Giggling And Kicking My Feet When I Read My Husband's Part (Beel The Love Of My Life

Giggling and kicking my feet when I read my husband's part (Beel the love of my life <333)

Demon brothers react to mc being scented by lower demons (part 2)

Pairings: Satan x reader /Asmo x reader / Beelzebub x reader /Belphegor x reader

Here is part 1 of this series:

Satan

Right after arriving at the HOL, you quickly spotted your boyfriend Satan arguing with Lucifer

Seeing Asmo on the side looking at himself in a mirror, you decided to ask him what's up

Turns out, your boyfriend tried to sneak in a cat again and was caught by the eldest demon, and now Satan is being a menace calling lucifer heartless for not letting the cat in

You got so engrossed with how they're bickering back and forth, you didn't realize Asmo was now staring at you, squinting his eyes

Feeling his intense gaze you asked what's up

"MC dear, if i were you, I'd run" he said as a matter of factly returning his attention to the mirror

You were about to ask what he meant when someone gripped your wrist

You whipped your head only to see your almost growling boyfriend seething with anger

Right before you can ask what's wrong he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes

Your protest fell unto deaf ears

Satan trudged towards his room, the brothers minding their own business, they know better than to add fuel to the fire

Arriving at his room, he quickly gently tossed you to the bed and hovered aver you, keeping you in place

"Satan, what in the world are you doing?" you blurted, flabbergasted by how his acting right now

"I should be asking you that MC, why the hell are you carrying the scent of another demon?" he growled

You explained to him and felt completely shocked that his being like this just because of some friendly scenting

He snapped

He quickly dove to the crook of your neck making marks, leaving small bites, giving kitten licks until your squirming

With how nonchalant you are to the situation, he opted to not explain the situation but rather take action for now

Of course safe to say, you both didn't have dinner that night 👀

Next morning

Seeing MC walk funny*

Asmo: see, told you, you should've run

Asmodeus

MC dear, you're just asking to be ravished

No seriously

He'll be all smiles about it, but it's not very convincing with how his eyes is just screaming "whose woman are you!"

Walking in the hallways making your way towards your room,you come face to face with your boyfriend who obviously just got out of the bath, hair still damped

Seeing you, he was quick to latch himself unto you

Of course upon contact, the scent you're carrying immediately clogged his sense of smell

Propping himself back up, and now facing you directly

"Dear, you're carrying quite a scent there, mind telling me where it's from, or to be exact" whose? "" he said without missing a beat while smiling, and you know better with how his voice dropped lower

You definitely felt a shiver down your spine

You rambled the explanation about the scent and how it's just a friendly gesture

Coming to understand that you didn't know any better, he quickly became his cherry self again

Relieved to see your cheerful boyfriend is back again, you leaned to give him a small peck on the cheek

Asmo of course,,not missing the opportunity to start a full make out session captured your lips and started doing wonders

Not that you were complaining

He dragged you to his room, and to his bathroom, you need to bathe and maybe do scenting, this time with how lovers do

Beelzebub

this adorable baby,,, not me being a simp

You were about to go upstairs when your stomach suddenly growled, shifting course, you changed your destination, to the kitchen

And there he was, your adorable boyfriend just munching away on a tart

Acknowledging your presence he quickly beckoned you over

He was quick to give you a tart, although it already has a bite on the side, you didn't mind

He can give you a candy wrapper and you wouldn't mind

You sat beside him, and started to munch on the tart when he suddenly hoisted you up and seated you in the kitchen counter with him in between your legs

"mmhp mhmm?" translation: What's wrong?

Though he did find it cute how you look like a hamster right now and he wanted to squish your cheeks, that's not the point

"MC, why do you have a demons scent on you?" he asked rather calmly

Swallowing the tart on your mouth, you explained how you made a friend and he scented you for commemoration

Taking note how you act like it's nothing, beel realized you don't know what it means to be scented

He'll likely explain it to you after you're done devouring the tart but for now

He'll just hug you by the waist with his head on the crook of your neck making love bites

While eating you can't help but let out a moan with how beel was relentlessly marking you, scenting you in the process

When he was done, he came face to face with your pretty much needy face

Obviously wanting more

And who was he to deny you that

He can definitely go for another treat now, a treat named MC

Belphegor

This mf

Upon arriving you went to your room only to find your boyfriend sprawled on your bed, chest slowly rising and falling

Wanting to take a bath, you immediately got rid of the fabrics clinging to your skin and hopped in to the shower

Before you could get the water runnin, you heard the bathroom door open

By reflex, you immediately grab your towel and wrapped around your frame

"What the f*ck belphie, get out. Weren't you asleep" you screamed, grabbing the shampoo bottle and yeeting it towards his face

He catched the bottle effortlessly. Ok that was hot. Wait that's not the point

"MC, you came home and you didn't give me a kiss eventhough you saw me in your bed and what's more you smell like a demon" he plainly stated while slowly making his way towards you

"I was gonna lay in bed with you after I'm done showering you know, and the scent was from the friend i made today" you said, now completely in between his arms

he hummed at your explanation, with how vague you said the scent was from a friend, he's convinced you're clueless about scenting

"I see, I'll wait till your done then" he said slowly leaving the bathroom

After you finished showering, you saw him at the edge of the bed and noticing you were done he called you over

"wait let me put some clothes on first"

"No need, you'll end up naked anyway"

You went back to the bathroom and emerged outside again with a shampoo bottle in hand ready to be launched

All in all, you finished the day with a lot of cuddling and he was not merciful with the scenting, it went on for hours until you're practically another embodiment of his scent

A/N: as some of you can tell I'm new to tumblr, I'm still figuring how this app works so I'm sorry if i make some mistakes pls be patient with me ><

Masterlist🌻

Soft Life!

Warning: none

Pairing: Gojo x black reader

A/n: this was highly influenced by the influx of soft black girl aesthetic. There’s a little rant at the end, don’t mind me.

Some may label you a gold digger, claiming you're with him for his money, and others may claim you've played life smartly, but one thing is certain: being Gojo's wife was the easiest thing you've ever done; this man asks for and gives you anything you want.

You met Gojo as a college student working a part-time job. Going to school and juggling job was challenging, but you made do with what you had. He liked your dedication and hard work, and he found your independence attractive. But if you were to stay with him, no woman would spend her life working when he could easily provide and care for her.

Gojo is a man that doesn’t ask you for a thing he’s just a giver. He makes you feel secure in every aspect of life, but if you decide you want to do something on your own, he’s ten toes behind you.

In your free time you love staying home and looking online for new treats to make your husband when he’s away at work. You’ve had so much free time you started making videos for your social media accounts and they blew up overnight.

People love watching your get ready with me’s, you go shopping, cooking, working out, couple's trips, makeup routines, anything you post they love.

Besides your social media activities not having to work every day really opened your schedule, instead of being too tired to do anything after coming home you have time for all your favorite hobbies plus more. Reading, yoga, gardening, painting, knitting, hell sometimes all you do is lounge around and take bubble baths. (Gojo loves coming home to a happy and well rested wife.)

But with the positive comes the negative, the ones who don’t like you or is very jealous of your lifestyle love to call you a pretty dumb housewife who has nothing better to do. Someone who’s thrown her life and career away to cater to a man but in reality, that same man caters to you. Do people think you’d take care of a man who does nothing for you?

In your opinion you love who you’ve become as a woman and a wife, you’ve never been happier even Gojo sees it.

©heejayy 2024 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission.

Side note this is a little bit in the serious side: Although this is for my black girlies, all the girlies can read 🤷🏾‍♀️

I'm not sure if it's just me, but I've grown tired of the 'Strong Black Woman' trend. Now, don't get me wrong, I like strong independent women because that's how I was taught, but being perceived as overly independent makes black women appear as if we don't need anyone and can do everything on our own, which is how people treat us. Like babes…we are human with emotions. They will go help and praise a non-woman of color before helping us. It's quite harmful; they already treat and compare us to men. And when a black girl tries to break out from that image, she is dragged back down, which is disgusting.

You don’t have to be rich to be in your soft era! Put yourself first, be kind to yourself, don’t let anyone tear you down, you are worthy of love, the things you can’t control don’t let it stress you out, pray and read the Bible more (if you’re religious), let go of negative people, ITS OKAY TO ACCEPT HELP, it’s okay to be quite or confident which ever one fits you, prioritize peace, just be you don’t change or try to fit in.

907.

a commission piece for a lovely nonnie <33

Suna Rintaro x female reader w.c 4.4k

tw: noncon, blood, murder, slight gore, yandere vibes, nsfw, horror elements

Your grandmother called it ‘the gift’. 

Once upon a time, you viewed it that way, too. A blessing, rather than a curse.  

She had on a red sweater. A turtleneck, reminded me of the one you used to wear. That’s why I picked her over the others – she made me think of you. 

