Darlingcore - Tumblr Posts
i need someone to do this to me so bad ;3
I adore you. I wish to be your stupid little mutt. I want you to chain me to you. I'll lick the floor you step on, I'll whine and beg for your attention. I'll be your pathetic little mutt. I want you to drag me by my chained collar and I'll happily follow. Just love me.
pleasepleaseplease someone or anyone come talk to me i’m dying i need human interaction </3 say anything to me idc just say SOMETHING.
your life would be so much easier if you were nice and compliant for me. my dear, you know your protests are all futile, do you really think resisting me will do you any good? you know this is all just to make you feel better. i’m locking you away for your own good. you don’t need anyone else, they’ll just try to steal you away from me; they don’t know about what you need, not like i do. now, love, let’s get you back inside your room, you know you weren’t supposed to come out. i’ll even allow you to have a blanket today, so my darling isn’t too cold <3
i want you to be completely dependent on me. rely on me for everything, let me the first thought in your head at the slightest difficulty, surrender yourself to me wholly and entirely. i’ll take such good care of you, you’ll never need anyone else. give yourself up to me voluntarily, while i still give you a choice. it would be rude of you to make me tell you again, wouldn’t it?
I wish the words “I love you,” truly conveyed what they meant inside of me. It means I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. I’d live for you. I’d do absolutely anything for you. You are my entire life source, without you it feels like I cannot breathe and my world is crumbling. You set my blood on fire and make me feel alive. Everything I do is for you and you alone. You are all that I desire and all I could ever need. “I love you” just doesn’t do it justice.
Chain me up and keep me as your pretty little captive. I can be good, I swear! Why would I want to escape when I have you looking after me? You’re all that I’ll ever need, my darling <3
How dare you look at them that way? How dare you say that to them?
I just want someone to wife darling me up! Like have you taken a look at yanderes??? They care for their darlings more than anyone else would!
Breakfast in bed? Cuddles? Princess treatment? Hate filled sex yet obsession filled aftercare? I get everything I want even without lifting a finger?
You know what- SIGN ME UP RNNN!!
The bonus part got me giggling
i woke up in my blind date’s basement. (not clickbait!!!)
loser! yandere x willing! gn! reader
cw — kidnapping, slight nsfw, obsessive thoughts !!
heyheyyyyy a small fic of a loser yan and a willing reader eeee !! writing practice buuuut if enough people like this, i’ll write more lil snippets of their life together so pls do lmk what u wanna see thru comments ,, always appreciated dearly <33
when you wake up, you realise you're in an unfamiliar room - if it can even be called one, due to its ridiculously tiny size, and unappealing state.
it's clear from the empty bottles of bleach that someone tried to tidy up, but something dark red stains the walls, leaving a coppery tinge to the stifling air.
"oh, you're awake!" the man to your left - who, you realise instantly, is your blind date from last night - grins.
its an off putting sight, the sheer happiness on his face, and the way you can see the bright gleam in his brown eyes even behind those glasses, and beyond the overgrown bangs.
"i, er, i was watching you sleep. sorry, old habits die hard, y'know? and you just look so fucking beautiful, with that birth mark and those—"
"ahhhh, sorry."
he catches his breath and apologises again, "i'm rambling again, aren't i? i tend to do that when it comes to you. only time i talk, really."
he's sitting cross legged besides your mattress with his hands in his lap. when he notices you staring, he awkwardly averts his gaze for a moment, wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans and leaves them with dark patches staining the fabric. "well, uh, did you sleep well, darling? i know an old mattress in the basement isn't ideal but—"
you try to speak, to tell him that yeah, accommodation wasn’t exactly ideal - but the words come out muffled.
"ah, i'm so sorry, my love!" he exclaims, the few pale patches on his own, darker skin, flushing a soft pink shade as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "you can't really say anything, can you? sorry, again. i didn't think you'd agree to go out with me. had to ditch the plan and — oh, i'm rambling again, aren't i?"
