Hi Sweetie!😊

Please do not read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere!

Pairing: Yandere! Luka Couffaine x Reader, Yandere! Ladybug x Reader, Yandere! Reader (?) x Luka Couffaine

Alya: - I have such a strange feeling all day, as if we are being watched. Can you feel it?

Y/n: *looks at Viperion outside the window, abruptly closes the curtains* -No

---

Moth: - I give you the power to take revenge on your offenders.

Y/n: - Wow, sir, can I have the ability to fly? Or invisibility. I want to become invisible! Oh, No. Better lasers! No no. I want to dissolve my enemies.

Moth: *sighs tiredly*

Chat Noir: -*awkwardly waiting for akumatization*

Ladybug: -She's so cute when she can't decide ~

---

Marinette: - Thank you for inviting me to your place.

Y/n: -Do not thank. Let's just deal with our task.

Marinette: -I have long wanted to meet your new cat. Since cat appeared, you've talked so much about it.

Y/n: - I bet this cat is already mischievous. *opens the door to the room*

Chat Noir: -*looks around in fright, holding her panties in hands*

Marinette: -Chat Noir????

Y/n: -*scared* -NO. This is ... my new cat is Fluff.

Chat Noir: -Meow.

----

Luka: *looks at Adrien* -It's amazing how he can not notice the feelings of Marinette? It's so obvious.

Y/n in the "Love Me Luca" T-shirt: -Really.

and in return you give hell : death! geto suguru x f!reader

"death is certain, but killing doesn't have to be ugly."

DARK CONTENT, MDNI ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚ alternative universe, no sex, stalking, blackmail, manipulation, jealousy, envy, obsession, yandere themes, noncon foreplay, possessiveness, major character death, deadly sickness, pet names (little one, my love, beautiful), reader is a nurse for context — 3.5k words

summary: inspired by the fairytale death's messengers, you find a man, wounded beyond mortal comprehension, at your doorstep and nurse him back to health.

a/n: part of @ljubimaya's 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁

It all begins with a stranger laying at your doorstep, looking on the verge of death. 

His body is umoving, wrapped in the kind of silence that only the most severe of injuries can bring. A man cloaked in black, fallen to the ground as though the world had dealt him its harshest blow. His long, dark hair clings to his skin, sticky with sweat and grime. His face,  pale and sharp like the edge of a knife, is twist in pain.

Something about him seems out of this world, and yet, he looks so very human in his pain. Truth be told, all you yearn for is a warm bath after your draining nightshift, but instead there is another stray cat at your doorstep—desperate for the tender care of your hands. 

The people in your town are not only used to your kindness, they even take advantage of it—which is exactly why this man had been left at your door in the dead of night. 

You can’t refuse. It is in your kind-hearted nature to try, to heal, to save.

Kneeling beside him, you brush damp strands of his long, dark hair from his face, revealing features so flawless they seem carved by ancient stone masters. Despite his seeming strength—broad shoulders, a body hardened by something far beyond mere labour—he looks fragile. A strange dichotomy. 

“Hey,” you murmur, with your shaking fingers reaching for his ice-cold hand. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes hold an eerie emptiness as they flutter open to meet your curious ones. Their colour, rare as musgravite jewels, only alienate the man further. Subconsciously, you lean in, searching the depth of his dark stare, yet he was the one who found answers: Deciphering your entire life story with one glance alone.

“Help me,” he whispers, his voice rough yet strangely melodic. He tries to sit up, but slumps back down with a low groan. “Who did this to you?” you asked carefully , curiously. His injuries are unlike any you have ever seen before, the cuts too deep, the bruises too dark. He gives a low chuckle which quickly turns into a cough. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, little one.” Despite the sharp edges of his situation, he sounds oddly amused.

“I…” You looked around helplessly. “Allow me,” you start a sentence you leave unfinished, the pain you are about to cause something you can’t prepare him for either way as you muster up the strength to help him rise to his feet.

His lips curl into a faint smirk, entertained by this adorable little mortal trying her best to help him. “You’re braver than you look.” Yet a wince quickly follows his mockery once you slip an arm under his shoulders to help him up. His body is heavy against yours, lean and strong but cold as ice. 

It feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders once he finally rests on your couch.

─── ♱

For days, he stays in your little haven. Basking in your tender care as you nurse him through the worst of it, never daring to ask questions. Something tells you it is best not to find out certain details of the world.

