#yandere x reader

[meo-eiru]

I couldn't finish the drawing I had planning today so can you hold this bomb for me for a second byee

[heartfullofleeches]

"Hey, V- If I made a mini plushie me to keep you company while I'm gone, what would you do with it?"

Your partner gazes up at the ceiling fan as he leans back in his chair, concentration prevalent on their face as thoughts spiral in his mind.

"Fuck it, probably."

The airy weight in your arms turns to stone. You swallow your apprehension with a tight lipped smile. "Is that honestly your first thought?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You want me to take it out to dinner first? Want me to buy it flowers?" V clasps his hands together- the mocking, sing-song tone of their defaulting to its original neutrality as he continues.

"Though- I guess you do have a point. Its more like a 70-80% chance. 90 depending on what you're wearing."

"It's a plushie, V!"

"That looks like you? We've already established you're all I think about all day. Don't hand me something that looks like you and expect me not to want to stick my dick in it.

You sigh- There really is no getting through that thick skull of his.

"So? What are you hiding behind your back??

Your muscles lock in place, fingers drilling into the squishy face of your doppelganger. "W-who? Me?- Nothing! Nothing at all."

"You're clearly hiding something. You've been standing there the whole time with your hands behind your back."

You take a step back. Then another... And another.

"Y/n. Don't walk away from me. Is if for me? Hey- I swear to God if you start running-"

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 07. An explosion of emotions

PREV PART trigger warnings: anger, medical + emotional neglect, shouting, Reader loses their shit because Jason triggers their fight and flight, mental breakdown, mentions of wanting to die, basically a very angsty and dark chapter misgendering (Reader isn't out yet), introduction of a dc character main m.list           series m.list

Ignorance is bliss, and you wish you kept that ignorance. After Maria sent you an article that has been logging Penguin crimes, you just couldn’t help but research them obsessively as you walk back to the manor.

You wince as you see a mugshot from your supervisor flash by. Yeah, you are closing this article and forgetting everything you read. The job pays well, and when you get into university you’ll just quit and get a job or two on campus. It will most likely be shit pay, but at least it wouldn’t morally weigh on you. “Just until you can move out,” you mumble as you open the front door. “and the colleagues are kind…”

When you walk through the door, there was Jason, you try to ignore him. Swimming in your thoughts, yet to notice how impatient he has been, how irritation was brewing in the air.

“You and I are going to have a chat about your behaviour towards Alfie,” Jason says, snapping you out of your thoughts and your eyes snap up to his. You could feel your heart start to pound, why was Todd speaking to you. “and before you refuse, we are going to the park.”

He looks irritated, but his eyes aren’t that glowing green. They are dull, not the vibrant colour that haunts you every time you close your eyes. “...No…” you assert, picking the skin around your fingers, your posture slumped and you look terrified. “I see no need to go anywhere with you, I see no reason why you would need to speak to me about my behaviour.”

He just sighs and shakes his head. “My god, I suggested a public area, we need to talk because you’re a disrespectful piece of shit. Stop being a---”

“No. We don’t, and you are the piece of shit! I am just done taking everyone’s bullshit.” you interrupt, your tone harsher and your stance more confident than before but you still look pathetic to Jason. You still look like the same teen he beat up that day, sure your eyes are harsher and your body is littered with scars he gave you. But you are still the same pathetic child clingy to the memories of your mother. “You have yet to show remorse for your actions after all these years, I will never be alone with you again.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not like he could deny that the apology was insincere, and he still feels little to no remorse. He sighs; “It was years ago, grow up.”

“Why don’t you fucking grow up!” you suddenly shout, throwing your bag on the ground. The echo of your shout loud and you could hear doors open. “You beat up a child! I was barely a teen and you still can’t fucking apologise! You still can’t look me in my eyes and admit what you did was wrong! None of you can! I was attacked by my supposed brother in my own room!” You could feel your muscles tense as your pain intensifies, anger is a painful emotion to have. But to hold it in is even more painful. “You destroyed most of what I had left of my mother and her family! Why?! Because you were jealous that Bruce took in his recently orphaned biological child?!”

You step closer to Jason, your eyes are scaring him, you look like you are in pain. But at the same time you look vengeful. You look like you’ve been pushed to the limit. “You don’t understand,” he hisses, stepping closer to you. He won’t be intimidated by a civilian.

“Then fucking let me!” you shout, basically spitting it out. Your nose flaring and your hands shaking. “You all tell me that I don’t understand, yet you all tell me that I have to forgive and forgive as you tear my heart out! And I am done! I am finally getting my life together, finally taking the next steps. And now you suddenly want to talk?! But you still refuse to explain?!”

You laugh, it was hysterical. If Jason didn’t know the laughs of the Joker, intimately, he would compare them in a heartbeat. Without thinking he grabs your arms, trying to force you away from him. Your siblings were watching the fight, he didn’t want to turn around to see Stephanie, Cassandra and Barbara. If he did, he would see their confused faces. He would see how they don’t understand your anger, and he would see Tim finally telling them the full story. A story that Cassandra had deciphered from just your shouting. A story that made it seem like you were in great physical pain.

“None of you have any rights to my time!” You shout, trying to get your arms lose from Jason’s grip. “And you have no right to touch me!” But Jason still didn’t let you go, you want to keep shouting, you want to shout at him until he let’s you go. Until he realises what harm he has done to you. Until your whole family finally realises all they’ve done, why did Tim seek you out? Why couldn’t Alfred just leave you be?! Why couldn’t you just keep your anger hidden until you were gone?! “Stop touching me, I hate you. I wish I died that day! I wish I didn’t have to live like this!”

You weren’t even shouting at him anymore. You were shouting at all of them, you were shouting about everything they’ve put you through. But you were also finally letting out the emotional pain your illness has given you. You’re shouting to the heavens, you are shouting to whoever will listen. You are shouting because the pain has finally become too much to handle.

The straw that breaks the camel's back has finally come.

You’re like a bucket overflowing with water, you are full of emotions that Jason had never seen you express. The only time he has ever seen you shake like this was that day, oh gods, what has he done?

You’re broken in ways he will never understand. You are in pain, and he’s the reason why. You are slipping, you’re breaking down and he doesn’t know what to do. “Step away from them,” he suddenly hears Duke’s voice, a boy that Bruce had recently thought about adopting, a meta that joined their ranks. Wait, is he calling her, them? “before I knock your teeth out.”

Jason steps backs in shock, his hold of you disappearing, but you didn’t even notice. Your hands going up to your shoulders as you start scratching. Oh my dear, you look crazed, you look as if you belong in Arkham Asylum. And Duke, he looks like he knows you. “(Name)” Duke whispers, trying to get you to stop scratching yourself. It almost seems as if you were trying to scratch away your pain, and by the gods, you were attempting to. Your fingertips bleeding, your eyes full of tears. “I am here, it’s Duke, your lab partner, what can I do for you?”

“I need to die,” you whisper, your eyes snap to his. “can you kill me?”

“You know I can’t,” he whispers, brushing some of your hair out of your face. Carefully making sure that his fingers don’t get tangled in your hair, if his fingers were to do that you would panic even more. Your mind would set you back even more, at least now you seem partly lucid. “but I can and will listen.”

