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🔞He says it’s love, but the scars on your skin tell a different story.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in his obsession, your brother’s love is a cage—burning, possessive, and unyielding. Every kiss is a claim, every touch a warning. You’re his, and he’ll make sure the world knows it.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Older Brother x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. Sins of the Silent Heart - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,010

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, incest, non-con, rape, overstimulation, isolation, kidnapping, confinement, forced marking, dacryphilia, bondage, sexual punishments, BDSM, sadism, unhealthy power dynamics, loss of virginity, toxic relationship, spanking, emotional and psychological manipulation, social isolation, physical assault and abuse, sexual violence, knife play, blood play, permanent injury, choking / breath play

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay. You struggle against his ironclad grasp, but he's too strong.

He shoves you onto the bed with a force that steals your breath, pinning your arms above your head with one hand while the other clamps over your mouth, muffling your screams. "Shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

"You're only making this harder for yourself. You need to understand." His eyes bore into yours, searching for something—fear, submission, perhaps even love. But all you feel is a cold dread unfurling in your stomach, a horror that threatens to consume you whole.

Your brother's grip on your face tightens, his thumb digging into your cheek as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours.

"You're mine," he repeats, the words a chant that seems to fuel his rage. His other hand begins to roam, skimming over your body in a way that makes you feel violated and disgusting. You try to kick, to fight, but he's everywhere, his weight pressing down on you like a mountain.

"You think you can just go out there and give yourself to someone else?" he snarls, his eyes wild with jealousy. "You're too good for them. You're too good for anyone but me."

His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. Panic sets in as you realize the full extent of his intentions, your eyes widening in horror.

You manage to break free from his hand over your mouth, gasping for air. "No, please, stop," you plead, your voice shaky with fear and desperation.

"I'm your sister! Please don't do this!" But your words only seem to fuel his rage further, his grip on your wrists tightening until you think your bones might snap.

"Your mouth will be the only thing that's used for speaking my language tonight," he sneers, his free hand ripping at the fabric of your shirt, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. The sound of buttons popping off and fabric tearing fills the room, echoing your own silent screams.

You feel a warm wetness between your legs, not from desire but from fear and the humiliation of knowing what's about to happen. "You're going to learn your place," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he straddles you, his weight pinning you to the bed.

You writhe beneath him, trying to find an inch of space, any way to escape, but his body is like a vice, trapping you in this twisted nightmare. He reaches for your pants, his hand fumbling with the button before he yanks them down with a rough jerk, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

"You're going to love me," he says, his voice a twisted mix of anger and lust.

"You're going to forget all about those other boys. They're nothing compared to me." His words are a knife to your heart, each syllable twisting the blade deeper.

Tears stream down your face as he pulls his own pants down, his erection straining against his boxers. You can feel his breath on your neck, his chest pressing against yours, his arousal against your thigh.

The room feels like it's spinning, the walls closing in around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the monster above you, but his touch is everywhere, invasive and repulsive.

He pulls your panties to the side with a cruel efficiency, and you can't help but sob out loud. "Please, brother, no," you whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears.

He leans in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "You're going to scream my name. You're going to beg for more."

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pushing your head down into the pillow, the fabric smothering your cries. You feel his hand move away from your face and grip the base of his cock, guiding it towards your entrance.

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is a violation so profound, it feels like your soul is being torn apart. The tip of his cock nudges against your folds, and you tense up, trying to resist, but your body is too overwhelmed with fear to do much more than shiver.

With a grunt of effort, he pushes inside you, the pain tearing through you like a bolt of lightning.

You scream into the pillow, your nails digging into the mattress as he starts to thrust, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance.

You can feel the fabric of your ruined panties wedged between your thighs, a sadistic reminder of your innocence lost. His rhythm is punishing, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that sends shockwaves through your body. You try to hold back the tears, to hide your pain, but they come anyway, soaking the pillow beneath your face.

He drives through your hymen without mercy, the fabric of your innocence ripping away as he claims you as his own. The pain is unlike anything you've ever felt before—sharp, searing, and unrelenting.

Your eyes fly open, and you scream into the pillow, your body arching off the bed as he buries himself deep within you. The sensation is a mix of agony and unwanted fullness, a violation that sets every nerve ending on fire.

His grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you, thick and demanding. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a harsh whisper.

You force your eyes to meet his, and what you see there is a twisted mix of satisfaction and rage. He watches you, his pupils dilated with lust, as he continues to fuck you without care for your pain.

"Say it," he hisses, his hips grinding against yours in a punishing rhythm. "Say you're mine."

Your throat is raw from screaming, but you manage to croak out the words he wants to hear. "I'm yours," you whisper, your voice a broken echo of the defiance that once burned within you.

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you know it's what he needs to hear.

His eyes flash with triumph, and he releases your neck, allowing you to gulp in a desperate breath. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sick parody of affection as he starts to move faster.

You feel his hand snake around your throat again, squeezing gently before sliding up to cradle your face. "I'll always take care of you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he pushes deeper into you, each stroke a declaration of his ownership.

You whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to focus on anything but the pain. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled cries and his grunts of pleasure.

He's so deep inside you that it feels like he's touching your very soul, and you can't help but wonder if there's any part of you that will ever be yours again. You want to fight, to scream, to push him away, but your body feels like it's made of lead, heavy and unresponsive to your will.

He leans down, his mouth crushing against yours in a kiss that's more claim than affection. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you taste the salt of your own tears.

You try to pull away, to bite him, to do anything that will make him stop, but he only grinds against you harder, his hand on the back of your head keeping you in place. "You're mine," he says against your lips, the words a dark benediction that sends a shiver of revulsion through your body.

Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the dresser. Your face is a mascara-stained mess, your hair a tangled halo around your head, and your body is a canvas of bruises already beginning to blossom.

The sight only seems to excite him more, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he watches your reflection, his eyes glinting with a malicious pleasure. You feel yourself start to detach, floating above the scene like a ghost, watching as your body is used and discarded by the person who's supposed to love you the most.

"Please," you manage to gasp out, the word a pathetic plea that hangs in the air, unheeded. "It hurts."

But he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care, his hips pumping faster, his breathing growing ragged.

The pain becomes a living entity, a monster that consumes you from the inside out, reducing you to a trembling wreck beneath him.

He shifts his weight, his hand moving from your face to your hip, his fingers digging in as he pulls you closer to him. "You're so damn tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You were made for me."

His thumb slides between your thighs, finding the bundle of nerves that had once brought you pleasure, and you feel a spark of hope—maybe if you can just make him finish, it will all be over.

But his touch is rough, almost punishing, and any hint of pleasure is drowned out by the agony of his invasion.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more frenzied with each passing moment. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a mix of demand and question.

"You're going to come and show me how much you want this." You feel his thumb circle your clit, pressing down hard as he continues to fuck you, his other hand squeezing your hip so tightly that it feels like he's trying to leave a permanent imprint of his fingers on your skin.

The pain and the pleasure meld together into something twisted and unrecognizable, and you can't help but whimper as your body starts to respond despite your mind's screaming protests.

His eyes never leave yours, watching your every reaction, feeding off your fear and pain like it's his lifeblood. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Show me how much you need me."

And you do—your body betrays you, arching up to meet his touch, your walls tightening around his cock as the beginnings of an orgasm build against your will.

You want to hate him for reducing you to this, for making you feel like a whore, but the pleasure is too intense to fight.

With a final, brutal thrust, he releases your hip, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand still working you into a frenzy. "You're mine," he says again, his voice a hoarse growl.

"Say it. Scream it." And as if on cue, your body shatters, your orgasm ripping through you like a tempest, stealing your voice along with your dignity. The only sound that escapes you is a strangled cry, a sound that's half-pain, half-pleasure.

His eyes widen with triumph as he feels your body clench around him, his grip on your wrists tightening as he starts to come, filling you with his seed. The feeling of his release only adds to the horror, his hot cum a declaration of his claim on your body.

You lay there, trembling and sobbing, as he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, the room is silent except for your ragged breaths and his own, his weight a suffocating presence that makes it difficult to draw in air.

As the fog of pleasure fades, the reality of what's happened crashes down on you like a tidal wave of despair. You feel soiled, used, and utterly broken. Your eyes fill with fresh tears, and you struggle to find the strength to push him off.

But he's still inside you, his cock now limp but still a violation of the most intimate kind. "Don't," he says, his voice suddenly gentle as he rolls off you and pulls you into his arms.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore." His touch is tender, almost loving, but it's tainted by the knowledge of what he's just done.

