#_floch

[holydayaria]

Repreive

Floch Forster x Reader

Synopsis: Floch offers you a way out.

Warnings: yandere content (not written with that in mind but like... yeah its basically that), abuse of power, unbalanced power dynamics, gunplay, implied baby trapping, fem reader.

1023 words, not proofread

You gag against the cool metal of the gun barrel, the tears that pricked your eyes previously now falling freely onto your face. Floch looks down at you with an expression that reads as dismissive. You know him better though, you can tell from how he's leering at you what he's really thinking. If you eyes dare to look lower you'd see his hard on.

Your pathetic mewling bounces off the walls of the prison cell, reverberating in Floch's ears. It brings a terrible grin to his face, his other hand making small carressing movements on your head, so subtle you might not have noticed if you weren't hyperfocused on them. Anything to serve as a distraction from the metal forced into your mouth, anything that can be interpreted as a form of comfort.

The debris and gravel on the concrete floor digs into your knees, sure to leave indentations. The metal handcuffs dig into your wrists, scraping your skin and breaking it from where you fruitlessly struggled against them. Light shines through a small, barred window at the top of the wall in the cell, providing minimal illumination in tandem with a lit oil lamp in the corner. The light shines onto Floch's eyes, making them appear more golden than hazel. Those horrid eyes, lapping up your distress.

The barrel of his pistol isn't particularly thick, though uncomfortable regardless. It's foul tasting and had some splatters of blood you were forced to clean off with your mouth, from when Floch pistol-whipped a man half to death. Floch's grip on your hair tightens as he turns the pistol in your throat, bringing it to the inner of your cheek to drag your mouth open. His face turns to one of pride upon seeing the saliva and drool building up in your mouth, the snot running down your nose and your swollen cheeks from your muffled sobbing. You sure were a sorry sight.

He pulls the gun from your mouth, allowing you some relief. You gag a bit more, hoping he'll un-cuff your hands next. It was humiliating enough to be forced onto your knees, hands behind your back in front of this man; who was clearly enjoying his power trip. Being forced to give a blowjob to his pistol was somehow more terrifying than what you thought he'd had in mind, the way his finger stayed on the trigger continuously. Floch produces a handkerchief from a pocket in his military coat, wiping his gun off. You stare up at him expectantly, hoping the worst of it was over, that he would release you or at least take you back to your sad excuse of a room.

"You don't have to live like this, you know." He suddenly speaks up, his soft voice uncharacteristic for his cruel actions. You can hardly respond, not wanting to look at him anymore. He isn't having it though, grabbing a fistful of your hair again and pressing his now cleaned off gun to your temple. Once Floch is sure he has your attention, he loosens his grip and removes the pistol from your forehead. Instead the barrel pokes into your cheek at an awkward angle. You have no clue if it's loaded or not, and you pray it isn't. "Why are you doing this?" You ask. Your eyes are tired and you're on the cusp of giving up, and Floch can see it.

"I wouldn't have to do this to you if you would behave," Floch says, and his words stir the anger brewing in your gut. 'Behave'? This guy was a joke. "Do you think I enjoy hurting you, hm?" Floch says with a twinge faux hurt. You don't reply, so Floch continues. He removes his gun from you, adjusting it back on it's holster beneath his coat. He releases your hair, crouching in front of you to be at eye level.

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to submit than live like this, I wouldn't have to hurt you if you did." He offers, trying to hold back on making a perverted comment. Floch is sure if he plays this right, he could have you semi-willing in his arms tonight, but maybe that's just his ego talking. Truth be told, he admires your stubbornness and attempts to reject his every offer, but how much longer can you keep that charade up?

Floch leans forward, his forehead close to touching yours now. His voice is hardly above a whisper as he scoots even closer. "I could be good to you, you won't have to suffer anymore." Floch's gaze is soft, and you can almost feel the heat radiating from him. You don't like what you're hearing, somehow that sounds even worse than your current treatment. You knew he had a thing for exerting his power over those he saw as beneath him, but you hadn't thought his fixation on you had an underlying nature to it.

Floch places one of his hands over where your womb would be, leaning in even further and whispering in your ear. "I could make you happy." The implication of his words makes your heart tighten with fear and anger. Even worse, he says it with all the sincerity in the world. He considers briefly how much more he can push you, possibly right in his arms, though the possibility of him pushing you in the wrong direction is still there. He doesn't have you right where he wants you, not yet.

