#nb!kai | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sol-consort · 3 months

Note

May we have a crumb of yandere Kai Leng x reader headcannons or something like that? 🙏 🥺 (I'm sorry)

Hell yeah my dude, you may even get a smooch on the forehead for being the bravest soul out there to ask for this.

Yandere Kai Leng HC

[Dark content, yandere, stalking, obsession, possessive behaviour, enemies with tension, love/hate relationship]

[Shepard reader - gender neutral]

"You killed the scientists... What do you want?"

"Your attention."

Kai Leng is many things, an assassin, a killer, a bastard and the most annoying thorn digging at your side with exceptional delight.

The way he snatches victory from your fingertips at the last moment, drinks in the expression on your face going from genuine surprise to despair and then rage.

It makes the blood pump faster in his veins, being at the centre of your undivided attention as you stare at him with a look of pure primal rage.

Careful Shepard, you treat a man this way and he might get the wrong idea.

Next thing you know, he's breaking into the Normandy undetected while it's docked on the Citidal. Crew blissfully unaware as they enjoy their shore leave for a day.

Your quarters aren't what he expected, not from the best fighter he ever went against in his life. Yet so very endearing, you collect ship models? You care for fish?

How...cute.

He traces his gloved fingers against the surface of your desk, leaves a couple smudges on the glass of the aquarium with a smirk as he imagines the annoyed look on your face.

Sits on your chair, examines the various medals you keep in a case display. Reading what each one was for, looking through your life achievements as if it was a to do list he's crossing off, comparing his own skills to yours without a hint of shame.

Moving to your couch, he spots a half empty glass of wine. A small smudge of lips against the rim of the delicate glass.

Nimble fingers pick it up, careful not to let the sharp metal nails on his gloves scratch the surface. He drinks in the aroma of the wine.

Oh, definitely not his type, you have an awful taste in wine. He thinks as he turns the glass around, parting his lips and pressing his mouth against where your own lips have been.

Downing it in one gulp, he feels the same rush of dopamine whenever he fights you. The same shiver ran up his spine as that day he noticed a bit of your blood on his finger and licked it off while meeting your eyes, shameless at the look of disgust in yours.

You tasted just as awful as this wine, as sickingly bittersweet, and he can't get enough.

Your bed is on display next to him, all made and neat just like any alliance soldier must have been taught to do.

What a good little soldier you are, he thinks, did you keep your bed all made for him to ruin?

So many ideas go through his head on the ways he could piss you off with this, maybe spill the wine on it? Or how about his own blood? Maybe litter the cover with bullet holes and spell out his name.

He walks closers to the seemingly soft thing, lifting the covers and leaning down.

It...smells like you. Like the faint scent he catches whenever he has you pressed under him during combat, amidst the smell of gunpowder and rubble, your own scent stood out as he pressed his nose closer to your neck, alongside his sharp sword.

Kai Leng buried his face in the pillow much like he wanted to do with your neck just before you flipped him over on the ground and pointed a gun at his head.

He settles for laying on the bed, nothing else. You wouldn't have had an idea he was here except for the few wrinkles on the sheets his heavy armour would leave behind.

Your bed is surprisingly hard, much like your own body. He thought it was fitting, and yet a part of him wanted to force you on a soft bed, see you unwillingly sink into the comfortable fluffy sheets and have your muscles unconsciously relax.

Do you keep yourself constantly sharp not to lose your survival instincts? Do you refrain from allowing yourself the luxury of comfort not to grow soft around the edges?

He has read and heard so many things about you, he has searched the aftermath of every battlefield you left behind.

He knows more about you than anyone could ever claim to, more than the person you've shared this bed with before could ever attest to.

On his way out, he removes the bugs he planted to block the cameras. Twirling one of your shiny medals between his fingers, your opened wine bottle in the other hand.

"You're not as weak as I thought. But never forget that your best wasn't good enough to stop me."

He's cocky and confident in his own skills. He has nothing to prove and no one to impress.

But you, oh you, always working hard to meet other's expectations. Always being spun around and dragged from one trivial mission to another, hunting for the most useless of sentimental items to return to their owners without being asked to.

He hated seeing others use you, he felt like it was only his right to have you running around searching for him.

Whenever your focus drifted elsewhere, he'd blow up a small colony here to get you chasing after his trail again, plant a small hijacking device on an alliance ship you'd need to save, let some info slip so your sources could get a tip on him.

Let your pathetic crew think they managed to track him when he turned off his own firewalls just long enough to ignite the flames.

He always gives you just enough to keep the fire burning, just enough to keep him out of reach with you on his heels.

Just enough so you don't get distracted by lesser matters.

Or lesser people.

He has seen your record, read your personal information reports and he was not impressed by the person you've called your lover.

What do you even see in them?

Now he can't have his cute little commander getting distracted by some lame date or a sorry excuse of a person you call a lover, no he needs you to focus on him.

And if slitting more throats was all it took to keep your pretty eyes focused on him, then can you really blame him?

Can you blame him for looking forward to each fight with you.