You can't bring yourself to look at him, your face buried in his chest, your body shaking with sobs. He strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings that only serve to make you feel more disgusted.

"It's okay," he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of his actions. "You're safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again."

His words are a mockery of comfort, a twisted parody of the brotherly love you once knew.

You want to scream, to push him away, but all you can do is cry.

He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he says, his voice a soft command.

"I'm not going to let anyone else have you. You're mine. You always have been." His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of understanding, some spark of the love he believed you owed him.

But all you see is the monster he's become, the predator that's stolen your childhood trust in him.

"I know you didn't mean to," he continues, his tone earnest. "But you can't leave me. You can't love anyone else. Do you understand?"

You nod, the tears still streaming down your face, the taste of defeat coating your mouth like bile. "Y-yes," you manage to whisper, the words barely audible. "I understand."

It's not what he wants to hear, not the declaration of love he craves, but it's all you can give.

For now.

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The weekend stretches before you, a prison of his twisted love and dominance. Each moment is a silent scream of agony and degradation, as your brother takes you again and again.

The bedroom, the kitchen table, the living room couch—every corner of your shared home becomes a battleground for his obsession.

He fucks you in every position imaginable, his hunger insatiable, his need to claim you complete.

You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, used and abused at his whim, your body a canvas for his depravity.

────────────

On the first night, he ties your wrists to the bedposts with the usual belt he uses to punish you, spreading your legs wide as he looms above you. "You're going to take it all," he says, his voice a dark promise.

"Every inch of me, until you're screaming my name." He pushes into you, his cock thick and unforgiving, and you bite back a whimper, your eyes squeezed shut.

He's gentle at first, almost loving, but as the night wears on, his strokes become more forceful, his grip on your hips tightening.

You're too tired to fight, too broken to resist. When he finally releases you from your bonds, you collapse onto the bed, your limbs trembling from the exertion.

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The next day, he takes you into the shower, the water a scalding caress against your bruised skin. He soaps you up with a tenderness that feels like a slap in the face after what he's done. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl.

You do, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the water cascading down your breasts. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say you love me."

The words stick in your throat, a lie that feels like acid. But you whisper them anyway, because it's what he needs to hear, because you're too scared not to.

────────────

In the kitchen, he bends you over the counter, your hands gripping the edge to keep from collapsing. You can hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the jingle of his belt loops echoing through the room. "You're going to learn to crave this," he says, his voice a harsh promise.

You feel the head of his cock against you, and your body tenses, bracing for the pain. "You're going to want me more than anyone else."

His hands are everywhere, pushing into your hips, squeezing your breasts, his thumb circling your clit.

You hate the way your body responds, the way your pussy clenches around him, begging for more even as you silently pray for it to end.

He enters you from behind, his hands on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. You grit your teeth against the pain, your knuckles turning white as you hold onto the counter for dear life.

He's deep inside you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan despite the fear choking you.

"That's it," he says, his voice thick with pleasure. "You like it, don't you?" You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, your eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the kitchen tiles beneath your feet.

But the orgasm builds, unwanted and unstoppable, stealing your voice as it rips through you, leaving you trembling and sobbing.

────────────

Later, in the living room, you're forced to straddle him on the couch, his cock buried inside you as he watches TV. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements, his eyes flicking from the screen to your face, watching you with a perverse fascination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the horror of his actions.

You want to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words won't come. Instead, you stare blankly at the TV, trying to lose yourself in the flickering images, trying to forget the reality of your situation.

────────────

On the second night, he takes you to the floor in the hallway, pushing you onto your knees. "You're going to suck me off," he says, his voice cold and demanding. "And you're going to swallow every drop."

You hesitate, your throat tight with fear, but his hand wraps around the back of your head, pushing you closer to his erection.

"Do it," he growls, and you have no choice but to comply, your mouth opening to take him in.

You can taste the salt and the bitterness of his lust, and you want to gag, but you force yourself to swallow, to keep going until he's satisfied.

When he finally comes, you feel his hot cum spurt down your throat, and you have to fight not to throw up.

He pulls out, his hand releasing your head as he watches you, his eyes filled with a perverse satisfaction. "Good girl," he says, his voice a taunting whisper.

