Yandere Angst - Tumblr Posts

Can you writing a yandere au? I would like to request soft yandere with joon, when he overprotektif and possesif, fluff fluff~

Disclaimers: The images from my header belong to BigHit and BTS, but I edited them together. I obviously don’t own Netflix, Converse, or BT21. Koya is BT21’s character, which belongs to Line Friends Corporation and BTS.

Hi kutie! So this is my first EVER attempt at yandere. I’ve read it, I’ve studied it, I’ve looked up multiple examples… so I hope I did the genre justice. It was way fun to write, I quite enjoyed it, especially with Namjoon. It was really interesting to explore the way he’s so level-headed on the outside, but maybe not so much on the inside 😅 Also, I split this into two parts, because I thought up this scenario and another one that went hand-in-hand. Look for part two soon! 💜

@kpopyandere, how did I do? 😳

Age Recommendation: 18+

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, yandere themes as in unhealthy obsession and possessiveness, swears, sexy Joon (yes, that’s a necessary warning).

Word Count: 2,690

Summary: A bit after moving to a new neighborhood, you happen to meet your sexy new neighbor completely by coincidence. Or was it?

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Becoming His (Namjoon One-Shot, Yandere, Angst, Fluff) Part One

You stared, slack-jawed, at the sight in front of you. Through your window, across your front lawn, and over the sidewalk stood none other than an absolute sex god. His white tank clung to his sweaty body in all the right places, revealing just how toned he was, and the way his brown hair was styled in a perfectly messy quaff made you go weak in the knees. He bent down and stretched out a leg, causing his shorts to ride up and reveal thick, muscular thighs. Your mouth parted open as your soul nearly left you.

The steaming cup of coffee in your hands nearly slipped from your grasp as you watched him stretch out his other leg, then walk up the neighbor’s driveway. Wait, no. That couldn’t be…? You scrambled over to your bay window, kneeling on the bench. The guy pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. The sex god was… your new neighbor?

Right before he stepped inside the door, his dark eyes suddenly flicked your way. You yeeted yourself off the bench and pressed your back to the wall, hoping and praying he didn’t see you. After all, you weren’t some creeper. You just happened to be passing by your large, front room window and simply stopped to admire the view. 

It might have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn your heard a chuckle before a door slammed. You crept back up to the window to find he had indeed gone inside, his door firmly shut.

What you didn’t know is that, against all your hopes and prayers, he had seen you. In fact, he’d been seeing you for a while. Kim Namjoon first noticed you the day you moved in. Boxes were all over the front drive, and you were directing the movers as best you could. He thought the way you ran your hands through your hair every time you started to get flustered was cute. Since then, he’d been keeping an eye on you.

Your every-day routine was pretty much the same. You’d get up, shower, then make a cup of coffee. You’d begin working in your office, which had a window that faced Namjoon’s house. Near midday, you’d go out for lunch and pick up another cup of coffee, which you’d stay and drink while continuing to work, or come back and drink while continuing to work. Namjoon preferred it when you came back home.

You ate dinner while working, then would finally call it quits and do one of three things: Binge Netflix,  play video games, or go for a swim in your backyard pool. The first time you emerged from the water, dripping wet, slicking your hair back, Namjoon knew he was in love. Now it was just a question of getting you to notice him.

He grew nervous in the few hours leading up to you seeing him for the first time. What if you woke up early that day? What if you chose to not sit in the bay window, staring out at the world as you drank your coffee? Namjoon could barely sleep from the anticipation. You, however, were dependable as usual. He couldn’t have timed it any more perfectly. The way your mouth fell open when he stopped in front of your house and stretched was exactly the reaction he was aiming for.

Now Namjoon needed to meet you. Talk to you. He knew the second you saw how much he cared for you, you’d fall in love with him too. He saw his chance two days later, when you decided to go for a swim rather than laze around. Despite the warm, humid evening, Namjoon went outside to shoot a few hoops, working up a good sweat as he repeatedly sprinted towards the basket, shot the ball, and caught it.

One time, he over-shot the ball, and it flew into your yard, landing in the pool. You yelped in surprise, quickly standing up as the orange sphere splashed down. “Sorry!” a voice called out. You wiped water out of your eyes and looked over to see your smokin’ hot neighbor peeking over the fence.

“It-It’s okay!” you spluttered, getting out of the pool and wrapping a towel around yourself. “I’ll throw it back!”

“No need!” His head disappeared, and you gasped as he suddenly vaulted over the fence. Oh god. He was shirtless. And sweaty. You swallowed hard as he ran a hand through his hair, looking like the most perfect of wet dreams. Wait, were you dreaming?

