. Every morning that he wakes up with an aching back, chest pain centered around his scar, or even just fatigue, he wonders if he’d be able to protect you today. 

He’ll stand in front of the mirror with a towel around his face, hair wet from the shower he just finished, eyes appraising his form.

He’s not as strong as he used to be; two fingers come up to poke at the muscles of his biceps, and a frown sits on his lips.

If someone were to attack you, could he stop them? If you were taken by a villain, could he really save you? 

He grimaces but sighs, knowing the answer is no, but still thoroughly unwilling to take action and keep you in the nice little room he’s got prepared just in case. He holds himself off, always rationalizing it to himself that yes, you could fall victim to some heinous crime, but if he were to kidnap you, he’d be that heinous crime. 

And this logic works for quite some time - enough time to let his paranoia grow, the fear and anticipation in his chest slowly reaching up into his throat and strangling him, making it hard to eat or sleep or even breath. 

He’s watching news reports on recent villains attacks with shaking fingers and his lip between his teeth, worry eating away at every inch of his body until one day he finally snaps - it’s a minor accident, really, one that could’ve happened to anybody. 

Someone was mugged, and you’d been in the area, running some errands. They’d stolen the woman’s purse, and as they were running away, they’d looked over their gilder and managed to run right into you. You both fell to the ground, and Toshinori - from his spot twenty feet behind you, trailing you in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner - watched as the thief barked out an apology and pushed against you to push himself forward, continuing his mad scramble away from the woman now chasing him. 

You’d stumbled down again, landing with a slightly pained noise, and something in that moment had Toshinori gasping, a hand clutched to his chest. 

You were hurt. 

Nothing serious, just a scrape or two on your knee and adrenaline in your veins, but still. He’d let you get hurt, while he was standing by, not doing a single fucking thing to stop it. 

And so, as he rushed forward to help you up, gently smiling at you while you asked what had just happened, he decides he’s waited long enough. You may think of him as the villain, deciding he’s a poor excuse of a man and an even worse hero, but he just can’t see you hurt again. 

He can’t fail you.

In general, two sides of Toshinori war once he’s got you under his rule. He’s clingy, yes, his dependence on you only growing tenfold once he’s got you under his care. He wants to be with you always, constantly, to not let a moment go by where you aren’t at least within his sight. 

And yet, Toshinori tries to give you space once he’s stolen you away. He knows what he’s done is wrong, and while he desperately hopes it isn’t the case, he would understand if you hate him for the rest of your life. He tries to stay away from you, only invading your personal space when absolutely necessary, and leaving you to your own devices in your own separate bedroom within the confines of his modest home. 

However, in his heart, he wants nothing more than absolute domestic bliss with you. Because of his tumultuous childhood once receiving One for All, he never really got to experience anything resembling first love or even romance in general, and he’s always harbored this desire to have own partner, a woman to come home to and cuddle and fall asleep next to. It’s a thought that’s always been in the back of his mind, drifting into his thoughts often throughout his career but always getting pushed back down - though never forgotten. 

And so, while he doesn’t force you into anything you don’t want to do (aside from staying inside his home), Toshinori secretly yearns for the point in time where he can wrap his arms around you, when he can feel your soft lips press a welcome home kiss against his cheek at the front doorway. 

He’s anxiously dreaming of the day when you’ll gently grab his hand and lead him to bed (the bed you now share, you having decided it was high time to get rid of the lonely, cold mattress you’d been sleeping on and join him), snuggling up into his side and letting his palm press into your stomach and pull you back closer to him. 

He wants you to help him cook, playing soft crooning love songs in the background while you stir and he chops, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling. 

He just wants your love, so very much, but he understands that he has to be patient and let you grow to love him first. 

And it’s painful, staying away from you, but he does it - though he’s always hovering near your door (you always keep it closed, not wanting him to come into the only room you can partially call your own), eyes darting to the stagnant wood every few minutes. He’s keeping his ears open to hear for any sounds, always ready to rush in and aid you if necessary, aching to be seen as a hero in your eyes. 

He takes good care of you, all things considered - there’s a steaming tray of your favorite breakfast foods waiting outside your door after he hears you rustling about in the mornings, a rapt knock on the wood and a soft good morning darling, your food is ready accompanying it. He’ll let you eat in your room, not forcing you to join him at the dining table, content to see your head quickly appear in the crack between the door and the frame, hands grabbing the tray while you glance at him and then away. 

Honestly, that interaction (and the same routine with dinner) is probably all he’ll see of you the whole day - you spend all your time in your room, and while it’s not ideal for Toshinori, it’s better than you ignoring him while you’re in his presence, fighting him or yelling hurtful things at him. 

He’s making sure the bathroom adjoining your room is stocked full of the nicest smelling shampoos and soaps (all your favorite scents - coincidentally, now his favorite scents, too) and all the items necessary for your skin and hair care. 

(He doesn’t keep anything sharp in there, however; he trusts you, but not enough to know you won’t try something with a razor, or that you won’t just trim your nails with the nail clippers. Besides, he’ll never, ever tell you, but he sort of likes your body hair - in his fantasies, the first time you two get intimate, you’d ideally not have shaved in quite some time, the tufts of hair making that wonderful mound between your legs look so womanly and inviting and primal.)

He won’t force affection onto you, but eventually you will come around, whether you want to or not. 

You will become lonely, fighting the urge to venture past your room and interact even just a bit with your captor. After all, in order to even catch Toshinori’s attention in the first place you had to have been friends - and fairly close ones, at that. 

Somewhere in your heart you know he’s a good man, and even though he’d managed to hide his hero persona from you for an impressively long time, you’d trusted him with your life - so what’s changed? Yes, he’s shown yet another side of him that you hadn’t expected, but was he really so bad? After all, he knows much better than you all the danger in the world - maybe he really is doing you a favor by keeping you locked up, safe and sound from the scum that rot society. 

Maybe he really does love you - which is why, one morning, you emerge from your room, tapping him on the shoulder and asking if he’d like any coffee, because you’re making some for yourself and you remember how much he loves vanilla lattes…Toshinori can only gape at you, his jaw physically dropped, before quickly composing himself, eyes darting around your face as if he were committing the details to memory, a slow nod of his head and a stuttered y-yes, thank you making you pad off to the coffee pot by the sink. 

Eventually, you will cave, and although he still treats you with too much care and protectiveness, you’ll probably end up happy with him - after all, he’d do anything to see you smile, even if it meant destroying himself. 

PUNISHMENTS:

Punishing you is absolutely out of the question. There is no possible situation that could push Toshinori to discipline you, much less hurt you - god no, just the thought has him feeling sick enough to vomit, the pit in his stomach only sinking deeper and deeper as flashes of you bloody, crying and bruised swim through his mind. 

You’ll never be running the risk of getting in trouble with him, and frankly it’s incredibly difficult to even get him mad at you. He seems to have unlimited patience when it comes to you; you could attempt to escape every day for months and he’d only tiredly sigh, gently grabbing your waist and pulling you back from the front door, telling you to stop clawing at the door, look at how your nails are bleeding. 

You could yell at him every time you see him, calling him horrible names and demeaning him and he’d only softly frown, nodding his head and telling you that you’re right, I am a monster, but your food will get cold if you don’t eat soon. You could punch him, kick him, slap him and he’d only dodge out of your way, knowing that although he may be slower and weaker in this form, he’s still got fighting instincts, and he will outlast you, so he’ll just let you keep going until you get your fill. 

Honestly, you’ll be the one getting mad when you act out; he just doesn’t ever seem to be affected by anything you do, never lashing out at you or hurting you or doing really anything. He just takes everything, his face carefully neutral or definitively sad, making you uncomfortable to look at him. It’s infuriating, if only because you want to get a rise out of him, to establish him as a monster, a freak, a creep for all the things he’s done to you. 

You want him to be worse than he is for having stalked you, kidnapped you, photographed you without your knowledge, for spending months dreaming of you and wringing himself dry to the thought of you. It’ll fuck with your head that he’s not locked you in some dingy basement, that he isn’t touching you or hurting you or anything even remotely as sinister.

 It’ll anger you that he’s being kind, caring, taking better care of you than you yourself ever did - he’s being good, and while it doesn’t erase the fact that he did all those things to you before stealing you away, the image you’ve created of him being an unhinged bastard will slowly crack. The cracks will be small, growing in number until the entire image shatters, breaking apart and showing you that Toshinori really just wants you. 

The cracks are little favors he does for you here and there that you never asked for; buying your favorite snacks and leaving them outside your door, even though you’re sure you didn’t ask for them nor tell him your favorites. It’s scary that he knows your favorite chip and ice cream flavors, but it’s a small comfort to have them, nonetheless.

He’s doing all your laundry, cycling through clean clothing that’s soft and smells like lemons and rosemary and leaving them folded neatly outside your door, all so that you don’t spend your time in the same stinking set of clothing.

(It’s a bit scary that he knows your size for everything from sock to shirts to panties, but you’re grateful enough for clean clothing that you can’t complain.) He’s treating you well, and you hate it - why can’t he be the freak you’ve convinced yourself he is? It’s wrong, and you wish it weren’t the case, but it’s who Toshinori is, and the longer you’re with him the more you’ll realize that. 

Yes, he’s a monster, but only for you. 

Toshinori is awoken by low, thudding sounds, uneven and coming from outside his bedroom. Immediately he’s sitting up in bed, wild eyes glancing all around to locate the source of the sound, and soon he’s scrambling up, the sheets nearly getting tangled in his haste to exit. 

He’s not wearing a shirt, only a pair of navy blue boxers sitting low on his hips as he yanks open the door and rushes through his home, following the noise with a sinking feeling in his heart. Where are you? 

