Hayloft.

Hayloft.

Yan Mahito x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Mahito wants to farm.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, Mahito as his own warning, implied minor character death, and implications of violence/forced cannibalism.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

“Sounds fun! Looks so too!”

Mahito’s fingers tap and tap on the glass, unsurprisingly never leaving any fingerprints or smudges. He is a curse, after all. It makes sense. Not that you have to be reminded of such, with how little he knows of human culture, the world at large, or with how much he shapeshifts into a disembodied head at night to scare half-awake you. 

You are both sitting on a giant bean bag in the shape of a green slime of all things that Mahito brought in an hour or so earlier. Mahito, as expected, takes up most of it with a malformed arm wrapped around your shoulders and back. 

In your hands is a Nintendo Switch, the sticker case on the joycons, and the screen itself somewhat peeling off, but still the pink bunny and strawberry drawing designs stay intact.

The YouTube app is on, showing a playthrough of Stardew Valley. This part of the sewers had two bars of wifi from the little ramen place above it, something you are grateful for in some aspect. Because of it, you have one more piece of entertainment that is now Mahito bringing you back stale snacks and stuffed animals (that you pray to whatever higher power that they were not alive before Mahito got his hands on them) and nearly smothering you with hugs. 

This is calming. When you just read the dialogue of the characters and listen to the music and pay attention to the satisfying sight of the farmer planting pumpkin seeds and apple tree saplings, it is calming, you are calm, Mahito is, at least partially, calm.

Mahito wanted something to watch today and brought the Nintendo Switch for you to play with as he simply observes. It could be worse, you reminded yourself before you attempted to protest, stopping yourself. It could be much worse. He could turn you into the Nintendo Switch, or much, much worse.

It can be so much worse. He can be so much worse. Your life as a captive can be so much worse. Everything can be so much worse. That is a line you never want to cross because everything can be so, so much worse than it already is.

Mahito raises his free hand, and you pause the video, just as you were taught to. He then points again at the field of two-dimensional, square-like crops all in multiple rows of hoed soil. 

It’s springtime in the game, you think, from how the cherry trees have pink blossoms and petals falling onto nearby ground all around it.

Mahito counts with his fingertip, jumping from one plant to the next and then from one row to the next.

He whistles, and it makes you flinch because that is the same noise he makes whenever you scream, a reaction to when he brings a body part of someone you loved here, throwing it down beside the small dog bed you were given for good behavior, the blood staining the fabric as it falls with a grotesque, sort of plopping sound.

If Mahito wants to grow vegetables and fruit in the few places this sewer has sunlight, he can be your guest.

“Potato, cauliflower, garlic… green beans, kale, parsnips, rhubarb, strawberries…” He says each word like he has never heard of them before. Considering he has never really set foot in a grocery or convenience store for anything other than chips, it is not all that surprising. With another wave of his hand, you rewind it to the moment where the farmer character starts watering the seeds when they are freshly planted. He waits. So do you. “Sounds good! We can make some cheese cauliflower, parsnip soup, pizza, hashbrowns… just imagine it! Yum… I can just picture it now.”

With yet another wave of his hand, you stand up and so does he. Relief goes through you, like a ghost, both horrifying you and making you feel the smallest bit of hope that for once Mahito can act normal.

…

“M-Mahito, vegetables don’t grow that fast.” You say, looking down at the plate of baked fish with what smells like kale and garlic underneath, along with lemon and salt. “H-How-”

“It’s simply the power of love!” Mahito exclaims, inhaling loudly to smell the dish in front of you two. He sighs softly. “A pure demonstration of my love, all I do for you, and all I will do for you in the future.”

You could have sworn that there was the smallest voice from the fish if Mahito’s bragging of how much work went into making you a dish from Stardew Valley was not so loud.

Help me.

“Dig in, cutie!”

You would do anything for Mahito’s grin to not turn into a frown, so you pick up your fork with trembling, scarred hands.