Lips drag along the column of your throat, teeth catching – nipping sharply – at the sensitive flesh. 

Cute smile, all doe eyed and dumb. 

Blunt, blood-stained fingernails dig into your hips. Another searing stab between your thighs.

They’re always so fucking dumb. Naive, too; she let me tie her up without breaking a sweat. Let me blindfold her. Stupid bitch never saw it coming. 

Again and again and again. You haven’t cried in weeks now, haven’t let him see you weak and terrified since the very beginning, but there’s no helping the way your body shakes. Or the nausea that curdles in your stomach.

A low groan rumbles against your skin. 

Do you know the sound a human body makes as blood fills its lungs? It’s sort of a choked of gurgle, all wet and rasping. You should see the way their faces look, how they freak out, clawing at nothing.

He stills. A shudder ripples through tensed muscles. And then–

Next time, I want you there with me. I want you to see it.

– spurts of hot cum paint your insides white. 

Panting atop you, your tormentor grins.

—

Most of the time, you tune the thoughts in your head out. It’s like walking into a crowded restaurant, or the Louvre in Paris, the steady hum of conversation, voices too interwoven to pick and pry at the individual threads.

At least, not without some degree of effort.

It’s for that very reason you’ve always preferred the city over the country. Fewer voices in your head made it a challenge to ignore them, the voices distinct. Clearer. 

The city, or any heavily populated place really, offered peace and quiet, strange as it may sound. It offered a choice. 

On the nights that you can’t sleep, you’ll lie there in a city of millions, carefully plucking through the tapestry of thoughts to listen in on. Mundane things – thoughts of meetings and work waiting in the morning, disagreements still unresolved, sex and drunken, late night musings. Sometimes you even get bits and pieces of dreams. A semi-coherent commentary of unconscious desires, which usually ranged from mildly disturbing to surprisingly entertaining.

And perhaps it’d feel invasive, listening in to your neighbours’ innermost thoughts and feeling, if you actually knew who they belonged to, but you don’t. You’re not sure if you’ve ever even had a proper conversation with any of the people in your apartment complex – a nod and a smile at the couple who live in the apartment next to yours, a ten second exchange about the weather outside when you’re caught in the elevator, beyond that though, nothing. 

They’re strangers.

You’ve made a conscious effort never to pry into the minds of your loved ones. Or, you’ve tried to, at least. Sometimes you can’t help it, especially when you were younger.

Sometimes their thoughts are loud. Unignorable. 

Sometimes you hear things that hurt you. 

But never in your wildest imagination did you ever anticipate that this beautiful, strange, double edged gift of yours would end up hurting you like this. 

—

There’s a poster of a missing girl plastered over the bus stop out the front of your apartment. One morning, you find a friend of yours staring curiously at it, a slight crinkle appearing between her brows. 

“Huh,” she murmurs, “weird. She kinda looks like you.”

You know she means nothing by it. She has a habit of saying things without thinking them through, and you’ve long since come to accept that.

The comment would’ve been easy to brush off had it not been for that uneasy prickling at the nape of your neck.

The feeling of eyes burning holes into your back that’s plagued you for a few days now. 

—

–elp me, help me, oh god, please someone HELP ME!

A loud thump echoes from above, jerking you from a fitful sleep. You shoot upright, breath just out of reach. 

Sweat beads at your temples, your pulse pounding in your ear. The only light in your bedroom is a thin beam of moonlight filtering through the crack in your curtains, and for a moment, you just sit there, chest heaving, fingers twisting in your sheets.

What the hell was that?

You swallow, a lump lying heavy and tight in your throat. The voice (was it a voice? A figment of your imagination? A dream, maybe?) sounded feminine. Terrified. 

Screaming. 

You’ve never heard anything like it before. Every once in a while there’s a voice in your head that’s louder than the others, usually when emotions are running high, but nothing like this. 

As quickly as it’d come, it falls silent, settling back into the hum of interwoven noise inside your head.

And yet you feel it still; an imprint echoing quietly, unable to leave. Licking your lips, you frantically concentrate, picking and pulling at the various threads to see if you can find it – her – again.

… keeps snoring, I’m gonna shove this pillow… 

… looks so hot on her knees, fuck, maybe I should film…

…diet’s ruined anyway, might as well see what’s open…

… then at eleven there’s the presentation with the boss… 

Nothing.

Nothing but the same mundane, simple thoughts you hear every night. Frustrated and stressed and tired and horny – and not so much as a hint of that awful terror and panic.

If what you heard was somebody’s thoughts, if they were genuinely in trouble and needed help, surely you’d be able to pick it up. 

Surely they’d be calling out, too, and somebody else would hear it.

With a heavy exhale, your body loses some of its tension. Maybe it was all in your head, a dream that wasn’t quite a dream. Reaching blindly for your phone, you fumble until the screen lights up, squinting against the sudden brightness to read the time. 

2:48. 

Damn. 

The past few days have sapped the energy right out of you, you just need a good, uninterrupted night’s sleep. That’s all. Setting the phone back on your nightstand, you slip back beneath the covers and shut your eyes once more.

You breathe in and you breathe out, wriggling slightly to make yourself more comfortable.

Another thump reverberates through the room and you fight that niggle of irritation, burrowing yourself further into your bed as if that’ll somehow erase the disturbance. It’s a universal thing, right; upstairs neighbours clomping around at ridiculous hours. Still, doing so at three am on a Friday morning feels a little excessive. 

All you need is a few decent hours of sleep, and–

Stupid fucking bitch.

Exhausted eyes snap open. 

—

“You need to tell somebody,” your friend mutters.

The two of you are out on your balcony, her leaning out over the railing, you loosely curled in one of the wicker chairs of your outdoor set. “And say what? ‘Hi officer, I think I heard a woman screaming for help inside my brain? And then another voice – again, totally in my head – insulting her. Though, on second thought, the two may or may not be related’?” You laugh humorlessly, “Yeah, that’ll go down a treat.”

She frowns, “Well, okay, maybe not phrased exactly like that, but you could’ve said something. Told them you actually heard her screaming, or about the thumping upstairs.”

“That thumping could’ve been anything. I don’t even know if the voice was real in the first place, I just–” you break off with a huff, dropping your head to your knees. “I don’t know.”

And that’s the worst thing. You’ve spent the past few hours running it over and over in your head, trying to piece everything together. What you’d heard and felt and sensed. That voice, the woman – whoever she was – she’d sounded so desperate, so terrified, and yet you can’t even be sure that she wasn’t a figment of your own exhausted imagination. If you can’t be certain of that, how the hell can you be sure of anything else? 

The thought, creeping and insidious, hasn’t left you alone, won’t let you rest easy or brush it aside – what if it wasn’t your imagination. What if the woman was real and genuinely needed help?

Why did she suddenly fall silent?

Your friend sighs, pushing away from the railing to come to your side. Her hand falls to your shoulder and squeezes. Hey,” she says, and waits until you lift your watery eyes to meet hers to continue, “I’m sorry, forget about it, yeah?” She tries for a smile, “You said it yourself, you’re tired, it’s been a long week. This is probably a stress thing, don’t let it get to you.”

Neither of you really believe that, but you nod all the same.

A week later, there’s a second poster plastered beside the first. Another smiling face, and a desperate plea for information.

—

You come home one afternoon to find a package sitting at your doorstep. Considering your online shopping habits, it’s hardly cause for concern – no, that comes when you pick up the box and read the name scrawled across the label.

Suna Rintaro.

Apartment 907.

You live in 807, meaning that the intended recipient of the package – Suna Rintaro, you suppose – lives in the apartment directly above yours. 

Almost two weeks have passed now since that night, and your upstairs neighbour – and the cries in your head – have mercifully been silent.

Which doesn’t necessarily put your heart at ease, climbing the steps of the fire escape up to his apartment. 

The plan is to leave it on his doorstep, no need for knocking, no need for any kind of interaction whatsoever. Better, actually, if there isn’t. 

There’s a saying though, about the best laid plans. You’re midway through setting the package down on the doormat when abruptly, there’s a pointed cough behind you.

You drop it with a yelp of surprise, jerking backwards, one foot catching on the other causing you to lose your balance. The only thing that keeps you from falling onto your ass is a steady hand that shoots out to grab at your forearm.

And the man that hand is attached to. 

Bored eyes and an impassive face stare back at you as you scramble to right yourself, his grip only relenting – on the verge of reluctance, the fingers slowly prying back– when you’re back on solid footing. “Can I help you?”

“Uh no, the um…the package – your package, I mean – it got delivered to me by mistake.” You swallow. “I live beneath you.”

The man isn’t what you expected. Not that you had any expectations per se (because you’ve spent the past two weeks pretending that Everything is Fine and Nothing is Wrong) only that if you had, it wouldn’t have been him.