You crawl away from him, your body trembling, your dignity shattered beyond repair. You can't believe this is your life now, that you're nothing more than a toy for his sick games.

────────────

On the final day of the weekend, you're lying on the floor of his room, your body bruised and sore from his relentless attention. He's sitting on the bed, watching you with a strange mix of love and possession.

"Look at you," he says, his voice almost gentle. "So beautiful, even when you're broken."

You force yourself to meet his gaze, searching for any hint of remorse, any shred of the brother you once knew. But all you find is a monster, a creature consumed by his own desires.

He stands up, walking over to you with a predatory grace that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's time to go back to your room," he says, his voice a command.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, as he helps you to your feet. The room spins around you, the pain making it difficult to stand.

"You're mine," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Always remember that." He gives you a final, bruising kiss before releasing you, his eyes never leaving your face.

You stumble back to your room, feeling his gaze on your back like a physical weight.

The door closes behind you, the soft click echoing in your ears. You collapse onto the bed, your body a mass of pain and despair.

You can't believe what's happening, can't believe that the person you trusted the most has become your worst nightmare.

But even as you cry into your pillow, a part of you knows that this is only the beginning.

────────────

Days turn into weeks, and the abuse continues. You try to find ways to resist, to fight back, but his control over you is absolute.

He's always watching, always waiting for the slightest sign of disobedience. You start to feel like you're going mad, trapped in a cycle of fear and pain that never ends.

But you keep the secret, hiding your bruises beneath layers of clothing, smiling when you know he's watching.

────────────

One evening, as you're serving dinner, a knock at the door pierces the tension that's become a constant in your home.

It's a friend from school, someone who's been worried about you since you stopped hanging out. You can see the concern in his eyes as he asks about your well-being.

Your brother's grip on your wrist tightens, a silent warning not to say a word. "She's just been busy," he says, his voice too cheerful. "Aren't you, little sister?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've had a lot of... stuff to do."

The friend's gaze lingers on you, searching for the truth behind the forced smile. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me," he says, before finally turning to leave. The door closes, and the room feels smaller, suffocating.

He pulls you closer, his grip painfully tight. "You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You don't need anyone else."

His eyes bore into yours, demanding assurance, and you nod, the lie rolling off your tongue like a well-rehearsed script.

"Yes," you murmur, "I know."

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As the days go by, the lines between fear and obedience blur. You learn to anticipate his moods, his needs, his desires.

You become an expert at hiding your own emotions, burying your pain beneath a mask of submission. You go through the motions, cooking, cleaning, smiling when he enters the room.

But inside, you're screaming, a caged animal waiting for an escape that never comes.

One day, you're in the kitchen, your hands shaking as you prep dinner. The knife slips, slicing your finger, and blood wells up, a stark crimson against the pale flesh.

He's there in an instant, his eyes flickering with concern before they darken. "Careful," he says, his voice a low warning.

"You're too clumsy for your own good." He takes your hand, leading you to the sink to clean the wound.

But instead of the gentleness you expect, his grip turns cruel, his fingers pressing into your palm until you wince.

"You're going to be more careful," he says, his voice cold. "You're too precious to be ruined by something as stupid as an accident."

You nod, your heart racing as you watch the blood swirl down the drain. "I'll be more careful," you whisper, the words feeling like a noose around your neck.

He releases your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good," he says, his voice softening slightly. "I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

But the way he says it, you know he's not just talking about accidents.

He's talking about you leaving, about you telling someone. The fear is a living thing inside you, a creature that feeds on your hope.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" You can feel his arousal pressing against your side, his desire for you a constant, unyielding force.

You nod again, because what else can you do? He takes your injured finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut, the sensation surprisingly gentle.

The room spins around you, the line between love and hate blurring until you can't tell the difference.

His eyes never leave yours, his gaze holding you captive as his mouth works its magic. When he pulls away, you're left gasping for air, your body a battleground of emotions.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask, your voice shaking. "Why are you doing this?"

He looks at you, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Because I love you," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Because you're mine, and no one else can have you."

You pull away, your heart racing. "But we're siblings," you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't right."

He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. "Don't say that," he says, his voice a low warning. "You're the only one who makes me feel alive, the only one who truly understands me. I'm going to marry you, make it official. No one can ever take that away from us."