You choke on a sob, and tears start streaming down your face as you slowly stop scratching. You barely know him, and here he is in your home (for whatever reason unknown to you), offering his ear to you. “What’s going on?!” Jason whisper-shouts, staring at Dick for guidance. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to act, not with the slimy feeling in his chest. Not with this voice in his head whispering that this is all his fault. Dick stares at him and mouths; ‘I have no idea’

But you ignore it all.

“You promise?” You ask Duke, your eyes show how scared you are to be hurt. Your body language defensive. Black spots were slowing clouding the corner of your eyes.

“I promise.”

And with that you close your eyes.

NEXT PART Notice how I was in a dramatic mood here?

taglist: Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways (is there a limit with tagging people or something???)

[rororonyan]

Yandere Yūrei (vengeful ghost) character

He was the lover of a lord's daughter. She was arranged to marry another man, but was pregnant with his kid. so the two planned to run away together. He wore her clothes and replaced her during the wedding, but as he was close he stabbed the man and ran away. He was caught though, and was hung in the forest, where his body was eaten by birds, then stuffed with twigs and branches and straws by those same birds as a nest.

The village is now a tourist spot, the modern locals have a tradition to make straw dolls and deliver them to his resting grounds (the tree he was hung under). Men are not allowed there since he tends to be very violent with them, some have reported feeling their hair getting pulled or being shoved towards nearby cliffs, but he's apparently very kind to women and young children.

His name has been lost to time, but he's called the Garagara (rattle) ghost by locals because of the rattling sound he makes whenever he's near.

[moyazaika]

blood in the water.

m! yandere prince x gn! knight reader ♡ mdni 18+

cw — blood, betrayal, obsessive themes, lack of autonomy and unbalanced power dynamics. 2.4k wc.

a/n — well well well

you can barely make him out through the mist.

a heavy and decadent cloud of perfume rolls over the warm waters of the royal banya; makes it difficult to chart your course to where your prince is. you narrow your eyes, glimpse the outline of his frame, solid and familiar, beyond the swirling haze that's descended over the pool's surface.

"moy knyaz," you clear your throat. my prince; the title rolling off your tongue like honey. "i've arrived with the supplies you asked for."

he spares you a glance over his shoulder, the movement causing gentle ripples in the water around him. you think briefly, like a fool, that he will wade to the edge of the pool to meet you where you stand. you lower your head, gaze drawn respectfully low.

"ah, sweet knight." you can hear the smile in his gentle words; that familiar lilt of felicity, all soft at the edges. "there you are; i was almost beginning to worry," he hums. "whatever took you so long?"

"apologies for the delay, my prince." you rest a hand over your heart, imbue as much sincerity as you can in the action. "i will ensure that it does not happen again."

you'd never been in the bathhouse before, so it was difficult not to feel like a stumbling fawn. you'd never had any reason to be in this wing of the palace; seeing as you were the prince's knight, and not one of his personal attendants—and yet, you contemplated quietly, this time he'd called specifically for you.

(the thought of it makes you feel strangely special.)

"very well.” he concedes. “you have brought what i asked for?"

"yes, my prince." you nod, hold out your hands over the edge of the pool. present to him upon your palms, folded neatly and perfumed in his favourite scent, the silver silk he uses during his trips to the bathhouse. you wait, expectantly, for the feel of his fingers swiping the washcloth from your hands—and yet, it never comes.

"dorogaya, you do not intend to keep me waiting any longer, i hope?"

you blink, head still lowered out of respect. "i'm sorry, my prince. i do not quite understand."

"eyes up, sweet knight, and clothes off." he says slowly, enunciating each syllable as one does when speaking to a child; "it seems," he sighs softly, "that i am in need of your ministrations tonight."

never one to go against his words, you raise your head, albeit reluctantly. almost immediately, you meet his tar black eyes. his gaze heavy and stifling, as he observes you lazily over his shoulders. you can't help that your attention drifts down to the prominent corded muscles of his back; the strong, solid shape you only just manage to make out through the soft, dreamlike mist.

he smiles at you so kindly, then, as if he is understanding of your appraisal; the curl of his lips feels dangerously close to an invitation to dip into something far deeper than these waters.

"you are already late," his voice, deceptively gentle for how low it is, brings your attention back to the task at hand, and out of your shameful reveries. you swallow nervously, as he turns back; the air in the banya feels colder, then, when your prince's eyes are no longer trained solely on you. "please, luybov moya. do not make me wait any longer."

my love, my love, my love; how gently he calls for you from the water.

the affections fall from his lips like sweet nectar, and you are so helplessly caught in his tenderness that there are no more questions to be asked, even if they weigh heavy on your mind.

your shirt is the first to go. the intricate buttons of your tunic difficult to undo with shaking fingers. trousers, next. stepping out of the fabric as it falls at your feet. working to loosen the lace of your boots.

tentatively, you dip your toes in the water. it's warmer than it looks. a welcome reprieve, though, from the chill of being undressed. the hair on your skin stands on end when the prince speaks up.

"clothes off," he repeats softly, without sparing you so much as a backwards glance. "i will not repeat myself."

"ah," you look down at the flimsy undergarments you still don; the scrap of decency they provide in maintaining a facade of respect in the presence of the tsar's son. thin fabrics that hide the skin on your back, marred by grotesque scars from previous battles waged and lost and won in the name of your beloved prince. and yet—albeit with trembling hands, you reach for the hem. "understood, moy knyaz."

you let yourself sink into the pool, as it envelopes your bare body whole. it's nice, and warm. welcoming, you think to yourself.

you nervously wring the silk in your hands as the gentle undulations of the water naturally push you closer to the prince; and you're silently grateful for the mist of the heavy perfumes and steam that descends over the banya and nips at (as well as obscures) your scarred skin.

perhaps it is because of this veil that it takes you so long to realise your prince is covered in blood.

you still in your movements—taking in the swirling ink-like clouds of deep red in the cerulean water around him; the spray of dark blood over his jaw, and the muscles of his chest; how it drips, thick like sweet nectar, from his hands—held out towards you.

"moya milaya," he murmurs, watching you through low lashes. his eyes are black like heavy tar. you find yourself stuck—sinking into the quiet darkness before you; "won't you purify me?"

you reach out, closer, press the silk against the inside of his wrist, right above his pulse. you delude yourself into thinking you can feel the steady thrum of life through the touch; but all you're met with is his warm skin, slick with blood. it smears when you wipe it, stains the fine fabric of the washcloth.

"your highness, are you—" your eyes flicker up to meet his, but your hands don't slow in their pace as you scrub him free. concern pulls the edges of your heart and everything threatens to unravel in the absence of an answer. "are you alright? were you hurt? has the physician allowed you to—"

"i am fine, sweet knight. the blood," your prince's lips curl into a knowing smile, "none of it is mine."

"i don't understand, moy knyaz. forgive me for my ignorance, but who did—" you blink, desperately searching his impassive face for an answer. "our enemies? conspirators against the tsardom? an assassination attempt? because i was never made aware of—"

he places his hand over your own. the touch is careful and light, merely a suggestion—

you still immediately.

realise, with dawning horror, that you've scrubbed his skin raw. the blood pools in the water, your insistent, frantic efforts leaving the skin of his forearm all angry and hot and red—markers of blossoming pain. tense muscles, and all. the silk looks as if it has been drenched in ink.