Standing slightly over six three, he towers over you, clad in a grey hoodie and black sweats. At a guess, you’d put him at a few years older than yourself, you might even go so far as to call the man attractive, in a college drop-out, maybe-definitely sells drugs on the side kind of way.

Attractive– and utterly empty.

His eyes track your movements with unnerving focus, a flat void of pale gold. Uneasiness stirs inside of you, harkening back to the days of hunter and hunted. Your skin crawls. 

“Thanks, I guess,” he drawls, the last part tacked on as an afterthought. As if it’s more effort than it’s worth pretending to be polite and neighbourly after you’ve done him this favour. 

The glint in those cold, lifeless eyes, however, tells a different story. 

Every cell within your body screams at you to run, run, run.

You nod, plastering a too tight smile across your face as you force yourself to breathe in and put some distance between you two, “Right, well, um… I should go. I have– things.”

Things. Yes, excellent excuse. 

The man – Suna – nods, looking barely interested. “Mhm.” He’s already moving around you, lazily lifting the package with one arm as he fishes for his keys in his pocket. You turn on your heel, glad for the excuse to escape the awkward encounter and scurry on back to the relative safety of your own apartment.

You’re almost at the stairwell when you hear it, that same flat tone forcing its way to the surface;

What’s got you so on edge, angel? Hearing things you shouldn’t?

—

He’s there in the elevator when you arrive home from after work drinks with your friends, arm slung low around some girl you’ve never seen before. His gaze flickers to yours when you step in after them, the corners of his lips twitching just a fraction.

The girl pays you no mind, the flush of alcohol high on her cheeks, her pupils glazed with it.

She’s pretty hot, right?

You stiffen, your grip tightening around the strap of your purse. You refuse to acknowledge him beyond that, though. Won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s getting to you.

Hot, and dumb as all fuck – but hey, that’s not exactly a dealbreaker. You know how it is. 

The red letters on the panel steadily inch upwards. From the corner of your eye, you spy him leaning down to whisper in her ear, absently toying with a lock of her hair. Whatever it is that he says to her, she giggles in response, the blush on her cheeks deepening. Your stomach flips. 

Third floor… fourth… fifth… this must be the slowest elevator in the goddamn country, you would’ve been better taking the stairs. Or maybe it’s just that being in such close proximity with Suna makes every second feel like a lifetime. 

In the reflection of the panelled metal, yellow eyes shift your way.

The dumb ones make it easy. 

Relief washes over you when you finally stop at the eighth floor, the elevator doors barely creaking open before you’re slipping through them, all but racing for your apartment. It’s a fleeting thing, that relief, quickly overshadowed by a sense of foreboding that has your hands trembling – making the simple task of unlocking your door unnecessarily challenging.

You can hear them upstairs, walking around. Muffled voices.

You have to remind yourself that you’re being paranoid, that the only thing you know with any degree of certainty is that your upstairs neighbour is an asshole. 

An asshole who for whatever reason seems to have realised that you can read his mind and is now amusing himself by trying to upset you with that knowledge.

Because that’s what this is, right? He’s trying to mess with you. 

That girl he was with (with her pretty face and hair like yours – like the other girls whose faces are now plastered across missing persons flyers throughout the city) hadn’t appeared distressed in the slightest.

No, from the way she was giggling and clinging to Suna, she definitely wanted to be there with him. 

And when the thumps start up again, a rhythmic banging that’s impossible for you to tune out, you remind yourself of that.

Sex isn’t a crime. Bringing home random girls isn’t a crime.

You have absolutely no reason to think that there’s anything amiss with any of this. 

To quell the ball of unease sitting like a lump in your throat, you crawl into bed and put on your headphones, blasting music until it drowns out all else. Fatigue and the lingering alcohol in your system begin to make you sluggish, your own exhaustion warring with concern.

You’re being paranoid.

(You’re so tired. So, so tired.)

He’s not doing anything wrong. 

(You can’t remember the last decent night’s sleep you’ve had.)

Listening in would be a gross invasion of privacy.

(You could close your eyes. A few seconds, that’s all.)

You’re just being… 

…paranoid…

Somewhere above you, a door slams shut and you jerk back to the present with a start.

The clock on your laptop informs you that hours have passed, your headphones long since having fallen silent. You exhale, a breathy, shuddering thing. Now, both your bedroom and the apartment above loom in eerie silence. No footsteps. No thumping. 

You tell yourself that it’s a good thing. It’s late. People are sleeping.

Maybe the girl stumbled off back home after getting what she came for. Maybe she’s asleep in his bed right now. Either way, it’s none of your concern. You’re working yourself up over nothing.

Everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

—

There’s a gift waiting on your doorstep come morning; an envelope wrapped in a thin maroon coloured ribbon. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you reach down to grab it, carefully untying the ribbon and ripping off the edge to get it open.

Inside you find a note, folded in two, and a thin, gold chain. Tipping it into your palm and prodding at it, you find that the chain is actually a necklace, old and delicate, with a small heart shaped pendant at the end. Your heart, however, thunders as you examine it closer.

Splashed over the tiny golden links, there’s a rust coloured stain. Blood, you realise with mute horror. It's blood

And though your hands shake, your stomach churning and every sensible instinct screaming at you not to, you turn your attention to the note still tucked away inside. 

Tugging it out, you unfold the letter to read the message scrawled there in tiny, messy handwriting.

I prefer a challenge. Makes things interesting.

You drop them both, the note and the necklace, and run to your bathroom to heave up your guts.

—

Your friend picks up on the third ring, and you can barely talk through gasping, stricken sobs.

Her car’s out the front of your place in twenty, but it’s only when she has you safe within the confines of her small, one bedroom home that you manage to speak the words, to tell her what happened.

She listens, without judgement, without interruption, the expression on her face growing graver with every word.

And then, when you’re finished, empty and hollow and on the verge of shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, she hugs you tight. 

“I don’t care if you go to the cops or not, I don’t care if you never tell another soul,” she promises, her voice thick and muffled against your shoulder, “but you’re not going back there. You’re gonna stay here with me, and we’ll figure it out. Together.”

She waits until you’ve calmed somewhat, making sure that you’ve eaten something – even if that something is juice and two-minute ramen – before she leaves you.

“I’ll grab enough for the next few days, alright? Clothes and your toothbrush and stuff. If you think of anything you need, just text me. I won’t be long.”

It’s gonna be okay. I promise you.

Numbly, you nod.

I won’t be long, she’d said, but the clock on the wall steadily ticks by and she doesn’t return. One hour. Two. She doesn’t read the increasingly concerned messages you send, doesn’t answer the phone when you call, and slowly but surely that pit of worry sitting heavy in your heart grows impossible to ignore. 

The sun slips lower on the horizon, shadows creeping across the room, when finally you reach your breaking point. 

You take the bus home, leg bouncing, fingers twisting in your lap. It occurs to you, as you ascend the steps to the foyer of your building, that maybe you should have called the police. Another friend. Anybody. 

That maybe you shouldn’t have let her come here by herself in the first place.

But you weren’t thinking straight, you’re still not. And there’s a thought bouncing around your head that tells you that with every minute that passes the chances of her being found safe and unhurt grow slimmer. 

You want to believe that her car broke down, and her phone ran out of battery. That the silence from her end is nothing more than a series of unfortunate but ultimately harmless mishaps. 

As the ancient elevator comes to a stop on the eighth floor, though, a voice inside of you tells you that you know better. When you reach the end of the hallway and turn the corner, it’s a suspicion that’s proven correct.

Your front door’s hanging ajar.

The smart thing to do would be to go and get help. Your panic and worry over your friend, however, drowns out all common sense. You run towards it without a second thought.

Her purse sits atop your table, car keys lying just beside. On your couch lies an open duffle, clothes and various toiletries hastily shoved inside, but there’s no sign of her. Of anyone. Nothing but an eerie stillness. 

And here I thought you’d be smarter than this.

There’s a sharp pinch at your neck, and the world fades to black.

—

“Do you want to see her?”

You blink at him. 

You’ve been awake now for a short while, trapped in an unfamiliar room, a thick, iron cuff locked around your ankle. Trapped, but otherwise unharmed.

At your silence, Suna’s eyebrow lifts, expecting an answer. 

“I-is she okay?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep, a little raspy. You haven’t had water in god knows how long, your mouth dry and cottony.

That’s not what I asked.

He isn’t smiling. You’re not sure he’s capable of smiling, yet the corners of his lips twitch upwards, faint amusement ghosting over his features. He’s enjoying this imbalance of power, now that all the cards are laid out on the table.

The answer is no, of course, both to his question and your own. You know it before you even open your mouth. 

You can’t hear her. Can’t hear anybody but him.

“Yes. Please.”

He nods, making his way over to unlock the chain at your ankle. He smells like iron and menthol cigarettes and cedar and musk, the scent of him burning an imprint into your consciousness. 

You’re not wearing the necklace. Not your style?