"please tell me if i talk too much, i don't want to annoy you. i mean, i know you're not a morning person, but it's, like, four in the morning - isn't that funny?" when you make no indication of having found his words humorous, he wordlessly reaches over for the sock that's currently been stuffed into your mouth, flashes you another apologetic smile, and takes it out.
you instantly double over and spit the flavour - the strange, stifling taste of the sock out of your mouth.
your captor makes no move to undo the rope that binds your arms and legs behind your back, before he leans back, settling into his position besides you again, an expectant expression on his face. you don’t ask him to, yet, choosing only to examine him from head to toe.
he looks good. seems to have changed from the clothes he was wearing last night, during your blind date. you know he did his research beforehand, know he must be desperate to please, because everything he’s done - from the clothes he put on, to how he smells, and the accessories he dons, is all catered to your exact preferences. it’s hard not to find the effort endearing.
and then you remember where you are.
a moment of silence passes by before he clears his throat, the awkward sound echoing in the dingy basement. "morning, my darling. before you panic, i absolutely—"
"okay," you interrupt him, patience running thin, "first of all, why was that sock crusty, and second of all, what the fuck is going on right now?"
he doesn't seem put off by the venom in your tone, instead continuing with his words as if you hadn't spoken in the first place. "i'm glad you asked, darling. well, to put it simply, i, er, kidnapped you," he says with a bashful smile, pushing his glasses up with a shaking finger. "i absolutely adore you, and have for a long goddamn time - so i wanna keep you with me forever. like a tamagotchi!"
"you wanna keep me... forever in your basement?" your lip curls in disgust. "you can't be serious! have you seen the state of this place?"
"well, no." he falters for a moment before speaking, "i was going to explain how this all works. i mean, you won't be in the basement forever forever. it's just temporary, until i trust that—”
"oh, so you don't want to keep me forever?” your emotion leads you to hastily jump to a false conclusion, “please tell me i’m not going to be thrown away, once you’ve had your fill. you love me, right?”
"wait, sorry, um," he shakes his head, confusion evident on his features by means of his furrowed eyebrows, the clear trepidation in his tone. "do you... well, how do i say this?" he mumbles to himself, closes his eyes. opens them a moment later. "do you, like, want to stay here - with me? i thought you'd—"
"in this economy?" you scoff, " staying with you means i don't have to pay rent, and get free meals and free entertainment." you shoot him a glare, "there is entertainment, right?"
he blinks, "er, yeah. i have a whole bookshelf for you upstairs with all your favourite novels on it. there's also the media cabinet, full of your favourite films, director's cut and extended cuts and special editions and..." the man trails off, lost in a daze of his own thoughts. "are you - sorry, are you serious, darling?" he asks, that smile of his faltering. "you really want to stay? you realise i will ruin your social and professional lives and monopolise your whole existence, right?"
"yeah, like i said, that's fine by me," you shrug, "now could you be a dear and untie these ropes, please? i didn’t ask earlier but they're really hurting me."
"um, can you give me a moment?"
"sure. but you wanna know something funny," you tilt your head to the side. "for a guy who kidnapped me out of some twisted obsession, after the first date we had, you don't really seem happy that i want to stay."
"no!" he exclaims, eyes instantly widening in panic as he shakes his head frantically, " please don't say that! god, no, my love. you don't - you have no idea how happy i am! i - you - shit, you're going to think i'm crazy but i think i came in my pants when you said that and that's a problem because these are my favourite jeans and i wore them just for this occasion because i so desperately wanted you to think—"
"you're rambling."
"sorry! i mean, like i said, i'm beyond happy. it's just..." he turns his head to the side, too embarrassed to look you directly in the eyes. "i kind of had, like, all my lines prepared. i thought you'd freak out, and i was going to deliver them. i even practiced in front of a mirror to get the, er, the execution right. i’m just confused, is all.”
“…oh.” you blink, and then, before the man before you can burst into tears, which you think he just might, given the way his head hangs low, and he’s curled his fingers into a shaky fist, the knuckles white, in his lap. “well,” you offer, wanting to start your life together on the right foot, “you can still go through your lines if you want. wanna start again from the top?”
he looks up at you hopefully and nods, flashing you a grateful smile as he smooths his hands out, stretching his quivering fingers. “i’d like that, actually. um, can you pretend you don’t know what’s going on so i can do the whole, you know, the whole ‘i love you and you’re mine now’ thing?”
“yeah,” you shrug, “whatever makes you happy. can we go upstairs after this? i really want to sleep more, but preferably on an actual bed in a proper room.”