Heyy!! I don’t know if you still do Chrollo fics , but if you’re doing recommendations/commissions , can you make something like where the readers like “do you think you’ll kill for me one day?” and he’s like “yes. of course I will my darling” ?? It’s based off a sound I heard somewhere .. I think the song is called “I want it all” by Lana del ray. Thank you!! 🫶

damn he really would say that huh?

Bad Habit.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: “Where there is carnage, there is beauty.”

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, general anxiety and uneasiness, references to disturbing works of art (Saturn Devouring His Son, The Nightmare, Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan), manipulation, and talks of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

There are as many things people can see as beautiful as there are shades of light shining through a prism.

Spectrums are quite common along with comparison and placement. It varies greatly from person to person, their preferences and their life experiences and their joys, and their fears.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yes, but the eye of the beholder is also the window to their soul, to their psychological responses and traumas and memories of a past that would rather either be forgotten or worshiped. Every soul is different, and there is beauty in that. So, why do you find the heart and soul of Chrollo Lucilfer, whom many would call beautiful if they never knew him for what he truly is, so, so simply lovely? It does not have to do with his mannerisms or his confidence or his knowledge of virtually everything in this world, you concluded one day, after receiving yet another call from him, with him, as always, asking general questions like if you miss him and such. It is because he is the only thing I can cling to that will stay here, with me.

You cling onto him like a lost puppy, yearning for any sort of affection they can get no matter the cost. You did that when he first transported you from one place to another with hardly regarding any words from you on the matter. You do that now, in this art museum, full of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar artwork and unfamiliar architecture. You missed home, back then. You still do now, and Chrollo still does not care one bit.

His hand is like a cuff, his arm like a chain, as he walks with you from one room to the next. But, still, it is the only thing that keeps you from falling apart.

So, like a sort of dance, you two move in sync. It is up to Chrollo as to if or when you will stop. It is never up to you, after all.

Does Chrollo enhance the horrific allure of these paintings, or does he once again bring all the attention to himself?

*~*~*~*

“Mythology often comes from our own woes.” He says, pointing upward, slowly, to Cronos’s eyes, which are bloodshot and large and dark. “A popular theory was that Goya was representing an oppressive government through Kronos, and the son that was prophesized to kill him as an adult represented the people who had started to revolt. But others don’t see it that way, oddly enough.”

You don’t respond, you simply look at the beheaded infant, which looks so soft and so rotten at the same time, with blood and deskinned chewed flesh running down his neck. He fits into his father’s hands perfectly, like he was made to be eaten.

*~*~*~*

“While most incubi are written and drawn as physically attractive creatures, this one in particular looks more akin to a gargoyle than that of a man.” He hums, and you can feel his hand wrap more tightly around yours. Not so much in a strangling, hurtful way, but rather just in a sort of reminderful way. “Maybe Fuseli was trying to make sure that the point of what the incubus really is is sent across to the viewers?”

With not a single word coming out of your mouth, a sure sign that you are zoning out his words, he squeezes a bit tighter to get your attention back where he wants it to be.

“What do you think, beloved?”

Once again, instead of answering, you choose to remain silent and focus your attention on other things. So, you look around. To the floor. To your high heels. Everything else, anything else. Only silence remains for a few more moments, but when the silence is not enjoyed any longer with another increase in his grip, you decide to answer before you get yourself into trouble.

“...I… I think that maybe it deals with sleep paralysis.”

Chrollo widens his eyes and smirks, and from those actions alone you know you have created a believable lie and concept that is sure to be amusing to him.

You’re forgiven.

*~*~*~*

“Historians say that the son’s death was the point of no return for Ivan.” A cradling of the arms and a Cat’s Cradle are the same; they both trap those within them.

Eyes are still eyes, whether they are real or not. Ivan the Terrible’s show a thousand tragedies and a thousand other faces his destiny could have worn, if he pushed the other one aside, if he had the strength to.

“Just like how Ivan was his son’s undoing, his son was also his.”