However, it is difficult to ignore the way his presence lingers in the room, like something else, something darker. The air seems colder around him, the shadows in the room longer and sharper. 

But you ignore it all. After all, he needs you.

Eventually, you come to know his name—Suguru, he said, though it rolled off his tongue with a strange weight that made you think it wasn’t the whole truth. He speaks little about himself, and when he does, his words carry an air of melancholy, as if he was recounting memories from a lifetime far from yours.

And yet, as you press a damp cloth to his forehead, your eyes lingering a moment too long on the curve of his lips and the sharpness of his jaw, you couldn’t deny there was more to this. A pull, as if his very presence beckoned you closer.

You can’t help but notice the strength in his body, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin when he moves, the quiet beauty in his features when he sleeps. 

In those tranquil moments, you find yourself watching him more than you should. There is an unexpected grace to him. It’s impossible not to stare at his full lashes or his ebon hair spilling over his shoulders.

But there is more to him. He carries an aura that makes the air feel heavier, making your skin prickle with unease. You tell yourself it was the mystery of him, the way he seems to exist just outside the realm of normalcy.

─── ♱

When he finally recovers enough to leave, he hesitates on your doorway, his tall frame casting a large shadow over you. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, his tone low and solemn.

You know his name. But it doesn’t appear to be of importance at that moment. So you shake your head, hesitating momentarily before you speak. “No. Does it matter?”

His lips curl into a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He takes you by surprise the moment his cold lips linger against your forehead, fingertips encasing your chin to peer into your gentle eyes one more time. “I am Death,” he says simply. “The end of all things. The one who comes for every soul.”

You stare at him, your mind scrambling to process his words. The nervous chuckle escaping you is a reaction Geto is already used to. 

“That’s… not funny.”

“I am not joking.”

The look in his eyes tells you is earnest. Upon which your body subconsciously shifts into flight mode, with small steps taken backwards and away from the man you come to care for. “If you’re Death, then why are you here? Why did you need my help?”

For the first time his expression softens, just a fraction. “I was careless. Even Death is not invincible.”

You can‘t seem to find a reply for his nonsense.

“You saved me,” he continues, “and for that, I owe you a debt. I cannot undo what I am, but I can promise you this: I will not take you prematurely, and notwithout warning. When your time comes, I will send my messengers first, to prepare you.”

There was no kindness in his voice, no warmth. It was a statement, a fact, nothing more.

You nod slowly, though you’re not even sure why you offer him as much. You thought much of Geto, but didn’t expect him to be mentally unstable.

That day, he left his first curse with you. A small, deformed creature clinging to your shoulder, allowing Death to keep an eye on his chosen one.

─── ♱

Months passed, the seasons cycle through and the strange encounter becomes a brushed away dream. But the memory of his touch—cold and consuming—lingers. Even as you return to your life, throwing yourself back into work, an eeriness remains, like something shares your life force and weighs you down. 

You try to distract yourself from the growing discomfort, attempt to focus on healing others and ignoring the strange pull that lingers inside your chest.

But Death did not forget you.

When spring gives way to summer for a third time, you meet him—a kind man, with soft eyes and a gentle touch, someone who brings you comfort in the simplicity of his affection. He holds your hand with care, kisses your forehead with a tenderness that soothes any ache. His words, though few, are always full of warmth. 

It feels like a reward for the care you give to others, for your patience and your love. Maybe this was your chance at true happiness. 

And for a while, you allow yourself to be happy. You allow yourself to believe that maybe there can be a future with him, a simple life. With your new love, you feel safe, content. His touch is warm, reassuring, and his presence a balm to your soul.

It drives Death to madness. 

His jealousy surges through his very being, twisting the air around him until it becomes suffocating. How can you moved on so easily? Why are you giving his gift away to another man? You belong to him. 

Maybe promises are made to be broken, Suguru concludes, as his sanity boils away while witnessing you giving yourself to another.

Death knows no surrender. From that night on, he is there, always just out of sight. You catch glimpses of him in reflections, feel his presence in the cold that settles around you in the dead of night. He doesn’t speak, but you know it is him. 

Death. 

Watching. 

Waiting.

He has been patient enough. It is time for you to come to him, to remember who you are truly meant to be with. 

