cheesecakethots

[cheesecakethots]

omg, that little shigaraki piece, the most delicious kind of angst 😭 I like, gobbled it in one sitting. the best flavor of yandere is a yandere realizing they seriously overdid whatever they were doing. your regretful yan writing brings me life, thank you for sharing that with us!

it’s my favourite yan scenario like fuck yes regret what you did but still be unable to let them go you piece of shit!!!

#thank you!!!! <333 #i have a few more drafts i can finish #a diluc one because i unfortunately still like genshin #im a honkai player now so mayhaps i will write for blade or my pookie bear sampo #and when boothill comes out i will not be shutting up

[cheesecakethots]

You’re tucked in the furthest side of the bed, facing away from the door when Shigaraki enters the room. You hear something soft drop, his coat, maybe, and then he starts approaching you.

The main benefit of him and the others joining the PLF is that he’s busier, and you have more time to be alone. Sure, there’s more security here, more people and less chance for you to run away, but you gave up on that a while ago.

The last time you’d tried escaping, he’d put a hand around your throat, and used the other to disintegrate the already torn clothing you had on your body. Then, he-

He calls your name. His voice is quiet, cautious.

You silently wish the sheets would eat you alive, and sit up, meeting his gaze. You don’t think the redness of his eyes matches the softness of the look he gives you, nor the small smile on his chapped lips.

Tomura can’t help but think you look cute, but you always look cute. His fingers twitch, and he thinks about holding you close and kissing the sleepiness from your face.

Instead he seats himself on the edge of the bed, slowly, as though approaching a startled animal. “Are you alright? How has your day been?”

You shrug, eyes drifting to stare down at your lap. He hates it when you’re like this.

“Hey, can you say something to me?”

“… Like what?” Your voice is hoarse and your throat is dry. You wish he’d leave you alone, wish he’d let you go back to sleep. Wish you wouldn’t wake up from it.

He recalls a time where you were the one who was chatty, having a nervous habit of talking about anything you could. He’s not sure if you did it to distract him or yourself. It didn’t take long for you to grow quiet.

He smiles at you, but he doesn’t look very happy. “Anything.”

You stare at him, and the smile falls a little.

“Is- Is there anything you want me to get for you? Anything on your mind? Anything you want to eat for dinner later?”

You shake your head, and he leans in a little closer to you, causing your body to shift uncomfortably.

“We can go out, if you’d like,” he suggests, tone low and almost soothing. “You used to ask about going to a dessert place, we can do that now. Or, if you want to stay in I’ll have someone bring us desserts. If not dessert, savoury food… I’ll have the chef make us your favourite- or, you your favourite. I won’t sit and eat with you if you don’t want me to. I don’t mind what, just- just tell me what you want.”

You eat less and less every day, and it scares him. You scare him. He knows it’s his own fault, though, that your silence and sadness and fear is something he himself moulded into you.

He used to find it funny when you cried, or worse, found your tears and protests would make his pants tighten around him, and his hands twitch with need. Tomura’s not sure when that stopped, but now the sight of your tears makes him feel sick, makes him wish to tear his own skin off, to claw his eyes out, to crawl into a ball and wither away.

He hopes the idea of dessert or whatever else will put some sort of spark back in your eyes, maybe it’ll make you look less lifeless and defeated.

“I’m… not hungry,” you say, slowly.

He’s getting frustrated, but not at you. Never at you, not anymore.

“We don’t have to eat. Do you want to go out? You used to ask to go out to the park, there’s a park nearby, it shouldn’t be too far of a walk.”

You don’t seem to like that suggestion, as you bury your head in your arms, bringing your knees up to your chest and shaking your head.

Tomura understands why. You used to get punished a lot for asking to go outside. The last time you had properly gone out, aside from when everyone was all on the run, had been when you’d ran away. He doesn’t want to remember what he did that day, and he’s sure you don’t either.

You had reassured him as he was dragging you back that you were going to come back, that you just wanted to go out for a bit to sit in the park. You were probably telling the truth, but it didn’t save you.

“… Cry, if you want to. You can scream at me. Hit… Hit me. It’s alright. I won’t be upset.”

You don’t want to do that. You don’t really want to do anything. You wish he’d leave you alone, though. Wish you’d keep shrinking and shrinking until he stopped noticing you at all.

He reaches a hand towards your face, and you flinch, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

“I’m not going to hurt you. It’s… It’s alright. Please don’t be afraid.”

He knows it’s stupid to say. You’re always afraid when he’s around.

#ok technically this is unfinished but i promised i would post something #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shigaraki #tw implied noncon #tw abuse #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere my hero academia

[cheesecakethots]

feel like i am sitting on my own personal vault

hope you’re doing okay pookie, am i allowed to call you that? i haven't seen you post in awhile, i miss your random hypotheticals and even the posts where you complain abt writing difficulties. hope this doesn’t come off as pressure-y…. like take all the time you need, just wanted to let you know i miss you

call me whatever you like my honey-bun sweetness pookie bear

no but genuinely this is so sweet 😭😭 thank you so much, I am pretty active on tumblr tbh but it’s mainly just reading. I have so many ideas I want to write out but just no motivation to write which is pretty annoying! I think I’ll randomly get a burst of motivation which is what happened for a solid week a couple months ago.