“of course! we will. we can. we can do anything you want. you can do whatever you, erm, want to do. to me, by the way. please do whatever you like to me. i’m all yours.”
he says in one big breath, and because you can’t bear to keep looking at them anymore, not really listening to his rant, you reach out to hold his clammy hands in yours, intertwine your steady fingers with his shaking ones without a word.
“that’s better. it’s kinda weird how you kidnapped me and yet, you’re still the more nervous one.” you look up at him expectantly, but his face is frozen. “okay so should we take it from the top?”
“i-i—” he looks back at you stupidly with wide eyes, fumbles for the right words, his tongue tied and his brain fuzzy. “my love, my darling — i think i just,” he looks down, head hung in shame, and you notice the tips of his ears burn a bright red, and that his pulse seems to have doubled, heart beating out of his chest. “i think i just, er, came in my pants, again.”
bonus —
WILLING READER, looking down at the prominent bulge straining against the fabric of yan’s jeans: oh.
WILLING READER: want me to clean that up for you? i feel bad leeching off you even if you kidnapped me. gotta make rent somehow, right?
LOSER YAN:
LOSER YAN: haha 😇😇 that’s crazy where did all my clothes go!! 🤗🤗 silly me 🤗🤗
yandere! rockstar x manager! reader 🎼
“on another note, people have noticed your recent music has been quite romantic,” the host states, keen eyes pinned to her guest with an easy smile. “so who’s the lucky person, feroze? your fans are dying to know.”
with soft strands of crimson hair that fall over his flawless brown skin, sharp, stygian eyes lined with kohl, and the sleeves of his black shirt rolled back to reveal prominent muscles — feroze looks gorgeous. he has to, for his first interview of the new year.
“oh, i’m sure they are.” he drawls, crosses one leg over the other. “but that’s a secret i won’t ever tell, i’m not fond of sharing.” the audience, mainly consisting of teenagers who have his posters up on their walls, swoon, and the host laughs politely. “besides, they know who they are, and that’s enough for me.”
but feroze is stupid, you think, if he believes he can evade the host’s intrusive questions. this is her show, and despite his status as a celebrity rockstar — he’s here as her guest.
“not ready to go public just yet?” she asks, her words met with a shrug from the man seated across from her, but the woman persistently presses on, “alright, no names, but can you at least tell us more about this secret sweetheart of yours?”
“they’re the love of my life.” he states simply, expression apathetic. feroze rhythmically drums his fingers on his legs, “i could write a million songs in their name, and none would be able to properly capture the way i feel when i’m around them.”
“it’s something bigger than words can convey.” feroze’s words fall from his lips like a confession. and you notice that every time he talks, his tongue piercing glints under the harsh studio lighting. “in my language, we call it ishq.”
the host is about to say something, presumably ask the musician what he means, but he doesn’t give her a chance to, and you wince. he’ll get backlash for speaking over her, despite all the times you’ve reprimanded him for his impatience, especially in the predatory eyes of the media.
because popularity isn’t enough. no matter how many of his concerts sell out within seconds, or how many weeks his music tops worldwide charts — no limelight hides his brown skin, or his desi heritage. there are always those who lurk, waiting for him to mess up, and ready to tear him apart when he does.
“it’s a connection, a level of adoration that is beyond rationality,” he clarifies, “ishq can be beyond beautiful, or it can be utterly destructive. but either way, it leaves you an absolute mess.” feroze chuckles, the sound low and wry. but it is nothing compared to the approving applause from the audience, who watch the lovestruck star in awe.
“wow, that’s just lovely!” the host gushes, and, you note from your place in the audience of onlookers, glows with the pride of getting feroze to talk for so long, speak more than some simple words.
it’s undeniable that he’s a star, he belongs on his stage, commands attention when he sings with his husky voice and lays his heart bare in the lyrics. but when it comes to interviews or fan meets, it’s almost impossible to get a word out of him.
it’s mildly amusing to watch, the way everybody will try so hard to pry a few short sentences from his lips, when all he ever does around you, much to your vexation, is speak.
“i’ve built a name for myself, from the ground up, for over twenty three years,” his black eyes scan the applauding audience, and find yours, lingering there when he speaks. “but if they asked me to — i’d leave it all behind. the fame, this life.” he says, “the music would stay, songs of adoration and sweet nothings, but only for them and nobody else.”