His eyes are wild, desperate, and for a moment, you see the little boy who protected you from the monsters under the bed.

But the monster is him now, and there's no escape.

You nod, your voice trembling. "Okay," you say, the word sticking in your throat. "I'll be yours."

It's a hollow promise, but it's what he needs to hear.

His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, lighting up the room and your heart despite the fear.

That night, he takes you gently, as if you're made of glass. His touches are softer, his kisses more tender.

But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. You lay there, your body bruised and used, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, of telling someone.

But every time you open your mouth to speak, the fear clamps down, silencing you.

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As the weeks turn into months, the abuse becomes a twisted routine.

You find yourself craving the moments of tenderness he offers, the fleeting moments when he's not a monster, but the brother you once knew.

His love feels like a drug, an addiction that you can't shake, no matter how hard you try.

And he's always there, watching, waiting, making sure you know you're his.

One evening, as you lay in his arms, the room lit by the flickering TV, you feel something shift inside you. You've been playing along, pretending to be the obedient little sister and wife he wants, but the weight of the lie is crushing you.

You look up at him, his eyes closed in contentment, and for the first time, you feel something other than fear.

It's anger, burning hot and pure, a fire that's been smoldering deep within you. "I can't do this anymore," you say, your voice shaking with the force of your emotions.

He opens his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What do you mean?" he asks, his hand stroking your hair.

You sit up, pulling away from him. The words come out in a rush, the dam of your fear and anger finally breaking. "This isn't love, it's not normal. You can't just take what you want from me."

You can see the hurt in his eyes, but it's mixed with something else—a hint of anger.

"What do you know about love?" he snaps, his grip on your arm tightening.

"You're just a kid, playing games you don't understand." His voice is low, dangerous.

"You're mine, and you always will be. You don't get to decide who loves you, or how."

You try to pull away, but his hand is a vice, his nails digging into your skin. "Let go of me," you say, your voice trembling.

But he doesn't.

He pulls you closer, his eyes searching yours, looking for the submission he craves.

"You don't get it," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're all I've ever had. You're all I've ever needed. And now that I have you, I won't let anyone else touch you."

His grip tightens, and you know he's not just talking about love anymore. He's talking about possession, about control.

You try to fight back, to push him away, but he's too strong. "Please," you whimper, the word a pitiful sound in the quiet room.

But it's not enough.

He's already decided what you are to him, and he won't be swayed.

He yanks you closer, his breath hot and sour in your face. "You're going to learn," he says, his voice a snarl. "You're going to learn to love me, to want this."

His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple. You flinch, the pain mixing with the fear and anger. "Look at me," he demands, his eyes boring into yours.

"Tell me you want it."

You can't find the words. You can't bring yourself to lie to him, not when you're so close to breaking free of this psychological cage of hoping he'd change.

Instead, you look away, your eyes filling with tears. "I can't," you murmur, your voice barely audible.

The anger in his eyes flickers, and for a moment, you think he might hit you again. But instead, he sighs, his expression softening slightly.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise and a threat. "You just need time." He releases your arm, his hand moving to gently wipe the tears from your cheek.

"But for now, you're mine. You're going to stay here, with me."

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But, that doesn't mean he's not vengeful.

Your older brother drags you down the stairs to the basement, his grip unyielding. The cold concrete floor hits your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. You struggle, your body protesting, but his strength is too much.

He throws you into a dank, dimly lit corner, the scent of mold and dust thick in the air.

Ropes coil around your wrists and ankles, securing you to a rusty pipe that runs along the wall. You whimper as the metal digs into your skin, leaving a trail of cold, metallic pain.

"Why are you doing this?" you manage to ask through clenched teeth, the reality of your new prison setting in.

He paces the floor, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and disappointment. "Because you need to learn," he says, his voice echoing in the confined space.

"You need to understand that you can't just decide to stop loving me."

You stare at him in disbelief, the ropes biting into your skin as you try to pull away from the pipe. "This isn't love," you spit out, your voice raw with emotion. "What you're doing to me is sick."

He stops pacing, his gaze meeting yours with a cold intensity. "You think I don't know that?" he snaps.

"But it's all I know. It's all we have." He strides over to you, crouching down so he's level with your bound form.