Floch takes a deep inhale, making sure to get a whiff of your hair. He wonders if he can "encourage" you to let him watch while you take your next bath. You jerk away when he does, and Floch only forces you closer, continuing to sniff your hair. After what was entirely too long, he stands up, looking down on you. "Well, I'll give you some time to think about it, hmm?" You meet his gaze, a disgusted defiance in your eyes. He could just laugh at the sight of you.

He wonders' if you'll have that same expression after a week down here by yourself.

#yandere floch #yandere floch x reader #yandere floch forster #yandere aot #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot x reader #yandere snk #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #floch x reader #floch forster x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere fanfic #_aot #_floch

[depravitycentral]

Tw: misogany, non-con, incels, gender/power dynamics, writing this made me feel icky, if you are a person who genuinely believes in anything described in this post please consider changing your opinions, fem reader, MDNI, don't ask me where this post came from because I don't know

Thinking about men that think your rightful place is by his side as his woman.

You bring out this side of him that's brand new to him; this side urging him to utterly dominate you, to be in full control of your bank accounts, your friendships, your hobbies, even your own body. There's this new urge to make you ask for permission for everything, to just pin you down and stuff you full of him every hour of every day because it's your job. It's your duty to take his cock - you were made for it.

He's never been particularly misogynistic, but when he looks at you, all he sees is the beautiful, wonderful, perfect woman that he must domesticate. You're too wild on your own - too free-spirited, brainwashed into believing this 'modern woman' crap - there's a reason the man does the work and the woman stays at home. Don't you know that?

He's strong - you're not. (And he knows it, too - after a night of fucking, all the bruises littering your body and the way your legs struggle to hold you steady is proof enough. The way he can easily lift the heavy wooden bedframe of your shared bed is enough - you can only lift a corner of it off the ground, after all. The way he can get you to shut up with just a simple, stern look should be enough evidence.)

He's street-smart - you're not. (He understands what other men want and what you're good for - it's not sexist when he tells you that the shirt you're wearing is too revealing. He won't hesitate to tell you that your entire chest is basically out, angel, and you can't be showing the world one of your best assets. He understands that you're not strong or skilled enough to fight another man off should he decide he wants you - you'll try to fight, sure, but that'll only get the other man going, your resistance only getting them harder and more lustful, and when you inevitably give in - because you always will, all women will - he knows you might even enjoy it.)

He's smart - you're not. (You think you are - and you're right about some things, sure. You know the best ways to bathe yourself - he's never been as thorough as you, he's humble enough to admit that - and how to make delicious pie, and the best way to make the bed warm and soft. But there's a lot of things you don't know, like who to vote for at the next election, or how to change a tire, or how to use a debit card.)

He's a man. And you're not. And he likes that you aren't - he's attracted to you because of your feminine charms; your curves, your softness, your smell, the sound of your voice, and - of course - the fact that you are utterly, utterly his property. As his wife (your consent in the matter is hardly important; his last name is yours now, and that's all there really is to it), all your decisions are made by him. He tells you what to wear, what to get at the grocery store, how to address other men, how to smile, everything that he knows is too much for you to handle.

And, of course, he teaches you other things. Things that he knows you are - should be, at least - clueless about. So cute, huh?

He's patient when he tells you to sink to your knees, palms pressing on the top of your head as he pushes you down, softly shushing you when you start to protest. He's patient as he slips his briefs down, his cock already red and throbbing and big, making your cheeks look even softer and rounder, your glassy eyes and prettier. He's talking you through it as he traces his tip - wet and sticky and leaving a smear of bitter precum on your skin - around your lips, the look in his eye nearly boyish with excitement.

He's gentle when he grasps your chin between two fingers (much stronger than your own, of course) to keep you steady, shuffling his hips forward so that his tip (bulbous and red and positively glistening, already looking so swollen you're sure he won't last but a minute) slips past your lips. He keeps going until you're gagging, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment before immediately opening them once more because the sight of you below him, on your knees for him, shutting you up with his cock down your throat is oh so right.

He's patient when he pushes you face-first into the bed, running a hand over your hair and sighing to himself because god, aren't you pretty? His hands are on your hips immediately, pushing down on your lower back to get the arch of your back deeper, tighter, more intense because it looks better this way - it's better for him this way, and isn't sex really only about the man?

He's even generous enough to be gentle when he's pushing himself inside you - keeping the pace slow but consistent, hissing and letting a few comments of 's so damn tight, fuck and cunt was made for me, shit slipping past his lips. He's kind enough to give you a few moments (perhaps three) to adjust to his size, before he's smacking your ass and pulling your hair, fucking into you like an animal because you're his to use.

