notes: yandere, R18, GN reader, takes place during kabukimono phase, yearning to a pathetic degree, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, imagined oral & rough sex, a little bit of delusion & projecting, i will never let this man win he will always suffer in the palm of my hands
word count: 1.5k
The eccentric had never found himself hungry.
Mortal desires are hard to digest, but if for you, he swallows them whole– love, lust, and longing– he gorges himself on the feast of humanity you present him. A palate he once found sour, a bittersweet taste he wanted nothing but to scrub from his tongue: he now willingly feeds on in abundance. Hunger, what a pathetically human thing. Who knew he had such the functions to crave, and who knew it would be such a hollow feeling?
A reminder of an unfillable cavity, an appetite rapidly growing insatiable. What were these things to an empty puppet? The pangs he felt deep within the crevices of his “body”, the heat that seemed to boil with no sweat to cool it. If he was of natural biology, right now, he thought he might be simply salivating. Oh, these feelings were surely a punishment for his defilement of you now. Unworthy, disgusting he is to be feasting his eyes on the sight before him.
notes: yandere, r18, gn reader, non/dubcon, (un)mutual masturbation, intimidation, kidnapped reader, imagined non-graphic violence, anxiety and fear
there is a single line that could be implied as sui/cidal ideation
word count: 3.1k
The silence has never been something you could lay at peace with.
You know the room is empty, yet you cover every crevice with your gaze before you begin. Your lips wrap at the reed of your suona, enclosing it completely, blowing hot puffs of air through the whistle. Your fingers improperly land on five of the seven holes, you sloppily attempt to correct yourself mid-blow, and the sound ends up shrill and penetrating, somehow missing every note you set out to play. The loud noise that comes through the horn could hardly be called amatuer at best. You wince, dropping the instrument to the floor without any due regard.
It was like building an eternally toppling house of cards, the ineptitude you showcased to yourself unforgivable. Such a meticulous build up of progress collapsed down with a single dissonant note. The stagnation you hit with your skill seemed an impenetrable wall, one you’ve become long exasperated with. Your forehead creases, and you massage your temples as a piercing pain begins to palpitate in the sides of your head. Your eyes dart around the room, empty. You grunt, picking the suona up and setting it back to your lips- this time more careful- this time more gentle.
notes: yandere, gn reader, violence, mindbreak(?idk readers mindset is a little fucked up)
word count: 1.7k
half of this was written two months ago, the other half in an energy drink fueled fever at 3 am
It wasn’t him you heard at the beginning. Not a single footfall came in earshot, not a breath, not a heartbeat. He descended so silently you almost expected him to be a shadow. It was all the cacophonous crunch of broken glass and debris, cracking and clattering without a source to the sound. It loops in your head, growing louder yet not closer, beating like a drum marching you to your condemnation.