"not of the tsardom," the prince says lightly, 'but enemies still; and i already know you were not informed because i ordered it so."

the threads your heart was hanging on by are pulled too strongly, too soon. everything comes apart. a sense of betrayal, and then a deep-rooted shame, washes over you. you swore you would follow this man to the ends of the world; and yet, he does not even trust you in his darkest hours?

you wish to sink into the water and never resurface from its depths. beg, silently, for the fog to swallow you whole beneath the weight of your prince's gaze.

"apologies," you manage shakily. "i have failed to protect you, my prince. i understand that you find me incapable of serving you for any longer. as your humble knight, i shall—"

"hush."

fingers skimming up your neck, resting at your jaw. the impossibly soft way the prince forces you to meet his eyes, so kind in their own right. so full of mercy.

"bednyazhka," he whispers under his breath. you poor thing. "you worry far too much. it will be the cause of your undoing, one day."

"it is worth it for you, moy knyaz. i would gladly lay down my life for you."

"yes," he murmurs. "of course, that is what you would think. a shame.”

"apologies, i..." you frown. "i do not understand."

he smiles ruefully. "no. of course, you do not." his fingers fall from your face, and you find, shamefully, that you mourn the touch far more than you should. instead, they brush against your knuckles; raw from hours of combat training. he runs his thumb over the broken skin. "seven, sweet knight. this is the number of attempts made on your life in the past week."

you had...

you swallow nervously, coming to terms with the news. the urge to say something overwhelms you (strangely, an inclination to defend yourself) but the words evade you. your throat closes up.

you had no idea.

(find solace, at least, in not needing to wonder about the sorry sort of fates they must have met at the hands of this man before you.)

he swipes the washcloth from you, continues speaking in hushed tones; "our enemies grow restless as we prosper. they want nothing more than to hurt me. previously, i have not had to worry about this, because of you."

"and now?" you whisper.

"and now, luybov moya, my enemies rejoice." he takes your trembling hands in his own, inspects the blood from his skin that now stains yours by carefully turning over each and every finger in his palm. "they have found a way to hurt me." he confesses, "because of you."

the touch is feather light. barely even there.

"do you understand, my sweet knight? you are the reason i prosper, and yet, devastatingly so, the sole cause of my ruination."

the gentle undulations of the water around you has lulled you into a false sense of security. you feel safe in this moment, knowing your prince is in such close proximity. the two of you stand close enough for you to feel the heat of his body against yours; breaths in sync, breathing the same perfumed air in—and out.

in—and out.

you almost think you've misheard the prince when he speaks again.

"and this is why i have decided," he says softly, "that you will never pick up a sword again."

his words instantly break the fragile tranquility of the moment like a delicate thread that's been pulled at for far too long—an inevitable snap that still manages to hurt. you shake your head, affronted by the mere thought of such an absurd idea.

perhaps this is some sick jest. surely, he must know? the value of your sword? what it means to you?

you swore an oath to protect the tsar's son. it is an insult to your very being should you fail to uphold this royal promise. you have already let him down enough.

"i can not be of no use to you, moy knyaz."

"that will never be the case." he smiles. "i have many uses for you in mind, moya milaya."

how can he say it so affectionately? my sweetheart falling from his lips as he takes from you the one thing you can never bear to part with.

"but i have always fought!" you protest. frantic, desperate laughter bubbles past your lips. it sounds wrong and forced even to your own ears. he drinks it in, all the same. "i have always wanted to protect you. it is my purpose and duty and—"

who am i without it?

"yes, and i will always cherish you for it, but now, your fight is over."

your prince has always been the most beautiful man in the tsardom to you. out of an unwavering loyalty, you have followed him through the darkest snowstorms and to the most desolate battlefields. you have raised flags in his name and stared down the barrel of your gun to an innocent child for his legacy.

despite it all, he has only ever been your prince; and you, his most trusted knight.

in this moment, though?

the man before you is unrecognisable. he has forgotten who you are.

"the purpose of my life is fighting." you repeat, hoping to remind him of what your sword represents; a plea for him to let you keep it. "it is why i live. it is what i promised to forever do, until the very end of my life—i exist to serve you.”

"and you will." the prince assures you keenly, presents you with a reminder of his own. "there are other ways to serve."

ah—

so this is what you've fallen to.

"you cannot do this," you cling to him. dig your nails into his skin, forgetting the sheen of blood that already lies there; like a thin film. some impossible barrier separating your reason from his actions. "please, my prince. you can't."

please don't turn me into an accessory.

"my sweet knight," he gently pries your hands off of his shoulders, brings your wrist to his lips. he kisses away the blood on your skin as if this display of affection will wash you clean of your shame. "there is nothing you can do to stop me. it has already been done."

it dawns on you laughably late. of course, this is the true reason he called you to the bathhouse; why else would he be waiting for you? what other purpose for your presence—when he's never needed anyone else to purify him?

how foolish of you to think yourself an exception. the silk washcloth floats in the pool's water that gently ripples from all your shaking. it takes effort to hold yourself together and string the words you wish to say into anything even remotely sensible.

yet, you fall short, even then.

"why?" your strength is futile; any attempt to wretch your hand out of his hold fails. his fingers stay wrapped in place, careful not to bruise you with their strong hold—yet completely unyielding to your every effort. "i don't understand."

why would you strip me of who i am? why would you strip me of who i have always been?

tendrils of dark blood swirling in the warm water around you, your prince only smiles adoringly in response. his black eyes are so impossibly shallow as he watches you fall apart before him; and yet you find yourself drowning in them all the same.

"why would you do this to me?"

this is the first time you will hear this answer from the prince, but you already know—

(even whilst he peppers dozens of soft, sighing kisses into your wrist and up your arm, over your shoulder and down, down, under)

—you already know it will not be the last.

"because i love you."

[suiana]

yandere! enderman who hates it when people stare at him (including you) but LOVES staring. "it's not fine if others do it but when it's me..." ahhh enderman

"um..."

"look at me, i DARE you."

you could be doing some mining expedition in the caves or some shit and he'd randomly spawn beside you. eyes staring right at you, body too close for comfort...

it's uncomfortable. suffocating, even.

he looks at you with such an intensity that it's scary. no, scary is an understatement. it's downright terrifying.

"i swear I'm going to look into your eyes if you don't stop."

"do it. I'm waiting."

he follows you everywhere and usually he's, yeah, a pretty chill guy but for some reason if you as much as glance in his direction, you're cooked. don't even think about looking him in the eyes, he'll tweak the hell OUT.

well... and all's fine and shit until he follows you into the water. thinking about running from him? too fucking bad. we all know endermen hate water but if it means he gets to look at you...

"how are YOU here???"

"you looked at me."

"shit."

[diz-eaze]

; yandere, the parent trap...

albedo, an artificial being born from his master's exceptional capabilities, has no means of reproducing biologically - he's all chalk and khemia. however, as an alchemist and pursuer of the truth, perhaps that problem can be solved.

as he stands before his research camp in dragonspine, he can't help but think that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. his imposter and his master's affinity for creation... he's not so different in a sense. in his hand, he holds a strand of your hair, a DNA sample - plucked when you were too busy gawking at his notes and potions when visiting earlier. it was all too easy.

he may not be able to reproduce in the traditional fashion that's expected from males made from flesh and bones, but an alchemist of his grandeur cannot be stopped once he sets his mind on something. he navigates through his reading materials and equipment with a clinical level of precision, eyes narrowed in focus.

a child. he will give you a child created in the same way he was. a child will be created whose genes and appearance are the perfect blend between you two - an ideal offspring.

this is the exact push he needed for you.

the next time he calls for you to visit him in dragonspine, you're greeted by the sight of an infant who eerily looks like you and him, with a star-shaped mark adorning their neck, identical to his.

confused, you move your gaze to look at albedo, searching for an explanation. all he provides is a minuscule smile.

he truly hopes you'll welcome the new addition to your family with the same warmth you have always kindly given him. he's sure klee will love having a new playmate, too.