And he's not afraid to say it - t's all harsh thrusts that make audible slapping noises as his balls - very, very sensitive and very, very full - smack against you over and over, strong fingers grabbing at your skin and keeping you in place, just so he can ram into that one spot over and over and over, because he thinks the deeper he goes the more he's claiming you. He's groaning at you with stuttered breaths that you were made to get fucked by me, o-oh shit, this tight hole's only thing you're good for and accentuating the idea with his fingers groping at your breast and using it as leverage to pull you back further and get deeper.

The air is hot and smells like musk and cum and sex, every inch of your body unable to think of anything but him - just as it should be, really. He's grabbing onto the pretty, silver collar he's forced around your throat as he thrusts, the tracker inlaid into the metal feeling familiar to his fingertips and making his thrusts harder because he must know where you are at all times - you're his property and he can't lose you.

After all, if you were gone, who would he dress up to look all pretty for him then? (He's still dressing you up even in the humiliating outfits he forces you to parade around in at home - the cooking aprons and nothing else, giving him easy access to hump your bare ass from behind while you work at the stove, cooking him dinner all the while you keep his cock warm between those pretty legs of yours.)

If you were gone, who would wake him up with lips around his cock, soft gagging noises filling the air alongside songbirds as he gets a proper good morning?

If you were gone, who would listen to his endless rants about his horrible coworkers and friends and anyone that pissed him off all while he pounds a beer and jokes about how good you look while you load the washing machine full of his dirty clothes - you look nice bent over, sweetheart, why don't you stay in there for a bit and let me blow off some steam?

Of course, all of this is fine and dandy - owning you is the dream, and having you as his pretty, helpless, clueless little wife is the ultimate fantasy. He lays awake at night sometimes imagining how you'd be as his housewife - the pretty ring on your finger, how you'd eagerly wait at the door for his arrival home from work everyday, how you'd meticulously put on your makeup and style your hair and wear the pretty lingerie he'd bought you just so that you look as attractive and desirable to him as possible.

But first, he needs to show you your place as his woman, and get rid of this misplaced sense of independence you seem to be clutching onto for dear life. Stupid girl.

(His belt is unbuckled as soon as the door closes behind the two of you, his smile something between sinister and elated as he tells you to not bother working at the knot keeping your hands tied behind your back - tying knots is men's work, and you'll hurt your pretty fingers and hands. You'll need those later, so quit picking.)

Enji Todoroki, AFO, Nobunaga Hazama, Illumi Zoldyck, Daichi Sawamura, Kenjiro Shirabu, I don't write for aot or jjk but also Floch Forester, Eren Jeager and Naoya Zenin

#yandere hxh #yandere bnha #yandere haikyuu #yandere aot #_lee rambles #_i don't really know what this is #it just sort of happened #i promise i don't support misogyny #_enji todoroki #_AFO #_Nobunaga hazama #_illumi zoldyck #_daichi sawamura #_kenjiro shirabu #_floch forester #_eren jeager

[holydayaria]

Benefit of Doubt

Yandere Floch Forster x Reader

Synopsis: Your friends don't like Floch, Floch hates your friends.

Warnings: modern/college AU, theft, stalking, floch is a closet creep, reiner x reader in the mix too, floch being disgusting

Taglist: @princessfetus @brujaovermoxy @p00pdev1l @milkteavariant @7mental7

5043 words

Floch has a tendency to cling to you in social situations.

Not that he goes to places with many people, most of your time together is either one on one or with his friends. Maybe a group event that Jean or Eren choose to tag along to. He acts more like a bodyguard sometimes when he doesn’t need to. Glaring at the people around you, placing his belongings on the extra seats at tables so nobody else can sit there, always offering you his jacket when it was slightly cold or rainy, even when you were already wearing one. He’d rather be uncomfortable and risk getting sick than you. 

Going to any party that Floch was also invited to, he often found himself stuck to your side. You had to actively mingle only with other girls, only then would Floch hang around Jean and Eren for the further duration of the party. You were one of his only friends, aside from Gordon and Sandra of course. But they didn’t understand him like you did, they didn’t challenge him like you did. He liked that about you, that you can disagree with him so confidently and still not turn your back on him, a true friend. 

After the so-called “falling out” with Armin, any chance he had of inserting himself as a central part of your friend group was crushed. Floch had too much pride to apologize (not that he believed he had anything to apologize for), doubling down when pressured on it. That only made things worse, and even though it was in the past, the entire group already cemented their opinions of him.