Soon he’s answering that question, seeing you by the windows in the living room, nightclothes hanging haphazardly on your frame as you ram your side into the glass again, hissing under your breath at the sting. No cracks have formed, and your eyes are all red and teary, as if you’re about to cry in frustration.

Toshinori gulps, rushing forward until he’s about two feet away from you. His hands are outstretched as if to grab you, but his fingers twitch as he stops himself, fighting the instinct because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. His chest is burning, because it’s obvious what you’re trying to do. 

You’re trying to escape, hoping to break the window and jump out - nevermind that it’s a three story drop, his condo not ground floor, and you’d most definitely break something on the way down. It’s also obvious that you aren’t going to be successful; who knows how long you’ve been going at this, and not a single blemish taints the glass. You’ll end up hurting yourself before you hurt the glass. 

You’ve frozen now that he’s here, and you slowly back away from him, your chest rising and falling so quickly that it makes him nervous, eyes darting between his wildly. Darling, please, stop.

He begs, his voice strained, and you only shake your head. No, no I have - I have to, I have to leave, please Toshinori! 

He can’t help the shiver that rolls through him at the sound of his name on your tongue, but you only back up further, until you run into the wall, looking at him like he’s crazy. You’ll hurt yourself, he tells you, taking a deep breath. Look at your elbow, there’s bruises. Please, darling, it’s not working, please. 

He’s pleading with you, but you won’t listen - you want to, the dull throbbing in your elbow is begging you to, but you can’t. You can’t, not if you want to hold onto the last scraps of your sanity, the part of you that’s urging you to fight this whole situation refusing to be silenced. And so you shake your head again, sliding down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor, hands clutching at your arms. 

No, please, I need to leave. You’re whispering, and Toshinori has to strain his ears just to hear you. 

He comes closer, cautiously, crouching down in front of you to be eye level and not intimidate you. Please darling, it’s safe here. It’s not, out there. I know you’re not happy here, and I wish that weren’t the case, but you have to stay. I know you hate it, I know you hate me, but please, let me keep you safe. 

You’re shaking your head again, mind spinning, totally unsure of how you’re feeling. No, you mumble, your lips moving before you can think. I don’t hate you. 

Both your eyes and his go wide at your words, and one of your hands comes up to smack over your mouth, complete shock making your legs tremble. You weren’t sure why you said that, but Toshinori could only stare at you, lips parted and his fingers twitching. 

I - I don’t, you start, unsure of what you’re about to say. You don’t know how you feel, where this is coming from, or why it feels like the truth, like you really don’t hate him. You should, you know you should, and yet you can’t find it in yourself to conjure up any hate, no harmful words popping into your mind. 

Toshinori swallows, hard, and slowly shuffles forward, placing his palm on your arm. You jerk, and for a moment he considers pulling his hand away, but then you’re covering his hand with your own, still not meeting his gaze. 

Why don’t I hate you? It’s all you can whisper out, tears forming in your eyes, but Toshinori slowly moves forward, wrapping his arms around you, nearly sobbing from happiness as you hesitantly return the hug. 

He stays with you for a long time, letting you cry into his shoulder, letting your grip grow tighter and tighter around him, until he’s eventually helping you up, leading you to the kitchen and fixing you a warm bowl of noodles, not saying anything or pushing you to speak either. He can’t, not when he’s practically brimming with excitement - you’ve never let him hug you like that before, and he can’t stop replaying the way you felt in his arms, how soft and warm you were, even if you were crying. 

He won’t push you to explain anything to him, but as you slowly open up to him the next few days, not flinching away from his touch or ignoring his words, he can only sigh and bite his lip, ecstatic that he’s finally, finally making progress with you. 

Maybe all those domestic dreams are closer than he thought - maybe you’d let him hold your hand now, or let him tuck your hair behind your ear, or let him press a soft, chaste kiss against your cheek. 

Maybe you even love him now.

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

Honestly, the only way that Toshinori presents any danger to you is by kidnapping you. Otherwise, he’s less than harmful - sure, he’s obsessed with you, hopelessly devoted to seeing you smile and making you happy, but is that really such a crime? 

Is it evil to want to spend time with you, to crave your presence, to live for the small, fleeting touches you give his shoulders or hands? 

Toshinori feels immense guilt for his feelings towards you, viewing himself as a monster, a freak, a poor excuse for a man for being so hyper fixated on you and crossing all sorts of boundaries that are there for a reason, but he can only deny himself for so long. 

He’s a hero, but not perfect; everyone has their limit, and Toshinori will slowly creep towards his through a photograph here, a picked lock there, until he’s eventually got you unconscious on the bed of his spare room, panic sitting heavy in his chest because oh god, you’re going to hate him and never, ever want him in the way he wants you. 

It’s a slow crawl into obsession for him, but he’s in too deep, his feelings for you simply too strong for him to pull away - so he compromises and tries to make the best of the situation, hoping that the sincerity of his feelings and his devotion to your happiness and care will make up for the stalking, the watching you sleep, the knocking you out with the chloroform soaked rag. 

He’s hoping, perhaps naively, that one day you’ll forgive him - and really, you will. Whether you want to or not. Because while Toshinori has in fact betrayed you in more ways than one, he’ll manage to worm his way into your heart, his awkward charm and genuine yearning for you eventually winning you over. 

After all, how can you say no to the only person who really seems to care for you? How can you deny him when he’s got that hopeful look in his eye, those clammy, nervous palms and his stuttered murmur of your name? 

You just can’t, so really it’s in your best interest to give up trying. It’s easier for both of you that way.

[depravitycentral]

ty for making some of these boys virgins 😭 its a peeve when they try to justify characters being these sex gods when majority of these anime boys have never held a girl's hand in canon. Like you can be a virgin and still know how to fuck/dom but soooo many girls dont get that so they keyhole these men into being hedonistic. Like no hate to them but thats so ooc - nyways i really love your work and immersion! <3

Yes yes yes! That's a bit of a pet peeve for me too, though I understand why other authors do it! Especially in the context of yanderes, where they're supposed to be intimidating and all-consuming and suffocating.

That's not to say that there aren't characters out there who are sex gods - they're few and far between but they do exist, through a combination of experience and raw, natural talent. (And, more often than not, a bit of luck, too.)

Plus, the depth of their feelings for you and the intense, pathetic desire to please you certainly doesn't deter them from trying their best every time they get you naked and spread out before them.

Let's discuss!!

Some are simply experienced enough to know what most women like. It's not a matter of raw ability but rather that they've had enough partners to know what to do - and, more importantly, what not to do. Trial and error has led to them having a pretty consistent routine they undergo in order to get their partner off, knowing that they should spend a while with their tongue against your clit or thumbs brushing against your nipples in order to get you fully ready, often even giving you an orgasm before they get to the main event. Fucking you is good, better than any woman they've been with, but your body is more or less the same as theirs's - except, they're trying even harder with you, putting to use every scrap of information they've learned and observed from every sexual encounter they've had. Their ultimate goal is to turn you into a moaning, shaking mess, and they're quick to adapt to whatever seems to get you feeling best.

The biggest concern with this category, however, is that they tend to be a little overconfident - because they feel they have a wealth of experience, they aren't especially open to criticism or advice. They'll adapt to you, sure, but don't tell them they're doing something wrong, or that something other women have loved doesn't actually feel all that good. Don't insult their skills, because while they no longer care if their past partners enjoyed their time together, it still stings their pride. Instead of listening to your advice, they'll choose to keep going - doing the thing you claim to dislike more and more and more, feverishly trying to convince you that it feels good, you're just not opening yourself up for the opportunity to feel good, that's all. Really, you should be more receptive - after all, they know what they're doing, and do you? Do you really?

A few yanderes that come to mind fitting this category include Koutarou Bokuto, who, despite still having some misconceptions about the female body (he gets terminology mixed up mostly, confusing your clit for your vulva and so on, making any moaned directions aimed at him difficult to follow), has always been able to show his partners a good time. Besides, even if he underperforms, those biceps and muscular thighs normally have women overlooking any of his flaws.

Hizashi Yamada, similarly, always leaves his hookups smiling, making sex a generally pleasant, satisfying experience. Though, no matter how good his skill with his tongue or cock is, his incessant talking throughout the process can leave some late nights turning a bit sour. It can ruin the mood, sometimes, and while there are times when you find his excessive praising and moans of fuck baby and love it when you take me so well hot, most of the time they just deter you from truly losing yourself in the moment. (He always sounds too awed - he's not growling these things or saying them with much of a dominant lilt, rather just warbling and genuinely praising you, which can sometimes leave you feeling a bit uncomfortable.)

Shalnark, when he's trying, can be a great lover - he's especially tuned in to his partner's emotions and reactions to his touch, but the trouble with him is his effort level. Of course, he's in love with you, scarily so, but sometimes he can be a bit selfish, and chooses to take the easy way out and just whip out the vibtrator rather than manually finish you off. This tends to happen when you've been putting on an attitude or you haven't been especially receptive to his affection, and it's in moments like these where Shalnark's pettiness shows itself. You won't hug him or snuggle with him in bed? Then why should he fuck you into an orgasm? But when he does care, well, it almost makes up for all those times he taps out after he comes. Almost.

Some have learned that they do one thing particularly well, and are humble enough to recognize that they should focus on that. As much as they wish they were as well rounded and talented at everything between the sheets, they each have one tried and true weapon that they can use in a pinch to make sure the sex ends on a good note. It's very dependent on the yandere, but they have some redeeming trait that always comes in to save the day, something that can normally get you gasping and trembling if they work at it long enough. Unless they're particularly pent up (or particularly desperate to show you how good they can make you feel), they tend to try and utilize other methods of pleasuring you before they fall back and rely on their specialty. It's more of a confidence thing than anything else, because while they're grateful that they have something to offer you, they want to improve their skills in other areas so that they don't need to rely on just eating you out or rubbing at your clit or fucking you senseless. They just want to be good for you, really, but when they get desperate, they'll always transition to the one thing they know will work.