"You're going to stay here, and think about what you've done." His hand comes up to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"And when you're ready to tell me the truth, when you're ready to love me the way you should, I'll be upstairs."

You feel bile rise in your throat at his touch, his words a twisted echo of the love you once knew. "I can't," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, just let me go."

He sighs, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something that looks almost like regret.

"You don't get it," he murmurs, his hand dropping away. "This is for your own good." He stands, walking towards the stairs.

"You're going to thank me one day, when you realize what I've saved you from."

You watch as he ascends, the door at the top of the stairs slamming shut with a finality that makes your heart sink. The darkness of the basement envelops you, the silence deafening.

You try to scream, to call for help, but your voice is hoarse from the weekend's screams. You're alone, trapped in the cold embrace of the concrete walls.

───────────��

Days crawl by, each one a blur of pain and despair. He comes down to check on you, bringing you water and the bare minimum of food to keep you alive.

He doesn't touch you, doesn't speak of love. His eyes are hard, his expression unreadable.

But the silence is worse than the abuse—it's a constant reminder of the distance he's put between you. You beg, you plead, you scream, but he just watches with a detached air, as if you're nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

On the third day, he finally speaks. "You've had your time to think," he says, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Now it's time for your next lesson." He crosses the room, his boots echoing on the hard floor.

You shrink back against the wall, your heart racing.

You're not ready for this, not ready to face the monster again.

But there's no escape, not here in the dark.

He unbinds one of your wrists, pulling you to your feet. You stumble, your legs wobbly from days of disuse. He leads you over to a dusty old chair in the center of the room, the legs scraping against the floor with an eerie sound.

"Sit," he commands, his voice devoid of warmth.

You do as you're told, the chair creaking beneath your weight, as he restrains your arms and ankles to the chair. He then stands in front of you, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that makes your skin crawl.

"You're going to tell me you love me," he says, his voice low and menacing. "You're going to mean it, or you're going to regret it."

You shake your head, the words caught in your throat. "I can't," you choke out. "I'll never love you like that."

His expression darkens, and for a moment, you think he's going to hit you again. But instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, the silver glinting in the dim light.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise. "I'll make sure of it." He flicks open the blade with a metallic snap, the sound echoing in the basement.

You try to jerk away, but the ropes around your ankles keep you in place, the chair digging into your back. "What are you going to do?" you ask, the fear in your voice clear.

He steps closer, the knife glinting in his hand. "I'm going to show you what happens when you deny me," he says, his voice a low growl.

"You're mine, and you will say it." His hand moves to your chest, pressing the cold steel against your skin just above your heart.

The threat is unmistakable.

You swallow hard, the fear thick in your throat. "I can't," you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. "Please, don't make me."

He sighs, his expression shifting from anger to something almost pitying. "You're so damn stubborn," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the blade's path along your collarbone.

"But I'll break you. I'll make you love me." He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear.

You shiver, trying to keep your revulsion from showing. "I'm sorry," you whisper, the words feeling like acid on your tongue.

"I love you." It's the first time you've said it, and you hate the way it feels—like a betrayal to every part of yourself that's been violated by his hands.

He pulls away, his eyes searching yours, looking for the truth he so desperately needs to see. You force a smile, hoping it's convincing enough. "I love you," you repeat, the words a little easier this time.

For a moment, you see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced with satisfaction. "Good," he says, his voice soothing now.

"Very good." He reaches down, his hand brushing against the ropes that bind you to the chair.

"Now, let's see how much you mean it." He traces the knife along the fabric of your shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine.

With one swift motion, he slices through the material, exposing your bra. The knife lingers for a moment before he cuts the clasp, the cups falling away to reveal your breasts. He cups one in his hand, his thumb circling your nipple.

You can't help the gasp that escapes your lips as he pinches it, the pain mixing with a twisted form of arousal that makes you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself.

"Look at how beautiful you are," he says, his voice a hypnotic purr. "So perfect for me." His other hand moves to the fly of his pants, the knife still in his grip. He opens them, freeing his erection, which stands tall and demanding.

You feel a fresh wave of dread as he steps closer, the knife still hovering near your skin.

"Now, tell me you want me," he commands, his eyes dark with lust. The blade presses harder against your flesh, the sting of it making you flinch.

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. "I want you," you murmur, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You feel his hand tighten around your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple until it's hard and sensitive.