About a year later and little progress has been made. Connie and Sasha are amicable to him, Armin is polite, and Mikasa outright ignores him. Out of the group, he’s closest with Jean and Eren, but not by a lot. Of course, how can he forget you? 

Truth be told, Floch was willing to leave Sandra and Gordon in the dust if it meant being a part of your friend group, and thus being a bigger part of your life. It’s not something he can admit to himself, but there was a time that he regretted creating a permanent divide between himself and the others. He can’t say he truly cares for anyone else in that group now, they’ve all mostly shown their true colors; you’re one of the few ones he can tolerate. 

You were the only one who really gave him a chance after what happened, trying to convince the others that Floch wasn’t so bad when they asked why you would ever hang out with him. You were able to mend his relationship with Jean, and even Eren, one of the most stubborn people anyone has ever met. You apologized on his behalf, you stuck up for him. Surely, you saw something in Floch that the others didn’t?

So why did you consistently choose your other friends over him?

Sure, you and Floch weren’t that close. You’ve been part of Eren’s friend group since high school, of course, you all share a deep bond. You only met Floch in your first year of college, meaning you’ve only known him for two years. (Really, it was just a few months over one year, but if you round that up it’s a year and a half, and if you round that up, it’s two years). Within those two years, you and Floch spent time together in the presence of other people, went to parties together, and studied together.

Even when you were studying for completely different courses, you’d usually do it in each other's company. You’d even lent him your notebook containing all of your Psych 1102 notes once you finished the class when he told you he was taking that course. It was a lie, it wasn’t even in his course map, but he just needed to keep the conversation going. Floch didn’t know you’d give him your notebook, not that he was complaining or anything. He didn’t care for the subject, but he read through your notes anyway to admire your handwriting.

Weekend trips, movie nights, and late-night drives were all reserved for your “real” friends, all events Floch was never invited to. He wonders if you talk about him, or if they talk about him. The idea of Connie or Ymir cracking jokes at his expense makes his nose scrunch in indignance, the imagined rejection of you laughing at the imagined jokes. Perhaps he’s just paranoid. But how can he not be? You’re his friend, and you’re also hanging out with people you know he doesn’t like. People who refuse to let Floch in, if only to be with you. People who constantly reject him unjustifiably, because they don’t understand their own hypocrisy. Floch can’t be blamed for not wanting them to taint you and cloud your judgement. If he had it his way, he’d be your only friend. 

You’ve been awfully distant lately, something Floch intends to fix, no matter the cost.

-

The cafeteria was unusually empty. “Empty” meant it was only 65% full, and not overflowing with people. You, Ymir, Sasha, and Connie sat at the six-person table, talking and catching up while eating. Your phone buzzed and instinctively you went to grab it before either of the women sitting beside you saw it. You hoped it wasn’t what you thought it was, lately you’ve been getting enough shit for hanging out with Floch. He’s gotten bold to start his antics of sneering and glaring at those he dislikes, most of them being your friends. No matter how many times you try to tell him to knock it off. You haven’t spoken to him in a few days after he tried to goad you into talking bad about your friends.

“Your boyfriend texted again.” Ymir hums, looking at the notification on your phone screen. “He’s not my boyfriend.” You grumble, looking at the preview of the message.

Floch

Hey, if you’re free tonight do you want to watch a m….

“What’s it say?” Sasha leans against you from her seat, fry in hand. You hesitate, not wanting to open the messages app. If you do, Floch will know you read his text, and you’ve been trying to avoid him as of late. It’s been a nagging feeling, irritation stewing within you in his presence. You felt bad for it, but these feelings weren’t exactly… unjustified. There wasn’t anything wrong with Floch, but lately, he’s been a bit… pushy. 

He outright asked you once why you never had enough time for him, as if he was your boyfriend and you were dodging his dates. Floch didn’t drop it, not when you got increasingly fidgety and not when you gave him the very reasonable excuse of having a lot of schoolwork. Sure, maybe you were avoiding some of his texts and lying about migraines to get out of hanging out with him every now and then, but it’s not your fault. Floch was just so intense and so stubborn about it, it’s draining, and you need time away from him to recharge. 

He was never shy about his disdain for your friends, making him hard to hang out with. Usually, you were able to steer him away from it, but Floch was outspoken and when he had something to say, he said it. He was fine to hang out with, just not when he decided to badmouth others, which was becoming increasingly often. 

“He’s kinda annoying,” Ymir says, eyes flittering around the cafeteria to check if he was around. Her eyes light up slightly when she spots Reiner and Historia, waving them over to sit at the table. “He is not annoying, he’s just,” You can’t come up with an excuse for his behavior, and you don’t want to admit that Ymir might be right, that he has been irritating lately. “You find every guy annoying.” Ymir snorts at that, a lazy grin drawn on her face. “He’s extra annoying, worse than Reiner.” 