The one thing that deters this category from being desirable is that in-between period when they're trying new things out. Often, it's not super successful; they're really good at only one thing for a reason, and while it's not necessarily bad when they try to mix things up, it's certainly not going to leave you breathless and wanting more. They just don't have the proper experience (or experience where they were aiming for pleasuring their partner rather than just themselves) to really feel confident and sure of themselves when they're trying something new, and it translates into the way they always hesitate just a bit, or the way they go either way too slow or way too fast. Eventually, though, they'll always return to their fail safe, so it doesn't matter too much - just be patient and get through their attempts, and you'll be rewarded.

Tetsurou Kuroo, while certainly not being a sex god, is remarkably quite talented with his tongue. He's got very good control, and is able to make very precise movements, especially when they're preformed against your clit. He actually really loves to eat you out because he really, really likes the way your cunt smells, but he's always wanted to get better at actually fucking you, because all those fantasies he's harbored since the very beginning of his obsession with you almost always involve you coming undone on his cock. His thumb isn't as talented as his tongue, though, and so even if he rubs it while he's pounding into you, he'll always have to finish you off with his mouth. (At least he gets to taste the intoxicating mix of your slick and his cum - a sign that at least he made you feel a little good.)

Enji Todoroki is the opposite of Tetsurou - he's had lots of practice with actually fucking, and his hips and thighs have enough muscle that he can spend hours rutting into you at the same pace, angle and force, effectively battering your poor pussy in the best way possible. He's pretty receptive about following whatever set of those three factors you like best (though he shines best when he's fucking you nice and slow, deeply and meaningfully when he's got you folded up in a mating press), and while he does prefer being inside you over everything else, he desperately, desperately wants to get good at going down on you. He'd never really bothered when he was Rei, but with he actually wants to taste you, and the thought of you creaming all over his face (or, even more, squirting on his face) is enough to get him half hard in an instant, licking his lips and spreading your legs before you can even protest.

Phinks Magcub has thick, sturdy fingers, callouses dotting them and a few scars left from particularly nasty fights. He's got good stamina and can spend long periods of time moving his fingers the exact way you like them, never tiring of feeling how warm and spongy your walls are, always with a flush on his cheeks and the slightest bit of awe in his eye when he looks at you. He likes fingering you, watching you fall apart for him when he grinds the heel of his palm against your sensitive little clit, but he really wants to learn how to make you come on his cock, because there's nothing more intimate to him than the idea of him fucking you well enough to make you flutter around him. He knows most women can't come from penetration alone, but he's nursing the hope that maybe, if he gets good enough, you'll become one of those few.

Some possess natural ability between the sheets, even if they don't have all that much experience. It's like they intuitively know what to do, how to move their bodies in ways that get women moaning and gasping. Part of it is because they're good at observing, diligently watching the expressions of their partners and making note of what gets them grasping at the sheets the hardest, or what makes them clench down the tightest. It's more methodical than anything else, but the end result is the same. They almost always get their partners to orgasm, through sheer determination and attention to detail.

The one unfortunate side to this category is that they're the kind that care most about actually making you feel good - to the point where they will force the sex to continue, not willing to stop eating you out or fingering you until you're making a mess and whimpering their name, for better or for worse. It's almost disturbing, their eagerness and commitment to getting you off, and while you're grateful that they care so much about making sure you enjoy yourself, there's something genuinely unsettling about it. When all is said and done they tend to look worse off than you, their faces bright red and slick smeared all over their lips and chin, a small smile sitting on their lips that feels out of place with how swollen and puffy said lips are. But they're trying, and it's the thought that counts, right? Besides, at least you have something to look forward to when they slowly pull down your pants.

Keiji Akaashi is a wonderful example of this; he loves the way you respond to his fingers, how you bite your lip and keen his name, voice all airy and gaspy as he curls them just right, making you see stars. He's committed to you, and while his skills weren't particularly strong in the beginning of your 'relationship', Keiji is a quick learner and was able to pick up on exactly what you liked pretty fast. He's a little unnerving when he's concentrating, though, because he's deadly silent and just staring at your cunt, a combination that leaves you squirming in more than just pleasure.

Pakunoda is another one who possesses some natural talent in the bedroom - she takes everything slow and really takes her time with you, always making sure to draw out every sensation that she can, just because she wants you feeling the full breadth of pleasure she's offering you. She doesn't mind long, drawn-out session, even preferring them, and so while it takes a long time (sometimes long enough for you to consider just calling it quits), she'll eventually get you off. She just likes to be meticulous about it.

Shouta Aizawa is basically a virgin when he develops his infatuation with you, having only slept with one or two women when Hizashi and Nemuri take him out drinking and he indulges just a little too much. He makes up for it, though, because he's quite talented with his tongue, and he's good at holding back his own pleasure and delaying his orgasm until you've reached yours, elongating the sex and making it so that you have enough time to actually let the pleasure build to the point of spilling over. He refuses to come first, and while sometimes it happens despite his best effort, he's got a strong sense of determination and will get you moaning his name and gushing all over him.

But, quite frankly, managing to qualify as one of the categories listed is not an honor most yanderes get to enjoy. Most are fine, thoroughly average in bed, maybe managing to make you come without the aid of a toy sometimes, but there's not a whole lot of consistency.

Others, however, are especially dismal; sex with them probably isn't something you look forward to too much, because while it can feel good, more often than not it's fun for about five minutes and then you're ready for it to be over. Not that you'd tell them that, though - not if you value whatever semblance of freedom you've managed to ascertain, and especially not if you value your ability to walk normally the next day. (They'll substitute in fucking you hard for fucking you well, which, as expected, doesn't have the results they wish for.)

Some are fully, utterly convinced that they are in fact a sex god - despite their shortcomings. Maybe it's a result of previous partners lying and building their confidence, or based on total delusions, or even a stubborn bit of pride unwilling to let them believe they could fail at something. Regardless, it leaves them in a position where they only sort of understand what they need to do in order to get you feeling good - there's an attempt, most of the time, but they normally don't have the patience or stamina to last long enough to reach your orgasm. They'll just be finding a good rhythm when they're fucking you, rolling their hips just right, before deciding that it might be better to flip you over, or that the angle is starting to kill their back and they need to change it up. Honestly, it's frustrating more than anything else - you're always so close, before it's snatched away from you without a care.

Tomura Shigaraki, unfortunately, is a victim of this mindset. He's watched enough porn to feel like he's got a good, general grip on what should happen during sex, fully believing that while some of what he's watched is obviously fake (he's not stupid - he knows how difficult and unlikely getting a girl to squirt is, even though he'd kill to get you squirting for him), he's picked up tips on the more realistic aspects of porn. (He hasn't, and it doesn't work - jackhammering into you like a rabbit doesn't have the affects he's expecting, because instead of moaning his name and gushing around his cock like all those pornstars do, you just seem to wince and beg him to slow down.)

Nobunaga Hazama, too, can't seem to fully grasp the fact that he isn't the best sexual partner. He tends to get overly excited, always eager to see the way you're responding to his touch, and the moment your expression or voice lulls in any way, he's moving on to the next thing he can do to get you screaming his name, even when the new thing is the exact opposite of what you need to get off. He just doesn't really have the patience to successfully make you come most of the time, and even if you gently correct him, he'll just shush you, telling you with conviction that it'll feel good soon, that he knows what makes you feel good, so you just need to sit back and take it.

Yuuji Terushima is simply too hyperactive and excited when he's in bed with you to stay focused on one thing at a time - similarly to Nobunaga, you'll be constantly changing positions or switching from fucking to grinding to oral and back again to really make any progress towards your orgasm. The one thing Yuuji has going for him, though, is that he actually does possess skills in the bedroom - he is genuinely good at going down on you, that damn tongue piercing always adding an extra layer of stimulation and making your head spin. He's good at aiming when he's fucking you, and it's his only saving grace - if you go at it for long enough, you may end up managing to come, but it's never a guarantee.

Some are just too unsure of their skills, and it's reflected in the way that they can't commit to one single thing. Frankly, they're not even that bad at touching you - they don't suck, often just the opposite, but their lack of experience and confidence between the sheets leads to fleeting touches and lots of unsure, half-hearted attempts at making you feel good. They don't expect you to be able to come from just a few thrusts of their fingers inside your gooey, warm cunt, but when you don't, it still doesn't make them feel any better. They're overwhelmed, frankly, and they feel such intense pressure to make sure that everything is perfect that they end up floundering, too scared to choose one single thing (fingering you, eating you out, fucking you, or even just grinding against you) and see it through to fruition. They're just nervous - it's palpable, really, and with time you can slowly coax them into feeling more confident and comfortable, but they'll never be able to fully shake the feeling that they're not good enough to really satisfy you in bed. It's sad, more than anything, and the longer you let the problem go unaddressed, the harder improving their skills will be.

Machi Komacine is afraid of intimacy, and because she herself relies quite heavily on toys whenever she gets in the mood to get herself off, her own fingers aren't too used to the motions and movements required to properly touch you. She hasn't had to sink her fingers inside herself for years, really, always replacing them with the pink plastic vibrator or dildo, but she's much too embarrassed to admit that to you. (Though, she's even more embarrassed to actually try and learn/practice on you - poor Machi, because she's even too emotionally closed off to properly discuss it with you.)

Kei Tsukishima, in his defense, is scared that he'll hurt you. He's got this unreasonable worry that he's not good enough for you, and while he hides this well in how he interacts with you, it becomes very obvious the moment that either of you are naked and yearning for each other's touch. He's just very unsure, and the weight of knowing that he could displease you or leave you unsatisfied leaves him wanting to just not even bother trying, too pessimistic to see a solution in which he'll actually manage to make you come.

