I Just Had A Thought Working At The Bakery Within Walking Distance Of The Yandere Art School. Freshly

I just had a thought… working at the bakery within walking distance of the yandere art school. Freshly graduated from the culinary arts program, you are the store’s sweet heart with a sweet smile and chipper disposition. Who’s spending way too much on pastries to see you every day?

i've thought about putting a culinary arts program - but im not sure if it actually counts as art...and my only reasoning for this is because of an anime (Magic-Kyun Renaissance) bc it's an anime about a magic art school and one of the characters becomes a master at pastries and cooking...it's a good show tho-

Narancia came with Guido, who wouldn't stop raving about this new sweets shop, and decided to see if the bakery had anything he'd like. He liked sweets and he was free at the moment. Just the display window had Narancia's mouth watering, all of the beautifully decorated cakes, light and fluffy cream puffs, crispy and golden tarts and pies, and so on. And then he met you - you were so...pretty. You smiled like an angel, you talked with a voice of silk, and you were so kind to everyone you helped. You even helped him pick out something he might like, settling on an orange tart. It was so delicious, he could of cried. You decided to chat with him since the bakery was kinda empty at the moment - you looked at him with such bright eyes when he talked about his different woodwork projects and his major. You just graduated the culinary section of the school and loved the neighborhood and general area so much that you made your shop here - and that you were pretty much making everything he saw in front of him. Oh, he would definitely be coming back - he wanted try the orange pound cake and he wanted to keep talking to you. Narancia comes by everyday to order some orange dessert and talk to you - you even give him samples of secret creations since he came by everyday. Don't be surprised when you're given a brand new wooden rolling pin, with such detailed carvings to make an imprint on the pastry dough. Narancia couldn't help but let his mind wander off...Taking you out of that cramped kitchen and into his house, baking and smiling for just him.

Guido is quite the foodie, especially loving Dolce and different cakes. He saw that you just opened up and decided to swing by after buying some supplies for his newest project. His stomach rumbled with just the smell of freshly-baked cake wafting into the air. And then he sees the cutie who was running the place - he remembered seeing you around the cafeteria area but you mostly stayed in the culinary section of the school. He regretted not talking to you earlier - You were so sweet and kind, helping him pick out the most delectable strawberry cake and laughing and beaming with pride when Guido complemented your cake. Guido definitely comes by often - to either eat cake or a quick pastry or to just chat you up. He was gonna tell Pannacotta about this place...But decided not to. He just wanted to be in your eyes a little longer. Like seeing you press a strawberry past his lips and smiling and giggling like an innocent angel...Oh, how he wanted to protect this smile. Guido even finds excuses to go to your bakery, just to see his sweet little chef. He'll definitely try to sweeten you up and try to get you to go out with him, it'll ease his mind even when he sees you chatting with the other male customers or that person you work with - Squalo.

Ghiaccio is a secret sweet tooth, he doesn't wanna deal with the bullshit he'll get for liking such sugary sweets. So he goes in private to different bakeries and shops for his fix. He just happened to walk by a display window of rather delectable macarons and tarts and decided to stop in. He's rather cold and uninviting, going straight to the point and ordering what he wanted. Ghiaccio watched you run around in the back kitchen since it was just you tonight, chattering and asking Ghiaccio. Letting him know that you just graduated from the school and opened your shop because you liked the area so much. Ghiaccio found it odd that you were so eager to learn about him - asking if he went there, what his major was, what he planned to do afterwards. No one really ever asked him or was interested, since he was usually reprimanded from his family of lawyers that he wanted to be an artist. It was just weird to have someone genuinely interested in him. He'll come back, but he says its because they were really good macrons. You even see him light up at the taste. He swings by for his usual order and it's usually quiet, but he begins to warm up to you. His heart throbbing when you just smile at him or listen to him rant, or even when you told him you just made a fresh batch of the macrons he liked because you knew he was coming in today. Ghiaccio felt...Loved. Like he could be himself with you. He'd cuss himself out for thinking romantic thoughts of you and melt at the thought of even just kissing you and seeing you smile just for him. But...the unexplainable rage he felt when he found out you mostly had a staff of men. His teeth ground and anger filled his brain when he saw that man, Carne, dare to touch his filthy hands on you or to even talk to you. He didn't belong there, none of them did...In fact, none of these cretins deserve to even be around you. You were his special person.