“What about me?” Reiner says as he takes his seat across from you. Historia sat across from Ymir, next to Connie. “Nothing.” Ymir gives her full attention to Historia, effectively tuning the rest of you out. You open the full text, biting your tongue. Sasha stopped looking at your phone, and when you glance back up she’s taking food out of Connie’s tray. You read the whole thing multiple times.

Hey, if you’re free tonight do you want to watch a movie at my place? I’ll make snacks. 

…It’s not like you had anything to do tonight. You’re ahead in your classes, it should be fine. You’re not sure if you want to though, and that usually means you don’t. Floch wouldn’t take it too well if you denied him again, maybe you could use this chance to properly sit down with him and talk about his behavior. Maybe Floch would finally listen this time and back off, or at least try to meet you halfway for once.

…Perhaps you’re being too optimistic about the possible outcomes of this.

Floch glowers from the other side of the cafeteria, leaning against a wall. Gordon was saying something about class, it was tuned out. Floch narrows his gaze on you, waiting for a reply to a text. Occasionally his eyes drop to his phone, messaging app still open, staring at the read receipt. You saw the message, you must have. Your phone screen lit the moment Floch sent the text, you picked your phone up and looked at it. So what the hell? Was their conversation that interesting? Floch can’t remember a time you ignored a text when you were talking to him. 

He’s about to walk right over there and ask you, tell you to come to his place later, that he’s picked out a great movie. It’s the one he heard Armin yapping about, the movie you and your friends were probably going to go see at the theatre. You won’t want to go with them if you’ve already seen it, yeah? Floch bites the inside of his mouth, working up the nerve to go over to your table. Sasha and Historia weren’t an issue, Reiner wasn’t intimidating to him in the slightest, Ymir…

Well, every man was scared of Ymir. 

He can still see the slight surprise on the faces of some of your friends the last time he approached you while you were with them. The silent pleads for him to go away. At least Eren and Jean knew how to treat him, Armin and Historia’s fake niceties and Connie and Sasha’s playful jabs meant nothing to him. Watching Reiner and Historia fill up the seats fills him with unease, especially Reiner. 

Floch doesn’t like the way you look at Reiner. He knows you like him, that you’ve liked him for a while. You haven’t made a move (yet), and Floch worries there isn’t much he can do to stop you two from getting together. All of the shy glances, inside jokes and obnoxious jokes Reiner tells. Your insistence to go to all of his games, hanging out with Reiner after school, but Reiner never looked after you like Floch did.

Reiner never eaves dropped on your friends’ conversations to make sure they weren’t talking bad about you, Reiner never walked behind you when you went to your classes to make sure you got there safely, and Reiner never drove past your place to make sure no peeping toms were around. Sure, Floch can never tell you he’s done any of these, but isn’t that all the better? That you have someone watching over you, to keep you safe, even when you’re not aware?

Floch isn’t sure why you haven’t gotten the hint and given up on that sorry excuse of a man; but it’s the one thing he never brought up with you. It must have been a sensitive topic, you had almost burst into tears when Floch asked why you ever thought Reiner would like you back. Sure, he could be insensitive at times, but surely that was an overreaction?

His phone dings with a notification. Finally, you responded to his text. From his spot in the cafeteria, he can see you put your phone right back down after sending it. 

Sure, I’m free tonight. I can come to your place at 8 PM? :)

Tonight will be the night then, tonight Floch will sway your feelings away from Reiner. That guy’s no good for you anyway, you click much better with him.

-

Floch has been staring at the text from you for the past five minutes, the one saying you were here. He offerd to pick you up, but you so adamantly refused. It’s been long enough, where were you? Floch hopes you didn’t take the stairs, walking up to the seventh floor of the complex that way would take forever. There’s a knocking at your door, and excitement shoots through him, the sound serving as bullets to his thoughts. Finally, you’re here.

When Floch opens the door for you he can feel his heart hammering out of his chest. There you were, wearing a sweater and flared yoga pants, a floral silk scrunchie on your wrist. He hates that the sweater is a longer one. He hopes it’s just oversized and not something another man gave you. 

“Hey! I’m not early or anything, right?” Technically you are, but it’s better than being late. Floch beams, trying not to be too excited for your arrival. How can he not be, you two haven’t hung out properly in a while, he’s just happy to see you. “Not at all, come in.” He steps to the side, letting you in. 