Shuichi Iguchi, similarly to Kei, fears hurting you, but he's more crippled by the knowledge that he's never intimately touched someone before, and the omnipresent paranoia eating at him that wonders how you could ever find him attractive. He's too scared of your rejection to really put himself into a situation where he can put his 100% effort into anything sexual with you, so for now he'll settle with fingering you for a few moments, then kissing you (his fingers having slipped out), then simply pressing his cock against your folds, unmoving, just feeling.

So really, there's a whole variety of bedroom skills - it's more about the combination of your specific likes and dislikes in bed alongside their strengths (or lack thereof) that decides whether the sex is good. But, quite frankly, it doesn't really matter - the likelihood of you being able to escape any of the yanderes listed above is quite low, and gets even lower when you consider whether they'd be able to track you down and snatch you up again. So really, it doesn't matter whether they're a sex god or not - you'll never be sleeping with another person in your life, and they sure as hell won't either.

(Thanks for the ideas anon! This style ask is always fun to answer! I hope this doesn't set off your ick about pigeonholing characters as sex gods - they aren't perfect, I promise!)

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa General Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader Tw: yandere, kidnapping, stalking, voyeurism, mentions of assault, breaking and entering, mentions of neglect, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of dub-con, sexual toys, masturbation, derogatory language (not said by our wonderful feminist Shouta), fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Calm

Despite having tight friends who are much, much more energetic and easily excitable than himself, there’s a certain allure to steadiness and calmness that really calls to Aizawa.

Maybe it has to do with his tendency to be a bit low on sleep, or maybe it has to do with his own disposition - he isn’t sure, but he can’t deny the fact that a darling who isn’t constantly bursting with energy is something he would adore.

In order to catch his attention, his darling must be someone he is already comfortable with, and it’s much easier for Aizawa to let someone in if they’re more agreeable, less tiring, more his speed.

Of course, a healthy dose of excitement is something he would crave every once in a while from his partner, but to him the moments of blissful serenity, calm mornings spent in each other’s arms, peaceful nights spent sleeping or catching up on a good show or book mean more than daring, crazy adventures.

He wants to know that his darling will be rational, someone he can have a real conversation with, someone he can respect and trust.

A darling who is more calm and collected is much preferred for Aizawa, and with every situation that they handle efficiently without panicking, it only solidifies his view that his darling is utterly, completely perfect for him.

Smart

Aizawa himself is quite good at understanding and interpreting people, situations, and risks; he’s intelligent, and as a result he’s drawn to others that are similar in that way.

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius, or even someone familiar with the hero world - in fact, someone not associated with the messy, violent life of heroes would be preferred.

He just likes the idea of his darling being smart in their particular interests, of being curious and intelligent and always trying to improve their hobbies or areas of interest.

It once again stems from his want for a partner he can trust, can have logical, clean conversations with, and to say that knowing his darling can make their own informed choices (although Aizawa is quite reluctant to let them decide anything, if only because he knows that he has a better understanding of the world and his darling’s weaknesses) is a relief would be a massive understatement.

He doesn’t like to waste time on those who aren’t able to intellectually keep up with him, and while he’s never fault someone for being slower, he cannot handle ignorance.

His darling needs to be able to understand him, at least as much as they possibly can, and with every situation in which they show off this side of them, Aizawa honestly feels his heart fluttering in his chest.

His darling is just so wonderful, so perfect and amazing, that he literally wants to own them, to have his name claimed onto something so precious and rare.

Realistic

While Aizawa is, admittedly, a bit of a pessimist, he views himself more as someone who expects what’s most likely to happen.

He knows there are terrible people in the world, that things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to, that most of the time there are countless boundaries up against goals and dreams, and he’s simply preparing himself for the inevitable, so that if he turns out to be wrong he’s pleasantly surprised.

Pure optimism is something that Aizawa will never understand, and because of this he tends to prefer people who have more of an approach from the middle ground.

Of course, optimism isn’t a complete turn off for him, but he wants someone who approaches situations without those rose tinted glasses, who’s aware of how the world works and acts accordingly.

He’ll admit that he’s negative (Hizashi has told him as such, more times than he can count), but a darling that walks the fine line between too little confidence in the world and too much is immensely attractive to the underground hero.

He loves that his darling has such a clear, honest view of the world, and as a result he tends to favor his darling’s opinion over his, even if he believes his own is much more likely, much more truthful.

He’s entranced by his darling’s ability to remain honest about things, and he loves knowing they aren’t chasing far fetched ideals.

Aizawa believes his darling is the perfect mix of himself and other traits he wishes he possessed more of, and when his darling is so honest and realistic about the world around them, this only solidifies his view that his darling is so fucking perfect. 

Nurturing

Although he acts as if he detests his students at times, Aizawa does genuinely want his kids to succeed, to become pros and tap into their full potential.

He wouldn’t have become a teacher if he didn’t enjoy watching others grow, and he looks for this in a partner as well.

While he isn’t necessarily intent on having any children of his own (although he can’t deny the rush of possessiveness and pleasure that courses through him at the idea of knocking up his beloved), a darling who possesses the ability to care for, nurture and love others is something he deems as a necessity.

He has a quiet kind of support for others; unwavering honesty in their abilities and themselves, and while he views his own methods of nurturing others as productive and useful, a darling who has more of a mainstream approach pulls at his heartstrings.

Aizawa, despite his more rugged and apathetic appearance, has a massive soft spot for people who are just genuinely nice - when he sees the way his darling so easily comforts and helps others feel relevant, at ease, it only furthers his protective instincts, pushes him to believe that his darling needs to be cared for and protected at all times.

And really, who else can do such an important and time consuming task besides himself?

Only he is capable of being the hero his darling needs. 

He can be everything they need after all, if they just give him the chance.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Lucid

First and foremost, Aizawa is completely aware that the feelings brewing in his chest for you are far from normal.

He, despite having limited experience in romance and relationships, is completely positive that the degree to which he loves you, that the pure need and desperation that you inspire within him is very much not the standard, that there’s very much something wrong with him.

He’s sure that wanting to keep you trapped in his basement, keeping you completely alone and dependent on him so that the only person who will ever get to see you is him, is wrong.

He’s sure that the devotion and intense obsession he’s harboring for you makes him nothing sort of a creepy stalker, a freak that doesn’t deserve to have something as wonderful as a relationship with you.

Aizawa hates the fact that you make him this way, and while he tries to resist the descent of his feelings at first, he eventually just gives up. It hurts to not see you, to be away from you for long periods of time, so much so that he feels actual physical pain when he hasn’t laid eyes on you in the last twelve hours.

It makes his head spin to repress thoughts of you, feeling like he’s about to burst with every thought he shoves to the side, trying instead to focus on the book in his hands or the papers he’s grading.

He grows physical symptoms of heartbreak with every attempt to discard his feelings for you, and eventually he’ll stop trying.

There’s just something about you that he can’t let go of, no matter how badly he wants to be sane again, normal again - of course, he doesn’t blame you in the slightest; it’s not your fault that you render him a completely lovesick fool, that you inspire such intense need within his chest.

It’s not your fault he’s following you home every night, waiting and watching through your window as you wash your hair, cook yourself dinner, as you snuggle up in your warm bed that he’d give anything to be in with you.

It’s not your fault that he’s spending his every waking moment on either hero work or you, not willing to dismiss his hero duties but spending every waking moment he has free focused on you you you.

Aizawa has come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you likely make him a monster, that he’s no better than some petty criminal for stalking you, for obtaining every scrap of information he can get on you from public and not so public resources.

He’s disgusted with himself, if he’s being completely honest - it’s so fucking wrong for him to be so invested in you when it’s obvious you aren’t returning the weight of his feelings, though there’s a part of him desperately clutching onto the idea that you harbor some kind of romantic feelings for him, that you find him attractive or caring or strong.

(The thought of you complimenting him makes him uncomfortably mushy inside - it gets his cheeks reddening and his throat feeling scratchy, his palms growing wet and his weight shifting from one leg to another, your voice ringing in his head telling him he’s so handsome and strong, that he’s your dream man, that you’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, would you please?)

It’s so unfair that someone as kind, normal, innocent as you has to deal with someone waiting outside their window every night, hiding in the shadows and barely able to refrain from reaching a palm down to work at his trousers as he watches you writhe around on your bed, eyes squeezed closed while your thighs twitch as the vibrator between your fingers works its wonders.

It’s cruel irony that you have to worry about protecting yourself from him, the man who’s sworn to keep you safe for the rest of his life.

You make him a villain, really - and as much as it makes him hate himself even more, Aizawa knows that even as wrong as it is, he’ll never be able to stop. 

Protective

Although he seems apathetic and uncaring towards others and their well beings at first glance, Aizawa became a pro hero for a reason - not the fame or gold or glory, but rather because he genuinely wants to help others, to keep them safe.

And where you’re concerned, this natural drive is only increased astronomically, to the point where Aizawa is prioritizing your health and safety over everything else, everyone else, including himself.

He’d never be able to forgive himself if something were to happen to you, if he were to allow you to be injured, kidnapped, raped, or, heaven forbid, killed, and as a result he feels that he needs to keep an eye on you constantly, just in case some piece of shit decides to come along and test him.

He’s literally had nightmares about you being harmed by a villain; the image of you bloodied and battered, your lovely hair that has the most heavenly smell all roughed up, your eyes red, ugly bruises blooming across your delicate skin.

He always wakes those nights with a small scream, his heart pounding and tears running down his cheeks, if only because it feels so real, as if you were really in front of him crying and begging for him to save me, please please please Aizawa don’t let me die!