He sends a second curse. A cough. Harmless at first, just a light tickle in your throat, nothing alarming. So you dismiss it, believing it is simply a sign of the summer heat or the impeding change of the seasons. But as the days pass it grows worse. You find yourself coughing more, unable to breathe properly, your chest tightening with each passing hour as though something was pressing down on your lungs. 

It isn’t a cold. It isn’t something you can just sleep off. Something is wrong.

“Do you love him?” 

A deep voice often asks in your dreams. The question rings in your memory over and over again. Something about the tone was eerily familiar yet unknown all at once.

The sensation of someone watching you—the same suffocating, chilling presence you have tried so hard to forget—returns. Creeping into your life, even as you fight it with all your strength. 

He stalks you at night, a shadow that seems to grow stronger with every passing day. His jealousy consumes him, his need for you becoming a twisted obsession. And even while your lover comes to you, offering comfort and warmth, Suguru is there, lurking in the background, claiming you in ways that no mortal can ever comprehend.

You begin to distance yourself from your fiance, afraid that the illness might be contagious. Retreating into the silence of your home, shielding society from your misery, you isolate yourself. 

The cough, now violent, rackes your body.

By autumn, a third curse has joined. A fever that seeps into your veins, leaving you bedridden on your worst days. You visited doctors, tried medication, but nothing seems to help. Your body grows weaker, your once-bright eyes dull through exhaustion and pain.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape it.

You can’t escape him.

You wake in the middle of the night to find him standing at the foot of your bed, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. “Are you truly here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer, only tilting his head, as if studying you. His presence is suffocating, a reminder of the mortality you can’t escape. You hate him for it, and yet, part of you longs for the man you once cared for, the man who looked so vulnerable in your arms.

"You’re unwell, aren’t you?" His voice is smooth, deep, exactly like the one that haunts your memory.

You nod hesitantly. “I’ve been sick for weeks… I’m not sure what’s going on.”

His smile deepens in faux-compassion, an expression that makes your blood run cold. "I can help with that, my dear."

Though, before you can respond, he disappears, lost in the shadows. But his words linger in your mind like a curse. 

─── ♱

Your final scene begins.

By now you are barely hanging on. The fever consumes you, leaving you delirious and weak.The wish of experiencing another Christmas seems like an impossible dream, your apartment is a cold, abandoned place. A mirror of your body, devoid of any love and comfort. 

And as you lie there, weak and frail, your mind begins to fill with dreams—no, not dreams, not anymore.

Death visits uninvited, when you are too weak to stop him. Night after night, you awake to the feeling of a cold touch on your skin, a whisper in your ear sweet like poison, the unmistakable presence of Suguru. His lips brush against your neck, his hands caress your fevered body, and all the while, his voice murmurs in that low, dangerous tone.

"My love... my beautiful, fragile love. Soon, I will no longer be a shadow to you. Soon our flesh shall embrace and we shall be as one.”

It drives you insane. You want to scream, want to beg him to leave you in peace, but the words won’t come. Instead, you awake again, breathless and panicked, the sensation of his touch lingering on your skin like a phantom ache.

Whenever your frantic eyes search the room, you find no sign of him. No shadow, no dark figure standing by your bed. And yet, you can feel him. He is there, in your bones, chilling you to your very core.

The cough that started in summer leads to your grand finale in the depth of winter, when the world grows cold and lifeless.

The night before Christmas, the fever burns like wildfire. Each breath feels like a battle, your body wracked with shivers that no blanket may calm. In your hopelessness, you think of him—the man you once nursed back to health. Death. And in your fevered delirium, you curse him.

That’s when he returns.

The air grows still, unnaturally so. Shadows gather, thick and impenetrable, until they shape into a figure at the edge of your bed. Him.

“My love,” he nearly purrs, his voice laced with something dark and possessive. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating, you can’t help but shrink back into your bed.

“You should have known better than to entertain another,” Death muses, his tone soft, almost sweet, yet dipped in venom. “Did you think I would not see? Did you think I would let another have you?”

Tears dance along your lash line, your head shakes softly from left to right until you feel dizzy. “I didn’t... I wasn’t… You promised me—”

“Shh.” He is beside you now, his cold fingers brushing against your burning cheek. “It doesn’t matter, my dear. You’re mine. You always have been.” 

The chill of his touch feels like relief, one that you can’t refuse but lean into and yet it sends a shiver of fear through you. His gaze lingers on you, drinking in your frailty, the way your body trembles, the way your chest heaves with laboured breaths. It is as though every part of you—the sickness, the weakness—was a testament to his power over you.