*~*~*~*

“...Would you ever kill for me?”

Violence is often not the only path Chrollo can choose to take. His words can be another, albeit that road will be much longer, and less smooth.

Who knows what he will choose when the hour of the heist comes to fruition when the art can finally be grasped and never let go of?

Which path do you prefer?

Which path does he prefer?

Do you prefer to be threatened with sweet honey that sticks to your skin or is so hot that it burns it?

“Of course, my dear.”

What you find grotesque, like the way the topic of violence is spoken so naturally from you and him, Chrollo always seems to find beautiful, like the way your moving lips are so lush.

…

Paintings are often just a reflection of how the world is, after all.

Talk That Talk.

Dan Heng x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Dan Heng has no idea how you can talk so much.

Word Count: 500.

*~*~*~*

You two are at it yet again.

Dan Heng does not know how to feel about you chatting it up for the fourth time this evening with March. He was not annoyed by it, no. But he is not entirely thrilled either. Dan Heng has never been one to have much intrapersonal intelligence when it comes to his emotions, so at this prospect, he is not surprised. He expected it. It is what he does best, after all, predicting what is to come and never getting too off course.

Mr. Yang stands up from his armchair, grasping his cane as he takes a few steps forward towards him, slowly, calmly, the little creaking sounds of the Astral Express’s floors somehow being comforting to Dan Heng. “Something wrong? They won’t bite your head off if you join their conversation, you know.”

The voice is whispered but still fills Dan Heng’s mind with something akin to deja vu. He can hear someone saying similar reassuring prospects to him along with a clattering noise of wine glasses touching each other as there is cheering from both others and himself.

He doesn’t remember the moment exactly, though, as much as he tries, despite closing his eyes and attempting to see forgotten memories of the past that were cast into shadow long ago. Eventually, he gives up, opening them once more to see you and March still conversing, but something is different, he notes. A small box is in your hands, covered in teal wrapping paper and knotted with white and black ribbon. When did that happen?

He has been trapped in his thoughts for far, far too long, he thinks.

Mr. Yang even went back to reading his book in his armchair, his cane looking like it had been leaning against the table for at least five minutes. Himeko is pouring freshly ground coffee beans into her French press, the press in question being emptied by you and March a few moments earlier. Dan Heng stops himself from sighing. At least he knows where all of your energy comes from.

He takes the words of Mr. Yang and that unknown person to heart. “I believe in you.”

He has to remind himself that both of them are genuine. They do believe in him, so much more than he believes in himself. It isn’t a hard thing to do, but regardless, it is still something significant. 

So, finally gathering the courage to do so, he walks towards you two. To his surprise and March’s giggling, you bow your head as you present him with the wrapped box, looking down to the floor with your cheeks a light pink.

“Took you long enough, silly! They’ve been waiting forever for you to show! I was getting tired of playing Miss Notice Me…”

He does not know what to say, so he starts stuttering. So do you.

“S-Stop it, March!” You both exclaim.

…This entire time, you were trying to give a gift to him?

From different corners, all eyeing the situation, Welt, Himeko, and Pom-Pom all grin.

(troupe member of your choice) reacting to a cheating accusation

“this is all a game to you isnt it?”

decided to do this request with machi! <333

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, thoughts of kidnapping the reader, manipulation, stalking, and implied violence (not on the reader).

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

If there was one word you could use to describe the expression on Machi’s face, it would be nothing more or less than slight horror.

It’s ever so subtle, like how an astrologer would count the stars and find one missing, or find another new one that went unnoticed in the moments before it, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed then, in the past, or the present or the future. But you have learned to read Machi, have learned from how messy her hairstyles were to tell how annoyed she felt at your neighbors, have learned from what hoodie she was wearing to tell how much she spent on gifts for you. Most of all, you have learned how to differentiate the different shades of blue her eyes can change into, become, simply from how the sun hits or from how tired she is. You can read her, but can she read you?