His apartment is as you remember it, spacious with white walls and laminate floors. It’s hardly changed from the first time you came here, and you doubt it’s changed much since his grandparents purchased it for him. A jacket of his is tossed on the arm of a couch, and there’s an Xbox resting on the television stand. A few keep-cases containing DvDs and physical game copies rest on the shelves of the stand, and a chocolatey aroma wafts from the kitchen. 

“I uh, I just stuck some cookies in the oven, they’ll be done soon. I can get some popcorn going to for the movie.” He offers almost sheepishly. He’s wearing a nicely fitted black shirt and jeans. It’s very basic, but something Floch put a lot of thought into, going back and forth between clothing options before you got here. Maybe he’s trying too hard, but you deserve him only at his best. “Yeah, yeah that’d be great!” With that, Floch goes to find some popcorn in his pantry, telling you to go ahead and get comfortable.

You’ve been here enough times to skip past the awkward sitting at the edge of the couch, kicking your shoes off, and getting situated. The television is already on, playing whatever was on cable. Currently, something involving a court case. You don’t pay attention to it for more than a minute before turning around on the couch to look at Floch in the kitchen. 

“Oh, I forgot to ask, do you still have the notebook I gave you, for psychology?”

He pauses, bowl in hand. He turns to face you, thinking about what you said. “Yeah, why?” “Sasha’s taking psych next semester, I was gonna let her use some of my notes to help her. Could I get it back?” Floch, now looking back at his kitchen, bites his lip in thought. He tries to pull any memory, if he’s done anything to that notebook. He’s only read it and sniffed it a few times, but nothing egregious.  It should be fine to hand it back to you.

“Yeah, it’s in my room, you can just go get it, ‘ts on the bottom shelf.” Floch says. He’s cleaned his room just for you, it’s changed since the first and last time you went there when he insisted you could conduct your study session on his bed. Maybe you’ll be impressed with how he’s rearranged things. “Okay, thanks!” You call to him, hopping off the couch and making your way down the hall to his bedroom. 

His bedroom isn’t as sparsely decorated as the corridor or the rest of the apartment. A few posters are hung up on the wall, his bedsheets were swapped to a blue-gray flannel pattern, and a tall bookcase sits adjacent to the desk he does his work at. Multiple books he had to purchase for his classes, many classic books that he mentioned to you once he enjoyed reading. Your psychology notebook was on the last shelf, the spirals sticking out against the other hardcover spines of his books. You grab it, eyes looking over the shelf again to see if there were any books you recognized. 

There’s something that sticks out to you. The light blue leather spine of a diary. You glance briefly at the empty hallway and can make out the sounds of Floch putting something in the microwave. Deciding you have enough time, you peel it out from its place on the shelf. The design is awfully nostalgic, with a gold lock and key attached to the book to keep it shut. You had the exact type in high school, a gift you got for your first day of 9th grade. Memories flood you of your old diary, thick with many pages you doodled and wrote in all the way until your senior year. You make a mental note to go dig it out of your closet whenever you go to visit your parents over break. 

But why would Floch have something like this? It’s a bit girly, the lock is heart-shaped and so are the keys. It’s eerie how similar it is to yours, but these types of notebooks were very popular. Maybe he just liked the color. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to crack it open and take a look, just at the first few pages. No- it’s wrong, you can’t do this to your friend, but you just have to know what he writes about

The familiar cursive font printed onto the cover page reads; “This Diary Belongs To” On the line provided is your name, in your handwriting. 

What the fuck.

Your heart drops as you realize this is your diary. Your diary, that somehow is in his possession. 

You can’t believe what you’re seeing. In the margins of the full pages are Floch’s personal notes. He’s annotated your old journal entries and written his own entries on pages with extra space at the bottom or on the blank pages. One page, in particular, was folded, halfway torn out. As if he decided at the last minute he didn’t want to throw the entry out. 

November 12, 20xx

Reiner sat with me at lunch, he- 

The rest of the sentence is violently scratched out with a pen. Many sentences on the page are blacked out in sharpie after that. You remember the day you wrote this entry, or rather, you remember sitting with Reiner at lunch. It must have been 11th grade, and you remember gushing to Mikasa about it on the phone after scribbling it down in your diary. Flipping through the pages, any entry about Reiner was scratched out, or replaced with Floch’s name. 