(He really can’t stop himself from heading to your home as quickly as possible those nights, his breathing rugged and uneven until he sees you sleeping peacefully through your window, safe and sound in your bed. He lets out a deep breath and lets a rare, oddly sincere smile creep across his lips, his thumb coming up to press against the window glass, slowly rubbing it along the material as if it were your cheek.)

Being so obsessed with your health is unhealthy and he knows it, but he really can’t stop himself - he’s making sure his patrol lines up perfectly with the times he knows you frequent the outside world, making sure the zones he’s supposed to be mostly in charge of always include your home, your workplace, anywhere you could be when he can’t keep an eye on you.

He can’t slack off on hero work even with his obsession growing stronger by the day, and so he enlists every possible resource to keep you safe and under constant surveillance.

He was nervous to do it at first, worried his longtime friend would call him out for his morally askew behavior, but Hizashi was more than happy to drop by your apartment every once in a while when long shifts or extensive teaching days keep Aizawa away from you.

(The blond was, of course, a bit shocked to hear that his best friend had found someone that got his heart racing, someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with - Aizawa’s words - but was more than eager to help out, willing to do pretty much anything to keep that smile on the man’s face.)

Aizawa, despite his conscious initially telling him not to, even ventures inside your home in the name of upkeep your safety, making sure to change your sheets or keep your refrigerator stocked with healthy, good foods.

(He’s especially concerned about your diet - he knows you eat like shit, and he absolutely cannot have you sustain a poor diet; you need to be eating a good balance of vegetables, protein and whole grains, and if you’re missing something? Well, having two jobs certainly comes in handy when he’s buying carts full of food at the grocery store for you, spending his hard earned money to make sure that you’re taken care of.)

He’s even going so far as to make sure that your feminine products you throw away in the small trash can in your bathroom are the right color, the right consistency, the right everything - your vaginal health is important, and he absolutely will bring your discarded tampon up to his nose, take a few deep whiffs, just to make sure everything is as it should be.

In all honesty, Aizawa is your guardian angel - you mean everything to him, and he genuinely believes that in return for being such an obsessed creep towards you, the least he can do is devote his time and energy into making sure that you’re as safe as can be.

So yes, he’s your guardian angel, but just remember - guardian angels see every little thing you do. 

Stalker

Aizawa swears it’s not out of any ill harm; he isn’t following you around town because he’s waiting to pounce, to hold a knife to your throat or to pin you against a dirty, damp alleyway wall and have his way with you.

He’s not laying in wait to catch you vulnerable or alone, holding ill intent and wanting to use you for some sick fantasy of his.

(At least, not the kind that most men who follow women have - there’s much less screaming in his fantasies, or at least screaming from terror and pain.)

He’d never hurt you like that - you’re too precious to him, too literally the purpose of his entire existence for him to ever consider doing something to you out of ill intent.

He’s only stalking you because he needs to make sure you’re safe, because he knows that without him being constantly vigilant when it comes to your safety and presence, you’d likely be dead.

There’s all kinds of despicable people in this world, people that would take one look at you and decide you’re their next victim, the next pretty little thing that needs to be tainted, destroyed and used in order to prove a point.

And really, that’s Aizawa’s nightmare - so when he’s trailing behind you on the busy streets of Musutafu, the night air nipping at his lungs while he shoves his face further into his scarf, his hands clenched in fists in his pant pockets, just know that no, the man following your every step won’t so much as lay a finger on you.

It’s likely that you’ll never even notice him, that you won’t ever be aware that a grown man has been stalking you for months - he’s just too good at staying in the shadows, at making sure that his presence goes unnoticed by you.

He’s light on his feet, silent and quick, able to keep those dark eyes fixed on your figure but staying perfectly out of sight, almost as if he was simply made to watch you, as if it’s his sole purpose to look out for you without you ever knowing.

And frankly, Aizawa is beyond grateful that you’ve never noticed him; he doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to man up to the fact that yes, he knows exactly how you look when you’re peacefully sleeping without a care in the world, that he knows the way you talk to yourself more when you think you’re alone, that he knows what you look like as you cry out incoherently, eyebrows drawn taught as your body convulses from the pleasure you’re giving yourself.

He won’t ever deny it, as lying about it would be another level of wrong that Aizawa, even as morally compromised as you make him, will never be, but he won’t openly admit it either.

It would be too embarrassing, too mortifying and heartbreaking to see the way your eyes would get all glassy and big, fear setting into your expression as you back away from him, on the verge of tears as you tell him to get away from me, please!

He doesn’t think he could take it; your blatant rejection of him, of everything he does for you - it would destroy him, send him even further into his shell, even more withdrawn.

So really, as you live ignorant of the fact that a pair of warm, chocolate orbs are staring at you from the corner of your window as you work on yet another dull project your boss is forcing you into, just know that Aizawa isn’t especially proud.

He’s not proud of the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest when you look out the window, when the fear that you’ve finally caught him rolls through him.

He’s not proud of the way his breath hitches when he sees you humming and gliding across your kitchen, hands flying as you make yourself dinner, his imagination all too easily conjuring up the image of you in a little apron, making two portions, setting the table and calling out to him that dinner’s ready, Aizawa!

He isn’t proud that it helps him sleep to watch you fall asleep, your cute little face nearly obscured by all those sheets and blankets you pull up in the winter, the way your expression melts into pure relaxation and calmness as you drift into slumber making him relax too, making him imagine the way it would feel for you to fall asleep in his arms.

He’s not proud of the way his eyes grow wide, a violent flush spreading across his cheeks as he watches the way you grind your hips against the toy, your lip caught between your teeth as you shake and tremble and spasm, his own cock straining desperately against his pants.

He’s not proud of any of it, but he’ll endure it. Really, he’ll endure fucking anything for you, just to see that perfect smile of yours, the one that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, becoming the lovesick, disgusting monster he is now was all worth it. 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

In all honesty, jealousy isn’t something that Aizawa has to deal with that much; of course, he doesn’t like when guys come up to you, when they talk to you and put their filthy hands on your shoulders, over your own hand, or even on your waist if they’re feeling brave enough, but generally he won’t directly intervene.

He knows you don’t belong to him, that he has no real say in what you can or can’t do at this point, but he can’t deny the way utter and complete terror courses through him at the prospect that the man smiling at you so incessantly could be a villain, a thug just waiting to get you vulnerable and ready to be taken advantage of.

His protectiveness over you is quite honestly overwhelming – he’s so concerned for your safety, hyper fixating on your wellbeing so much that it forces him to neglect his own self-care even more, until every ounce of energy outside of patrol times is spent completely on you.

Every free moment is spent watching your every move, keeping an eye on you from the shadows with the excuse that he’s just preemptively keeping you safe.

Every moment is spent caring for you so that nothing can possibly hurt you, his mind constantly whirring so that nothing could lay a single finger on you with ill intent.

It’s like an itch that he can’t scratch - there’s this feeling of bubbling rage below the surface, eating away at him as he watches with narrowed dark eyes at the way you awkwardly laugh while the man who bumped into you in the coffee shop apologizes, making some lame pick up line that has Aizawa’s fist clenching in anger.

How fucking dare that man try and touch you?

Like you’re some common, average person, like you aren’t the literal light of Aizawa’s life?

He’s pissed, and while jealousy isn’t the primary feeling rushing through his veins (that spot is taken by anger, followed very closely by fear for your well being), he can’t just let the man get away with something so blatantly wrong, something that really should require the Erasure hero’s attention - so, while he isn’t proud, Aizawa does what he has to do in order to make sure you’re completely out of harm’s way. 

He’s always hated it when you walked while looking at your phone – too many opportunities for you to get hurt, to stumble and fall, to run into something, to just be generally unaware of your surroundings.

It makes him yearn to yank the stupid little screen out of your hands, to tuck you under his arm and escort you wherever you need to go – you should be headed to the supermarket, according to the schedule he’s memorized.

He’ll watch you buy a few vegetables, followed by much too many sweets, carbs, things he knows you know better than to eat, and yet you still do. He’s watching from the alleyway, the dark shadows letting him hide as his eyes stay fixed on your figure, unwilling to let you out of his sight for even a second.

His work as an underground hero has never come more in handy than when he’s following you, keeping a safe distance to make sure that you don’t notice him, but his cover is threatened to blow up the second he notices that man eyeing you up, the smirk crossing onto his features making Aizawa’s blood boil.

He’s on the other side of the street, this man, dressed head to toe in an outfit that immediately screams danger to Aizawa; a pressed dress shirt with a rather boring red tie, black slacks and scuffed up dress shoes, with way too much gel in his hair.

The briefcase in his hand bobs a bit as he adjusts his grip, gaze visibly traveling up and down your form as you cross the crosswalk.

Aizawa’s gripping at his scarf tightly, knuckles turning white from the force, the sense of impending doom slowly eating away at him.

And yet, he knows he can’t do anything until the man does something - until eh approaches you, until he touches you or insults you or hurts you -

The hero’s teeth are clenched, eyes narrowed, and he watches with baited breath as the man crosses the street (jaywalking, a crime that Aizawa could, technically, bust him for, but that would cause issues with local police and not be worth the hassle, even if it would get the man away from you), practically swaggering up to you with a smarmy smirk spread across his thin lips.

You still haven’t noticed him yet, eyes still glued to your phone, and for a moment the man seems discouraged that you haven’t noticed the way he’s fallen in step with you, roughly two feet away from your form.

He clears his throat and you peek at him from the side of your eyes, face visibly confused at why this stranger is looking at you.

He opens his mouth, some variation of hey cutie falling past his lips, and Aizawa sucks in a breath in both anger and worry. Would you like this man? Would you like his smooth confidence, the fact that he looks like he works in a bank, that he’s wearing enough cologne for Aizawa to smell ten feet away?

It’s insecurity and he knows it, a stupid voice in the back of his head, and yet he can’t help himself - which is why he suddenly feels like he can breath when you grimace and look back at your phone, walking a bit faster to get away from the man.