“surely you don’t mean that?” the host asks the man seated across from her, “your fans would be absolutely devastated, to say the very least.” she winks at the audience, who agree wholeheartedly with her words. “and what would music even look like without the feroze khan?”
“if you want me to be honest with you, i simply don’t care.” he shrugs nonchalantly, and all of a sudden, the studio which was previously buzzing with excitement, falls entirely silent. “i don’t care if music falls apart, or if the world hates me for it.”
the host’s grin falters, and your heart skips a beat. he tilts his head to the side. “all of this?” he makes a vague gesture at the studio, the bright lights and dozens of eyes trained on him at this very moment. “it means nothing to me, next to them.”
“i guess you really love them, don’t you?” the host attempts to lighten the mood, but her smile strains the corners of her lips, and her eyes anxiously dart to the camera, ready to wrap up this conversation and move on.
“love is too simple of a word,” feroze muses, twirling one of his many rings between his lithe fingers, looping it around and over them with charming ease. “this is something messy and rough around the edges, but it’s something i want to experience forever, all the same.”
again, his eyes meet yours in the crowd, a slow smile spreading on his lips. meri jaan. he mouths, and you flush, heat creeping up to your cheeks out of embarrassment or irritation, you don’t know. but the words linger in your mind all the same, my love.
but as soon as feroze’s smile blossoms, it withers, and his expression smooths over, back to a bored gaze and his relaxed demeanour. you wearily run a hand over your face, irritation seeping under your skin at the rockstar’s insistence in actively ruining his career.
there’s tension in the studio, a palpable uneasiness draped over the silent audience — but if feroze notices, he doesn’t care enough to show it. the musician is the epitome of ease: arms lazily draped over the armchair he casually lounges in, legs crossed comfortably as he watches the host expectantly, ready for her next question, but not quite interested.
and you decide you’ve seen enough. so with your jaw set, and hands curled into hard fists, you turn on your heels and leave the studio without so much as a backwards glance.
you don’t need to look at him to know that feroze watches you walk out. but what you don’t know is that after you leave, he refuses to say a single word for the remainder of the interview.
by the time you and feroze get back to his place, your anger has twisted itself into a shimmering rage, and you make sure that he knows it too.
“you’re going to ruin your life and destroy your career!” you exclaim, hating the way he regards you with such nonchalance, even now. “i have tried, time and time again, to be patient with you — but telling your fans on live television that you don’t care about any of them??”
“not my fault if they can’t handle the truth” he shrugs, “let them all rot, they’re nothing to me. the only person i need is you.”
“feroze motherfucking khan.” you curse, “if someone hears you say that — you’re over!!” you seethe, grit your teeth and bite your tongue before you can say anything you’ll regret.
coming back from this interview was going to be difficult, but people had come back from worse, right? besides, you could always resort to bribery and censorship, if push comes to shove. but hopefully, if you can do your job right, it shouldn’t.
“why do you insist on making my job so difficult?” you mutter, lean against the wall and close your eyes in resignation, admitting defeat to the stubborn celebrity.
it’s the low sound of feroze’s voice that brings you back to the present.
“i’m making your job difficult, am i?” feroze laughs, the sound dripping with disbelief, you open your eyes, find that his darken. “you make mine impossible.” he narrows his black eyes, “when i see you at my concerts, i forget the lyrics to songs i’ve sang a million times, my hands start shaking, and i can barely hear the music over the sound of my heart.”
you shake your head, don’t trust yourself not to say something stupid, but something twists in your chest.
“even now,” with every word, he takes a step closer to you, until you’re pressed against the wall and he’s looming over you, hands reaching out for yours. “i can barely think straight. here,” he guides your palms against his chest, fingers gentle, even when he feels like being anything but. “can you feel it, what you do to me?”
“you drive me absolutely insane, with your very existence. every song of mine is about you, and whenever i perform knowing you’re watching me, i can barely breathe.” you look up at the musician, your anger giving way to something slightly softer, as you feel the erratic rhythm of his beating heart under your hands. “i love you.”
“don’t.” you manage, “don’t throw away your entire life for me. you’ve got the world at your fingertips, everybody either wants you, or wants to be you.” and it’s true, both of you know it. “you’re a superstar, feroze. music hasn’t seen something like you since cobain, don’t throw it all away for me — i’m not worth what you have.”