You make him feel mighty.

He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your face. His lips curve into a wicked smile, that when you come to realise that he is overjoyed. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. This very moment is Death’s personal heaven.

"I’ve waited so long," Suguru whispers, his voice low and dripping with dark affection. "So long to see you this way, fragile, weak… yearning for me."

His lips press to your neck, icy and unrelenting, stealing the warmth from your skin with each display of affection. His hands claim every inch of you that monkey dared to taint with his mortal hands. 

The tension between you and Suguru grows unbearable. You want to fight him off, want to yell at him, want to break free, but every time you try, his strength overwhelms you. 

He is Death, after all, and you are nothing.

"Please," you gasp, voice weakening beneath his kisses. "I don’t want to die. Not yet."

"You’re already dying, darling," he whispers in return. "But don’t worry. I’ll be with you. Every step of the way." His thumb traces your jawline, wiping away a tear you haven’t realised had fallen. You were already drowning in the cold pull of him, in the overpowering grip of death. 

Life has no meaning, but your death shall.

Your body can no longer fight, can no longer resist him. Weak hands try to paw him away, yet to Death it was but a featherlight caress against his chest—enticing, pitiful.

The cold seeps through your figure as he finds refuge between your thighs, to press his groin against your near-lifeless form. His kisses are unrelenting, reaching down to the valley of your breasts with a tenderness that sends chills down your spine. His hands roam, claim, tear at you with an icy grip as he holds you firmly beneath him. 

"You look so beautiful, my love," Suguru praises in deep satisfaction, his voice softer now, almost affectionate. "So close to me," a sighed moan vibrates against your skin as terror grips you tighter upon the realisation of something hard grinding against your stiff body.

“You called for me,” he whispers against your ear, his voice a cruel mockery of tenderness. “And I  listened to your command. Now I’ll take you with me-” he pants, clearly strained from shamelessly moving against you. 

Tears run free as you stare up at him, his smile tender and twisted all at once. “Please,” you whispered. “Don’t.”

He grasps your wrist in his hold, keeping you wide open while his face hovers dangerously close to yours, black strands cascading like curtains as his figure dwarves yours. 

“Have I not sent you one messenger after another?” he seethes with terrible hunger. “Did the cough not render your mortal body weak? Did not fever come and strike you, and shake you, and throw you down? Did you not feel a heavy burden on your shoulder the moment I left? During the night, did you not lie there beside me already, begging for me to come to you?”

He releases you from his bruising grip, his fingertips trace the shape of your lips instead. “You are mine,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Now and forever.”

His presence is suffocating, his touch commanding, and as his hand slid down to your chest, his fingers digging into your skin, you feel something inside you break.

His lips hover over your neck, just above where the pulse still weakly beats. "This is my love," he murmurs. You can feel the cold of his breath against your skin, a prelude to the final moment. Tears won’t stop streaming down your face, strained cries escape your dry lips and through it all, Suguru whispers nothing but his sick testament of devotion into your skin.

The words hit you like a hammer. "Shh," he cooed. "It’s time." In an instant, his lips press against your skin. Your vision blurs as his kisses continue, the weight of your body dragging you down.

With a deep, longing kiss, Suguru steals your life force: allowing the cold to fill your very being. 

It is unbearable.

As though your body is being turned to ice from the inside out, each kiss a freezing touch that steals the warmth from your blood, the fire of your soul. Your body goes limp as the last of your strength slips away. His kisses trail down across your chest, each one leaving an imprint of icy darkness that consumes you. 

And in that very moment, you feel the coldest, deepest part of him—pressing against your lips, stealing the last of your breath. Your body grows still, your pulse fades, and then, just as everything seems to fall into darkness—there is a sudden, jarring pull. Something inside you is being torn away, your very essence ripped from your body.

Your soul is leaving you. No, Death forces it to leave.

It turns into an orb—a pale, glowing sphere that hovers before him. His eyes gleam with victory, a sickened joy in his expression, as he reaches out, slowly, almost lovingly, to take it. Cradling you in his palm like his most prized possession.

With a swift motion you’re gone. Swallowed whole, consumed entirely as Suguru licks his lips.

You are his. All of you. For eternity.

His eyes fall shut for a moment, savouring the feeling of you—now part of him. He had claimed you in the most intimate way possible, and you would never be free again.