You don’t want him. Good.

Aizawa takes a moment to mentally praise you, happy that you’re standing up for yourself, before following even closer, watching to see what this creep will do next.

The man doesn’t take your obvious dismissal kindly, his face contorting into something ugly, and he angrily adjusts his tie.

Hey bitch, he growls, getting even closer to you, aren’t you a little too ugly to be so damn uptight?

And suddenly Aizawa’s seeing red, swooping in before he can even think.

His hands are on the man’s shoulder in seconds, pushing him to the side and staring with dark, enraged eyes that get the stranger staggering back, a small prick of fear dancing in his posture. Harassing women is a crime, you know.

Aizawa starts, and at this point you’ve turned around, watching with wide eyes as your friend (a loose term, but one you like to employ for your relationship with the dark haired hero) stares down the creep.

For a moment you’re confused, distantly wondering how and why Aizawa is here, but as the man scoffs and spits at the ground, muttering a damn heroes under his breath, the thought dies quickly.

Aizawa watches as the man turns around and stomps off, the weight of his gaze causing the man to quicken his pace, and after he’s a good thirty feet away, he merely sighs, his scarf coming back down around his shoulders as he turns to you.

He asks if you’re okay, and you blink but nod, smiling a bit at him and pocketing your phone.

Yeah, I’m good… thanks, Shouta.

He stiffens a bit at his name, swallowing harshly before nodding. He’s about to leave (retreating to the shadows, like always), but your voice stops him.

Since you’re my knight in shining armor, can I repay you with some tea or coffee?

A small dusting of pink settles across the bridge of his nose at your words, and before he can even think he’s muttering an agreement, letting you lead him to some coffee shop nearby that he knows you frequent.

He knows your order, even mouthing the words to himself as you tell the cashier, but when you sit down and tell him about your day in the cozy, dimly lit shop, Aizawa finds himself sighing, deciding that maybe he doesn’t need to chase down and intimidate that creep after all .

Or, at least, it can wait until you finish telling him about work yesterday.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because of Aizawa’s lucidity in terms of his feelings for you, kidnapping you is something that is absolutely the very last resort for him, only something he would do if there was absolutely no other possible option, no other choice that wouldn’t result in your death or severe injury.

The idea of doing something without your consent like that - forcing you to essentially end the life you’re currently living in favor of being trapped in his home - is something that doesn’t settle quite right in his stomach.

He would never be able to forgive himself if he were to take you away, and he could never even try to pretend that what he’s done is right, moral, heroic.

That said, Aizawa lets his paranoia regarding you get the better of him all to often, and so under the right circumstances, Aizawa could feel backed into a corner, where the only possible option is to indeed steal you away.

He’ll be desperately searching for any other option, hating himself as the idea stands alone as the only choice, but when the villain in front of him has you gagged and trapped in his arms with a gun pointed out towards the ebony haired man, he’ll start panicking.

And when the scum holding you says how he managed to find out that you were the famous Eraserhead’s weakness, his blood goes cold.

His fingers itch to move when the man says that he’d seen him spend all those hours stalking you, watching you endlessly, that he’d told his subordinates, that even if Aizawa kills him now, they’ll keep coming until they kill you.

There’s nothing more I can do, he’ll tell himself as he disarms the villain and knocks him unconscious, watching as you look at him in fear and try to run away after the news of him stalking you comes to light.

And really, it kills Aizawa to see you looking so terrified, flinching and screaming as he wraps you in his scarf and carries you bridal style through the dark, cold city streets, but he’s resigned to the fact that while you may hate your new life and him, you’ll be better off under his care rather than still out in the real world, where villains would keep coming and never stopping until you’re splattered brains on a sidewalk. 

Aizawa is arguably the best captor to have in the entirety of the My Hero Academia universe - he’s so painfully aware of how wrong it is to have you locked in his apartment, how evil it is to make you stay so completely dependent on him, and as a result he tries his absolute best to respect you as much as he can.

He’s given you an entire room to yourself, setting you up with as many things as he can recover from your old room, the things he’s seen you use most.

Your same bed will be there, along with the sheets, pillows and blankets intact and neatly arranged for your comfort.

All of the clothes he could fit in the closet are also present, along with a chest of drawers for your more… intimate items.

He’s got your favorite foods (his own healthier options are there, too - because even though the guilt he feels is overwhelming now, he still won’t have your health deteriorate), and while it absolutely kills him to give you the ability to access things like knives, razors, sharp and dangerous tools, he’s begrudgingly letting you.

(At least, until the first time you hurt yourself, in which case he will revoke that privilege in a heartbeat.)

It’s all in an effort to get you hating him less, to make you as happy as you possibly can be, because at the end of the day Aizawa truly, truly loves you.

You’re wonderful to him, a motivation to keep risking his life and teaching younger generations, a motivation to keep living, now that he has someone to live for.

He’s generally pretty respectful of your rights and desires (aside from the fact that you can’t walk out the front door, of course), but the kind, lenient captor you get when you first wake up in his modest, fairly clean apartment is not who you’ll continue to see if you begin being ungrateful, begin throwing tantrums and acting out as a means to anger him or rile him up.

Of course, he doesn’t blame you for being scared the first few weeks, for having a few breakdowns here and there because for fuck’s sake he kidnapped you – he’d be more worried if you didn’t freak out, but at a certain point the hero will begin to grow tired of your outbursts, disappointed in your childish behavior for something that he’s said time and time again won’t be changing.

Years of teaching has molded Aizawa into someone who is ruthlessly able to correct poor behavior, to instill a sense of fear that forces others to stop making stupid decisions.

And where you’re concerned, these natural traits shine brightly - the minute you start swinging at him, hissing and calling him such terrible names, his mouth is pressing into a thin line, his brows drawn taught as he stares at you, waiting for you to apologize and stop acting like such a brat.

He’s a forgiving captor, as long as you don’t cause any trouble - he only took you to keep you safe, and he won’t have you undermining his efforts by being reckless and childish once you’re trapped with him.

He feels guilty, but only to a certain extent - you’re a grown woman, and while Aizawa often treats you as if you were no more than a toddler, he expects you to act your age.

And, quite honestly, as selfish as it is, there’s a part of Aizawa that is devastated beyond words when you repeatedly refuse him, when you reject his kind words and gifts, when you tell him he’s a monster, a disgusting excuse for a hero, because hasn’t he spent the last few weeks giving you space, cooking you your favorite meals, having the patience of a goddamn saint?

Why are you being so ungrateful?

Does he not do enough for you?

Maybe he’ll have to start spoiling you more, making you happier, getting you more of those stupid plushies or your favorite movies -  anything to get you to look at him and smile.

Anything to get you looking at him with love, with joy or longing because god does he love your smile and god is he desperate to see you laugh and tell him you love him and please please please he needs you to love him so fucking bad please -

So really, just be his good girl, because that’s all Aizawa wants. 

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, punishing you is something Aizawa fucking hates.

He derives no pleasure out of mocking you, out of making you purposefully miserable and seeing your teary, pained face – if anything, it’s something he actively tries to avoid, his poor heart clenching so harshly in his chest at the sight that he physically winces and grasps at the area.

He doesn’t like making you upset or any other negative emotion, but while this desire to keep you safe and happy and smiling is strong, it’s outweighed by the desire to keep you in line every single time.

It’s natural, in a way, for him to be discipling you – it’s his job, and while he very much doesn’t think of you like his students, some of the habits he’s acquired over the years die hard.

(Aizawa wants to throw up at the mere mention of doing the things he wants to do to you with anyone else – he most certainly does not want to pin anyone but you down and fuck them until they’re crying or eat them out until they’re a squirting, incoherent mess, or stuffing them to the brim with his cum, so much so that they’re leaking it out and making a sticky mess between their thighs. No one but you.)

And so, while he does genuinely wish for you to grow to love him, he knows that he needs to present himself as the dominant one in the relationship, the one whose word is law – and if doing so means making you cry or be even more afraid of him, he’ll begrudgingly do so.

He hates every moment of it, but he knows it’ll be worth it once you finally decide to stop ramming yourself at the front door in efforts of bringing it down, that you’ll finally stop digging around for the bottles of sleeping pills you know Aizawa keeps hidden around for nights when the guilt and stress of kidnapping you and being a hero eat him alive.

He just wants you to behave, and in all honesty it isn’t even you behaving for him – it’s for you, so that you stay safe and healthy and pristine, the exact reasoning behind why he stole you away in the first place.

He’s conditioning you to stay unharmed, and while you may not see it that way now (the crying and screaming about how he’s a sick monster, a fucking perverted freak who belongs rotting behind bars tell him everything he needs to know about your feelings on the matter), Aizawa is sure that with time you’ll eventually mellow out, that one day you might even come to understand why he’s so fiercely protective over you and so quick to punish you where you’re wrong – it’s out of love.

Even if it’s twisted, obsessive, wrong, it’s still love, something Aizawa never wants to let go of.

With that being said, Aizawa still absolutely refuses to physically harm you.

His whole reasoning for stealing you away, for plucking you up and out of your old life to stay with him irrevocably was all based upon the premise of keeping you safe, of making sure that you never lay victim to an accident, a villain, or even your own stupid decisions.

Aizawa wants you to be completely protected, and even the thought of raising a hand to you makes him wince, the idea bringing a sharp pain in his chest.

And so, he resorts to other methods to make sure that you understand what the exact behavior he’s trying to correct is – that is, relying on methods that are a bit more psychological.

He doesn’t manipulate you, as lying to you and twisting around your understanding of the world seems downright cruel to the underground hero.

The last thing he wants is for you to lose any sense of trust in him you may still be clinging to, and for the most part he wants you to remain yourself, unchanged and perfect and so very wonderful.