When two mirrors face each other, what does one of them see?

What does the other one see? Will they see themselves, or one another?

When you look into Machi’s eyes, her eyes stare back at you too, don’t they?

“...What?” She’s confused, caught off guard perhaps, at your question, from how she crosses her arms in a defensive stance to counteract the glare from your eyes.

“That friend of yours, Pakunoda… she’s with you a lot.” You don’t want to accuse your girlfriend of anything, but with how secretive she can be sometimes confrontation is the best solution.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ve also… been avoiding me.”

“Have not.”

“You have!” You blurt out, hugging yourself even tighter as you continue to weep. “If you don’t like me anymore, just say so! She’s prettier and wealthier and obviously is a much better fit for-”

“[First], please calm down.”

Machi simply notes that your insecurities are getting the better of you again.

But why?

Then, everything she has seen today while following you to work clicks into her mind, this breakdown of yours being the final missing piece in this puzzle. It’s definitive.

An investigation of sorts, to see which clues fit in what order.

A familiar face comes into her imagination. Two, actually.

Then… the number goes up all the way to twelve.

But the two original ones stay under bright light, while the others are cast in shadow.

The green-haired girl from your job, the one that always seems to pick on you, and Chrollo.

Her boss speaks first. Even in her mind, a landscape that is supposed to be only hers, he always seems to be the early bird, putting a few words in before anyone else could.

Machi, I think you are too merciful to obstacles. Continuing to be that way will only slow you down even more.

She thinks on those words. 

Impulses spread around her like a mist. Impulses she has kept down for so long for your sake, your happiness, whether that be putting pills in your food when you visit her or slicing the throat of that man who catcalls both of you whenever you walk by him at that park you like frequenting when the weather is warm.

Then that girl’s voice comes into her ears, and the mist looks red and sticks to her palms and stinks.

You’re such a low score. That girlfriend of yours can do much better.

The urge, as dark as blood, for Machi to tear everyone who has ever crossed you limb from limb.

“...I’ll be back.” She turns around, walking toward your apartment door, the needles in her jacket pocket feeling even colder in her hands. “We can talk about this later, alright? Just please calm down.”

“...Don’t break up with me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She interrupts, gripping the doorknob so tightly she must focus on something else entirely to prevent her from breaking it.

“B-But then where are you going? If I’m not a good girlfriend just s-”

“Sh.” 

You sniffle. At the sight and sound, she is reminded of Pakunoda taking care of her when she was so young, crying and pulling on her sleeves, begging her to not leave her too. Those memories are bitter, most days, but sometimes they are all she can hold on to, to prevent herself from falling apart.

“Machi… you aren’t leaving me?”

“No. Never.”

“Then where are you going?”

She doesn’t answer.

You choose not to pry anymore, but the anxiety still gnaws at you from within.

Perhaps for a different reason. This gut feeling… It's horrifying. 

But you don’t know where this feeling came from. At least not yet, or maybe not ever, if Machi continues to have it her way.

Helloooo i just read ur yandere chrollo analysis and IT IS SO GOOD HOLY SHIT !! Thank u for the food! ur now one of my fav authors and imma be binge reading ur works but i just wanna ask,, how would chrollo react to his darling asking him if he would still love her if she was a worm? 👀👉👈

STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH AHHHH!!!! one of your favorite authors........ oh my gosh! i'm so honored. blessed. gifted a treasure from the heavens itself. feels like a dream. seriously, genuinely.

sending you virtual hugs, anon! i hope you have a wonderful weekend! 🫶🏼

yan chrollo is often just blursed to write, he's been a favorite of mine for..... almost four years now! time really flies by.... i'm getting old, soon i'll have all grey and white hair and bake cookies for neighbors and knit little dog and cat sweaters in my vegetable garden. but hopefully it's much farther away than i think! cottagecore grandma disney princess era has yet to arise. but when that comes! oh boy, i'll frolic with the deer and rabbits and forage for pretty pine leaves in mid-autumn.