You ignore the thought, taking the hand that he offers only because you’re not certain you’d be able to stand without it. His hands are cold, but your flinch has little to do with the temperature. 

Your limbs move sluggishly – an aftereffect of the drugs, Suna explains as he leads you out of the room and along the hallway, it should be out of your system in another hour or so.

Down the stairs. Slow and steady, Suna chuckling when you stumble and have to lean into him to catch yourself.

His arm comes around your waist after that.

You catch a glimpse of the kitchen and room with a TV and some couches on the first floor, deducing that wherever you are, it must be a house of some sort, but Suna ushers you on before you can truly get a good look.

Stopping at another locked door, he pulls the same ring of keys he’d unlocked your cuff with to pluck out an older style bronze key, slipping it into the lock and twisting.

It clicks.

“Ready?”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips – a movement that Suna tracks with heavy interest. 

He doesn’t wait for your answer, doesn’t truly care. The door swings open with a soft creak and Suna flicks on the lights. 

Fluorescent brightness illuminates the room, and you instantly wish it hadn’t.

A body lies on the concrete floor, limbs sprawled at awkward angles. Her face, with its glazed, milky eyes and mouth twisted in a soundless scream, stares back at you and bile climbs your throat, your knees going weak.

Don’t you wanna go say hi?

You shake your head, dizziness and panic and horror crashing into you like waves against rock, threatening to drown you entirely. You can’t look at the mess he’s made of her neck, your eyes forcibly skipping the gruesome, macabre sight in an act of self preservation.

Blood is everywhere. On the floor, her clothes, the walls. Sprays of it coating the ceiling. 

Dead.

She’s dead.

You push Suna away, his grip relenting to allow you to stumble towards her. Falling to your knees you sob – a heart wrenching wail as your hands flutter uselessly over her broken body. As if somehow you can help her still. Save her.

Footsteps echo over the concrete as he approaches, crouching down beside you. You ignore him, too lost in your grief and pain to even notice he’s there.

“Look at me.”

Agony swallows you whole, every sob ripping through your chest. Tears and snot drip down your face, your shoulders heaving with the force of every gasping, shuddery breath. Dead, dead, dead. 

Pay attention, now.

A warning that goes unheeded. With a frustrated huff, Suna reaches out and grabs your chin, twisting your face to meet his. 

His mouth clashes against your own, violent and brutal, hungry. There’s blood on his lips, the tang of it souring in your mouth as his tongue slips inside – his, maybe, or yours, you don’t know. 

Forcing you to the floor beside your best friend’s body, he parts only long enough to take in a quick breath, yellow eyes drinking down your agonised expression.

Like the devil, he smirks and kisses you harder.

You’re numb, your body uncooperative as you struggle pathetically against him. It makes no difference, he pushes the fabric of your skirt up to your stomach, greedy touch lingering over the expanse of bare, soft skin. 

She cried for you, y’know. Begged me not to hurt you.

He sounds amused by the thought. 

Stupid cunt had it coming.

The clink of his buckle echoes with a horrible finality in the cold stillness of the basement. Your eyes squeeze closed, body locking up as your panties are tugged aside.

Not my usual type but for you, angel–

His cock, hard and lengthy, twitches at your pussy. A moment’s grace, that’s all he gives you before hastily sheathing himself inside of you.

–I’ll make as many exceptions as I need to.

You only sob louder.

—

Tell me to stop.

You don’t. You can’t. Suna moans above you, another harsh thrust spearing into your aching, dripping sex. There’s fresh blood on his hands, smeared across your skin. 

Even if you did, it wouldn’t make a difference. 

He never listens.

Sillykuna lol

Yandere! Rintarou Suna General Profile

Yandere! Rintarou Suna x fem! reader

Cw: kidnapping, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of hypothermia/death, rin locks you in a freezer but don't worry it hurts him too </3, stalking, voyeurism, non-consensual recording/photography, harassment, possessiveness, mentions of non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10.0 K

DARLING PROFILE:

Social

Despite Rintarou’s usually quiet, apathetic personality, he finds himself drawn to people who are more talkative and outgoing.

It’s not that he necessarily wants to converse himself, but it’s a relief for him to know that his darling is able to express themself, and is able to carry on a conversation with little to no unease.

He likes listening to their words, letting himself be entertained and guided along in a conversation. He’s not normally the instigator in conversations; he prefers to chime in when he feels like it, and while his darling doesn’t need to be constantly talking, he’d like a darling that can take the lead in a conversation.

Honestly, it’s almost impressive to Rintarou, and the fact that his darling doesn’t mind being the talkative and social one in the relationship only feeds his more obsessive tendencies - the more they talk and ramble about what they love, the more information he learns and is able to store away for future reference.

He loves learning about his darling, and he honestly could sit for hours and just listen to them talk and talk.

It’s therapeutic in a way to the middle blocker, and he absolutely adores this aspect of his darling.

Smart

Rintarou himself is quite analytical and intelligent, and as a result he has little patience with those who might not be as blessed. He was somewhat lazy throughout his schooling; always slacking off and falling asleep in class, but only because his natural smarts saved his ass and allowed him to be lenient on studying and listening to the teachers.

And even throughout his professional career, Rintarou’s had to rely on this intelligence to help him perform and successfully read his opponents in the midst of points.

And while he doesn’t need a partner that’s a genius (though, he doesn’t mind), having a partner who is at least knowledgeable is a requirement for him. He doesn’t have the time and patience to deal with people that he has to explain his jokes to, or that aren’t able to keep up with conversations happening around them.

He finds it to be a major attraction when his darling is able to contribute meaningful things to a discussion, and in particular if they were to showcase their knowledge in their given field to Rintarou.

He'd stare with such intensity as they explain the foundations of their job and field, him hanging onto their every word as he notes the way they look so happy and excited, how their face brightens up and fuck he wants to kiss them so badly.

He just really likes the idea of a smart, capable darling, and while he likes the idea of taking care of them, he wants to know that he’s not wasting his time on a complete idiot.  

Playful

He can be quite teasing and witty, and having a darling that can go along with his jokes and deadpan comments would be an immense turn on for the brunette.

He likes the idea of someone that can keep up with all of the shit that comes out of his mouth; he’s selective about his words, but often they’re said in a teasing way, and having a darling that’s too sensitive to this would likely not pan out well.

He needs someone who is able to take it and dish it out back - they don’t have to be the funniest or the quickest thinker, but a darling who will laugh at his words and throw in a remark here or there to counter him would be wonderful.

People who are more meek and nervous when talking to others aren’t his ideal type, and while it’s possible for his darling to have aspects of this in their personality, Rintarou mainly falls for those who are more assertive with their words. And while his darling doesn’t need to be the most confident in themselves, they need to be able to put up with his rather snarky attitude.

Knowing that his darling has his back is something that Rintarou thrives on, and it only further proves to him how perfect they are for one another.

Kind

While Rintarou isn’t inherently mean, there’s just something about the honesty of compliments when they leave his darling’s lips that makes him smile.

His own personality is snarky, full of teasing remarks and a rather objective view of the events around him, and so to have someone who is naturally more adept at being honest and welcoming towards others is stubbornly adorable to him.

Of course, he’s internally a flustered, dazed mess when they tell him how talented he is at volleyball, how smart he is, how his hair is so uniquely him. His heart is racing in his chest and his palms are growing sweaty, the sound of his darling’s voice complimenting him permanently etched into his memory, but on the exterior he stays the same blank faced man he always is.

There’s just something so disarming about what his darling says, and just when he thinks his beloved can’t get any better, any more perfect, they let something slip out that makes his heart melt, and he’s once again struck with the question of how he got lucky enough to have a soulmate so wonderful.

His darling inspires him to try and compliment them more too – he certainly notices all kinds of beautiful, attractive things they say and do, but as soon as he goes to say the words they get stuck on the tip of his tongue.

He wants to tell his darling that they’re gorgeous when they wear that shade of blue, but despite the number of times he practiced mentally and in the bathroom mirror that morning, he never seems to be able to.

And so, Rintarou would love a kind darling because they inspire him to be kind as well - Rintarou doesn’t know why it makes him happy, but he’ll be damned if he lets them slip away.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Possessive

While Rintarou isn’t particularly insecure, he’s more than aware that he isn’t the ‘ideal’ man.

He’s quiet, snarky, lanky, someone who prefers to simply watch and be more in the background. He knows he’s different from someone like his teammates, like his long time friends the Miyas, even as irritating as it may be to admit. He may be a professional athlete now, raking in money with every ball he hits, but he knows there’s more flashy, cooler players even on his own team.

He’s fully aware that he isn’t every girl’s dream guy, and this knowledge along with the sheer amount of desperation he feels for your love is a bit of an ugly mix.