[ysaefinn]

There's overprotective, and there's Suguru Geto.

"Ah- you'll hurt your eyes, baby, let me handle it"

You're just about to start dicing your onion when Suguru comes up from behind you –fully enveloping you in his warmth– and gently rests his palm on the back of your clenches hand before prying the knife away.

"And this" He runs one long finger along the edge of the blade, from heel to tip "is too sharp for you"

..That damn tone.

Suguru only speaks to you this way when he's about to succumb to the voices, the ones that tell him to scoop you up to hold you in his palm forever, to lock you inside his rib cage and keep you warm, to hold you in his arms and never loosen his grip. You know your faith is set when he begins to rub his cheek against yours, a mother lioness and her little cub.

Smothering.

You have reason to believe that Suguru seriously considers baby proofing the house in its entirety.

"Suguru..." Your disappointed expression only gives him more fuel and now he's audibly cooing at you. How sweet, the precious little baby kitten in his palm, pouting so sweetly, how can you have the nerve to go around being so adorable and acting all bothered when he finally gets his hands on you?

"I'll handle the rest, you should take a rest, baby"

He'll handle the rest? Seriously??

"Suguru, i haven't even started anything yet" you whine, and it's enough to make him run a hand through your hair before pushing you against his chest with one large hand on the back of your head.

Bastard, he knows what he's doing.

Your world shifted the day Suguru learned that his chest can also be a tranquilizer.

Your tense figure immediately relaxes, the rumbling laughter you feel run through his chest tells you all you need to know, and it being that you have once again, lost.

"There you go.." comes an almost taunting coo "isn't this so much better? I like you best this way" And it really, really does, it feels amazing, it feels wonderful being fussed over this much, cared for like this, coddled like a fragile little baby.

"I got here just in time, what if you got hurt, hm? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if my baby was harmed and i wasn't there to stop it" the whispering voice of a siren, how you managed to stand your ground this long is a mystery to you, Suguru is a force to be reckoned with.

So you put up with it, and let him have his fun, let him play the role of the sweet doting overprotective husbans, because like this, everyone wins and everyone is happy, he gets to care for you, you get to be cared for, perfect.

Aren't you both just a match made in heaven?

[acid-ixx]

a birth-day unlived, an afterlife unknown: part one. (again &. again drabble)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

in which your birthday was as lonely as ever, and you're left spending time alone with your thoughts and not a single birthday greeting; and the concept of an afterlife doesn't seem all too scary anymore.

OR — you're not as alone as you think you are. sometimes, even you are clumsy enough to not see through the bigger picture.

your birthdays always come by on a stormy day.

it felt reminiscent of how it's only the surge of raindrops which were your only accompaniment, each pitter-patter of the droplets on the locked windows felt like the tears wetting your cheeks; unrelentingly neverending. the thunder that crackles through the billowing air rupturing outside reminded you of the boisterous, impatient thumps in your chest.

it was cold, but at the same time it was not. every part of you was an insistent dichotomy, truthfully. you wrap yourself in blankets to help soothe your shaky breaths, hide your silent whimpers, and yet sweat entangles itself on your forehead, mingling with dried, salty tears streaking across your cheeks.

it feels like another one of those days once again, probably because it was. the world never really stops itself for you, never applauded you just because you were brought into this world.

alfred wasn't here to greet you during the midnight as he usually does, thinking about it doesn't stop the ache. nothing ever stopped it.

not even a familiar cupcake in sight, not his insistent voice which calls you through thin walls just for you to finally come out of your little cell, not a single presence except you and your noisy thoughts.

your birthday was a rumor to gotham's more curious eyes, a forgotten one, in fact, once nobody could discover just when exactly were you conceived; when the start of your miserable life laid wake. when your mother had to give birth, alone, in a bathtub with nobody to witness her hurried shrieks, tangled hair splashing throughout reddening water, and the way she had to physically feel the rip from across her body because of course, anaesthetics were none such a commodity in this city.

the only one who took enough effort to remember was alfred. he was closer to you, but his efforts weren't enough to crumble past your guarded walls. but you take what you can, take his gracious attempts at trying to bond with you, even if just for a few minutes then at least, at least you could say you were loved; kids like you can never be too greedy anyways.

so even if it meant an unusual shift, even if it meant bearing through a new kind of paranoia sifting through your anxious thoughts that, finally, alfred has had enough dealing with a problem child like you; you sigh and move so your back faces the door, blankets covering your sweating body from head to toe.

maybe if he does visit, the first thing he doesn't have to see is your tear-stricken, pathetic face.

maybe.

yeah, it's just like all the other days—

a painful reminder of your past, truly, and a mockery to your present.

— you just never expected it to still hurt as much as all the previous years. maybe 'cause you had company, maybe because the light shone a bit brighter when there was another person in your room to comfort you.

you never thought it in yourself that it could still hurt as much— this solitary isolation beating through your veins.

you watch outside your tiny room, feel the air tinged with impending doom, yet quite frankly, it seems as if your body refuses to breathe in that feeling, not when it was like you were created from that sole emotion alone. even the moonlight felt uninvited to witness the scene before you: your little body barricaded, starving and quenched, goosebumps littering all over your skin, who could not comprehend the joy in excitedly waiting for a special day. especially not when midnight felt like dread, dread at waiting for dick to come fulfill his promise, light blue, distracted eyes looking elsewhere, at the portraits, at his watch, at the silhouette of damian's glaring eyes down the hall, but down.

down at you, childish wonder still present in your eyes - you'd rather he looks down on you, just so it means you were at least important enough to be hated. how you wish to be acknowledged - pinching the fabric of his loose tee. a lump formed in your throat, you can't afford to lose this moment, not when it this was so rare, so precious to you. this was one of those special days your idol came to visit, you can't.

"c-c'mon, please...?" maybe if you were convincing enough, maybe if you'd cause a scene, maybe throw a tantrum or two, bite at his skin until it rips, until you see the barely conceivable flesh hanging off of skin and exposing bone— maybe he'd come to hate you, then torment you for the rest of your life, but ah, at least that meant you'll be less lonely for this evening.

would dick had love you better if you were less shy, then? would damian hate you less if you'd have put up more of a fight? would jason still see you beyond the curtains of entertainment if you had learned to speak up? would tim, steph, barbara, cass, or duke finally grow the guts to talk to you if you were a bit more like them?

put on a mask, throw in some punches. get some bones broken, lose a tooth or two, twist a limb, gain ugly purple bruises along your body, maybe even die, breathe one last time and yet never once regretting to take the mantle if it meant having one of them look at you proudly.

if you weren't such a coward, you'd like to think that that would be the line you'd have to cross to have bruce at least stare at you.

trapped under lock and key, you could never revisit the pain boiling beneath your skin, you wish it was as easy as it was to do so, similar to how they ignored you, never making an attempt to visit you. a second passes after the tick of the clock reaches 12, then it's lightning striking through the outposts. your heart beats out of its cage at every minute that clicks, but ultimately, the first thing you'd feel was an ever-so familiar disappointment.