March 4, 20xx

I got assigned Reiner Floch as my lab partner, we had to dissect a frog. Nastiest shit of my life, I kept gagging so Reiner Floch had to do the whole thing for me. I had to answer all of the other questions and he let me copy off of his paper for the stuff about the intestines and stuff. He sat with me at lunch too im going to go crazy

Below the paragraph was an old drawing you don’t remember making, a scribble that you recognize as yours, but it has been scratched out and drawn over in marker. Whatever it was, Floch didn’t seem to like it. He’s gone through your entire diary, gotten an intimate view of your thoughts when you were younger, he’s done something you hadn’t thought he was possible of. Floch, so hurt over your past (and okay… maybe current) crush on Reiner, he inserted his name into the pages, rewriting your stolen diary to fit his narrative. 

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

You flip to other pages, those that are half full with old entries of yours, the rest his own handwriting. Half cursive paragraphs detailing the days you two hung out, what you wore, and how you styled your hair. Some of his writing was scratchier and he pressed harder with his pen, those pages mentioned the names of your friends, Mikasa and Armin in particular. Some pages were stained, something rubbed in and absorbed in the heavy paper. One in particular sticks out to you, written on the page next to the one with all the dried blotches.

I tried using your scrunchie to jerk off, the pink one with the flower pattern. It was awful but I did it because it’s your scrunchie. I did it for you. I don’t know if people wash scrunchies but you probably should when I give it back. 

The words on the page jumble together and your head spins. When had he even taken your scrunchie or your diary? Nausea and dizziness overtake you and your cold hands begin to tremble. You force the silk hair tie off your wrist, writhing in disgust as you throw it across the room with as much force as you can muster. Violated, you feel absolutely violated.  Floch’s voice comes from the end of the hallway, but you can’t understand what he says. He calls again, tuned out by your terror. He comes to his room, hand on the doorframe as he leans in. “Did you find it, it’s on the-” You both lock eyes, Floch watching you on the edge of his bed, stolen diary in hand. He can’t see the page you were looking at from where he is, but it doesn’t matter. He’s tainted every page of that book.

A look of horror flashes on Floch’s face for a brief moment as the situation dawns on him. He’s been caught; you had looked into the abyss that was his reprehensible actions, ones that Floch hadn’t even considered morally wrong until he saw the way you looked at him. Like you were afraid of him, like he was going to hurt you. You both looked at each other like deer caught in headlights; though to you, Floch looked more like the wolf that got caught stalking his prey. 

“I- I should go.” You stammer, standing up. Unsure what to do with the diary, you leave it on his bed. He can keep it, you don’t want anything to do with it anymore. The thought that your friends are going to have a field day with this might have come to you if your senses weren’t clouded with panic and pure alarm. “(Y/N)-” “Floch, I need to go.” “Just let me explain.” He blocks the doorway, arms up to keep you from leaving. “I can explain.” 

His room is closing in on you, your only escape is now gone. The window wasn’t an option, you don’t trust yourself to open it fast enough, and his apartment was on the seventh floor, what then? Your palms are sweaty and your mouth has gone dry, dread and sheer terror digging an ever-deepening pit in your gut. “I didn’t- I never meant for you to see that.” He says, which is probably not the right thing to say. Definitely not the right thing. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Let’s go to the living room,” He says after a more than uncomfortable silence, unsure of if he should step forward or back. You’re like a caged animal, he doesn’t want you lashing out. “Please, (Y/N),” Floch hates the way you’re looking at him, like he’s about to pounce on you and rip into you. You don’t say anything at first, trying to steady your breathing. Eventually, you nod, clenching your teeth and averting your gaze. “Okay.” Play along with this for now until you have the chance to get out. 

You tread back to the open living room with Floch. It’s much less constricting, but you don’t feel any less closed in. You trail behind him like a scared animal, eyes focused on his back and betting on the chance that he’ll be distracted long enough for you to get through the front door. He leads you back to the couch, going to sit next to you as you try to get comfortable. 

A small ding is heard from the kitchen, a gift from the heavens above. “Oh, they’re ready.” Floch quickly goes over to the oven, turns the dial down and gets an oven mitt. It was some escape from the stressful situation you’ve thrust him into. It’s only prolonging what feels like your doom. The front door is left unattended, surely you can unlock it fast enough and get out. Maybe scream, surely someone will help. Now’s your chance, and you aren’t going to pass it up. 

You barely made it three paces before Floch grabbed you, a hand over your mouth and his arm wrapped tight around you. You couldn’t get a scream out, and biting at the flesh of his palm did nothing. The struggle went on, your elbow slamming into Floch’s torso. He let out a pained noise but recovered quickly. Your fingers brushed against the doorknob before being thrown on the floor. Floch grabbed you to keep you from getting back up or trying to crawl away. You broke your fall with your arms, which now hurt. They’d probably be bruised later, but it didn’t seem to be anything bad. The end result of your struggle was Floch sat against the wall with you tucked between his legs, an arm caging you in and the palm of his hand returning to your mouth to muffle you.