ahem. back on the topic at hand.

chrollo would be entertained, to say the least. he'd just hit you with a "i can turn you into a worm to test myself" or something. promises to turn you back too, when all of it is over. never actually follows through turning you into a worm, for your sake and for his. he imagines the scenario sometimes though when he is bored (which is like 99.9999% of the time you or the troupe members aren't in the general vicinity of him). as a treat. he deserves it, he thinks.

expensive acrylic painted visual representation of chrollo lucilfer imagining worms, 2024. took hours to complete. days. weeks. months. years. perfect down to the last, minuscule details. i'm an artist for real. i swear. (this is why i mainly draw on paper lmao)

Secrets of Wisteria.

Yan (Serial Killer) ??? x GN Reader.

Synopsis: They don't know what to do with you.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, gender-neutral yandere, violence/mentions of gore, thoughts of murdering the reader, manipulation, implications of sex work, mentions of starvation, drugging/alcohol, stalking, and dehumanization.

Word Count: 1.3k.

insert your fav!

*~*~*~*

It is said that everything in the universe has its place as a part of a side of a never-tipping scale.

A shining star provides warmth but also burns the flesh of those who get too close. The moon resembles that of an Earth erased of all life, a planet in all but name to some, promising to be a guiding light, but in reality is just a cold, desolate land. 

Do such beautiful stars ever scorch the adjacent moons? Do such pale, blue moons ever cause the brightness of adjacent stars to die with a shallow, husky breath? Do they simply stay with one another, because despite being able to hurt one another, the chain of space forces them to stay together?

Questions that, because of you and because of them, may finally be answered. It hurts them but also entices them.

Despite everything you had been through together, you had hurt them in ways no others have ever done.

They suffer whenever they are near enough to smell your perfume, wanting to close up their nostrils, throat, and mouth before they go down in a flame of their own making. 

The perfume is mixed with the scent of others’ sweat and pleasure, staining it in what feels to be shades of a dirty, dark black. If only you could see it, the blind fool you always were and still are.

They suffer whenever they hear your voice, see the way your lips move, your moans and little gasps. It sounds more tempting than that of a siren’s call.

Your face, the way you bat your eyelashes to get what you want. Your eyes are brighter than any supernova.

Their entire being is a black hole that wants nothing more than to swallow you.

You hurt them whenever they think of you, never wanting to burn an image of you so deeply into their brain. But, like a parasite, you unknowingly persisted. Now it is so rooted, that it has replaced some of their nerves and has left them wanting so much more. They are addicted to this poison you have created and forced down their throat. It is only fair that they get to do the same to you.

They put something in your drink to make everything down the road that much easier.

Being a blind fool, you didn’t notice that your wine turned into a deep shade of pink.

Pink in your cup, and red in theirs. The colors of love.

They didn’t have it in themselves, despite all of the unfortunate souls they have banished to hell, to put cyanide in your glass.

It would have been a much more merciful death in their opinion, though. It was fitting for a rat like you. But also will give you so much less pain than those who have met their end by a torturous blade.

You gulped it down with such ease. They were, to say the least, your favorite patron, giving you no reason to doubt them.

It was so hard to make money these days, especially in a town like this. You were grateful for them.

But still, you decided to hurt them.

It’s your fault, honestly—all of it. You are the sole reason that their kills aren’t as sharp as they used to be, so much more impulsive than they used to be.

They almost got caught just the other day. They had sprung into action without a thought in their mind to go for a person who looked just like you from behind, down to the clothes they wore.

It's all your fault. It's all your fault.

Whore.

That is what they want to say.

But they cannot, not yet at least.

…

“Come, we are almost there.” With each step down the stone stairs, a water droplet falls from above, the underground tunnel’s top.

These walls are older than some dynasties if their memory recalls. Made of the bones of traitors and peasants who have passed on from much more painful pains.

It was easy to sneak some of their victims’ bodies in here and place them in such a way that no one would ever know the truth.