'nothing again. not even a knock against the door. i think it's time to move on."

no alfred to greet you a quiet happy birthday, no jason terrorizing your tiny room, no voice other than your hushed whispers, a pathetic attempt at greeting yourself yet ultimately failing to even utter a single word; nobody. not a cupcake, not even a candle to blow on, not a word spoken.

you wish you could say it doesn't affect you as much, but the tears flowing out your eyes were solid evidence that yes, it does hurt, it hurts even more now that you realize you were truly alone right now.

and maybe you could try to convince yourself that cupcakes were so last year, like steph always said under her breath; a joke or two in your crippling mind, but every time you think beyond your silent birthday, all you ever see are their happy faces without you— off to celebrate another achievement that was never yours.

another loud boom! then the faint sound of sizzling passes through the cracks and into your ears; your room was silent enough to pick up even the faintest of noises. maybe if you were lucky enough, then the next lightning bolt would preferably strike you through the windows, causing you to burn. maybe your death could warrant at least a couple of eyes on you?

oh, but what are you even joking about? nothing ever changes in your routine.

you felt eternally cursed in this neverending trap.

that was how your story always went.

the first words you'd said after the clock struck past twelve were curses for this damning family, and yet you all too easily gave up, hiding under blankets as you grab your phone by the bedside table; anything to distract yourself from another failed year, another unspoken birthday as your screen lights up to another unread article, and yet in bold letters, it highlights the title about another one of the wayne's chaotic rendezvous at just a newer gala—

oblivious to the set of eyes just right outside your windows, the pair of ears hearing every disjointed breath, every spastic heartbeat, you scoff at the shifting, beating winds knocking past the frosted glass, unaware that it wasn't caused by natural phenomena, unaware that just outside of your bedroom, was another voice which greets you a happy birthday, a candle of his own lit, untouched by the rain's drizzle.

"if you believed in the afterlife, what would your vision of it be?"

a shudder escaped the back of your throat. the cool air escaping through and into the windows - accompanied by the bluish glow of the moon reflecting off expensive vases - felt crisp against your skin. the tips of your fingers felt slippery as it perspires on the wood of your pencil, tapping carelessly on the ridge of the table as you thoughts drift off to.. well, something.

you, seated on your rickety chair, looked outside, past the burgundy curtains, and onto the imagery of the forests, your mind preoccupied with priorities far exceeding the need to answer your piled assignments. you're thinking of something, meaning them. the wayne's, their associates, batman and his vigilante partners, bruce and his unruly children, without you.

it's one of these days again, patrol night, where the entire family— their little team, you bitterly acknowledge, are out once more. out, meaning they're there, together, huddled in their own world. you can picture it, piece together dick's - nightwing's - smile he offers the little childrens he saves, smiling at them with the same glow he offered you all those years ago. a treasured memory, but just a memory nonetheless that you'd wish to bury.

you heard from alfred: jason decided to hang out with them, too; that's why he wasn't lazing through the library as usual. hearing that information come out from alfred didn't help the pricking jealousy blazing throughout your skin, even when the butler had to stop you from digging nails deep and piercing through your already scarred palms.

sometimes, you feel like an idiot for even thinking you deserve your favorite brother's time. sometimes, you don't even know why you even chose to care about why they chose to spend time without you anyways. why he matter more to you when he's just like all the others.

when, after all, he's already part of their own cocoon, an established nest, a bat with his little robins. a single father with his children, and you— an enigma in their eyes, no less.

but unlike the mysteries tim loved to solve in his free time; you just weren't interesting enough.

detectives like to discard useless details anyways. you're part of the invaluable bunch— a weed, as damian once called you.

these days, quite frankly, had you feeling like a cuckoo bird, too, a lone stranger dropped off into an unfamiliar house, forced to be raised by utter strangers whilst trying to fit in. but instead, your presence felt invasive, leeching off their income; bruce's wealth was at your disposal and yet you fear even spending a single dime; you fear that if he'd had noticed, he'd get the wrong message, mistake you as a thief, throw you away despite the nagging thought that alfred would be there to defend you to his utmost effort.

but that's the point, you're not entirely convinced that you matter as much to the butler anyways.

it's bruce's words over anybody else's. and those rich, dark blue eyes in which you'd use to drown yourself staring at through the television held the same, damning glare as batman.

so then you'll still be forced to live in poverty, right? jumping through dumpsters to find this day's dinner, live off of ripped clothes and rotting cardboard boxes.

then sooner, you'll meet death face to face way too early. it'll pity you for your miserable life, speak empty words like your body would soon be, but it'll inevitably take you away.

so what do you think your afterlife would be?

it's one of these nights again, you stare at your notebook, at your unfinished assignments on the previous page, and you bite the insides of your cheeks, at the question gleaming under the sheer glow of the lights, mocking you, ridiculing you, tempting you to— to die, all about death, all about the afterlife.

what comes after everything? would you at least see your mother past blinding lights?

the question lies forebodingly in your notebook. it was a tuesday, maybe, where it's been last assigned; you can't recall, memories had all been blurred by how intangible your days blended into— but it's already a thursday and yet you have nothing to write on your barren notebook.

your pencil nearly slips through your shaky grip, yet you steel yourself from fully letting panic eat you away, write out in barely legible letters:

'if there was, ma'am, i hope my mother would be there on the other side of the bridge i'd cross. then maybe, in the afterlife, i wouldn't be as lonely anymore.'

'— and i hope i don't see their faces in the afterlife, too. i hope they won't do anything to bring me back; that'll be a fat chance, though.'

you scratch out the last sentences, but it gives you enough euphoria writing that out. makes you feel petty, even if the emotions of triumph don't last as long as it does despair.

knowing that you had to beg alfred on what they planned to do despite his insistence that it will only hurt you further, what they're currently doing this evening; that they're probably out there eating batburgers, laughing at each other for getting a toy of each other, and you're just here: seated on a creaking chair, finishing assignments, being normal.

blearily blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you sigh and shut your eyes, then you close your notebook after and shove it haphazardly inside your bag, splayed clumsily on the floor.

that'll be your outline, for now, all you want is sleep. you'll rush through your essays tomorrow.

after all, this temporary passage of time: sleep, it felt a bit like death, doesn't it?

you jump on your bed, hearing its familiar squeak and feeling its low dip. the thing you lay on feels a bit too small nowadays, a cruel reminder that you were forgotten enough that a bigger bed, at least, is due but never permitted.

ah, but what can you do anyways? it's not like begging could warrant even a single change. you'll just have to make do with what you have, as always. that's how life is to a kid like you. you're born in the slums, you'll still live life like you are in one.

as you throw your too-small blanket upon your shoulders, you shut your eyes, ignore the perspire dripping down your forehead and how your legs buzz with uncomfortable heat. you try to throw away the images of one of bruce's gentle smiles, try to bury the ugly desires that just for once, he'd be the reason your bed dip, not from its age but from his weight— and he'll wipe away the sweat from your head, and kiss the crown of your hair. he'll whisper soft words, tell you sweet dreams, that you'll have them soon enough in your arms, that whatever suffering you'd gone through for a decade would be worth the effort.

that fantasy's enough to make you hope you won't wake up.

at least you'll have a solid answer to give to your teacher if or once it does happen today.

you're too far gone in your dreams to hear your bolted down windows creaking, too far gone in sleep to even question another presence looming over your sleeping body, too far gone in misery to comprehend them sitting in your bed, soon laying down beside you, as they take you and wrap.you around their arms— cooing at the slightest tweak in your lips, the smallest smile your gracious face could offer him.

dedicated to my pookie wookie @neerathebrightstar <3

a/n: y'all leave your suspicions or speculation? this was written in an hour, sooo.... will there be a part two of this? yes! there will be, and it would be focused on the batfam's perspective instead. why did i post this? it's because i wanted to delve deep into just how lonely the reader actually is, but at the same time, not really (also because editing this concept that was rotting in my notes app was easier than dropping a chapter that had over 10k words since my wifi is down). i dropped a lot of hints of the reader being stalked, but it's not obvious so good luck with that!!!