Noriaki was tired, dealing with his pack of grade schoolers and teaching them how to paint, breaking up paint fights, and etc. He needed a pick me up. He was gonna get coffee, but saw the delectable sweets you had displayed in the window - maybe something sugary can help. He couldn't deny how charming and delightful you were, and the pastries you made were simply delicious - his favorites had to be the cherry tart and the cherry cheesecake. He was delighted to talk to you, and he had someone to talk about his rowdy kids to since you were so interested. Noriaki could tell you had it in for him as well, with how you looked at him and those sweet smiles - not to be a narcissist, but he had plenty of people look at him like that in the past when they were crushing hard. He'd order from you for his students when they were doing well or for events. But he mostly came by for himself, chatting with you and enjoying your presence. You must put something in these baked goods, because he felt like cupid struck and arrow into his heart...So much that you were in his mind 24/7...He could black out and realize he made such a beautiful panting of you, either with the sweet smile and looking all innocent...Or his mind wandering and painting more lewd things, something that looked like cream on your face as you smile and take it...Oh, how he wanted to break that sweet and delightful person...

Servant's birthday was January 1st but there's still time send them your questions. They are eager to reply...

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Credits: Character art by Somate Studio; Background by Son Huynh; GUI/Item art by @arodude

The Break

Pairing(s): Fem!MC/Yuu/Reader x TBD

Summary: MC finally shuts down from all of her acts of helping with overblots and the countless favors/demands that are asked of her. When the Prefect of Ramshackle is the one who needs help, who steps forward?

WARNINGS

I am not the best at labeling warnings or triggers but I can say that this story is laden with neglect, self-neglect, anxiety, possible depression and attempts to justify the above. There could be more labels that I can add but i’m unsure how to word them - so please exercise caution.

Quick Note: The reader in this story is largely based upon Cinderella, for multiple reasons (#1 being that I want to and #2 being that I absolutely love Cinderella and think she’s amazingヾ(•ω•`)o ) . If that type of character behavior annoys or offends you, I recommend skipping this!

Keep reading

Yandere Captain Price Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Career sabotage, age gap, virginity kink (?), smut, AFAB Reader, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, mention of power fantasies, Price is a top, sir kink, mentions of male masturbation, toxic behaviour, abhorent behaviour, SERIOUSLY TOXIC BEHAVIOUR!, mention of a gun, description of a wound/injury, mentions of injuries, mention of blood, brief speculation of medical issues, pet names, profanity, etc.

You'd ensnared Price with your dark wit and humour, mirroring much of his own; and the smile you often served him with.

It took a long time - an arduous process you didn't even know you were engaging in - but you had Price wrapped around your finger within a year.

And he suspected that his liking of you - merely brief flickers of fantasies to ease him off to sleep or to get himself off - ran much deeper than he initially suspected.

Sure, he liked you; he worked with you, saw you every day - he'd think something was amiss if he didn't like you.

Though, that initial companionable enjoyment he - and the rest of the 141 - got from your fresh perspectives and attentiveness caused something in Price to...change.

He felt the shift, knew its symptoms, yet never found himself falling victim to it.

Until now.

He brushed it off at first, keeping his chatter with you tame, dull, if anything, to slow the spread, to stop it.

But he couldn't deny, as the months went on, how you made him feel, regardless of how hard he tried to push you away.

You made him feel safe, truly safe, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Sure, he was a big guy, more than perfectly capable of killing when necessary (and unnecessary), but that didn't mean he wasn't subject to the odd adrenaline rush here and there, a bullet wound to the thigh, a gouge to the shoulder.

And despite being younger than him, you were always there to patch him up, to see to him. It was your job. It was inevitable.

You knew that, Price knew that - yet something inside prevented him from believing that your stray touches, the tender look in your eyes, the soft tone of your voice, were merely a symptom of your profession.

They were evidence of your fancying of him, too.

And he decided to let you know that he knew.

It started off with looks - longer than usual. Longing.

In the common room, passing each other in the halls, during conversations.

He'd tease you from time to time, just to see your face break out in a flush of colour.