Your back aches from the sharp stones of the cracked wall behind you digging into your armour. Legs floating just above the ground below as you were helplessly pinned to the wall by a hand against your throat, helmet cracked open with your eyes glaring into the masked figure in front of you.

There's a sharp dagger against your heart, an obsidian blade threatening to tear through your armour like paper. It has also dug a way through to your bare flesh with its tip, you feel the cold press of the sharp stone against your skin.

Heart beating, your fingers stay still against the trigger of your pistol. Despite the barrel pressed directly onto the temple of his head, Kai Leng paid it no attention as his closed his body against yours more.

Thighs touching each other, the heat radiating off of the two of you from your previous game of cat and mouse. The way he keeps all of your weight lifted off of the ground with just a single hand, pressing hard enough to choke you but not cut your air off.

He's smiling, a gesture so seemingly innocent yet smug at your scowling expression. Each one holding the thread of life of each other, the threat of snapping it hangs thick in the air but neither of you makes the first move.

The dagger is steady against your heart, his body keeps moving closer. You're struggling not to let your grip on the pistol falters, it's all you have left.

Letting go of your neck, the supply of air makes you regain your wits. His body is tightly pressed against your now, the blunt edge of his dagger pressing against his own heart.

Strangely, his free hand holds you lovingly. Holds you like you're partners in a slow dance, like you're seconds away from sharing a kiss after months spent at sea away from your lover.

His face is moving in, your eyes are glued to his lips. Your mouth parts on its own.

Closing your eyes, you feel your finger slipping from the trigger on the pistol. You feel the dagger faltering.

Within a second, you immediately bring up your knee to dig painful in his stomach and free yourself. He staggers backward before finding a cover from the barrage of bullets you fire his way.

The dagger slashed across your armor, a line from your heart and upwards to collar bone. The marks of his fingers on your neck left a visible bruise.

He noticed your high collared wardrobe choices in the following weeks, the corner of his lips tugging upwards at the purple traces peaking through the turtlenecks you wore.

But his own bruise from your solid knee hitting his stomach was on fill display as he wore lighter clothes during his training. Stopping in front of the mirror in his room to lift his shirt and admire the mark you've left on him.

He wanted more.

He wanted your claws marking down his back, he wanted your thighs squeezing his waist until it bruised.

Your teethmarks against his neck and shoulders, a slap to the face, a punch to bruise his side.

Reducing the two of you to animals in a state of primal fighting for domination, he wanted you to give your best to him and watch as he still overpowers you.

Make you struggle for your life and then lose to him, time after time he wanted to keep you frustrated and losing.

Making the acclaimed hero, the Commander Shepard, feel weak against another human for once in your life.

It gave him such a power trip. A rush of ego going straight to his heart and between his legs.

You were his. Since the day you the Illusive man handed him your file, you were fated to be his.

He wanted you more than anything, he wanted you more than air itself at times. Wanted to push and prod you and experience all of your reactions, wanted to put you below him then watch you flip him over.

Kai Leng will take anything and everything you have to offer, be it love or hate. He will gladly feed his obsession off of both, make you feel his body pressing against yours during each encounter.

Remind you of your equal, that you're not the unbreakable titanium everyone claims you to be.

That just like him, you're human too. Weak and prone to error.

He will never look at you with stars in his eyes like the rest of your loyal crew does. He will never see you as bigger than life like the other humans do.

He will always see past all the fancy titles, shiny medals and heavy armour.

And see you. Not Shepard, not your last name and not the commander.

But you.

Bare, strong, weak.

And no one else besides him will get that, no one else will be your equal but him.

He will make sure of it, that you won't get to experience this with anyone else.

Everyone is worshipping at your feet. Doesn't it get tiring? Don't you want to feel alive? Really alive rather than being reduced to this symbol of hope rather than the living being you are?

And so he reminds you of that, several messages disguised as war reports or intel from military officials sent by him.

Only for the first line to be met with, is him praising you for doing such a good job and opening these messages, falling straight into his trap.

Be good for him, read through the whole thing. Through all the demeaning praise and gratifying insults, through all the things he has written about you.

Like eating at a restaurant and leaving a review afterwards, that's how he treats those battles the two of you have. Sending you a performance review afterwards and listing the things you did wrong and how to improve them.

Making you the more confused by him, by why he does the things he does.

Sometimes, his messages include information about you that no one else knows, references to moments you were sure you've spent alone, past, and present.

He ignores every questioning message you send him, cherry picking the parts of your message to reply to.

He grew more and more unhinged with his messages as time went on, more and more shameless with his voicing his inner thoughts on a recording and sending it to you.

There's a faint sound of gunshots and screams in the background, as if he was recording them on missions. Forcing you to have to listen to them so you may catch any details on where he was and who he was killing.

Other times, you started finding things on your bed and desk that you were sure you didn't buy whenever you came back from a shore break on the Citidal.

A dark chocolate candy bar on your desk.

An apple on the table.

A shirt that's not quite your size, washed and folded on the bed.

A perfume that smells faintly familiar.

One handwritten letter you found, stabbed to the bedframe with an obsidian dagger.

"The legend of Shepard needs to be re-written.

I hope l'm there for the last chapter. It ends with your death."