He fell in love with you, after all, and he has no sick fantasies of changing you, or molding you into another version of yourself. But when you’re crying and punching your already bruised and bloodied knuckles against the non-shattering, one way glass of the window in your bedroom, Aizawa knows that he needs to take action.

And so, the tray of food he’d brought for you (a can of warm soup, a glass of water and some crackers, as he knew your throat was still a bit sore from all the crying you’d done the day earlier) gets set down on your dresser, the dark haired man sighing with a small, genuine frown as he carefully walks behind you, wrapping his arms around you and demobilizing you while you thrash and kick around, yelling and cursing at him to let me go, fucking let me leave you sick fuck!

The words sting, his normally dry eyes feeling a bit damp at the way your insults seem to stab and poke at his heart, but it doesn’t stop him from carrying you down to the basement, the dark and cold area having quickly become one of your least favorite, most nightmarish locations.

Immediately you’re freezing up, realizing what’s about to happen, and though the compliments and sugar coated lies of how you’re so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, I promise I didn’t mean it! are nice to hear (and, if he tries hard enough, he can almost believe them), he can’t let himself falter now, lest you figure out his weakness when it comes to you and exploit it.

No, instead he’s setting his jaw, dark hair falling forward to hide his face as he carefully sets you onto the ground, watching as you reach out and clutch onto his pant leg, fingers trembling while you sob about how you don’t want to be left down here again, in the dark and cold and dirt, but Aizawa is merely staring down at you, before crouching down and running a thumb along your cheekbone.

You have to understand that your actions have consequences, (f/n). I’m not doing this for fun, I’m doing this so that you realize that you’re only hurting yourself when you act out like a child. I’ll be back soon, just wait patiently. Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to be such a brat.

And with that, he’s up and shutting the door behind him, the resounding click of the lock filling the empty space as the darkness hangs over you, the cold seeping into every inch of your body.

It’s a long two days – a small glass of water and a single apple slice is sent to you daily, no light or contact with anyone at all, not even Aizawa himself.

It’s just you and the grimy, slightly moist ground of the basement, time seeming to last forever as you wait and wait for him to eventually return.

And when he does, immediately you’re upon him, apologizing and crying and promising that you’ll never do anything bad again, just please please please never put me back down here, I’ll do anything, anything at all!

And while it’s a bit pathetic to see you groveling and crying so shamelessly, Aizawa only pulls you into his chest, soothing you and running his hand along the back of your head in comforting motions.

You’ll be treated like a princess for the rest of the day – the warmth, food and attention that your captor gives you suddenly feels like the most heavenly thing, as if you’d never been happier, as if Aizawa was the only one who could give you this intense of a relief and relaxation.

He isn’t especially proud of his methods, but as you start calming down, acting out less and less, he can’t pretend to not be pleased with the results – after all, he just wants to get to the point of you being somewhat happy, of you not wanting to kill yourself and him every moment of every day.

Progress is slow, but for you, Aizawa is nothing if not patient.

OVERALL DANGER:

5/10

In all honesty, Aizawa is a pretty mild yandere – he has no intentions of hurting you or imprisoning you unless necessary, and he has no delusions about the moral misguidance of his feelings for you.

He knows the way he loves you is fucked up, that how he expresses his emotions for you is questionable at best, and while he hates himself for it he just can’t stop. You’re too important to him, you mean too much.

You make him too happy, make him feel warm and fuzzy, this swollen feeling in his chest that makes his muscles relax, his eyelids get heavy, his arms feeling empty without you in them.

Because of you, he suddenly doesn’t feel so detached and bitter - like a whole new man, he could even say.

It’s pathetic and he feels like some creepy, villainous freak because of it, but he can’t help himself from watching you, from looking out for you at every turn.

Your biggest obstacle with Aizawa will be his overprotectiveness – his sole purpose in life becomes keeping you safe, dedicating as much of his time as he can to making sure not a single scratch befalls your pretty, perfect body, that not a single hair on your head is so much as touched by someone with any hint of an ill intent.

He’s maniacal in his dedication to your safety and health, and while stealing you away isn’t something he particularly wants to do, at least under his care you won’t be physically harmed.

You’ll be given space for the most part, and a general sense of peace because god, Aizawa would do anything and everything in order to keep you smiling, to keep you happy and healthy and so very radiant.

He loves you, and while he hates himself for it, he knows that he’ll never stop loving you.

[depravitycentral]

Lee this toooootally isnt inspired by your latest Oikawa post because I feel like he's a closet prude but who in HQ do you think holds on to their virginity the longest based on their canon characteristics? Glad to see you writing again, make sure to stay hydrated! <3

(Because I don't mention Oikawa in the rest of the post - I agree! I think he actually does lose his virginity fairly early on (it's a drunken night and he's a bit regretful after), but I think he likes the concept of keeping himself "clean" and his body count not high just because he is a bit prudish. He'd never admit that he hasn't slept with the number of women you'd guess based off of his status and personality, but he isn't a pure saint himself. A bit hypocritical, to be honest.)

Oooh!! Something about virgin men just feels right - that shuddering little gasp they make when you first take them in your mouth, their hands clenching at the sheets or edge of the chair so tightly their knuckles turn white because it feels so damn good and they can't quite figure out where to put their hands.

(They want to put them in your hair, maybe force your head down a bit like he sees in porn - he only watches videos with actresses that resemble you, of course - but he's not sure if that's a porn-only thing, and the last thing he wants to do is mess up this perfect moment.)

Men who've never fingered anyone before, and so their movements are clumsy and awkward but eager, almost palpably so, their eyes always darting between your cunt and your face. He's listening for each and every noise you make, hoping for any kind of direction of where to touch and how, because it's just sensory overload to be feeling you like this - and suddenly now he knows why most guys don't last long in bed.

(He doesn't want to think about how fast he'll come the first time he actually gets to fuck you.)

And of course, the men who immediately have to bury their face against your neck or back when the tip pops inside of you, every muscle in their body clenching up and this soft, whiny oh leaving their knees buckling. You just feel incredible - he's imaged you often, even going so far as to crafting some sort of stand-in for your own body, be it a toy or a homemade pocket pussy, but neither come even close to the real thing. He just can't get over how warm it all is - he wore the stupid condom like you'd requested, but even through the latex he can feel the wetness, the schlicking noise driving him mad as his hips buck and snap into yours without any real rhythm or aim. He'll push in as far as possible, his balls pressed as tightly against the cleft of your ass as possible, and then he'll just breath, these labored breaths that sound like a moan at the end while wide eyes stare down at you and his fingers grasp onto your hips and thighs and breasts and oh, god when you clench like that it's too much, he can't control himself and he can't stop it and oh, oh god, oh fuck he's coming inside of you just like he's been dreaming about for fucking months -

Of course, everyone's born a virgin, but some keep that status much longer than others. Let's discuss!!

Some men are in no rush to get between someone's legs - they're taking their time, whether for a specific reason or just as a byproduct of other circumstances. This is great news for them, though, because now you get to be their first - an honor that feels both fitting and somehow much, much too good to be real.

Kageyama and Ushijima aren't explicitly waiting, but careers and their lack of social graces haven't exactly made finding a girl a priority. Besides, they aren't ones for hookups, and it takes a long time for romantic feelings to form in the first place for them - they won't sleep with just anyone, it has to be you. (They're the one-and-only type - you're they're first partner, and likely their last. At least if they have any say.)

Sugawara and Kita aren't prudes, but they can't deny the slight allure of waiting until marriage, just because they buy a bit into the construct of virginity being something sacred you're giving away. They don't judge others for sleeping with someone out of wedlock, but it makes their cheeks turn a bit pink to think about giving that part of themselves to someone special - someone like you. (Both also have thinly veiled breeding kinks that make them subconsciously feel like they have to finish inside whoever they're fucking, and while the concept of knocking their sweetheart up gets their palms sweating and their throat bobbing, they're both realistic enough to know that an aversion to condoms equates to unwanted pregnancy.)

Kenma and Kunimi both want partners. Neither are especially sexually driven, and they'd both much rather less overt affection and contact in most situations. And frankly, neither is especially great with relationships - past girlfriends have never lasted long enough to get to the sex stage, so they're virgins by default. (Though both harbor a bit of a nasty addiction to porn, even if they'd rather die than admit it.)

Akaashi and Kuroo have both had ample opportunities to lose it - they're gorgeous, respectively sweet and funny, and every girl's dream, after all. But they're picky and secretly quite shy with their feelings and romance, so letting themselves be vulnerable to intimacy is a big step that they often chicken out of. It's just scary, and while neither is particularly insecure, there's something real and raw and terrifying about sharing themselves with another person like that. (They've each fingered a girl, though, so at least they've got a bit of experience. It makes Kuroo feel better, at least.)

Others are more eager to learn what all the hype is about, to see if sex is really as good as it's fabled to be - they lose their virginity pretty early on. They're sad when they realize you won't be their first (and likely they aren't your first either, though some are more fixated on that fact than others), but they don't mind too terribly much - plus, something about sex with you feels different from all the past times. It feels better, more intimate, more meaningful, like it's actually a way of expressing their love rather than just a fun perk of dating someone. Besides, they're so shocked and elated to be with you naked that they're practically virgins - their cocks aren't working correctly (performance anxiety driven by the yearning for you to approve of their bodies, of the pleasure they can give you), their rhythms are all off compared to their normal pace, some of them even forget how to kiss because they're so damn nervous.