"Y'know what, (Y/N)?" he'd say, leaning in across the cafeteria table. "You have beautiful eyes."

If you managed to bypass your own embarrassment and shoot a compliment back, albeit sarcastic-- "Not as mysterious as yours, Captain,"-- he'd fall for you harder.

Btw, calling him "Captain," or "Sir," makes all the blood in his body rush straight to his cock.

Has jacked off to his power fantasies before now.

Man's a top, it's just in his nature to want authority over everyone else (you).

After that, he started being more physical with you.

He decided to teach you how to use a gun - "For your own safety," of course.

It was all (mostly) a ploy to have a plausible excuse to be pressed up behind you, arms around yours, head resting on your shoulder as he praised you for your aim.

And to hear you yelp, to feel you graze just the right parts of him whenever you recoiled after firing, into his chest and...elsewhere.

Sent him absolutely over the edge - used it as fuel for his increasingly frequent self-love sessions.

Though, he did actually want you to be able to protect yourself when it came down to it.

But, he always sees himself as your protector; your man on whom you can depend for anything.

One evening, disinfecting a wound on his abdomen as he sat on the edge of one of the operating tables, you and Price got to talking.

"Pretty nasty cut here, Captain," you said, wiping an antiseptic cotton pad across Price's wound.

He winced, though kept the light smile on his face.

"Ah well, all worth it to come and see you,"

You shot him a look of sarcasm, though smiled, finding the sincerity in his words.

"I hope you're not getting injured just for me!"

Your statement was jestful, but the sentiment was genuine.

Price's eyes squinted in a smile.

"What if I was?" he said, his hands sliding to his knees, ignoring the pulsing in his wound and coming eye level with you as you rose.

You were taken aback, though at least tried to look like you'd regained your composure.

You scoffed, discarding the bloodied cotton into a nearby bin.

"Ah yes, a big, strong man like you can't possibly be killed by a mere bullet just to come and see the medic."

Price felt something in him clench, tighten.

He gave a huff of a laugh.

"You'd be surprised the things a man'll do to see a pretty woman."

Your back was to Price, gathering his shirt and hat. You faltered, unsure as to whether you'd heard him correctly.

You shook your head, choosing to humour him. To not take him seriously.

Big mistake.

Price took your: "You know, you could always just come and see me without getting hurt," as gospel.

That night, he imagined you, pleased to see him (in more ways than one), begging to take him.

He could hear your voice chanting his name, moaning and panting as he had you bent over his desk, slamming into you.

After that, he took you up on your offer, visiting you on evenings he knew you weren't busy, where your greatest priority would be paperwork.

You'd talk, get to know each other more and more, you discovering his penchant for World War literature, and he of your interest in video games.

He often compared his tastes to yours, ruminating on how much he could teach you if you'd let him.

You were younger than him by a good margin, yet already so intelligent, so...independent.

Price wanted to change that.

He wanted you to depend on him, and only him, for everything.

One evening, he watched you at the bar with the rest of the Task Force.

Soap seemed rather pleased to see you, sidling up beside you and holding you by your waist, pulling you into his chest.

It all appeared as playful teasing - as many of the Task Force members often subjected you to - but to Price, it spelled a bigger picture.

That night, after you'd returned to Base, Price took his chance.

He knew you hadn't been drinking, so you were of sound mind.

He knew he had to act now.

"Y'know," he said, watching you fumble with your keycard, trying to re-enter the medical wing. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be alone on nights like these."

He took a drag of a cigar you'd just noticed he had: him always being equipped with one made you blind to when he was smoking so close to you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, looking up at him briefly before managing to swipe the right side of your card.

You entered the building, and held the door open for Price. He followed behind.

"Cold. Lonely." His voice was low, vibrating at such a frequency that had you feeling hot. You wondered how he could possibly have this effect on you.

"Who says I'm lonely?" you said, flashing him a smile. You continued walking to your sleeping quarters. Price knew; he'd memorised the layout of the medical wing. Your route.

"I have you."

You meant it more as a compliment to his character rather than an invitation. But Price saw it how he wanted to.

"Yeah," his voice was deeper now, somehow. Lower, as if trying to reach beneath your skirt. "You do."

Price was literally living the dream after that.