He’s hyper aware of the fact that you likely aren’t aware of the depth of his feelings for you. He's sure that you’re blissfully ignorant to the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest the moment your name is mentioned, how his cheeks flush pink when he’s laying in bed imagining your soft body is in his arms, when he’s gulping harshly and trying to discreetly fix his pants before he walks into the café and sees you.

You likely aren’t aware of the way he’s taken to following you and thinking of you every moment of the day, but it doesn’t change the fact that Rintarou is thoroughly and completely hooked on you, utterly enraptured by every little thing you do, every little part of you that adds up to the woman he thinks he loves.

You may not know, but Rintarou wants you to be completely and utterly his, solely and only his girl, just as his heart is so desperately yearning for, just as he thinks of you in his mind. He’s sure you aren’t aware of his feelings because he purposefully tries to keep them concealed, but it doesn’t change the way an ugly feeling of rage simmers in his chest when another man approaches you, how his fists grow clammy and his eyes narrow when another guy is looking at you, when you get brought up in conversations that he happens to overhear.

He knows he doesn’t really have any grounds to feel jealous, that his hold and claim on you is purely in his mind, but Rintarou doesn’t fucking care. It’s still painful to imagine you with another man, to think of you smiling and laughing and getting flustered at the hands of someone else.

It makes him ill to think of you with someone who won’t love you like he does, who doesn’t know the real you as well as he does, who can’t provide for you and protect you like he can. It’s irritating as hell, and so Rintarou tries his best to keep other guys from being interested in you, to keep all other potential competition at bay so that when he’s finally ready to make a substantial move, you’ll feel that he’s your only choice.

He’s managed to weasel his way into your personal life, becoming a friend and accompanying you to nearly everything you do in public.

He’s subtly dropping hints that you’re not interested when he overhears others’ conversations, mentioning off-handedly that you’re already talking to someone (she’s always looking at her phone and smiling, you know what that means), that you’re not interested in a relationship (there’s this guy from her work who’s a volunteer firefighter that keeps trying to get with her – really hot, and if she’s saying no to him, then why would you ever be a yes?).

He’s even going so far as to lie about your sexuality just to get guys off of your trail, to keep you reserved for him and only him once the time is right.

Jealousy hits him in waves, difficult to ignore and counter once they’ve taken root in his gut, and while it’s a preventative measure more than anything to tip off those other guys who express interest in you, it’s still not enough.

Its never enough, if he’s being honest, because each time he sees someone like Atsumu or even Osamu approach you and look like such a better option, he’s seeing red and panicking, his mind running a mile a minute as he desperately tries to conjure up a plan to stop the impending doom, to keep you single and his.

Sabotaging any possible relationships is better than nothing, after all, but Rintarou still isn’t satisfied – he won’t be, really, until he’s finally stolen you away, made you his for the rest of your days, but in the meantime, he does what he can to keep the horribly overwhelming possessive thoughts at bay, to keep the urge to wrap you in his arms and hide you away from the world as dormant as possible.

And in doing this, a few new habits form – namely, he notices that the possessive and invasive thoughts tend to be stronger at night, when he’s lying alone in bed missing you and your body, wishing you were there to warm the sheets and press soft kisses against his jawline.

He’s missing you, finding himself using his pillow as a substitute for your body, even as pathetic and weird as it makes him feel. He notices it’s strongest then, which is why his whirling brain suddenly appraises an image that has his face turning pink, his body warming up, a small patch of sweat forming at his temples as he imagines the way you’d look with a network of small, dark hickeys against your neck and collarbones.

They’d be deep, sprinkled from behind your ears to the tops of your breasts, impossible to hide and marking you as fully, utterly his, his lover and partner to kiss and worship, his to mark up and claim, just as he so urgently wants to.

It’s a nice thought, really, and as his hand slides down his abdomen and he shakily exhales, Rintarou is content with the thought that one day he will paint you with his hickeys, that you’ll be wearing his marks like a necklace, the dark bruises decorating your skin like a fucking painting so that the world knows for absolute certainty that you’re the property of Rintarou Suna, that he owns you now and always.

So really, when you catch him staring at your collarbones the next day with his lips parted and his pupils blown wide, don’t be surprised – just as you shouldn’t be when you wake up in his basement, those fox-like eyes staring at you while his fingers itch with the urge to touch you.

He finds himself drifting into delusions about you much more than normal as his obsession carries on; ideas of keeping you locked away in his apartment, your pretty face smiling at him and hugging him when he comes home from practice, dinner on the stove and the TV already cued up to his favorite movie.

He’s imagining the way you’d tell him about your day and how much you missed him, how you’d smile at him and let the ring on your finger sparkle in the light as you ask him how his day went.

You’ll notice the way his eyes start lingering on your ring finger when you’re together, how his fingers seem to just be there, always nearby.

Don’t be surprised about how he starts referring to you more with ‘my’ in front of your name, calling you his friend, his coffee mate, his his his.

Don’t be surprised, because this isn’t anything new – Rintarou has always wanted to claim you as his, but now that he can?

Well, how can he not let all his possessive tendencies flourish once you’re all his?

Stalker

While he isn’t explicitly scared to talk to you or approach you, Rintarou is self aware enough to know that he isn’t exactly an extravert, that talking and making conversation isn’t his specialty.

He enjoys conversing with you, truly, but it’s hard to know where to take the conversation, how to make you laugh and smile (because fuck do you look pretty when you chuckle, when your chiming giggle hits his ears, and while Rintarou isn’t one to normally be easily flustered, there’s something about the pride that swirls in his chest when he makes you smile that has his cheeks flushing ever so slightly pink), how to flirt with you and make you flustered and sad to see him go.

He isn’t too confident in his abilities to woo you (despite Atsumu’s frequent and unsolicited advice and offers to teach him how), so he falls back on a different method of being in your presence, of spending time with you.

That is, it might not be as consensual or interactive as speaking with you, but stalking you gets the job done too, and that’s all he can really ask for.

Besides, there’s something to be said about getting to enjoy you in silence, of getting an unobstructed view into who you really are, when you think you’re alone and safe and having privacy in your own home.

You’re vulnerable like this, your true self as you slip into bed or cram for an upcoming project at work, and in a lot of ways Rintarou believes that this is a more valuable and real way of getting to know you, of getting to feed the insatiable desire in his heart to see you.

It’s more effective, in a lot of ways, if only because this way he spends prolonged periods of time observing, those narrow eyes fixated on your form as you hum and stretch after sitting a while at your desk, allowing the middle blocker to analyze the way your face scrunches up momentarily, how your shirt jumps up to expose a line of midriff above the hemline of your sweatpants, how you sigh and make a noise much too provocative for him to handle innocently.

(He’s gulping harshly, his fingers twitching and his knees feeling oddly weak as he relives memories of you way you gasp and cry out when you’re touching yourself, how your lips part into that pretty ‘o’ and your thighs twitch).

It’s more effective as he gets to watch the way you put together meals for yourself, leftovers from the night before and freezer-bake food items, quick and easy things that part of him wants to split with you (maybe, as you slice up the freshly oven-cooked frozen pizza, he could even feed a piece to you and tease you for having melted cheese on your cheek), while the other part wants to scold you for eating food that doesn’t benefit you much nutritionally.

He feels connected to you like this, like you’re really getting to spend time with one another, like you’re in your own little world and inviting him into your life, into you. It’s sweet, in a way, which is why Rintarou feels the need to document each little moment that has his heart clamoring in his chest, his throat feeling dry and his stomach fluttery.

His phone is always on standby, a huge portion of his camera roll devoted to videos and pictures of you living your life, doing domestic things that have him softly sighing and imagining the way you’d welcome him home after a long practice, how you’d get on your tip toes to press a peck against his lips, how you’d scrub the loofah along his chest when you shower together.

It’s sweet and whimsical, in a way, and while he’s careful to never have the flash on or make a noise, his collection of memories of you span to capture everything – you brushing your teeth, folding laundry, scribbling math equations, scrolling through your phone, using the restroom, sleeping and rolling over with a soft huff.

You’re just adorable, beautiful and wonderful and everything that Rintarou could hope for, and so while he doesn’t particularly like the fact that he doesn’t interact with you as much as he could, he’s satisfied – after all, watching you through your bedroom window is more intimate than talking about your day, right?

Listening to the way you talk to yourself as you work through the complicated work problems (thanks to the bugs he places in your room) is more personal than asking you if you’d like to come to his next volleyball game, right?

Rintarou thinks so, and with each new expression and reaction you make to the things around you (sometimes he’ll even fabricate a situation to examine your response to – nothing big, maybe leaving a small sign that he’d been in your room earlier, or leaving the door unlocked, or leaving the TV running), he learns more and more about you.

He’s good at reading people, and you’re his biggest challenge yet – and truly, he wants to know everything about you, to learn what makes you tick, what scares you, what makes you so happy you’re in tears.

You’re a mystery to him, but one he oh so desperately wants to solve – so try to ignore the feeling of those sharp eyes on you, yeah?