"Forever," he whispers, his voice filled with dark pleasure. "You’re mine. My beautiful, fragile pet. Forever."

Suguru sits back on your bed, a triumphant sigh ringing into the silence. He waited so long for this, for the day when you would finally be his. Now, he can feel you inside him, feel the warmth of your soul, your essence, your pain eternally bonded to him.

He can’t wait to let you out for your future play dates.

And as your empty body lies before him, still and cold, Suguru smiles—sick, twisted, and overjoyed. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lips. “Even in death,” he finalises, before crashing his lips into yours one more time.

Forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

Peter (age 8): Hey dad, can I-

Yondu: Go ask your ma.

Peter:

Peter: Hey kraglin

I’m back with a character from a little-known game. Apologies to everyone who originally came here for Ladybug and to those who left requests in my inbox. I’m completely uncontrollable when it comes to choosing fandoms.

Happy New Year to everyone, and Merry Christmas in advance! 💙

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! Pairing: Yandere! Solivan Brugmansia x Reader tw: obsessive behaviour, delusional yandere, oppressive atmosphere, descent into madness, aggressive behavior towards the reader (short scene)

"The Perfect You"

Sol sits in a dimly lit room, a blank canvas before him. In the corner of the room, several portraits of his beloved lean against the wall, but none of them feel right. The eyes in each one seem... empty. “This isn’t you,” Sol whispers, discarding yet another sheet. His fingers tremble slightly as he grabs a piece of charcoal and begins again.

He draws, again and again, but the more he works, the more the details start to feel... wrong. Sol stares at the portrait. The shadows beneath the eyes are too deep, the smile on the lips is warped, and the silhouettes in the background—they’re not supposed to be there.

Sol is certain. He didn’t draw them.

---

Sol paces frantically around his studio. He hurriedly moves the painting from the canvas to the corner, adding it to the pile of failed projects, and covers everything with a sheet. He’s happy you decided to visit, but he would’ve appreciated a little more time to prepare.

You flutter into his apartment like a butterfly. Sol drinks in your presence, your gestures, the expressions on your face. He hopes—desperately—that you’ve finally realized how much you need him, just as he needs you. But instead, you casually ask to borrow his study notes, oblivious to the crushing disappointment that sweeps through him. Sol can’t refuse you. He asks you to wait while he retrieves the notebooks.

As he steps away, you glance around his workshop-turned-living space. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the pile of covered canvases in the corner, but you decide against asking about them. Instead, your gaze shifts to the window, where something else catches your attention: a collection of more than ten portraits of yourself, lying on the windowsill.

You’re stunned by the sheer amount of time Sol must have spent on them. But the longer you look, the more unsettling details begin to emerge. Shadows that shouldn’t be there, distortions in your smile, and an uncanny intensity in the way your eyes are drawn.

When Sol returns with a stack of notebooks, he freezes, his expression shifting to fear as he notices the pages in your hands. He studies your face, trying to gauge your reaction, already calculating his next move.

“Is this… how you see me?” you ask, struggling to mask your unease.

A strange excitement flares in Sol’s eyes. “No… not yet. But I’m trying to capture you as you truly are.”

---

Sol begins to notice that each new portrait interacts with him in strange ways. If he stares at them for too long, the shadows on the drawings seem to shift. Sometimes, he swears he can hear you breathing through the canvas.

One night, he wakes abruptly with the unsettling sensation that someone is standing by his bed. For several minutes, he stares at your angelic face, only to watch it slowly twist into a grotesque grimace. You hate him. You despise him.

The nausea hits Sol like a wave. He stumbles out of bed, his breathing ragged, and for the first time in his life, he turns your portrait to face the wall.

---

Sol decides he needs the object of his obsession to complete the perfect portrait. He asks you to pose for him. You agree to be his model without much hesitation, and Sol is convinced this time he’ll succeed.

But every time he begins to paint, a strange feeling washes over him, as if he’s losing something vital. “This doesn’t look like you…” he mutters. “Why? You’re right here in front of me.”

You watch awkwardly as Sol grows increasingly tense and suggest taking a break. Frustrated beyond reason, he snaps. Tossing the canvas aside, he lashes out: “You’re hiding from me! Why can’t you just be real?”

Startled, you start gathering your things to leave. It’s only then that Sol realizes what he’s done. He stops you at the door, dropping to his knees. Tears streak his face as he begs for forgiveness, his trembling hands clutching at your clothes with a desperate grip. Sol has never been more broken, but you don’t listen.