No, literally: he had you bent over the edge of your bed, ploughing into you, with you practically crying into the covers beneath him.

His grip on your hips was harsh, months of pent-up sexual frustration being pumped into you.

And that wasn't the only thing Price was planning on pumping into you.

He came to realise, through your months of friendship, that he loved you in a way he hadn't felt about anyone in a long time.

He felt...protective of you - of your innocence.

Despite the horrific injuries you'd had to deal with in your line of work, you maintained your somewhat carefree demeanour.

That, and Price knew you'd never taken anyone before.

Your years of studying, training and working wouldn't allow for it; both you and Price knew that.

And here he was, stretching you out on his thick cock, hitting crevices you'd never even felt before.

You were a doctor - a medic - you knew how sex worked.

And you knew, from your years of textbook study, that you were close. And that Price likely was, too.

"C-Captain- cu-- ah!" Price gripped your chin, forcing you to look back at him.

"That's it," he said, panting, sweating, twitching. "Say my name again."

"P-Price-"

Price landed a slap on your backside, harsh enough to send a jolt of electricity through you.

"Try again, Princess."

He felt you clench around him at the name. His lip twitched up in a smirk.

"Captain..." you breathed out. You knew what you wanted to say - needed to say.

"Don't cum inside me," you pleaded, eyes wide and hazy. "Please."

You didn't have birth control to-hand, and you'd heard too many miracle stories about women still getting pregnant regardless of the aid of a pill regardless to risk it.

Price gave no acknowledgement of your worry, instead continuing to slam into you.

He was relentless, forcing you to your end quicker than you could register it.

You cried out, voice obscured by the covers, as your orgasm tore through you, gripping the sheets as Price was gripping your hips.

He continued to pump into you, prolonging your orgasm, keeping the mist settling over your mind from dissipating. Keeping your judgement from telling him to pull out.

It didn't occur to you until it was too late.

Price groaned, guttural and primal, and something hot and thick filled you.

Price's grip slid up to your waist, one hand settling on the small of your back and the other settling on your stomach, rubbing it.

Both panting and coming down from your high, your mind cleared.

First came the shame - the crushing reality that you'd just had sex with your superior, the man who'd near enough employed you - then, the realisation of a bigger issue.

"You...you didn't pull out..." Your voice was soft, throat dry with incessant panting and moaning.

Between breaths, Price uttered: "Don't worry, Princess. Got the pill."

Relief washed over you, then logic. Of course, why on earth would your superior risk you getting pregnant? Then again, why would he have contraceptives to-hand? This was a military base.

Little did you know.

Price did end up giving you a pill soon afterwards. A placebo, nothing more. Not that you knew that.

You and Price went on with your...relationship?...after your encounter.

You were confused, to say the least; unsure of how to approach Captain Price now that you'd grown to know him so intimately.

Yet he almost acted as if you hadn't; as if the whole thing were nothing more than a dream.

Almost.

The longing gazes and half-smiles let you know that he was still very much aware of all that you'd done together, though instead of the room thickening with tension whenever he was around, you felt shame. Ashamed.

You knew you couldn't undo what had been done, but you could go on and pretend it never happened - the only way you could think to put it behind you.

In the meantime, Price seemed so occupied these days, having important meetings with people you didn't even know or care to ask about, so he had little opportunity to remind you of your experience with him.

Though, he reminded himself of it every day - the fact that he'd been your first, the first (and only) to claim you.

The thought crossed his mind whenever he was fortunate enough to see you in the hallways, whenever he came to you with a scuff or a scrape.

A month passed. And that's where it all ended for you.

The sickness began, your stomach turning more mornings than not, leaving you breathless and fatigued before the day even began.

Your energy seemed to drain quicker, too, leaving you a ghoul of yourself on some days.

The other 141 members seemed to take note, asking you if you were okay, if you were eating enough.

All except Price.

The way he looked at you now - when word of your health's sudden downturn spread - was masked, as if he knew something. Like he knew whatever forbidden knowledge he possessed hid in his eyes, which he kept cold and unreadable.

Eventually, you decided to get tested for...well, everything. You got blood tests, tracked your symptoms, tried to make sense of this sudden onset of sickness.

You considered it was something you'd been eating, but you ate more or less the same meals before the sickness began.