“You said you’d let me explain.” He says in your ear, low and irritated. You’re still thrashing against him, getting increasingly frustrated as your vision blurs. Floch was stronger than you, you’d never noticed it beneath his long-sleeved shirts or jackets, but his arms were thick with muscle. He’s well built, something you never really noticed before. Floch could be really strong when he wanted to be. 

As much as Floch hates to admit it, your struggling against him and your tears wetting his hand was getting him hard. A shaky breath bordering on a moan escapes him and it’s that makes you still in his arms. Floch keeps his hand over your mouth, adrenaline still pumping through him. He tries to focus on you, the body spray you used before coming here, the way your hair is parted. This is wrong, incredibly wrong. Everything about this is wrong, but he’s determined to make it right. 

“It’s my fault,” For being so careless to leave it out like that “I’m- I’m sorry,” Floch says, forcing the words out of his constricting throat. Surely there’s a way for him to salvage this. He will salvage this, whatever it takes. “You aren’t going to scream, are you?” He says in your ear. You shake your head, fear constricting your very being. Floch wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right? Slowly and cautiously, he removes his hand from your mouth. It lingers, just an inch or two, in case he needs to silence you again.  

A knock resounds from the other side of the apartment door, probably one of his neighbors. It makes you both freeze up, Floch tightening his grip on you. 

“Everything all right in there?” An older mans voice comes from the opposite side of the door. He must have heard the scuffle you two were in. 

You both stiffen up, two pairs of wide eyes staring at the door. Floch slaps his hand over your mouth before you can scream, pressing you further against him to try and keep you quiet. “Not a fucking word.” He hisses into your ear, ensuring you would stay quiet before giving his attention to the pesky neighbor outside. “Yeah! Everything’s fine!”. Floch calls back, praying the man leaves. “It sounded like something heavy fell, you okay?” The voice calls back. A grimace decorates Floch’s face and he bites his lip. Damn helpful neighbors. “It’s fine, I just dropped something!” He digs his nails into your flesh, on your face, and through your sweater. 

Floch is your friend, he wouldn’t hurt you. You try to repeat that in your head, knowing how obviously wrong that is. He’s already hurt you, he will continue if you let him. Your elbow strikes Floch where you can again, with all the strength you have (not a lot after being thrown on the ground), but he steels himself and only squeezes you further against him.

“Well, alright,” The man says, adding that if something were to occur,, Floch should come ask for help. Floch gave a forced ‘thanks’, listening to the mans footsteps fade and hearing him walk back into his own apartment. He loosens the hold he has on you, his hand dropping from your mouth. After a beat of silence, Floch decides to speak up again. “We can talk about everything, I’ll explain it to you,” 

“Floch, please, I want to go home. Just let me go home.” You say, and you’re so quiet that Floch almost doesn’t hear you. “You need to stay,” Floch knows whatever he has to say to you is going to take longer than what tonight will allow. Besides, he can’t let you go until you’ve forgiven him and he knows you won’t make a fuss over this later. “We can talk about it after the movie.” He says this while nuzzling your hair with renewed confidence.

You’ve always been so understanding before, and always stood up for him, Floch is sure he can convince you to give him the benefit of doubt this time too. 

#Yandere floch #yandere floch forster #yandere floch x reader #floch forster x reader #floch #floch x reader #Yandere aot #Yandere aot x reader #yandere snk #yandere snk x reader #Yandere attack on Titan #attack on Titan x reader #Yandere attack on Titan x reader #Yandere x reader #floch forster #_floch #_aot

[holydayaria]

Masterlists

THIS IS STILL A WORK IN PROGRESS🙁

All of the series I have written for have their own individual masterlist, have fun :)

note: not everything I've ever written will be on the masterlist. this is just for fics / long headcanon posts. smaller drabbles or one off thoughts can be found on my blog with specific tags.

ex: any and all of my thoughts for floch, for example, are tagged as "_floch" (obv without quotations), so you can just search for that tag in my blog, and see everything I've written for him. anything for an entire series would be under that series tag like “_aot” or “_hxh”

Hunter x Hunter

Chainsaw Man

My Hero Academia

Demon Slayer

Trigun

Genshin Impact

Dead by Daylight

Attack on Titan

Resident Evil

#_navigation