It’s just done out of love, so what is there to fear?

Selfless

Where your happiness is concerned, a lot of Rintarou’s more emotional tendencies come out. He lives to see you smile, as seeing you beam or giggle or stubbornly snort makes his heart practically beat out of his chest, the sound and sight addicting in a way he knows he’ll never be able to quit.

He’s normally not the most motivated, someone who puts in minimal effort unless he’s inspired, but his determination to get you smiling and happy is really quite something, really quite overwhelming –

Frankly, he’s desperate to be the cause of your happiness, to know that he’s the one who’s responsible for making your face light up, that he’s the one that turned your shit day into a decent, enjoyable one. It’s a boost to his ego, and it makes him feel a bit better about the whole stalking thing, the obsession thing, the way he’s latched onto you without any hope of ever letting go.

The knowledge makes him proud, has him feeling like a partner, like someone who can truly love you and care for you, but the thing that sets Rintarou apart is that he doesn’t particularly want you to know that he’s the one responsible, that the reason why you're doing so well in university or your job is all him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want the credit (because god, just the thought of you smiling up at him and hugging him, telling him you’re so thankful and happy for him and maybe even rewarding him with a kiss is enough to get his Adam’s apple sharply bobbing, his eyes darting around the room and his fist clenching), but the reason that he keeps his acts of service regarding you more on the down-low has to do with the way he doesn’t like to bring attention to himself.

Obviously, your attention and time and care are things he craves like a drug, but there’s still a certain amount of slight insecurity that washes through him as his thoughts overwhelm him, the possibility of you being creeped out by just how often and thoroughly he helps you out hitting him square in the chest.

The last thing he wants to do is alienate himself, to get you feeling uncomfortable around him, to make you scared of him, hence why he decides it’s better to stay in the dark than have your lovely warmth and radiance no longer be partially directed towards him.

And while the acts of service start small towards the beginnings of his obsession with you, with time they grow more elaborate and more invasive.

In the beginning, Rintarou is doing things out of the kindness of his heart; you’re looking a bit down, more stressed than normal? He’s quick to run to the store and buy your favorite snacks, making up some excuse to leave them on your desk before your classes or shift starts, so that once you walk in you’re met with a pleasant surprise and a short but sweet note from an anonymous sender.

(Writing the notes always feels so cliché, but Rintarou finds that once he sits down with the pen and paper, the words just keep coming – obviously he can only write so much without giving away the depth and extent of his infatuation, so the letters get stored in his desk while the more simple you look tired, try to sleep more and take some time for yourself get attached to the goodies).

In the beginning, it’s Rintarou still having a strange internal battle about whether or not he should be going out of his way to help you, but always finding himself unconsciously moving to make sure that your bag doesn’t touch the area of the school carpet with the mysterious stain, that your food doesn’t get accidentally contaminated by anyone else’s germs. He's moving to make sure that you’re still smiling and happy, because while you’re still beyond gorgeous with a frown etched into your features, it’s nothing compared to that flustered little smile, the bashful crinkle of your nose, the way your eyes flutter.

It’s simple in the beginning, and he swears it’s innocent – until suddenly, he’s finding himself slipping further and further into the odd, self-induced responsibility of making sure your life is as easy as possible. Instead of simply double checking that your laundry is done before you get home, he's doing basketfuls, bringing his very own laundry detergent - it smells like him, and while you don't seem to notice the change in scent yet, he's hoping some part of your subconscious will enjoy the smell and associate it with him. Maybe you'll even have little, embarrassing fantasies about him as a househusband - something that isn't entirely off the table, if he's being completely honest.

What starts as him leaving you little snacks (mostly comprised of chuupets of his favorite flavor, if only because it seems weirdly intimate to be sharing something like that with you) to keep you pleasantly surprised turns into him reluctantly and nonchalantly begging Osamu to teach him to cook, leaving you anonymous bentos with your favorite foods and cute little drawings that always make you smile and get embarrassed, your friends hovering and bombarding you with questions about your secret admirer.

(And of course, you always leave the box pristine, with the chopsticks neatly stacked on top at the corner of your desk for the owner to reclaim, and while Rintarou isn’t proud of the way he spends hours sucking on the used chopsticks, tongue sucking and sliding over the metal to taste every possible piece of you he can, he’s not disgusted enough with himself to stop.)

What starts as him simply trying to make you less stressed and your life easier slowly turns into him breaking into your home to complete your chores, to tidy up your room, to sift through your closet and replace your old, used panties with brand new pairs in colors and shades he thinks you’ll love and that he fantasizes about them so much that he has his own matching, identical pair who’s sole purpose is to absorb every drop of cum he wrings out just for you you you –

He becomes your lapdog, in a way, though you won’t know it – frankly, you’ll know something is going on, but why would you ever suspect snarky, introverted Rintarou?

Why would he ever go out of his way for you, do anything so time consuming for you?

You’ll push aside the nagging feeling, trying to play it off as you being overly aware, but once Rintarou has you locked into his basement, your favorite foods and items surrounding you like a strange sort of offering, his narrow yellow eyes lighting up at the mere opportunity to make you smile and thank him?

Well, it gets more difficult once you’re able to see just how pathetically desperate Rintarou is – but really, can he be blamed?

Can he be blamed for wanting to make you happy?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Despite having adopted the ‘cool boy’ guise for as long as anyone can remember, Rintarou is very much not ‘cool’ when he’s placed into situations where you’re being chased by another man.

He absolutely detests the prospect of another man trying anything at all with you – he’s not horribly delusional, but he still thinks of you as solely his, just as he is solely yours.

And so, the moment that this notion is challenged, Rintarou is suddenly shutting down a bit, his heart racing in his chest and his veins feeling like they’re on fire because who the hell is trying to steal you away from him?

He’s got a bit of a possessive streak, and so he’s actually quite used to being jealous because of you.

He knows he’s not the most social or outgoing guy, and as a result you’ll often end up in conversations with people that aren’t him, no matter how badly he wishes it weren’t true.

It’s too scary sometimes to simply walk up to you and begin chatting, but for other men this doesn’t seem to be an issue – and so, often when Rintarou is jealous, it’s a combination of being both jealous of how you’re responding to this man’s flirtations, along with frustration at himself for not being man enough to just fucking talk to you.

He’s terrified you’ll find someone you like more – maybe he’ll be funnier, nicer, better at compliments, able to get you laughing in the blink of an eye. Maybe he’ll be bulkier, have a better fashion sense, have soft, curly hair instead of the somewhat wiry brown locks he’s always been stuck with.

Insecurities get the best of Rintarou when he’s faced someone challenging his spot in your life, and while you may never know, he’s absolutely enraged when he sees others interacting with you.

He isn’t the most bold yandere, and so while he rarely ever directly interferes, those golden eyes will be watching you constantly when you’ve captured another man’s attention.

He’s watching like a hawk, trying to read your every movement, expression and word, hoping and praying he’ll find some sign that you aren’t reciprocating the man’s attraction.

He’s still too nervous to actually confess the horribly strong feelings in his heart about you, and so he’ll try to work himself into finding flaws in the way you’re interacting with whoever is trying to steal your attention – you never laugh that hard at puns, so obviously you must be faking it.

You’re never this kind and pleasant towards people you actually like, so you must be sugar coating your words in an effort to remain strangers.

You wouldn’t be smiling apologetically and telling him you’ve got to get running if you actually wanted to stay and talk to him. He can see it all on your face, plain as day – and that’s part of why Rintarou loves you. You’re just so easy to read and analyze, and yet every day he finds new layers to you that he just falls more and more in love with.

You’re perfect, which is why it’s so much harder than he can handle to watch you interact with other men. It physically hurts, his chest aching and his muscles tensing to the point of cramping as he stares holes into the both of your bodies, watching and waiting with baited breath for you to get the fuck away, preferably into Rintarou’s arms.

And so, while he’s familiar with the jealousy that seeing you with other guys brings, he’s never, ever been good at dealing with it – something you’ll learn fairly quickly.

Rintarou’s eye twitches as he watches the way the stranger’s form slowly comes closer to the both of yours. It’s a train platform – he knows that, rationally, you’ll be standing next to strangers, men, people with intentions that could be nefarious towards a cute thing like you.

He’s not being paranoid by thinking that those standing around you aren’t good people – he’s just being realistic. He knows from experience with his own sister and female friends that men are horrible, invasive, creepy, violent, dangerous, and he doesn’t think it’s so bold of him to say that his concern for you is well-placed.

At least, his concern about your danger – his brows furrow a bit as the man beside you reaches into his pocket for something, and every muscle in Rintarou’s body tenses as he stiffens up against the wall of the platform he’s leaning against, some ten feet away.