You considered every possibility - blood disorder, stomach bug, liver issues - all except that which you hadn't daned the most obvious.

And when your test results returned, you felt your world shatter.

On your report, in a box in a long table, was a sign. The only confirmation of any illness on that entire report.

Pregnant: Positive.

Your worst fear had been confirmed. And now, you had to confirm it to Price.

Skittering through the hall, you found his office.

Surprisingly, there were no voices on the other end now, usually emanating from this room, muffled and secretive. 'Associates of Price' was the only identification you gave them.

You knocked, was told to enter. You obeyed.

Entering the room, you noticed that Price wasn't smoking his signature cigar, the air of the room clear, unobstructed by smoke.

Price had his legs resting on the edge of his desk, a perfect image of laxity while you, an homage to stress.

Your breath shuttered, and you rubbed one hand with the other. Price remained motionless, as if poised for your answer. Poised for attack.

You couldn't think straight, instead saying the first thing that came into your mind.

"You're not smoking, Captain." You tried to smile, but the attempt was diluted by your fear. Price only gave a knowing smile.

"Mmh. Wouldn't be good for the baby, would it?" The casualty with which he said it almost disguised the statement itself. You smiled, looking down at your hands, then your gaze snapped up to meet his.

His smile broadened, as if he were hearing the news of your pregnancy for the first time.

He took his legs off the desk and stood, his figure's shadow almost reaching you.

"You've...read my report, then?" you tried, cautiously. You didn't want to entertain the hundred other possibilities you were considering.

"No." Price's answer was immediate, firm. He walked around his desk, hands behind his back, and stopped before you.

"Then...how could you possibly..."

The realisation had been there, nestled between your other speculations like a pea between mattresses, pricking you, making you uncomfortable.

Price brought a hand to the side of your face, holding it.

His large hands would have, at any other time, brought you great comfort. But now...

You took a step back, one hand over where your child was, the other ready to defend you.

Only now did Price's smile falter. His gaze became colder, serious.

"Now, now, (Y/N), this isn't all doom and gloo-"

"You gave me a fake pill, didn't you!" It wasn't a question, rather an accusation.

Price sighed, rubbing his beard.

You stepped back, inching towards the door.

"You- You knocked me up on purpose!"

"Now don't go throwing 'round accusations like that-"

"Why not? It's true!"

Price lunged at you, covering your mouth with his hand. With the other he pressed a button on the wall - a big red one that looked like it should never be pressed.

Two soldiers came in - makeshift security guards.

Price handed you to them.

"Put her in isolation; she'll be shipped back tomorrow."

And now, in your cell, rocking back and forth, you cried.

You truly believed this to just be a nightmare - nothing more.

And it only worsened when Price visited you.

He pulled up a chair, sitting before you in your cell.

He leaned forward on his thighs as he had done that evening on the operating table.

"It's for your own good-"

"Oh, fuck off."

You were in no mood to barter, to absolve him of his crimes.

Price's brow twitched, yet he remained composed.

"I'm trying to be reasonable here, (Y/N)."

You scoffed. "You're not reasonable. You act on impulse, on flights of fancy. And this is just another byproduct of that."

Price looked somewhat offended.

"You think this is a flight of fancy?" he said. "You think you are just a flight of fancy?"

He pulled his chair closer to your cell, and leaned in.

"I have put more thought and consideration into you than I have done any other person, any other operation-"

"And look where that's gotten us."

"(Y/N), let me speak-"

"Or what?" you challenged. You came up the the glass of the cell, close enough that your breath fogged against it.

"Or what? You're gonna kill me?"

Price shot you a look that made the doubt flicker in your mind - that he actually would.

Price sighed, leaned back in his seat, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm doing this to keep you safe."

Despite the overwhelming urge to interrupt him, to scream bloody murder at him, you let him talk. For now.

Seeing you were finally letting him explain himself, Price continued, his features softening.

"The military's no place for a girl like you, (Y/N)."

"I'm a woman. Not some complacent little schoolgirl fawning over a teacher-"

"Then what would you call how you've been actin' around me, hm?"

A smug look crossed his face. You sought to correct that.

"What do you mean? You pursued me!"