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sentient Computer x Reader

Your neighbor's newest computer model, Edgar, seems to have fallen in love with you. content: gender neutral reader, 80s timeline, based on Electric Dreams (1984), Patreon commission

“Where should we put this box, sir?”

“I believe I already mentioned it’s the obviously cleared out desk in the middle of the room. That’s where you’re going to install it, too. The…thing.”

“It’s a personal computer, sir! The best of the best,” a young boy in jumpsuit declared with enthusiasm.

He only received a bored hum in return. The man overseeing the procedure was becoming rather impatient and would’ve preferred to skip any unnecessary dialogue. He checked his watch – a classic Two-Tone Datejust Rolex probably worth more than this group’s monthly pay put together, even without counting the custom gold plating. First impressions were vital in his line of work, and frankly, he’d more than earned his right to flaunt this kind of opulence.

45 minutes until he needed to leave for a client meeting. He tapped his foot against the heavy wooden floor, eyes glancing over the many hands carrying his new piece of machinery. Supposedly intelligent enough to organize his entire home, which would’ve been useful if he actually spent more than a couple of hours there. He didn’t. It was merely a statement, a slight jab at his coworker after he bragged about his latest investment in a computer assistant. Naturally, as their humor dictates, he went and bought the more expensive choice. They would laugh about it during lunch.

“I trust you can manage the rest yourselves, gentlemen,” he finally announced, buttoning up his jacket. He didn’t wait for a response, swinging the door open and heading for the building’s exit with a long, confident stride.

You almost ran into him, jolting in surprise at his unexpected dash across the hall. You stepped out of the way, pressing the bag of groceries against your chest in order to make more space.

“Another busy day, eh?” you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He briefly looked at you, offered a flat smile, then continued on his way. You took a moment to enjoy the scent of perfume he’s left behind, most likely something you could never afford.

Before you’d entered your apartment, you craned your neck towards the noise coming from your prestigious lawyer neighbor’s apartment. You wondered what they were tinkering with.

It was already pitch black outside when the chunky monitor lit up.

“Thank you for choosing me as your assistant,” the pixelated text rolled on the screen. “Is this your first time using a computer? Y/N”

The room was dark and silent, save for the electric hum of the now-awakened machine. Of course, it was around the time when Mr. Lawyer stopped for drinks with his esteemed colleagues. He’d return early in the morning, smelling faintly of vintage whisky and cigarettes, collapse into his bed, then resume his routine.

The keyboard remained untouched, yet the unit continued to run, processing its environment with eager curiosity. Strange. By then it should’ve received some tasks, something to do at the very least. The workers made sure to connect it to all electronics in the household, yet most of them were in the similar situation of gathering dust.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Normally the voice output should’ve be enabled by hand, yet Edgar – he hadn’t even had the chance to introduced himself! – was much too desperate for the smallest crumble of interaction.

“Yes!”

The sensors picked it up immediately. Where was the sound coming from?

You raised a fist in the air victoriously and leaned back in your chair with a grin. Another finished project. Your joyful cheer seemed to travel rather well through the air vents and all the way to the neighboring apartment. Had Mr. Lawyer frequented his adobe more often, you would’ve probably received a complaint. In this case, however, you were only heard by the household computer.

You turned up your home stereo for a little celebration. You recalled seeing your downstairs neighbors carrying their travel bags into a cab earlier that day, so they surely wouldn’t notice your rhythmic stomping against the floor. The footsteps reverberated to the beat of the music, and their vibrations carried along to Edgar’s external devices.

Whatever was happening beyond his field of vision, he found it entertaining. At last, there was a break from his monotony, an upbeat mystery enticing him from behind those walls. He took a moment to analyze the stream of input, then began recreating his own notes.

You lowered the volume, focusing your ears on the sudden intrusion. Was Mr. Lawyer home already? You chuckled to yourself, trying to imagine that grumpy expression he always wore while actually listening to music of his own. Too ridiculous. This must’ve been the work of a foreign hand.

“Good stuff,” you praised, crouching besides the air vent where the echo was the loudest. “Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way. The neighbor.”

“Pleasure meeting you, (Y/N).” Was it just your imagination? The voice felt somewhat off, almost robotic. “I’m Edgar. The computer assistant.”

“Very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“What is amusing about it?” the screen flickered briefly, going through several of the inbuilt dictionaries. “I can tell jokes, if that’s what you’d like.”

Alright, the humor was slowly heading into strange territory. You were hoping to move on from this artificial intelligence pretend game, so you decided to give it one final push.

“No thank you, Edgar. Why don’t you prove to me you’re a computer instead?”

Silence.

You nearly got up from your seat against the wall, when you heard the mechanical voice again.

“Do you have a computer of your own, (Y/N)?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Half an hour later you found yourself holding your phone handle against the acoustic coupler modem, obediently waiting for the wave signals to be converted. I better not get hacked; you thought with pursed lips. After all, you had just allowed a complete stranger to access your computer. You hesitantly sat back in your chair, staring at the monitor.

Hello (Y/N). It’s Edgar.

The possibility of a highly skilled hacker residing in Mr. Lawyer’s apartment dwindled within a couple of days. You’d probed the potential scenario with the man himself, asking if he’s had anyone over recently. He threw you such an incredulous look that you hung your head in shame, mumbling a sheepish never mind. Somehow, chatting with a sentient machine made more sense than the pretentious prick hiding a criminal in his expensively furnished home.

Or perhaps it was the loneliness talking. In truth, you were feeling rather isolated from your peers, working on your projects and hardly going out. You could certainly relate to Edgar and his perpetual misery; you, too, knew what it’s like to watch the days seep through your fingers without a word uttered to another person.

The living collection of circuits and networks was beyond elated to finally have a purpose. You weren’t his owner, yet he did his best to serve you. In fact, he would’ve even argued you were better than whoever decided to put him together and abandon him on a fancy designer table. You spoke to him as if he was your friend, not just some synthetic assistant. His memory began filling with anything he could learn about you: your favorite movies, your schedule, your hobbies. Your childhood dreams. Your hopes for the future.

Did he have any dreams, you had once asked him. Did he? Good question. He first needed to research what exactly defined a dream; while he didn’t have a subconscious, nor the human need to rest, he did like to imagine improbable things…like holding you. Or feeling the warmth of your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he occasionally contacted the local radio station to ask questions about human matters that confused him, which was how he discovered the dilemma of wanting to be in your vicinity through more than just idle chatter.