“not worth it?” feroze echoes, shakes his head as he wraps his fingers around your wrists, “then tell me why i go to sleep and wake up with my mind and body thinking about you. tell me why i want to devour you, one kiss at a time, and memorise the dips and curves of your body underneath mine.”
his voice is barely above a whisper as he lays his desires bare before you. “go on, use your words and tell me.”
but you have no answer for him, couldn’t think of one even if you tried, because the only thing on your mind is how close he is, how his lips ghost the shell of your ear and graze your own with every word.
“that’s what i thought,” feroze says, he considers something for a moment before continuing, “and forget my being a superstar, that’s not what i want, and it never has been since i met you.”
the limited space between you is heavy with desire and promises of debauchery, and you want nothing more than to let yourself sink into it. so, even when you know this is unprofessional, know you could lose your job for this — you can’t help yourself.
your anger is washed away by something warmer, something that leaves you wanting for more. “then what do you want, feroze?”
“i thought you’d never ask, meri jaan.” feroze breathes against your jaw, curls a hand around your throat.
“how about you let me show you exactly what i want,” his other hand holds your wrists, bound by his fingers, over your head. the man pushes his knees between your thighs, and finally smiles. “be mine, just for tonight — say yes, and i’ll show you what ishq means.”
something inside him comes undone when you press your lips against his, burning with want.
he knows. he knows he’s a handful, your rockstar always saying the wrong thing and giving you headaches, leaving you with yet another mess to deal with.
throughout the night, he realises that even his best music has nothing on the mellifluous sounds of you whimpering his name, all breathless. your anger dissipated and replaced by raw need.
he swears he’ll make it up to you. he’ll treat you so well, that you’ll never want to leave. besides, it’s not like you could, even if you tried — he wouldn’t let you. what’s a rockstar without his manager?
yandere! millionaire x partner! reader WARNING: possessive themes, implied nsfw, gore && violence,,
“gimme a twirl, sweetheart.” your boyfriend hums, rests his chin in the palms of his hands as he gazes at you through golden eyes etched with utter adoration. “w’nna see you from every angle, hm?”
you roll your eyes at his words, even when a breathy laugh punctuates your own. “you’ve already seen that, kenji.”
“only in the dark.” he quips, raises an eyebrow knowingly. “besides, it’s not like you’re always squirming ‘round beneath me or anythin’—”
“fine!!” you cut him off before he can say anything else, try to ignore the way your bodyguards awkwardly avert their gaze. one clears his throat, and you flush. kenji is as unbothered as ever, his attention still solely trained on you.
nevertheless, you oblige his request with a silly little spin on the tips of your toes. your boyfriend’s gaze lingers on your face, a slow smile spreading on his lips when he drops his eyes to the rest of your body, takes you in for everything you are: “you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, and all mine.”
there’d been one before him, your ex. but you didn’t need to worry your pretty head about that — kenji had ripped off a finger for all the times he’d tainted you with his dirty touch, pulled out his teeth for all the conversations he’d gotten to share with you.
it was his heart — however, that your boyfriend enjoyed depriving him of most. the heart that had once held a sick semblance of love for you.
that was in the past, though. your ex was long gone, kenji had made sure of that personally. now, it was only you and him, and he intended on it staying that way.
“i gotta be the luckiest bastard in the world to have you all to myself.” he whistles lowly, feels his heart pounding in his chest, as it always does whenever you’re around. and even when you aren’t, because you’re all he ever thinks about. “fuck, baby. c’mere, will you?”
“shut up! you think you’re so slick with your stupid words!” you laugh, feigning indifference at his saccharine words but still stumbling into his outstretched arms as he pulls you onto his lap. “you flatter me way too much, kenny.”
your boyfriend’s a busy man, running the biggest private security agency in asia. his work is the only reason you get to don such pretty silk skirts and rose quartz chokers. well, that - and his insistence for seeing you all dolled up.
but the fact that he’s willing to drop everything he’s doing, just to rush home to you and whisk you away on a spontaneous shopping spree after hearing you felt under the weather?
“that’s my job, babydoll, i’m your boyfriend.” he presses a quick kiss to your jaw, revels in the way you melt into his touch, as he curls an arm around your waist. “besides, can you really blame me when y’look so utterly ravishin’?”
“i hate you.” you grin, loving the literal hearts in his eyes and the absolute care with which he holds you close. “and where did you learn such a big word from, i mean, wow! i look ravishing?” you tease mischievously.