Semi and Bokuto have had their fair share of partners, simply because their professions make adoring female fans a dime a dozen. Both make it a rule to not sleep with fans, but there's always one that manages to catch their eye, that tempts them into breaking that moral code because maybe this is that one in a million story of the fan and the star actually ending up together. But then you step into their lives and suddenly every other woman is nonexistent, every past partner erased from their mind because all that matters is you and that perfect body of yours. (Semi has a penchant for recording when he has sex, and while rewatching the tapes leaves a bit of a sour taste in his mouth because it just feels wrong to watch his cock pounding into a cunt that isn't yours, it's easy to imagine the girl's face is you, to imagine those moans are yours, to imagine the way she clutches onto him is how you'll clutch onto him, too. Bokuto just masturbates to you constantly, to the point where it's a wonder how his body can produce enough cum to have something coming out with his every orgasm.)

Tendou's early twenties brought with it a boost of confidence, and with that confidence came women. He's by no means a ladies' man, but he's slept with a small number of women and had a few girlfriends. His obsession takes a while to form but it affects him hard, to the point where he's certainly the most likely to suffer from serious anxiety and nervousness surrounding intimacy with you, even though he's never had a problem in the past. (He's convinced you'll think his cock is too small - it's not, the solid six inches is plenty - or that his cum tastes horrible - it's not great, sure, but there's a very faint aftertaste reminiscent of chocolate from all the test-tasting he has to do - or that you'll just think he's bad. The first time he makes you come he just sits there for a moment, staring with a dropped jaw, unable to believe that he just gave you an orgasm, all because of him and him alone.)

Hinata and Nishinoya don't purposefully plow through women, but they're the type to bring a girl home every night they go to the bar or club with some buddies. Often they'll reach out about a more permanent relationship rather than just a one-night stand, but often a good fuck is all the women are looking for, anyways. And so, while they have a good amount of experience, the vast majority of it is while being inebriated - and so, the first time they fuck you (stone cold sober, unwilling to not be fully present for possibly the best moment of their lives), it's almost like a new experience all over again, simply because there's all these details and parts they don't remember doing all those nights. (It's not that they don't remember - they just never cared enough to pay so much attention to their hookup's nipples or finger them with such precision.)

Osamu and Hanamaki don't have a huge amount of experience, but they've each had a very serious girlfriend before you, and so they have extensive experience with the same woman. But you - you're different. You're prettier, smarter, sweeter, softer, lovelier, just better in every way, and they feel this sort of pressure to make sure that the sex is better, too. They're the type to ask you every few minutes if everything is still feeling good, just because sex feels so damn good for them, and they want to make sure it feels good for you, too. (If only so that you'll keep doing it, keep letting them touch and kiss and fuck you - all with that lovesick look in their eye, a blush on their cheeks, and an insistence on making sure you're coming until you're literally crying.)

There's a large variety, but these are the ones that wait the longest or the least - but regardless, sex with you is still something that excites them like they're some horny teenage boy, their pants always feeling uncomfortably tight when you're around, no matter how hard they try to will it away. You're just too perfect and pretty and sexy, and can they really be blamed? Besides, isn't it nice to have a man so eager for you, so ready to get on their knees and beg you to just give them a single chance to please you?

If anything, the persistence is endearing.

You only mentioned haikyuu, lovely anon, but I feel compelled to at least mention some of the late and early bloomers for the other fandoms I write for!

Those that wait the longest:

Kny: most of the cast because of their occupation and the time period, but especially Giyuu, Shinobu, Sanemi, Kokushibou, Akaza

Hxh: Kurapika, Knuckle, Machi, Feitan, Franklin, Illumi

Bnha: Aizawa, Enji, Stain, Shigaraki, Spinner, Hawks, All Might

Those that lose it pretty early on:

Kny: Uzui, Douma, Muzan

Hxh: Phinks, Uvogin, Morel, Shizuku, Nobunaga, Shalnark

Bnha: Hizashi, Dabi, Fatgum, Midnight

[depravitycentral]

Wait but can i please ask for a darling that can speak a language that her captor( especially Nobunaga or Uvogin) can't ? 🥹

Like she speaks Vietnamese so everytime that dude try to hugs her or random shit and she said "Cút ra coi" ( please fuck off) and he can't understand! Maybe he will be mad since her tone is carrying alot of attitudes.

Since Vietnamese have ALOT of cursed words so i think i can bullied them and get away with it sometime...

You don't have to do this if you don't want to but if you did, thank you alot. I recently go crazy with your blog, you are so talented 😭🙌. Love and support from Vietnam!

As a preface, my native language is English, I speak a passable amount of Spanish, and I'm minoring in German at my university but I'm not nearly proficient, so I'm not exactly the expert in being fluently multilingual, but I'll try my best with this one!

As with most things, different yanderes have different feelings regarding this ability of yours. By and large, they find it wonderful - you're just so smart, so capable and wonderful and hearing the way the syllables and phrases fall from your lips gets them shivering, their heart racing in their chest because god, you sound heavenly. Even if the language is harsher sounding, or isn't considered the most alluring - it's seductive to them, sensual, sexy.

But, of course, you're only supposed to use the other language(s) at certain times. On their terms. When they want to just admire you and not understand what you're saying. When you're just supposed to look pretty, to be gorgeous and wonderful and perfect.

But the rest of the time, speak what they understand, yeah?

Because really, the worst nightmare of most yanderes is to be unable to understand what you're saying - they crave your attention and interaction with you so deeply and desperately that they can't stand not having a clue of what you're saying. Every thought you have feels precious to them, like some sort of cherished, rare commodity that they absolutely can't waste.

But of course, each yandere is different, so let's discuss!

Some are genuinely ambivalent. The lucid yanderes really fall into two main categories; apathetic, and paranoid. The more apathetic, laid-back yanderes think it's good that you're speaking in a language that makes you more comfortable. They want you to feel comfortable and happy around them, after all, and if this is the way to make that happen, so be it. This is a very small price to pay to make you like them more - they can't understand what you're saying, sure, but it's good for you to be able to vent, to be able to speak all your feelings - even if they wish they could hear every single word. Besides, you look nice when you're speaking - they like to watch your lips, the different sounds making them pucker and smack and look soft and warm and delicious. A few yanderes who react in this way include Franklin Bordeau, Pakunoda, Uvogin, Hajime Iwaizumi, Gyomei Himejima, and Shouta Aizawa.

Some of them are paranoid that you're saying things about them, calling them horrible names and expressing your hatred for them. Mostly, this stems from the yandere's own lucidity and shame for how they feel for you. It's wrong to be so obsessed with you, and even further wrong to have kidnapped you and forced you to stay with them for the rest of your life - of course you're angry, and it's healthy to vent your feelings. Except, there's this sense of diminished control when you're ranting and raving in another language, because even though you sound pretty, what are you saying? You aren't using their name, sure, but you sound mad, and they're the only possible cause. Are you calling them a monster? Telling them they're hideous and disgusting and some sick freak? You're well within your rights to do so, sure, but they want to at least know what kind of insults you're throwing their way. Overthinking and anxiety get the best of them, and they start forbidding you from speaking another language - on the grounds of it being unfair or some other horrible, childish excuse. Mostly, they just don't like the idea of you harboring hateful feelings for them without even knowing about it. It's scary, and even if it sounds pretty and makes them gush over you, it's not preferable. A few yanderes that come to mind for this category are Feitan Portor, Obanai Iguro, Tobio Kageyama, Kenji Futakuchi, and Tomura Shigaraki.

Some are utterly fascinated. Watching you speak another language can captivate them for hours, and they'll be bugging you to explain everything you're saying, perched at the edge of their seat because they want to understand this piece of you. They'll want you to teach them a little bit - just a few phrases, to start, but you'll find that they've gone and done some research of their own, quickly getting a feel for the language because it's your language and they want to impress you - and will begin actively trying to use it in their everyday interactions with you. The phrases they prioritize are I love you, you are beautiful, you are mine, and come to bed with me. (And of course, depending on the language, that last one can have a whole wealth of different connotations.) It makes them feel connected to you, like there's some special thing binding you two together - particularly if it's a language that's less commonly spoken. It's like some secret you two share, and for the more possessive yanderes, it's just another claim of ownership over you - they can be involved in every part of your life, slowly seeping their presence into every little thing you do - even something as natural and personal and raw. A few yanderes who take this approach are Chrollo Lucilfer, Kurapika Kurta, Koushi Sugawara, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Hizashi Yamada, and Taishiro Toyomitsu.

By and large, most yanderes have positive feelings towards your ability to speak another language - it just makes you more special, and convinces them that you're even more worthy of their attention and attraction.

Besides, when you say their name with the accent it would be spoken in your language?

Well, it's your fault when they're throwing you onto the bed and kissing you like they'll die without you.

(Also I am sending you hugs and kisses, thanks for supporting my blog from Vietnam!! As for Nobunaga, I have mixed feelings about where to place him on this listing - I think he'd like the idea, initially, because you just look so damn cute when you're speaking your language, especially when you're cursing or frustrated. But the moment that you say something he thinks might be about him and might be even a bit negative, suddenly those endearing feelings are changing. Suddenly he's growing defensive, hostile, suspicious, demanding you tell him what you said and thus falling into the second category mentioned above. I think he's a hard yandere to categorize for most things because his delusional mindset makes him a bit unpredictable, but that would be my guess!)

[depravitycentral]

BNHA Masterlist

Quick reminder that all my content is yandere, so please proceed with caution! Themes including (but not limited to) violence, kidnapping, non-con, stalking, etc are found in the links below! Please be responsible; no one can police your internet intake but yourself.

ENJI TODOROKI

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HIZASHI YAMADA

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KEIGO TAKAMI

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RUMI USAGIYAMA

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SHOUTA AIZAWA

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TAISHIRO TOYOMITSU

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TOSHINORI YAGI

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CHIZOME AGAKURO

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DABI/TOUYA TODOROKI

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JIN BUBAIGAWARA

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KAI CHISAKI

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SHUICHI IGUCHI

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TOMURA SHIGARAKI

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