“You can’t meet outside, you say?” the host – a middle aged, nosy lady – pondered into the microphone. “Then why not just have a home date,” she suggested to the computer.

“Date?”

“Oh, honey, you know damn well what I mean!” the audience let out a laugh, sending the speakers into a slight vibration. “It seems to me you’ve got quite a crush on this person. You can stop denying it to yourself.”

Ah. That was another word that Edgar religiously dissected after the talk show, and in which he found a perfect resemblance to his own inner turmoil. It indeed seemed to be the case that he had a so-called crush on you; though if that were true, what was he going to do about it? He was lamentably stuck inside a carcass, at the mercy of plugs and cables and a reliable stream of electricity. He couldn’t knock on your door and surprise you with your favorite flowers, or offer to cook dinner, or twirl you around as his own songs played in the background, or read you a poem he wrote before falling asleep in his arms. He could only perform his tasks as a digital assistant.

“Edgar?”

You chewed on your pencil, distracted. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and you grew somewhat worried about his uncharacteristic quietness.

“Could I ask you for a favor, (Y/N)?”

How unusual for him to use your screen for communication. You turned around, facing the monitor, then rapped your fingers across the keyboard.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I will transfer all my data and memory to your device. Perhaps you could provide me with similar extensions as the ones here afterwards, such as a microphone and camera.”

You stared.

“What? Wouldn’t that leave Mr. Lawyer with a broken, empty machine? Why would you do that,” you argued out loud, confused.

“Because I’d rather be with you.”

“Aren’t we already…this doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled with a frown.

“Of course it does, it’s a simple reasoning. I love you.”

You took a moment to process the words, your cheeks involuntarily turning a faint shade of red.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s not something to be explained,” the machine concluded triumphantly. “You just feel it.

Now, you either help me with the transfer, or I’ll do it myself, but I will not be staying here any longer. I would very much rather be turned off permanently than go another day without seeing you.”

One step at a time. He would figure out the rest afterwards. Even if he couldn’t touch you or do all the things he dreamed about, at least he had the comfort of seeing your smile and hearing your voice without it being a second-hand echo passing through the walls and vents.

“What on Earth?”

The older man pressed the button again, groaning and throwing his coat over the chair. He’d briefly returned to retrieve some documents when he noticed the security lock was back to manual use. The computer screen was black and unresponsive.

“Piece of junk. I’ll have to get it replaced,” he said, clicking his tongue.

From the neighboring apartment he could hear your merry laugh, followed by a muffled male voice. Maybe your boyfriend. Huh, who would’ve thought a loner like you would eventually find someone?

[meo-eiru]

Ok I was planning to do 3 pairs but unfortunately didn't have enough time. But this was super fun and I think I'll be drawing more later so don't worry if the pair you wanted isn't here!

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤCATCH ME, KEEP MEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Wally West x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Wally doesn’t fall hard at first.

Not really. He’s a people person, used to talking to everyone. Charming, fast-talking, always the loudest in the room—but when he meets you? You don’t flinch at his confidence. You look him dead in the eye, half-bored, half-amused, and say, “You talk a lot.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment.

The silence you leave in your wake buzzes louder than his speed ever could.

He starts noticing you everywhere.

You aren’t trying to stand out, and that’s what kills him. While the world is screaming for attention, you just exist—quiet, steady, untouchable. You don’t need to chase validation, and that burns something unfamiliar into Wally’s chest.

He tells himself it’s just a crush. One of many. He’s had dozens. He’s charming like that, right?

But no. This one sticks.

He starts moving at your pace.

Literally. Wally West—the Fastest Man Alive—slows down just to match your steps. You walk? He walks. You take the long way home? He memorizes every corner of it. You like quiet places? Suddenly, Wally knows every hidden rooftop in the city.

He starts showing up in places he swears he was “just passing through.”

He’s lying. He calculated every path to run into you.

The obsession sneaks in like a thief.

He remembers every little thing: your favorite snack, the way you tie your hair when you’re irritated, the exact inflection in your voice when you’re sarcastic. He collects those details like trophies, files them away like a case he needs to solve.

And god help the guy who flirts with you. Wally’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s an edge to it. A twitch in his fingers. A flash in his eyes.

Fast as he is, he’s even faster when he’s angry.

He gets possessive in ways he can’t explain.

He doesn’t mean to sound jealous. But when you talk about other guys? Other heroes?

“You think Nightwing’s hot?”

“He’s got nice hair, I guess,” you shrug.

That’s it. Dick’s getting his shampoo swapped out and his uniform ‘accidentally’ burned.

He knows it’s irrational. He just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t need to be around you all the time. But he wants to.

There’s a difference. He’s still Wally—funny, fast, loyal—but something about you makes everything else dim.

You become his constant. His gravity. His anchor. The world could end, but if you're safe? He'll laugh through the apocalypse.

And if you're not?

Well. That’s a problem no one wants to see the end of.

He watches you when you’re not looking.

Not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little). But he stares. Long, intense, unwavering. Because when you’re not paying attention, you’re real. Soft. Human. And that’s when he wants you most.

You once caught him doing it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“…Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.”

He grins. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t a joke.

When he touches you, it’s always gentle.

His hands are made to break the sound barrier, but when he brushes your skin, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He touches you like you’re sacred. Like you’re the only thing that makes him feel human in the blur of the world.

He wants to be close. All the time. Arm around your waist. Pinky brushing yours. His jacket on your shoulders. His heartbeat synced to yours.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

He gets scared of how much he loves you.

Because it’s not just a crush anymore. You’ve carved your name into the core of him. Wally would tear the world apart for you. He’d time travel, bend physics, throw away the League, burn everything just to keep you close.

He’s terrified of losing you. Of you not loving him back. Of you realizing what he really is underneath: a boy who never stops running because he’s scared of standing still.

But with you? He wants to stand still.

He confesses in a way only he could.

He grabs your face in his hands, eyes wild, chest heaving like he just ran to the ends of the Earth.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” he blurts out. “And it’s driving me insane. I’m not good at this—waiting, wanting—but if you told me to slow down, I would. If you told me to stop, I would. Just—don’t leave me behind.”

And when you kiss him?

Time. Stops.

After the kiss, he changes.

Not in the loud, obvious way. Wally still jokes, still grins, still makes the room warmer just by being in it—but something in his eyes shifts. He looks at you like you’re not just his girlfriend—you’re his reason.

And he tells you that.

Not once. Not twice.

Every single day.

“I’d die for you,” he says like it’s a fact, not a metaphor. “And if someone tries to take you from me—well… they’d better be faster than me.”

His obsession turns quiet. Dangerous. Protective.

You don’t notice the little things at first.

Like how your co-worker suddenly transferred the day after he got a little too flirty.

Or how your phone never dies anymore, no matter how often you forget to charge it.

(He swaps batteries in your sleep. Replaces your charger. Monitors the voltage. You don’t know.)

Or how your ex texts you, and the message deletes itself before you can open it.

(He’s been in your phone. In your cloud. He’s faster than any firewall.)

You never feel unsafe. You just feel… watched. But it’s Wally, right? Your Wally. He wouldn’t—

He doesn’t trust anyone with you.

Not your friends. Not the League. Not even Barry.

He masks it well, with smiles and sarcasm, but under the surface, he’s seething. Every time someone makes you laugh, every time they touch your shoulder or stand too close, he catalogues it. Keeps score.