“I’ll take that,” he said, an easy smile spreading over his lips as he took the ball from your grasp.

You opened your mouth but no words came out. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be going now,” he said, jutting a thumb behind him.

“Wait!” Oh lord almighty. You couldn’t speak earlier, but the second you could, that was the only thing you could say?

He stopped and turned back towards you, eyebrows raised. “W-What’s your name?” you stuttered.

He smirked. “Kim Namjoon. And you are?”

“L/n Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you… Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

You lost your ability to form words once more. It was hard to think straight with his naked upper half glistening in the sunlight. Still, you couldn’t help sneaking little glances at his body and face, admiring just how handsome he was from up close.

Namjoon’s smirk grew. This is exactly the effect he hoped to have on you, and now he knew your name. He knew he’d be sleepless again tonight, murmuring your name over and over again, stretching out the syllables in different ways until he memorized it through and through… not to mention how good it sounded with the last name “Kim.”

“Thanks for letting me get my ball back,” Namjoon said.

“It’s no problem at all,” you replied, pressing the towel to your face to both warm and dry it.

Namjoon hesitated, wondering if he should continue. He didn’t want to ruin such a perfect moment, but at the same time, he wanted to prolong his time with you. “Listen,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I was thinking of grilling some hamburgers… Would you like to join me?”

You hesitated, and his heart sank. You, however, didn’t pause for the reasons he was imagining… you were pausing because you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep your hands off such temptation. You moved here for the quiet, to write in peace, not to get caught up in some heated, drama-filled thing with your neighbor. After your last so-called relationship, you’d had enough of that for a lifetime and then some. Plus, he was your neighbor. If things turned south, you’d have to either see him all the time or move again. Then again, the what-if’s were killing you. 

“You don’t have to,” Namjoon said, backtracking. “I just thought I’d offer since I ruined your pool time.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” you replied, quickly thinking. How much damage could sharing a meal really do? “I mean, a burger sounds great.”

He smiled, relieved. “Great. I just need to shower and change. Meet me over at mine in a half hour?”

“Sounds good,” you said, glad you’d have time to freshen up.

Those thirty minutes flew by in a whirlwind of stress. What to wear? Should you put on make-up? Would it be too much if you wore a dress instead of jeans?

“Fucking hell,” you thought, finally settling on a pair of jean shorts, a rose pink top, and your favorite pair of white Converse. You left your hair loose, tumbling around your face in waves, and you kept your make-up light. You were barbequing after all. It’s not like it was a date. Or was it?

Before you could stress yourself out any more, you forced yourself out the door and across the few meters to his front door. You timidly rang the doorbell, but he didn’t answer. Did he forget he invited you? You raised a fist to knock when Namjoon threw open the door, out of breath and tugging the hem of a white shirt down over his toned torso.

If you thought he looked good shirtless or in workout clothes, you had another thing coming. The collared white shirt he wore had sleeves that cut off just below his elbows, and the jeans he sported were held up by a black, leather belt paired with matching boots. The entire ensemble showed off a pleasantly sophisticated side of him that caused your stomach to flutter.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly, gesturing for you to come inside. Truth was, Namjoon had been stressing just as much as you, perhaps even more so. Everything had to be perfect. He needed you to fall for him, no matter the cost.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a smile as you brushed by him. It was then that he caught it. Your scent. Namjoon thought it smelled familiar, but couldn’t put his finger on it. It was less flowery and more fruity. Whatever it was, he needed more of it. With your back turned, he closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, allowing you to overwhelm all of his senses.

“Wow,” you said, causing him to open his eyes. “Your place is… nice.”

Namjoon supposed it was. He hired a decorator back when he moved in, and they had done a pretty good job.

“Do you have any roommates?” you asked, facing him.

He shook his head. “Nope. Just me.”

“A big huge house all to yourself?”

He tossed you a sly smile. “Yep, it’s just me. I don’t… Well, I prefer peace and quiet when I come home.”

You smiled. “Same. I’m a writer. I absolutely need a tranquil atmosphere to do my thing.”

Ah, so that’s what you did on your computer all day. “A writer? Really? That’s so interesting,” Namjoon said. As you talked, he led the way to his backyard. It looked similar to yours, except his was bigger and had a slab of cement with a basketball hoop.

He produced a bottle of wine and poured you a glass. “Sit,” he said, smiling.

You did as he requested, sitting down on a patio chair sitting in the shade of his deck. “Are you sure I can’t help?” you asked.

“No, no, please. It’s the least I can do after chucking a basketball at you.”

“Probably for the best. I can’t cook worth shit. I just order take-out all the time.”