You push him away and walk out.

Sol collapses to the floor, thinking to himself that he’s as good as dead.

---

Since that day, you haven’t answered his calls. He’s tried talking to you at college, but you keep avoiding him, always hiding behind Crowe.

Sol paces in circles around his apartment. He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to kill Crowe. He just wants… for you to love him. As much as he loves you.

He stops abruptly. The blank canvas catches his eye.

Sol decides to try painting you one more time. If you could see yourself through his eyes, you’d understand. You’d forgive him.

---

When Sol wakes up the next morning, his studio is empty. The only thing left is the perfect portrait.

His palm aches. He thinks he should clean the brushes to keep the paint (and blood) from ruining them. Finally, he understands what the previous portraits were missing.

He looks at the painting. Your image on the canvas seems alive. Happy. Only the eyes remain as dark and hollow as they were in the earlier sketches.

The silhouettes behind you move. They whisper to Sol. He listens to them.

He realizes there’s no point in chasing after you when his perfect version of you is already here. Right in front of him.

Now, at last, you can be together.

Squid Game AU.

Kagami: -I thought correctly that we would have to play against each other. It's good that we chose other players as a couple.

Y/n: -Will survival be the prize again? :с

Kagami: -We are literally fighting for money...

Y/n: -If we both survive, then you will go on a date with me!

Kagami: -....

Kagami: -You're an incredible dumbass.

Kagami: -....

Kagami: -Ok.

---

Guard!Luka: *pushes y/n into the bathroom, closes the door behind him* -If you behave well, then we can agree.

Y/n: -You are a vile pervert! Don't come near. I have an anecdote and I am not afraid to apply it.

Guard!Luka: - Actually, I wanted to offer some extra food in exchange for a little kiss. But if you have other ideas, I am ready to listen... Wait. What? Are you threatening with a joke????

Y/n: -Trust me. It's so bad you won't want to hear it.

---

Guard!Adrien: *leads y/n into the room, going out*

Y/n: *grabs his hand* Wait! Don't leave me here alone. I don't know anyone here. It makes me worry.

Guard!Adrien: -Emm... I have to kill you if you lose or break the rules.

Y/n: -Well, yes. Don't friends do that? Wait. So we're not friends??? :с I thought you were following me because we are the BEST friends.

Guard!Adrien:*sighs heavily*

Squid Game AU. Because why not

Y/n: -It's so good that I have a triangle.

Guard!Luka: -...

Y/n: *casts a passionate glance at the guard* Because it's easy to make a heart out of a triangle for you.

Guard!Luka: *shy*

---

Y/n: *slaps a guard on the ass loudly*

All: *shocked*

Guard!Adrien: *blushes*

Y/n: -There is one problem. I still don't have your number.......... Oh yes. I don't have a phone either.

---

Player: -You should stop acting like that.

Y/n: -Why? Will they kill me for bad jokes? Ahaha

All: *are silent*

Y/n: -Ahah... ha... They won't do it, will they? Right? WHY ARE YOU SILENT?????

Shinso is such a kitten ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

Yandere Jinshi x chaotic reader

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! tw: Jealousy, persecution Enjoy reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Everything highlighted in purple is Jinshi’s thoughts.

You constantly forget to bow to important figures, trip over your own feet, ask awkward questions... and laugh just a little too loudly. “They keep breaking protocol. I remember every mistake they make, yet somehow... I don’t feel annoyed.”

He finds himself listening for your footsteps. When you're in the corridor — he knows. When you're not — he knows that too. He's started noticing even when you're late by just a few minutes. “I should be focusing on the reports. Where are they? Who’s delayed them? Why don’t I know?”

Sometimes you leave little things behind in his office — a handkerchief, a ribbon, a feather. He keeps them. All of them. Hides them in his desk drawer. Sometimes, when he’s alone, he opens it just to look. “Their scent is almost gone. I should ask them for another handkerchief. Or... make them forget they ever left it here. That way, it’ll be mine.”

His jealousy is subtle. Almost invisible. You laugh with someone else. Thank another man for helping you. Bow just a little lower than usual. Jinshi only smiles. “I’ll remember his face. His name. His position. If he ever hurts them... or if they look at him too often...”