I’ll drop something that’s been collecting dust in my drafts asap (maybe)!

thank you <3

[cheesecakethots]

hope you’re doing okay pookie, am i allowed to call you that? i haven't seen you post in awhile, i miss your random hypotheticals and even the posts where you complain abt writing difficulties. hope this doesn’t come off as pressure-y…. like take all the time you need, just wanted to let you know i miss you

call me whatever you like my honey-bun sweetness pookie bear

no but genuinely this is so sweet 😭😭 thank you so much, I am pretty active on tumblr tbh but it’s mainly just reading. I have so many ideas I want to write out but just no motivation to write which is pretty annoying! I think I’ll randomly get a burst of motivation which is what happened for a solid week a couple months ago.

I’ll drop something that’s been collecting dust in my drafts asap (maybe)!

thank you <3

#<33

[cheesecakethots]

what is adhd, if not a jumbo jet running over your brain-legs

diabolically real

[cheesecakethots]

i have this bad habit of starting a part 2 and the second someone asks me “where’s part 2?” i refuse to finish it out of spite

#it’s like when im cleaning the dishes and my mum goes #can you clean the dishes #girl what do u think i am doing right now #shitpost

[cheesecakethots]

unwell and imagining chrollo using it as an excuse to touch his darling.

he enjoys the slight shudder to your body when he presses the back of his hand to your sweaty forehead, can’t help but find the tint to your nose and cheeks utterly adorable.

don’t try to play up any sickness to get out of dates with him. he’ll know you’re lying, and yet he’ll pretend otherwise.

you say you feel faint and he insists you lie your head in his lap. you pretend to have a sore throat to avoid talking to him and suddenly he’s feeding you warm soup, using a smaller spoon to really savour the moment. he’ll refuse to let you feed yourself, telling you that he doesn’t want you dropping anything, which is ridiculous as sometimes he’ll act a little clumsy and allow some of the food to fall down your lips, only for him to gently caress a thumb over them.

he’s insufferable.

#tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo

[cheesecakethots]

i don’t think i can write male yandere x a willing reader because the idea of willingly being with a man infuriates me

on the other hand i struggle to write female yanderes because if some big beautiful woman told me i was now her wife who would i be to refuse?

#tried to write a yan!quanxi fic once #failed immediately because i had to pretend i wouldn’t be into everything she did #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere

[cheesecakethots]

who are some of your favorite writers on here?

I'm sure I'm forgetting a bunch, but here's some

these blogs write yandere and other dark-themed content:

@yandere-daydreams - they're my origin story and to whom I pay homage with my name. They write for a lot of different fandoms

@ectologia - best babe, minus the yandere, more on the toxic partner side

@after-witch read this Suguru fic lately

@yanderemommabean - wanted to do something similar to this, cuz it's got me rolling around in bed unable to sleep every night

@youryanderedaddy

@the-grimm-writer

@call-memissbrightside

@seijorhi and i know this sukuna drabble is so old, but it's what i think about when i hug my pillow at night

@rinhaler - this was like if the hand of god was petting my soul, also this

this yuji!sukuna fic & this bakugou fic by @ghostsy

in the name, but these next blogs write a lot of Bakugou:

@crybaby-bkg

@katsukikitten - they've been writing this ice-hockey izuku bakugou au lately, and goddamn, I love it so much

@kingkatsuki - read this lately

@oh-katsuki - read this a while ago and cried

if you love Shigaraki, these blogs are for you:

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

@saintshigaraki

just some random mentions from my recent likes:

this by @cheesecakethots was what inspired this gojo fic

this bakugou drabble by @pbelfz

this cute gojo drabble by @hawnks

this sukuna drabble by @shaisuki

these possessive gojo headcanons by @suguann

this sukuna drabble by @cursingtoji

@suguwu - been liking all their gojo geto Bridgerton stuff lately

this by @moshimochis

this sukuna drabble by @moechies

@inkykeiji - read this sukuna fic a lil while ago

#being mentioned by one of my fave writers has my eyes boggling out of my head #like some cartoon lmao #<33

[cheesecakethots]

wish I could be like one of those wattpad/a03 writers all “sorry for the lack of updates guys, i got ran over by a jumbo jet and lost a leg” when in reality i have all the time in the world and adhd

#shitpost #also thank you guys for 2k 🤯

[cheesecakethots]

I forgot to reblog this but rahhhh it’s so cool!!

when you have no clue that you're OP

based off of this amazing post by @cheesecakethots

reader has their priorities straight--don't drop the crepe!!!

(idk how to use tumblr, so if this is not the correct way to credit, pls lmk and ill fix :D!)

#crepe > hot dude w/ white hair #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

[cheesecakethots]

darling who can knit using the supplies johan’s given them as a distraction and making him a very ugly christmas jumper.

his eyes widen a little at the sight, and then a small, surprisingly soft, smile takes upon his lips.

you might notice him wearing it around quite a lot, after that.