Namjoon found himself slightly taken aback by your colorful language. “Sorry,” you said, covering your mouth. “I just–”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, cutting you off. “If it makes you feel better, I can’t cook worth shit either. Well, except for burgers, that is.”

“Oh, thank god,” you said, laughing. Namjoon’s heart soared. He loved the sound of your laugh. If he could record it, he’d listen to it forever.

You took a sip of wine which helped to loosen your tongue. “So tell me, Namjoon,” you said. Oh god. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue. Forget your laugh, he’d take a recording of that instead.

“What do you do for work?”

“Me? Oh, I code software. Last year, I developed my own app. You ever heard of one called Koya?”

You gasped. “Oh my god, I use that app all the time!”

Namjoon chuckled. “Well, then. Thank you for contributing to my paycheck.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Enough about me. You said you’re a writer… What do you write about?”

The conversation and wine continued to flow as Namjoon heated up the grill and cooked the hamburgers. They were just the way you liked, with melted cheese dripping from the patty and freshly cut vegetables loaded on top of it. The trick was trying not to make a huge mess as you devoured the burger in front of your new-found crush. Eventually, you gave up and just dug in. If he couldn’t deal with the way you ate, he wasn’t the man for you anyway.

Namjoon’s thoughts were to the contrary, actually. He couldn’t get enough of you. The way you cared too much then not at all. The way you took risks by asking him question after question and laughed at his jokes. But especially the way your hand lingered on his arm as you giggled.

You talked until the sun went down before heading back inside. “Well this has been great,” you said. As much as you wanted this night to last, you knew you were tipsy, and you didn’t want to mess this up before it had even begun.

“Wait,” Namjoon said. “I made dessert.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

You sighed. “Kim Namjoon, it’s official. You are the perfect man.”

He chuckled, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks. This was too good to be true. He had tried so hard for you, and now it was all paying off. He brought out a batch of homemade brownies covered with chocolate fudge frosting.

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” you said accusingly, leaning over the counter.

“This isn’t cooking,” Namjoon retorted with a grin. “It’s baking.”

You scoffed, but smiled nonetheless, taking a bite out of the brownie he’d cut for you. A bit of frosting got on your cheek, and he reached out to wipe it off before he could stop himself. The tenderness with which he touched you shocked you, but it also made you feel things you didn’t think you were prepared to feel. You looked up at him, into those dark eyes, and he looked down at you, still caressing your cheek. So slowly, you almost didn’t realize what was happening, Namjoon leaned down towards you, his gaze locked on your lips.

You suddenly stood upright. “Uh, hey, thanks for everything,” you said hurriedly. “But it’s getting kinda late, and I should probably be getting home.”

Wait, no. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. “I’ll walk you home,” Namjoon offered.

“No!” Wow, you said that way too quickly. “I mean, no thanks. It’s only next door, I’ll be fine. Thank you for the meal and a great evening… I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Erm, sure.”

You scrambled out the door, tossing him a smile before shutting it behind you. That was close. Too close. Another minute there and you might just have succumbed to your emotions. The problem was, everything was moving too fast. You only met him today, after all. You didn’t want to end up in his bed and become just another convenient fuck buddy like you did with… Ugh, you couldn’t even say his name. That jerk who broke your heart.

Still, as you entered your home and pressed your back to the inside of your door, you realized you felt bad. The look on his face when you up and left seemed… disappointed. Angry, even. He had just made you a full-out meal, after all. The least you could do was let him walk you home, even if it did result in a kiss or something more. You put a hand to your forehead, suddenly exasperated with yourself. Would you get another chance after blowing him off like that?

Just next door, Namjoon found himself slipping. What the fuck had he done wrong? Why didn’t you stay? Why did you practically bolt out the door, intent on getting the fuck out of there? It didn’t make sense. Namjoon paced around his kitchen, grabbing onto his hair and breathing hard. Had he messed up? Would he ever get to interact with you again? The unanswered questions were driving him crazy. Fed up, Namjoon suddenly lashed out and threw a fist at the wall, punching clean through the dry-wall. He barely felt the sting as his knuckles started to bleed.

It was then and there that Namjoon decided he’d do anything to get you back. Anything. He’d do whatever he needed to make it up to you, to make things right. After all, you were his. You were his and there was nothing you could do about it.

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*Plays organ* Dun, dun, DUUUUUUUNNNN!!! 😂 Enjoy Part Two.

Oh my god you done it again you captivated me with your words. Babe any fic of yours is a treasure to me I NEED THEM LIKE A NEED AIR

I am an angry and starving pirate looking for sacred gold and every time i get a notification you posted something it’s like finding a massive golden coin

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.