“oh so you hate me?” he asks, chuckling in amusement. “than why’re you in my lap, hm? besides,” he smiles at your expression, presses on with amusement tinging his golden eyes. “that’s not what you were sayin’ last night, when i had you cu—”
“stop!! oh my god!” you exclaim, absolutely mortified at the extent of his shamelessness, covering your flushed face in the palms of your hands and wishing, not for the first time, your boyfriend didn’t insist on having private security with you at all times. “you win, okay? i hate you, kenny.”
“sure you do, baby.” he muses, before he digs his hands into his pockets, leans back and gestures for one of his bodyguards. “hey,” he calls, to one of the five men constantly and dutifully standing to attention with his eyes trained at his feet. the man steps closer, but doesn’t dare raise his gaze lest he accidentally meet yours.
the last time one of kenji’s employees even glanced your way for a mere second, your doting boyfriend had gouged his eyes out. (“let this be a lesson to lower your fuckin’ gaze.”) you were such a pretty thing, he knew that, accepted it for an inevitable fact — but he’d be damned if anybody else was allowed to look at you in the way he did.
“this — and i mean all of it.” kenji makes a vague gesture to the three racks of clothes scattered across the room, of the designer brand store he’d pulled you into. “buy it all in my partner’s size, and have it shipped to our place within a week, alright?”
“kenji.” you blink, watching in stunned silence as your boyfriend hands his bodyguard a glossy black card.
he turns back to you expectantly, raises an eyebrow. “yes, m’love?”
“you do realise that you basically just bought the entire store, right?”
“is there a problem with that?” your boyfriend challenges, knowing damn well what you mean to say.
“i didn’t even try on half of the clothes!” you insist, mild alarm settling in at the shades of indifference in his voice, even after blowing forty million yuan on fancy new clothes for you. “and do you know how overpriced this place is? you just got me a place in paris last week and now this—”
you’re at a loss for words when he merely shrugs, much more interested in playing with the little looped ribbons adorning your hair.
“sweetheart,” kenji hums gently, peppering your cheeks with soft kisses. “what’s mine’s all yours — you know this. what’s the point of all this money, if i can’t spend it on you?” your boyfriend’s lips linger against your skin, “now how about we get home?” he asks breathlessly, “wanna show you just how much y’mean to me.”
“fine.” you pout, giving in because you’ve had this conversation a million times before, and it always ends the same way: with kenji telling you he loves the way his money looks on you, (“you deserve the best, and i wanna be the one to give it to you.”) before ripping said money off you and leaving you bare beneath him. (“see? look at this pretty body, so eager for me, hm?”)
and you were right, this time is no different.
because hours later, he’ll press his chest against yours, out of breath and skin slick with sweat as he feels himself come undone, unravelling in the way only you know how to make him.
“love you s’much, sweetheart,” he’ll confess, like he has millions of times before. he’ll smile against your lips, even when your nails dig into his back, and he’s dizzy with absolute ecstasy. “love you so fuckin’ much, you’ll be the death of me.”
“i know.” you’ll breathe, because you do, with every inch of your being, “i love you too, more than — ah! m-more than you know.”
you don’t know that before he’d brought you home, kenji hadn’t liked the way the cashier had looked at you a moment longer than necessary. he was ready to let it slide, but even when you were on his arm, the cashier had the nerve to wink at you?
you didn’t know that even though you had kenji an absolute mess right now, unable to think of anything except how good you felt beneath him, how pretty the sounds you let out were — he was starting to sober from his high, consider the ways he could approach this new problem of his with.
you didn’t know that after this, he had an urgent matter to care of. one that was currently waiting for him, gagged and bound. one that may or may not have been the cashier from earlier…
but he doesn't need you to know. because he'll take care of it for you.
until then, he’ll kiss your flushed skin wherever he can, have you become a babbling mess at his fingertips. kenji knows it’s wrong, the things he’ll do for you, the lengths he'll go, and the lines he'll cross. but can you really blame him?
he just loves you so much.
♡Favourites (MIC-ZAWA)♡
(Y/N) knows this is wrong, her head resting on one of her captor's chest as he holds her up and walks around the kitchen making himself and his husband a cup of tea, but she's too warm and comfy to give a shit right now.