"Then how do you account for all our time together?"

You racked your brain for what he could have possibly been talking about. The only times you'd spent time with him voluntarily felt - mostly - purely platonic. To you, at least.

"Those touches," he said, nigh whispered, his voice sibilant. "Those looks. Those conversations--"

"You mean me doing my job?"

"Oh, come now, don't act like you don't know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"Captain-"

"Call me John."

You took a deep breath, trying to compose both yourself and your response.

"John, listen, I don't know what I've done to you, but whatever it is, surely I didn't warrant...this."

"You--" John looked at you as if you'd shot him. "You think this is condemnation?"

You felt confusion bubble in your mind, dyeing your thoughts with the colour of uncertainty.

"You don't?"

John sighed deeply, rubbed his temple.

"This," he began, "is to protect you."

"From what?"

"Your job."

You threw your hands up in the air, feeling as if you'd gotten nowhere - that your questions still hadn't been answered.

"I love my job, John! I love taking care of people, I love the 141, I love-"

"Me?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The look in John's eye was serious as death.

You knew what he wanted to hear, but you couldn't believe that he mean it - that he loved you. After all, you didn't love him.

"I just don't see what you're trying to protect me from, John." You skirted around his question, folding your arms across your chest.

John acknowledged your answer by not acknowledging it at all.

"You know the risks of my line of work - of our duty,"

He stared dead into your eyes and you couldn't look away.

"And I can't - won't - let you be a victim of it."

"A victim?" Your voice was airy, inflated with disbelief.

"I chose this profession, I have bled for it-"

"Which is exactly my point! I don't want you getting hurt anymore-"

"Why do you care?-"

"Because I love you!"

Price's voice thundered, making your very bones quiver.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stepped back, more stumbled, the weight of Price's statement shooting past you like a javelin. Just missing you.

Too much ran through your mind after that, making you nigh-unresponsive to John.

Everything that occurred afterwards became a cesspool of moments and emotions, barely strung together by a thread of logic.

A caretaker came in shortly after, telling you, in a voice that was none of which you knew, yet possessing a sentiment you recognised immediately as Price's plan:

"We'll be excusing you from your medical obligations until a year after your child's birth, after which you'll be free to return to work--"

Even through the buzzing of your own anxiety, a flicker of hope lit within you.

"--given that your superior authorises your return."

Aaand it was snuffed out.

Your heart sank, nerves frying, mind going blank.

So this was his scheme, you thought.

24 hours later, an aircraft descended from the heavens to pluck you from reality. And Price was there, over your shoulder, providing little comfort.

He had a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it, squeezing it.

His breath was hot on your neck, unfazed by the cold breeze ushered your way by the blades of the helicopter.

"I'll be with you soon," he told you, uttering it into your ear. Even the cotton-eared effect of the crushing wind and metal couldn't mask his words, his voice.

It sent shivers down your spine. Unsettled you.

Once released from the grip and watchful eye of the Captain, you sprung into action, pleading with the attendee to get help, to do something - that Price was not the valiant hero everyone thought him to be--

And the attendee did nothing.

In fact, they seemed to be on his side, already knowledgeable of Price's misdeeds and not caring for how they affected his victims.

Though, they did admit, he'd never done anything like this before.

"Seems like you're special," they said, leaning back into their seat.

Mortified, and truly alone, you sank back, stomach heavy with the weight of your reality and the life growing inside you.

You were taken home after that, but you knew it was not truly your home.

Price had been here, one way or another; you could tell by how the house no longer felt like you - smelled like you.

And when you checked the crevices and corners, you knew why.

Cameras. Few and far between, but obvious if you knew where to look.

Either Price didn't know you as well as he thought, or he knew you too well; knew that you'd find the cameras, a reminder of your binding to him.

Now and forever. With a man you didn't think capable of such cruelty, nor such "love".

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Masterlist

Masterpost

Arctic Monkeys // Sylvia Plath

MC:I don't need a prideful man, I need someone who's not afraid to cry in front of others while he speaks his thoughts out

Satan:Lucifer's out of the picture

Belphie:that means less competitio-

MC:I also don't need someone who killed me once.

Belphie:

Satan:pff-

Lucifer:what was that phrase again? Oh right, "sucks to be you"