His whole body is prepared, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice on the off chance the man pulls a knife or camera or something bad –

Your pretty voice cuts off any panicked thoughts racing through the brunette’s head, your words startling him. Is that a charm on your phone case? I love that character! Is he your favorite from the show?

Rintarou’s defenses relax slightly, but at the pleasantly shocked expression on the man’s face, he’s immediately tensing up again.

However, as the man responds with a modest affirmation, Rintarou finds himself tense for an entirely different reason – you’re smiling at this man, chatting with him of your own volition.

There’s a gold watch sitting on the man’s wrist, and with a downturning of the blocker’s lips, he notices that the man’s white dress shirt is perfectly pressed, his sleek navy dress pants following suit. His hair is neatly combed back, perfectly messy, and his features are attractive as he smiles down at you. Rintarou’s stomach turns, nausea settling in his gut.

Fuck.

His own boring brown sweatshirt and cream cargo pants look stupid in comparison to this man’s professional, clean appearance – and maybe you’d like that more?

Maybe you’re interested in men with real jobs, not just a sport.

Maybe you’re interested in men that attend business meetings, have clients, have framed degrees sitting on the walls of their offices. Rintarou bites his lip, his teeth threatening to break the skin as his fingernails dig into his palms.

Fuck.

It’s torture, watching as you converse with the man, the train taking forever to arrive – the conversation turns to other shows the both of you watch, and while Rintarou is pleased to learn you don’t have many others in common, it doesn’t stop the way his throat is drying up, his tongue feeling heavy.

He’s sweating underneath his clothes despite the cold air of the train platform, and with growing worry he watches the way the man takes a step closer to you, showing you some photo of a stupid animated character on his phone and god, Rintarou’s gonna be sick, how do you look like such a good physical match fuck fuck fuck –

He stands up stick straight as the man’s arm comes around to wrap lightly around your shoulder, the side smile he sends you as you look at his phone making Rintarou’s veins alight with fire because how fucking dare he?

He’s just touched you, without your invitation or permission, and it seems you’ve noticed this too – you immediately stiffen up and shuffle back, shaking off his arm and sending him a very obviously uncomfortable look.

The man falters slightly, the smile threatening to slip off his face, but at your curt I just realized I’m on the wrong train, it disappears entirely.

Internally, Rintarou debates his next course of action – you’re hurriedly speed-walking away, making a point to keep your head down and shuffling through the crowds of people that have gathered (distantly, he hears the chimes of the train arriving). Should he follow you, or should he sock that creep in the face?

The man touched you without your permission, made you obviously feel scared and uncomfortable, and that’s utterly unacceptable. Rintarou may be somewhat physically pacifistic, but he will not stand for anything attempting to infringe on your personal space.

You’re his girl, and he’ll let no one make you scared or make you cry – speaking of which, as you quickly pass by him, the brunette spots your eyes reddening, your sniffling alerting him that fuck, you’re about to cry.

His decision is immediately made, and as he follows you up the heavily packed flight of stairs, it’s all too easy to get around and ahead of you, making sure you don’t notice him as he uses his athletic abilities to wait at the top of the stairs.

It’s easy to pretend to bump into you, his hands steadying your shoulders as you squeak out an apology, your eyes widening as you recognize him. And as you utter the small R-rin, he feels his heart break.

You’re his, dammit, and he won’t let some well-dressed, sleazy business man treat you like some common whore – the coffee shop he takes you to has your favorite drink and he knows it, and as you sip on the warm beverage he bought for you, Rintarou feels his heart finally calm.

You don’t want that stranger – you want him, otherwise why would you let him be so familiar and caring towards you? Maybe you’re finally starting to love him, too.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

For Rintarou, he genuinely wants your relationship to be as close to normal as possible.

He wants the two of you to fall in love, date, get married, have a family and grow old with each other, and he knows that kidnapping isn’t exactly the most conventional method of doing this.

He’s more than aware that if he were to steal you away and forcefully relocate you by his side, you’d probably be less than pleased. You’d probably be afraid of him, hate him, want either him or yourself to be dead, and just the thought of that honestly breaks Rintarou’s heart.

He hates the prospect of you being displeased with him; he lives to please you, his every thought revolving around seeing you smile and hearing your pretty voice whisper that you love him, and if you were trapped under his roof, would you ever smile again?

Would you ever make (adorably) stupid jokes that get Rintarou’s eyes rolling and his heart pumping out of his chest?

Would you let him brush his hand against yours, fingers reaching out just slightly in the barest hint of attempting to interlock your fingers?

He knows the answer, of course: no, you wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t expect you to. He wants you to love him, not placate him by pretending to be in love.

Of course, he can’t deny that the idea of keeping you with him at all times, dependent and paying attention only to him is really quite appealing.

There’s something beautiful about the idea of you always being there when he needs you to be; your pretty face always available for him to reach out and cup, your cheeks in his hands as you stare up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly as you whisper his name.

There’s something incredibly enticing about the prospect of bringing home takeout for the both of you (maybe he can even commission Osamu to give him a discount at Onigiri Miya – he’s not holding his breath), your eyes lighting up as you see the door open, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders and peppering his face with kisses as you tell him thank you, this was exactly what I wanted!

There’s aspects about kidnapping you that are so, so wonderful, but it would take quite a bit for him to actually steal you away. As a result, he’ll push off the intense urge to just wrap you in his arms and keep you there forever for as long as he possibly can - that is, until something happens that pushes him to the limit.

Say, for example, you develop a liking for another man - given how Rintarou’s eyes are on you at almost every moment of the day, he’ll notice the way you start staring, leaving lingering glances at a certain someone, how your voice gets higher and you clean up your appearance when they walk by.

It hurts, and he can only take so much of you fawning over another man before he snaps - and so, he’ll be climbing into your room in the wee hours of the morning, pausing for a moment to stare down lovingly at your sleeping form, a heavy blush and gentle smile playing on his features while he caresses your hair.

He’ll cover your nose and mouth gently with the chloroform soaked rag, before he’s lifting you into his arms and leaving, marveling at how your body fits perfectly against his own. In that moment, he’s absolutely sure that it’s the right decision to steal you away - after all, the two of you are just so fucking perfect for one another.

Plus, if he acts correctly, you’re bound to fall for him – Stockholm Syndrome, even if it takes a while.

Right?

As a captor, Rintarou isn’t terrible - he’s still very quiet, but he’s attentive to your needs, almost so much so that it’ll scare you.

He always seems to know what you need or want before you do – almost like he can read your mind, which you’re almost convinced he can. Those narrow eyes will watch you as you bite your lip and contemplate, practically seeing the gears turning in your head as he simply stares from across the room.

He’ll be by your side with a glass of water before you even realize you’re thirsty, telling you to drink it all, you’ll get dehydrated if you don’t.

He’s giving you an extra hoodie before you even register that you’re cold, nimble fingers trembling slightly as they brush against the soft skin of your shoulders, brushing aside your hair so that the hood rests comfortably against your neck.

He knows you like the back of his hand, and it really shows once you’re under his control. And while it may be disorienting and creepy that he seems to know everything about you, even things you’re absolutely sure you’ve never told another soul, somewhere in the back of your mind you’ll slowly begin getting more fond of the middle blocker.

Slowly, you’ll start warming up to him, his monotone voice and blank looks growing on you the longer you’re trapped with him. Because really, while he kidnapped you, he’s not that bad – you could be dead and tied up in a ditch somewhere if it had been someone else to break into your home that night.

You could be gagged and tied to a post, your body violated and abused to the point of nearly dying if it wasn’t Rintarou that developed an obsession with you.

He could be much, much worse - he doesn’t lay a hand against you, and while he may force you to cuddle with him, eventually your hatred for him will lose against the overwhelming need for human contact and affection - something that he is more than willing to give you.

Honestly, you’ll be scared of the middle blocker and his vast knowledge on you, but the more you find yourself wrapped up in his arms and resting against his warm chest while he whispers sweet compliments and words of love in your ears, you’ll grow less and less scared and more and more happy to be with him.

Because when he’s promising you the world, telling you he’ll give you anything and everything you could ever want (besides your freedom, of course), you’ll never feel more desired, valued or cared for. You’ll discover a few weeks into your captivity that he desperately, desperately craves physical contact with you.

There’s a reason all his touches are light and gentle, his fingers almost afraid to touch you, and the first time you let him hold your hand or hug you you’ll understand why immediately – and how can you not?

How can you not realize the depth with which he's wanted to hold you when you feel the tear drip onto your shoulder from his cheek the first time he caresses you against his chest?

How can you not be aware that he’s wanted to horribly to kiss you when he lets out the most wanton, pathetic moan you’ve ever heard the first time you place a kiss against his cheek?

And although it’s fucked up, you’ll come to enjoy the way Rintarou is so dependent on you, the way he’s so clearly gone out of his way to make sure that you stay with him, and you’ll grow to be just as in love as he is - Stockholm Syndrome will set in, and really Rintarou couldn’t be happier.