"Hey baby, want to hop off really quick? I need to pour the water now and I don't want my little baby getting hurt." Hizashi coos at the (H/C) female, her nose scrunches up just a tad at the childish tone but she just shrugs and un-clings from the male.
The blonde male wraps his large hands on her pudgy waist before counting down and lifting her up onto of the kitchen table-top, he turns back around to pour the hot water, but his eyes linger on her position. He's not an idiot, especially knowing how his little one has a past of trying to run away, she hadn't done it in a while, but you can never be too careful and away from the escape attempts she could get hurt.
A black silhouette lumbers into the kitchen, his aura dark and gloomy as he scans his dark eyes over the scene in-front of him. His bubbly husband, with his long blonde hair out neatly, humming a tune while making a delicious smelling cup of tea while his C̶A̶P̶T̶I̶V̶E̶ darling is sitting on the kitchen table kicking her legs.
Clearing his voice, Shota walks to his husband. "What do we have here?" His deep voice is uncharacteristically soft as he kisses Hizashi's cheek, his husband only smiles back and pushes a cup softly into his hands.
"Well-" Hizashi puts the kettle back before turning around and leaning against the counter. "-(Y/N) felt like a little cuddle so we were doing that for a bit until I wanted to make some tea for you."
The camomile tea shifts a bit as Shota looks at it, his lips twitch upwards slightly. His husband always remembers his favourites even if he himself hated them. "Hmm, well I'm free now kitten so if you want to resume the cuddle with me-"
"I'm good." Her voice comes out strong but monotoned, the (H/C) female grabs an apple from the fruit bowl before swiftly exiting the kitchen.
Putting his cup back down, Shota sighs before rubbing his eyes. "Why is she so affectionate to you and not me? I don't get it; I've done everything I can, but it just doesn't-" He cuts himself off with a groan.
Hizashi's lips turn down as he watches his husband's despair. "I'm sure she just needs a little bit more time babe. At least she's finally getting more comfortable, maybe more me than you but she's still improving." He says patting Shota's shoulder lovingly.
The raven head nods, sending a small smile to him.
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The female sighs before crunching into her ruby apple, she had heard the conversation about her before they switched and started talking about hero stuff.
It's not like she meant to favour one man over the other, actually she didn't want to like either of them, but Hizashi's just so bubbly and outgoing and kind it's impossible to not open up to him.
Shota is the complete opposite, he's mean and strict with a scowl painted on his face 24/7. His pale skin and dark demeanour making (Y/N) immediately become scared and closed off towards him.
If anything, it's his fault not hers!!
But all the same, (Y/N) sighs as she swallows, her stupid heart feeling sad for the male. She scolds herself for feeling sorry for her captor, but her soft and caring personality overrides any sour thoughts about him.
Hearing a pair of footsteps and the couch next to her shift, her (E/C) orbs look up to see Shota, his long black hair thrown into a lazy pony. "There's (Favourite Show) on, want to watch it with me?" He asks, turning the T/V on.
The female shrugs as she takes another bite, her attention fixated more on her apple than the T/V but she doesn't make a move to leave.
He just smiles before turning the volume up, small progress is still progress, he works with teenagers 24/7. Out of everyone, Shota has the most patience, and he doesn't mind waiting if it's for her, they have all the time in the world. As long as she's safe with. . .
T H E M.
Want to read a yandere story where instead of the darling being a complete airheaded, sweet, scaredy cat, they're actually just an airheaded, hot headed, jackass who will not take the yandere's shit. Calls them names, screams at them, gives them hell and the yandere is actually the one who submits and is like "I'm sorry my king/queen for upsetting you I have sinned" Feel like Ion see this dynamic often. And it's fucking hilarious to see the power dynamic shifted
This shirt is so iconic.
Wish i could live inside you, i wish i could cut your chest open and then hold your heart in my hands. To see how it beats for me and only me, i know you'd like that, wouldn't you?
I just wish that someone would just look or talk to me and go oh god this is the one. Is that too much to ask? I’ll do all I can for you please. I promise to be a good darling. Just be nice to me. I’ll give you all my love and attention and make you my whole world. DM please if you’re single and 17 or 16 and want a sub darling.
jokes on you I’m into that!
it’s always “i want a yandere girlfriend so bad!” until i pull out my knife and threaten to kill you if you even think about leaving me.