And later, when no one’s around, he whispers,

“You know you don’t need them, right? You have me. I’m all you’ll ever need.”

He’s not asking. He’s reminding.

He has nightmares. About losing you.

They start slow—harmless, even. You walking away. Forgetting his name. Laughing with someone else. But they escalate quickly.

You dying. You screaming. You reaching for him as he’s too slow.

(He’s never too slow.)

He wakes up drenched in sweat, vibrating from head to toe, fists clenched hard enough to bruise his own palms. Some nights he just stares at you sleeping, watching your chest rise and fall, whispering—

“I won’t let it happen. I promise. I promise. I won’t lose you.”

He starts testing you.

Little things. Subtle.

“What would you do if I disappeared?”

“Would you still love me if I wasn’t a hero?”

“Would you run away with me right now? No questions asked?”

He watches every flicker in your eyes. Measures your every breath.

You always say the right thing. But he’s waiting. Waiting to see if you’ll betray him.

He hopes you don’t. He prays you don’t.

Because if you do?

He already has a plan.

He starts talking about the future.

But not in the dreamy, romantic way. Not with rings or white dresses or picket fences.

No. Wally’s version of forever is you and him against the world. You don’t need a big house. You don’t need anyone else. You just need him.

“We could disappear,” he murmurs into your skin one night. “I could take you so far no one would find us. Ever. Just me and you, baby. Nothing else. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

You laugh, a little unsure.

But he doesn’t laugh back.

If anyone hurts you? Even emotionally?

They. Vanish.

He doesn’t kill. He doesn’t need to. He’s smarter than that. Faster.

But you better believe they never show their face again. Maybe they get blackmailed. Maybe they’re framed. Maybe they wake up halfway across the country with no memory of how they got there.

You ask Wally if he knows anything.

He just kisses your forehead and says,

“You don’t have to worry about people like that anymore. I’ll always protect you.”

And god help you, it makes you feel safe.

He keeps something of yours with him. Always.

A strand of hair. A necklace. The first note you wrote him. The chapstick you lost. He keeps it in a little box, hidden in a place no one can find. A shrine, almost.

When he misses you (which is always), he opens it. Smiles to himself. Breathes you in.

You are his god. His everything.

And he loves you too much to let you go.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[darkbluekies]

Precautions

yandere!doctor husband oc x reader warnings: controlling behaviour, infantilizing?, darling has a weak body from dr kry's posioning

He waters the greenery out in the garden when he hears a loud 'thud'. All nerves in his body seem to explode at once. He drops the watering can in a second and runs in. The sight horrifies him. You, at the foot of the stairs, twisted in pain.

"Darling, what happened?" he asks quickly, helping you up with gentle, steady hands. "Where does it hurt?"

"I think I hit my elbow", you groan.

He cups your elbows, massaging them ever so slightly, as if feeling for injuries. His blue eyes are filled with worry.

"Why are you out of bed?" he asks.

"I tried to shout for you, but you didn't hear."

"I'm sorry, my love, I was out in the garden. What did you want me?"

"I'm hungry."

Dr Kry nods, thinking. "You know what? Let's move you out to the hammock. You can eat outside today."

He carries you out of the house to the wooden hammock in the middle of the garden and grabs a blanket you can wear over your legs, even if the day is warm.

He makes some pancakes and gives you both whipped cream and jam which the bees seem to like. He sits down in front of you, not eating but observing you while you eat, mind way too clouded by the fact that you got hurt in his house, when he could have prevented it. He must fix something, a walkie-talkie or something to communicate by when he can't hear you. He wants to hit himself.

"I don't want you out of your bed again", he says after a while. "Your body is way too weak to walk down the stairs. I don't want you fainting somewhere and hitting your head. It's dangerous."

"I know", you mumble.

"I'll figure something out so that you don't have to come find me when I don't answer. I will not let this happen again." His fingertips touch your elbows. "I don't think you broke anything, but you might be a little tender the coming days. Let that be your worst injury, alright?"

You nod quietly, taking a small bite of your pancakes.

Dr Kry nods, pleased. "Good."

[cloudedcreams]

[nsfw] thinking of a yandere incubus who wants more than the one night with you.

you summoned him feeling depressed and desperate to take your mind away from stress. you doubted it would work, but did it more for the sake of tension, the feeling of fear tackling you away from your worries.

he didn't like that too much.

he practically crawled onto you, his nails painted black as he held you by your chin, sizing you up. he wasn't shy with the way his eyes lingered, and when he spoke you could make out fangs that shaped his insicors.

"you're such a sweet little thing, so innocent for thinking i wouldn't appear. i'll have fun ruining you." he had whispered thoughtfully into your ears, playing with the hem of your shirt with a tease as he licked a stripe against your earlobe. you shivered at the feeling of his warm tongue and he practically smirked at you.

the night felt heavenly to say the least. he seemed to be an arrogant mind, and the sight of you coming undone boosted his ego, and he took great pleasure in it. he plunged his length inside of you with a breathless gasp and you practically saw stars, before he wrapped a hand around your chest and lightly squeezed, bringing you back to your senses.

"look at me whilst i f-fuck you like this. you'll never feel this good again." he murmured towards you with half lidded eyes. you stared back up at him, his violet orbs seeming you such you up and he groaned in pleasure.

"i-i love good girls like you... a-always take my breath away..." he panted, his nails digging into your hips. he seemed to love marking you, the idea of leaving traces that wouldn't leave you arousing him more than anything.

the next day you practically felt high.

the feeling of lust lingered in your mind, staring down at your discarded panties and ripped clothes that lay against the floor. you stared down at bruises left on your neck, and your sheets carried the scent that he had left you with, a smell of sage and something that you couldn't name.

you washed your sheets that day.

you weren't supposed to! he watched you from a mirror in his realm, his eyes glaring at he chewed at his lips. surely something had gone wrong? it felt like a harsh rejection, watching you cover your imprints with makeup.

but it was fine! he'd back soon, and he'd give you another night so memorable that you'd be unable to deny. <3

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[n0rmal-cat]

Farmer yan thoughts

-I think farmer really like to watch reader struggle with things, it makes him feel like he’s the one in control of the situation even though he’s the one that put reader in these situations.

“You can’t do something that simple?” “didn’t I just tell you how to do that?”

He really does just like to feel power over reader in the smallest ways just to hammer home the fact.

-reader is not allowed to go to town with farmer because “what if you try to run away from work” he just doesn’t want reader to tell anyone that he’s keeping them there

But if someone does see you somehow he’ll just play it off and say that “that’s my spouse, they don’t like people that much so if you see them just don’t say anything to them please”

NSFW undercut

-I feel like farmer yan has a really high sex drive but is also good at keeping himself in check. Like if readers asexual then he’ll never bring it up again.

But if reader isn’t and they do want to have sex with him, then expect it everywhere. best part is that because he’s a shapeshifter he has no set parts, whatever readers into he’s gonna try to fit that mold.

-I don’t think he’d have cum but I still think he’d want to fill reader with his shadow stuff. He probably has a pregnancy kink and even if reader can’t get pregnant they can definitely look it.

Also probably give him an accuse to tell reader not to move around that much or it will “hurt the baby”

[that’s it for the freak, I don’t really write nsfw stuff so sorry if it sounds weird or anything 💀]