#a bit of blood gets on it and he’ll be somehow quieter than usual #happy holidays #i have been very inactive recently which sucks #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere johan x reader #yandere johan liebert #yandere johan

[cheesecakethots]

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future.

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that.”

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

#wow #i really do love how you characterise both reader & chrollo here #really haunting #he’s such a jerk #your writing is gorgeous

[cheesecakethots]

“Uvogin… I’m tired… not tonight, please…” for the ask game, thank you!

Your back is tugged to his chest, and his muscular arms have you trapped in a warm embrace that leaves you feeling sickly. It’s not as though there’s anywhere you can run to in these deep, dark woods. Despite your hatred for your captor, you have to admit that he does make you feel safe in this unsafe place.

Safe from everything that’s not him.

His large calloused hand pauses above your stomach, and something akin to a grumble leaves his lips.

“I ain’t tryin’ to fuck you,” he murmurs, lips tickling your ear, and then uses the hand to push you even tighter against him. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

You are, but that’s not entirely the reason for your trembling.

God, this entire situation is so fucked. How long has he been dragging you from one abandoned building, to tent, to freezing woodland, to the next? Months? A year, now? You haven’t kept count, but even if you did you would’ve forgotten a long time ago now. You don’t even realise what you’re saying until it’s been said.

“I wa-wanna go home.”

It’s pretty pathetic, the way your voice shakes and your lip quivers and a sob crawls its way up your throat. Uvogin hasn’t seen you cry like this in a while.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, leaving you to ponder whether he’s going to sit you over his knee, tug on your hair or, at worst, break a bone.

You feel him lean his face further into the back of your head, breathing in deeply.

“Shh. Go to sleep. We need to get up early in the mornin’, I’m meeting the others a few cities away.”

Your eyes close and you silently pray that maybe one day he’ll leave you alone to go on one of his ‘jobs’ and he won’t come back.

You doubt it.

#tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere uvogin #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hunter x hunter

[cheesecakethots]

so was anyone gonna tell me my favorite awful little man Mahito dies or was I just supposed to find out about it on tumblr dot com (words are not a suitable enough medium for my grief. I will be internally screaming for the next 24 hours)

no because im actually struggling with the idea of watching past s2 of jjk…

can i just say that ever since mahito died jjk has not hit the same for me, i think post shibuya writing is really not on par with the beginning of the series 😭😭

#jjk spoilers #i love mahito he’s actually rising up to be my favourite character if he isn’t already #he’s genuinely so funny and such an amazingly written villain

[cheesecakethots]

“You’re the reason I breathe each and every day…” Just grown Tomura softly whispering that to darling after soft noncon when they’re in bed and darling is turned away from him in bed, sniffling. Just sad and angsty like he doesn’t want to hurt her but he can’t help himself he wants her so bad :<<

The words do nothing to comfort you. He knows you want space, knows that the little trembles to your body and quiet whimpers from your lips only indicate how far you want to be away from him. Tomura wishes he had the strength to give you that.

He inches himself closer to you, dry lips only a few millimetres from the hair on the back of your head. He wants to press soft kisses to it, to wrap an arm around you and whisper things that will bring you comfort, not pain.

It’s at these moments where he hates himself most, when he’s come down from that euphoric high and felt a deep sickness in his stomach that calls for him to tear his own flesh from his bones, to rip his own eyes out only so he can be spared the sight of your tears. He’s not sure if he hates it more when you cry or when you don’t - when your eyes stare blankly at the ceiling for hours on end, your breathing slow and hollow.

He hopes you smile when he takes you to the park tomorrow, but he doubts it. You’re still terrified of the idea that he might change his mind and punish you on the spot for daring to leave the bedroom you share.

He raises a hand up to touch your shoulder, but it falters before it can make contact.

“I love you,” he murmurs, slowly.

You hold the blanket tighter around yourself.

#going thru some of these now #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere tomura #yandere shigaraki #tw implied noncon #tw noncon #noncon #tw: noncon #tw dark content

[cheesecakethots]

ok ask game

send in dialogue/a small scenario aimed at a specific yandere i write for. you can do two in one like for instance talking to gojo + geto. these are intended to be short and quick!

oh and also add any au you want! doesn’t have to stick to canon :)

who i write for:

Hunter x Hunter: most of the Spiders, Illumi

JJK: pretty much all the adult characters

CSM: Quanxi, Aki

MHA: Shigaraki (specify whether you want the manbaby or mature eras)

Genshin: any of the adult characters

Monster: Johan

Seraph of the End: Ferid, Crowley (I’m extremely rusty on them)

Obey Me: Beel, Mammon

I might have forgotten some fandoms so you’re welcome to check my pinned post

#idk how long this will be open lmao #I’m gonna go bed soon so i’ll probs answer in the morning #tw: yandere #yandere HxH #yandere blog #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere anime #yandere jjk #yandere CSM #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere seraph of the end #yandere monster 2004