Sometimes you bring him strange snacks: “Try it, you’ll like it!” He doesn’t know where you find them. He doesn’t usually eat food like that — too unusual. But he accepts. Eats every last crumb. “Too sweet. But... if it’s from them, I’ll get used to it. I'll teach my body to crave their taste.”

“You're too perfect. It must be so boring. No chaos in your life at all,” you say with a laugh. “You are my chaos. And you don’t even realize how deeply you’ve already taken root in my life. All that’s left is to convince you to stay.”

Jinshi isn’t watching you. Of course not. He’s merely checking on the state of the garden. As always.

The fact that you happen to be there at the same time — a coincidence. Just like how he knows exactly who you're speaking to, what you're saying, and for how long. The physician needed help gathering herbs. Out of everyone in the inner courtyard, he chose you.

Laughter. Light and clear, like bells in the spring breeze. He loves your laughter. Usually.

Right now — he does not.

Right now, he wants to crush that sound in the throat of the one who drew it out.

Jinshi smiles. He approaches silently.

"Ah, you're here. How fortunate," he says, as if he hadn’t heard their entire conversation.

He doesn't spare the physician a glance. His eyes are only on you.

"I came for you. There's something… important."

You look up at him. Embarrassed. Offering a shy, awkward smile. But you follow, ready to do almost anything he asks. Because here, his word is law.

You belong to this place. To the harem. To his order. To his care. To his gaze. If anyone dares reach for you — they must be ready to lose a hand.

Jinshi gestures for you to go ahead. Once you've disappeared around the corner, he finally turns to the physician still frozen in place.

"In the future, please… delegate such tasks elsewhere." His smile remains flawless. "They are responsible for other, far more important duties. I'm sure you understand. After all, you seem to be a very busy man yourself."

And if not — Jinshi will make sure he becomes one

Yandere!Gale X Reader Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! tw: obsessive behaviour, mild somnophilia, non-consensual kiss

The camp greeted the night with peaceful silence. Another difficult journey was behind us. A fight with a small group of goblins left everyone exhausted. After a serving of hot stew, you immediately dozed off on your sleeping bag, not finding the strength to change your clothes. The fire crackled behind you, warming you pleasantly.

A mysterious silhouette separated from one of the tents and moved towards you. The firelight illuminated him, revealing Gale. The man sat down next to you and looked at you thoughtfully. He had a warm cloak folded in his hands, which he immediately covered you with. Gale froze, looking closely at your face. Never before had he been able to enjoy such closeness. A reluctance to leave settled in his heart. You slept in ignorance of how beautiful, how stunning his eyes saw you. Road dust stained your cheek. Gale reached up to gently wipe your face. Rough fingers touched your face. His heart stopped for a moment.

"Gorgeous," a barely audible whisper escaped his lips.

----

Gale felt especially brave. He leaned towards you, one hand on the ground and the other still on your cheek, and kissed you. His lips touched yours for the first time. The Netherese Orb in the wizard's chest began to pulse. He frowned. Gale wanted so badly to deepen the kiss. He wanted to see how far he could go before you woke up. But the curse in his chest made him stop. What is he doing? It's too dangerous. What will he say if you catch him doing something like this? Gale tensed. He realized that his actions were wrong. But how can he resist when you're so close? He runs his nose over your face and kisses the corner of your lips, showering light kisses all over your cheek, eyebrow and chin. After this, Gale hides her face in your neck. He enjoys your warmth and natural scent. He counts the pulse. Gale's eyes begin to close. He would like to stay with you in his arms. But he knows you won't be happy to see him so close. You are comrades. Maybe a little bit friends. But not lovers. And it makes Gale's insides hurt. He hopes that time will change that. He leaves one last kiss on your neck. You moan softly in your sleep. Gale's face flushes. He's happy to elicit this reaction from you. He would really like you to stay awake and give yourself to him willingly. But all he can do tonight is leave before someone catches him and things get complicated.

-Sweet dreams. See you in the morning - he says goodbye tenderly and gets up to go to his tent, followed by someone's gaze from the darkness.

From now on, Withers will keep the wizard's secret along with many other secrets of his own.

There's only one main rule in this place: "Father knows best." You don't argue when his kisses get more intimate. "Let me take care of you", - he says and you let his tongue slip into your mouth. "Stay close - it's safe here", - he says and you believe him. His hand gently holds you close during the sermon. "Love is not a sin", - he says, leaning over you, spreading your legs. And you do not doubt his words, because Joseph knows best.