Because when you’re telling him you love him back, cuddling him with your own free will, kissing him and running your hands over his body, he thinks that there’s nothing in the world better than this. Even if he did have to unfortunately kidnap you, it was all worth it; because now, the two of you can live out the future he’d always hoped you’d have.

PUNISHMENTS:

Similarly to his reluctance to kidnap you, Rintarou absolutely does not want to punish you in any way, shape, or form.

The possibility of hurting you makes him physically ill, whether it be emotionally, mentally, or physically. He can’t rationalize the idea of hurting you simply to prove a point to you – he’d be a monster to do that, right?

He’s already gone too far by kidnapping you, so he’s extremely reluctant to undergo any sort of discipline towards you. Frankly, the punishment would hurt him more than it would hurt you – he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror for days, instead only seeing flashes behind his eyelids of the way you’d cry and beg him to stop, your broken sobs and pleas haunting his nightmares.

He doesn’t think he’d be able to physically do it, anyways – he’d have to quit halfway through, his nose tingling as tears threaten to slip down his cheeks while he sprints out of the room. He’d have to compose himself, to put on a mask and pretend to be someone he’s not; he’d have to pretend to be someone who enjoys seeing you in pain, who likes to see you upset and sad, as if he doesn’t live for you laughter, smiles and loving touches.

The whole concept is just too much for him – however, that isn’t to say that Rintarou is entirely lenient. He’s forgiving as far as captors go; it takes quite a bit to upset him, and while he’s always silently disappointed when you refuse to hug him or acknowledge his presence and words, he’s not driven to the point of abusing you.

He’ll just stare at you with that same impassive gaze he always seems to have, though if you look closely you’ll see the way his brows are tilted upwards in the middle, his lips parted slightly, devastation plain as day in those calculating eyes.

He doesn’t get mad at you when you lash out at him – he doesn’t enjoy when you hit him, swinging your arms wildly as you cry and plea with him to let you go, but he’ll just let you smack him, maybe dodging a few swings before ultimately deciding he deserves this, you should be punishing him for his wrongdoings.

He doesn’t even get mad when you try to escape – he understands why, even if it hurts him. He’s always plagued by doubts when you attempt these escapes, though; wondering what he can do to make you happier, if he can make you happier. He’s wondering how to get your old personality back, because this new somewhat shell of yourself isn’t the woman he fell in love with and he’s scared that if he doesn’t get you back now, you may be gone forever because of him.

He doesn’t even get mad when you lash out and tell him that you hate him, that he’s despicable and a terrible person! I wish I’d never met you, I wish I’d met a normal man who wasn’t a pervert psychopath!

Your insults hurt, of course, but Rintarou has tough (ish) skin when it comes to you – he’ll maintain his composure, trying to not let his voice waver as he insists you eat the food, please, you need to.

It hurts so fucking bad, but he can take it – however, the one thing he can’t take is when you say you don’t need him.

It’s his selfless tendencies, really, that make this very specific attack so hurtful and dangerous for him. It’s the months and months of trying to make your life easier by doing your daily tasks for you that make him snap, his jaw clenching so tightly you can see it, his hands shaking as rage rolls through him. It’s the only situation in which he’ll genuinely feel enraged at you – how dare you?

He’s spent countless thousands of hours trying to help make you happy and save you work, and this is how you repay him? Ungrateful, even if you didn’t ask for his help.

Even if you didn’t want it. It strikes a chord within him, and as you whisper the words while you shrink away from him at the dinner table, Rintarou drops his utensils against the ceramic, making a noise much too loud in his silent condo.

He’ll stare at you, a thousands emotions flitting through his eyes, and for a moment you feel genuine, unbridled fear – he’s never looked at you so shocked, with so much visible emotion on his face.

He’s never uttered out the words he speaks in that moment – get up. You’re coming with me.

You’ll be scared, shaking your head and trying to backtrack from what you said because there’s something about this new side of Rintarou that’s making your heart race, that’s making goosebumps appear on the back of your neck and down your spine.

Rintarou feels a flash of guilt at the way you’re cowering away from him, your pretty face all twisted up and fear and confusion, but your words keep ringing through his head.

I don’t need you. I don’t need you. I don’t need you.

It drives his legs to move, his arms reaching out and lifting you up, despite your pleas and attempts to wiggle out of his grasp. He’s always been strong, and no matter your weight he's carrying you down the stairs, listening with a heavy heart as you start to cry, shaking in his hold as you slowly give up on fighting.

He carefully sets you down on the sofa in the basement, the small space only furnished with said sofa, a chair, a TV (that has been locked with a password only Rintarou knows), and a bathroom with a sink that only ever spouts cold water.

With a heavy sigh, Rintarou looks at your quivering form and reaches above you to grab the stringy blanket he keeps draped over the couch, noticing your confusion as you watch.

This hurts to do, really – he’s already feeling the guilt as he moves towards the door separating the basement from the stairway up to the rest of the condo, a frown on his face and his eyes softening. You do need me, he says softly, almost hesitantly, before closing the door, seeing your panicked face staring at him from the couch.

The thermostat is right outside the doorway, and with a heavy heart he’s turning the settings down, applying the air conditioning at such an extreme level that he’s worried for a moment you’ll freeze to death.

He hadn’t wanted to do this, truly – keeping the basement freezing cold while stripping you away from any source of warmth hadn’t been his most pleasant idea, but it was the most useful.

You need to understand that you need him – he’s taking care of you, and he's been taking care of you for much longer than you know.

You need to understand that you must rely on him – he’s your protector, and while he’d never enjoy hurting you, as he continues to turn the settings down until the sliver of cold air from underneath the doorframe touches his toes, his resolve slowly weakens.

He can hear you crying now – it’s been a good fifteen minutes, surely long enough for you to notice the dropping temperature, and he can hear your pleas of his name to let you out.

You must be cold – you’d been wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts, hardly the clothing for nearing freezing temperatures.

He stands outside the doorway for the whole thirty minutes he leaves you in there, a silent tear trail running down his cheeks, his heart aching as he forces himself to wait just one more minute, so that you can understand that he’s serious.

He needs you to realize he’s not joking; you do need him, and as he exhales sharply and raises the heat up, swinging open the door, he nearly gasps at the cold temperature of the room.

He’s quick to dart in and find you, who’d moved to try and wrap yourself with the couch cushions, only to find their flimsy, cheap quality did next to nothing to insulate you.

You’re shaking, your jaw clattering as your eyes slowly move to his, and for a horrible, horrible moment Rintarou wonders if you’re going to die – you look frozen, as if hypothermia had already claimed your life. But then you shakily, hoarsely whisper out his name.

He lets out a near-sob of relief and scoops you into his arms, the guilt weighing even more heavily on his heart because he did this to you. He’s sprinting up the stairs with you, wrapping you up in the mountain of blankets and pillows he’d prepared, wiping away the nearly frozen tears on your cheeks as he coos your name.

You snuggle further into him, desperately seeking his warmth, and as the both of you lay on his bed, Rintarou can only pull you closer to his chest, letting his tears flow freely now, his lips moving as well.

Please, please don’t ever say that again, please understand that you need me and I need you. Please. Tell me you understand me.

And when you shakily whisper out that you do, you’ll find that you actually mean it – because if he’d left you in there longer, maybe you would’ve died.

He’d never let you actually pass, but still – maybe it’s best to just listen to what he says, yeah?

And as you slip into a dreamless slumber, you find yourself settling into his embrace, deciding that yes, you’re nothing without him.

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

In general, Rintarou is much more of a hovering love struck fool rather than a genuinely dangerous man.

Of course, he’s constantly watching you, following you home and observing your every move, but he honestly has no ill intent.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, to play with you or cause you any kind of negative emotion; you mean the absolute world to the middle blocker, and he’s waited all these years for the one to show up. And now that you have, he’ll do everything in his power to keep you with him, to keep you loving and happy and dependent on him.

He wants the two of you to have a flawless relationship, and although it’s obviously not the case considering the fact that he knows the location of each and every mole on your body before he’s even held your hand, he wants to get it as close to the real deal as possible.

He wants you to love him and want him, and while his methods aren’t ideal, Rintarou is determined.

He’s your silent shadow, doing you favors without expecting anything in return and keeping track of your whereabouts. He’s making sure you get home safe everyday without a hair touched on your pretty head, those narrow eyes watching you and everyone around you’s every move.

And at some point, his soft touches and thoughtful gestures will get to you - after all, wouldn’t it just be so much easier to give in? To give him the love and life that he wants?

You’ll convince yourself that he isn’t that bad, that he’s just blinded by love and his desire for you. And although it’s wrong, you’ll grow flattered by his devotion, and you’ll come to love him as well - and really, Rintarou couldn’t be happier.

You’re his dream, and he’ll never give up on you.

has this been done yet