“Why here, my dear sponsor?” Your eyes follow the lantern in their left hand, swinging left and right like a pendulum.

They don’t answer.

You don’t ask any more questions, your limbs feeling heavy from all of the walking and the alcohol.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

The rocks below you feel like they are moving. “Sure.”

You must have gone so deep into the earth by now that you can practically see the gates of hell. The lantern’s light is almost out, and the air feels heavy and damp.

“We are almost there.”

You feel so dizzy.

They feel so elated.

Not a word is said until they suddenly stop. A split path.

They point to the left.

You wait, but they do not move.

A second. Two. Three.

Is that uncertainty they see in your eyes?

That is new. It makes them excited for what is to come next.

“Simply go down that hall and you will see the cellar… I will be right behind you.” They added that last part to quell your questioning gaze.

They have never lured anyone here alive before. But like everyone else who has seen these catacombs and their cellar, you won’t leave them alive.

They can’t leave you as much as they try.

It is only natural that they use the chain that holds you two together to their advantage for once.

Their truth works. Your second thoughts vanish like the trapdoor and the ladder down the hall, to the beginning, an entrance to a hell you will never be able to open again.

It is quite fortunate to them that you are such a blind fool.

It is quite fortunate to them that you overlooked that skeleton that looked a little too fresh.

It is quite fortunate that they are such a good planner. They didn’t starve the man for nothing, it seems.

“...Alright. But… I will get my pay after this, won’t I?”

They nod.

“Of course.” They reply. “What sort of patron would I be if I did not give you what is due?”

Such a blind fool you are.

They’ll keep you. You are simply too stupid and too tempting to be free. “...Thank you.”

Along with the words of genuine gratitude, the flame finally extinguishes.

“...Huh?”

A swift chop is the last thing you hear, your body collapsing is the last thing you feel and see before you go unconscious.

“For everything.”

They don’t drag you like they do the others, instead putting in the effort to pick you up and curl your head into their chest.

“...”

This brings back memories both bitter and sweet for them. The first time you laid on the bed. The first time you kissed them. The first time they managed to drag someone else unconscious down here, although with much less care.

“...I mean it.”

They cleaned up everything in the cellar just for you, all of the gore disposed of. Though their trophies will remain. The brain of a doctor in a jar. The eyes of a photographer. The left hand of a young widow, the ring still on the rotting finger.

It will serve as a warning to you to behave, hopefully, for your sake. Making them angry is a bad idea for everyone involved. They would hate to bandage your broken limbs and stitch you back together like some stuffed toy. 

As they hum a tune only you have heard, they think of what collar to place on that pretty neck of yours. It is an important decision. That collar will stay on you far past when you are mounted on their wall, after all. But that is years if not decades away.

“...Thank you. You made everything so much easier.”

The scale tips in favor of the pale blue moons.

*~*~*~*

Hunter x Hunter - Feitan, Hisoka, Illumi.

My Hero Academia - Dabi, Bakugou, Shigaraki, Overhaul, Enji.

Jujutsu Kaisen - Geto, Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku, Mahito, Mei Mei.

Genshin Impact - (Fatui Harbinger/Fake Archon) Scaramouche, Arlecchino, Columbina, Dottore.

Honkai Star Rail - Sparkle, (Mara Struck) Jingliu, (Mara Stuck) Blade, Kafka, Dr. Ratio.

Bungou Stray Dogs - Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Final Fantasy VII - Sephiroth.

Demon Slayer - Muzan, Sanemi.

Hazbin Hotel - Alastor, Valentino, Vox.

Twisted Wonderland - Jade, Floyd, Leona, Rook, Lilia, Vil, Jamil.

Chainsaw Man - Makima, Barem.

Baldur's Gate III - (Ascended) Astarion, Cazador, Shar, Rapheal, Minthara, Mizora, Zariel.

*~*~*~*

free pdf of the cask of amontillado if anyone's interested!