|| loving the madness || a collection of Yandere x Reader Oneshots ||

|| hard to say || Iceland ||

Request ✔

"I want to make you mine but that's hard to say."

-

The problem with him was that he had a lot of things he wanted to say but no words to help him express himself.

How could he tell her that he felt like dry ice in the middle of a volcano whenever you were around? How could he give justice to the way his heart seemed to pound so hard against his chest, he felt like it was about to pop out of its cavity? How could he describe the way you looked to him whenever he set his sights on you?

He was an actor stumbling through a scene with the wrong lines. He was constantly fumbling and getting his part wrong. But this wasn't Hollywood (she was at America's for the weekend), and there was no director to tell him he got it wrong. There was only that terrible, sinking feeling in his heart and the way your eyes dropped when he said the wrong thing.

A jolt runs up his spine when your fingers grazes his cheek and your face is so close you his. Iceland jerks away from you and unintentionally pushes you away from him. You look insulted, and rightly so.

"Get off of me," he growls.

"You had something on your hair," you mumble as you comply with his wishes, "I only wanted to get it off."

A wash of guilt runs over him and he grumbles an apology that you wave away dismissively.

"I just don't understand why we can't play nice, Iceland," you sigh, "am I really that terrible to be around?"

"No, I'm just shit at expressing myself and that's why it seems like I hate you but I don't I actually like you a lot."

But he doesn't say any of that

Iceland frowns at you, he doesn't deign to give you a reply and you can only sigh in frustration.

"Fucking dumbass," you huff as you stand up to leave him but you turn around at the last minute, staring hard into his eyes, "it's okay if you don't like me." 

Your voice is barely louder than the wind as you say the latter part. 

"I wouldn't like me either."

-

His fist lands hard against the surface of the wall. He can feel a few splinters digging into his skin, the muscles underneath his skin throb painfully and he finds that he can scarcely breathe.

Who could after witnessing that?

He heard it first, then he saw it, feet softly padding across the tiles of his home. He heard it moaning and whimpering, coming from his brother's room. It's his sense of morbid curiosity that drives him to open the door slightly. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't dare to. He's never seen you like this, so willing and so...delicate. You came undone under each and every touch and you practically screamed his name.

He wanted to see you like that.

He wanted you like that.

-

And then he had you under his touch, under his thumb, so wet, so willing. He didn't care that you were crying and that your eyes reflected terror not the love he wanted. He wouldn't mind, soon you would love him. It would come all in due time.

"Why?" You asked him as he fumbles with his clothing, "why do you hate me so much?"

He doesn't answer you, not directly. Iceland mumbles something along the lines of 'be good'. Before checking to see if your bonds still held and setting the gag tightly against your lips. He presses a kiss on your forehead before heading up the stairs, fingers hovering above the light switch. He drinks in the sight of you once more.

"I don't hate you," he whispers, "I hate what the sight of you does to me."

He takes a deep breath.

"You don't know what you do to me. You make me feel things that I can't understand; you make me want to do things that scare me sometimes."

He flicks the lights off before opening the door.

"I love you."

He could finally be honest with himself.