Count the Ways - Yandere!SnKBoys x Cursed!Reader by cherrypikkins, literature
Literature
Count the Ways - Yandere!SnKBoys x Cursed!Reader
--- Count the Ways - Yandere!Boys x Cursed!Reader ---
[warnings for language, violence/gore, CREEPINESS and trigger warnings for unhealthily obsessive/controlling relationships. The yandere ship should also be a clear warning here]
My entry for the Halloween Contest. Let's begin. 8D
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[Songstamp: "Rossini William Tell Overture Part 2 and 3" - from the "Catherine" OST]
It had all started with a rumor.
Legend spoke of a maiden from long ago who was famed for her never-ending love and devotion for a young soldier in the Recon Corps. When the soldier was assigned to an expedition where doom was the only possible outcome, he was despera
Juliette toyed with the goblet of wine sat carefully in her palm, sloshing the contents about gently as she considered her the fruits of her labour on the desk before her.
She'd taken great pains, with the letter. The script was clear, concise, and markedly not in her own hand. Juliette had observed the Warlock's own handwriting, as he made notes, whether personally, or magically manipulating a quill, during such times she was able to observe his work and experiments in sorcery and alchemy, while his captive.
It wasn't as if anybody else had likely seen the Warlock's own style, but Juliette believed in being thorough. And she had to be. Thi
My consciousness returns in fragments, a jigsaw puzzle piecing itself together. Reality hits me hard, like a punch in the gut, the gravity of the situation sinking in. I'm awake, and I'm still trapped, my hands and feet bound with a cruel efficiency. A groan escapes me, muffled by the tape sealing my lips. I try to recall how I had ended up in this situation, but my mind is a whirl of confusion, the details of the past few hours elusive. My senses are heightened, the sudden awareness of my surroundings a slap to my face. The cold seeping into my skin from the floor, the musty smell of the room, the chilling silence broken only by the occasional scuttle of a rat. Each sensation is a stark reminder of my predicament. I flex my fingers, testing the bindings. The tape bites into my skin, unyielding. I twist my wrists, grimacing at the sharp pain that shoots up my arms. I try to shift my legs, but the tape binds them together so tightly that even the slightest movement sends waves of
Elenora sat back in the rocking chair, swaying back and forth, eyes closed. No sounds in her tiny, crowded cottage but the creaking of the ancient chair, and the occasional clutter of pans hanging above the stove, as the wind blew through the windows.
Unlike Mil-...Magentaposia's home, Elenora had a real witches cottage.
Well, it was a cottage in principle, at least. Part carved, part grown, buried under an ancient, sprawling old oak, with roots spilling over the sides, her dwelling was practically buried beneath it, and a great deal of foliage. You could mistake it for a rocky, earthy outcrop almost, if it weren't for the windows, and a ch