"Please," you add, hoping it's enough to satisfy his twisted desires.

He seems to consider your words, the knife pressing into your skin just enough to make you whimper. Then, with a smirk, he pulls away.

"Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, let's make it official." He grabs the knife again, this time bringing it to the waistband of your pants. With a quick jerk, he slices through the fabric, exposing you completely.

You struggle, trying to pull away from his touch, but he's too strong. He forces you to remain still, his hand moving down to cup your sex, his thumb stroking your clit with a brutal gentleness that makes you squirm.

"You're going to tell me you're mine," he says, his eyes boring into yours. "You're going to scream it."

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words a defeated whisper.

He smiles, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sickening blend of affection and triumph. He steps closer, the knife now tracing patterns on your exposed thigh, sending shivers of fear and anticipation through your body. You can feel his erection pressing against your leg, hot and insistent.

Without warning, he slams the knife into the chair, the blade sinking deep into the wooden frame. You flinch, your heart racing as you realize how close you just came to being sliced open. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Now, tell me," he says, his voice a demand.

"Tell me you're mine, and mean it." He repeats.

You stare into his eyes, the fear and disgust warring within you. But the knife, still lodged in the chair so close to your body, is a stark reminder of his power. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words barely audible.

His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you, his breath hot and sour. You force yourself to remain still, to accept it, to survive. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his other hand still playing with your body.

You can feel the wetness between your legs, and you hate yourself for it—hate that your body can betray you like this.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes gleaming with triumph. You're panting, your heart racing from fear and the unwanted arousal his touch brings.

He takes the knife from the chair, the wood protesting as it's yanked free, and you can't help but feel a pang of relief that it's no longer a threat to your skin. But his gaze is on your thighs now, and you know that relief is short-lived.

"Look at me," he says, his voice low and commanding. You meet his eyes, trying to keep the fear and disgust from showing. "You're going to carry my mark," he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. "So you never forget who you belong to."

He grabs your chin, tilting your head back so you're forced to watch as he brings the knife closer to your skin. You flinch as the cold metal touches you, the tip hovering just above the delicate flesh of your inner thigh.

His hand is steady, his eyes never leaving yours as he traces the first letter of his name—a deep, painful groove that makes you try biting your lip to keep from screaming. The blood wells up, a crimson line against your pale skin.

But, it doesn't work.

The second you feel the searing pain of the knife digging deeply, your scream rips through the basement, echoing off the cold concrete walls.

He tightens his grip on your chin, forcing you to keep watching as he carves the next letter into your skin, the blood running down your thigh in a warm trickle. Your eyes are wide with shock and horror, your body sweating and shaking with pain and fear. He's methodical, taking his time with each stroke, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sound of your own cries is the only thing that breaks the silence, mixing with the wet, sickening sounds of the knife cutting into your flesh.

When he's done with the last letter, he pulls back, admiring his work with a twisted smile. "There," he says, his voice smug. "Now you're truly mine."

He reaches out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his thumb coming away smeared with your blood. "You're beautiful, even when you're crying," he murmurs, his tone almost tender.

You can't help but flinch at his touch, the pain from the fresh wound making your stomach churn.

You look down, the sight of your own blood and his initials etched into your flesh making you feel like a piece of meat, marked and claimed. The pain is unbearable, and you can't stop the tears that stream down your face. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't do this to me. No more, please, I beg you."

He frowns, his expression one of disappointment. "You're supposed to be happy," he says, his voice tight.

"This is a declaration of love, not something to be feared." He grabs a rag from the floor, pressing it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.

"You need to learn to appreciate this, to cherish the bond we have." His tone is firm, brooking no argument.

You can't find the words to respond, your teeth chattering from the pain and the cold. You watch as he dresses himself, his movements deliberate and controlled.

He picks up the knife, wiping the blood off on the rag before slipping it back into his pocket. "I'll be back with something to clean you up," he says, his voice gentle, as if he's just finished giving you a present instead of violating you in the most horrific way.

He leaves you alone again, the door slamming shut like a tomb. The pain in your thigh is a constant reminder of his ownership, a brand that feels like it's burning into your soul.

You slump forward in the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, and sob into your knees. The basement is cold, the only warmth coming from the throbbing in your leg and the hot tears that fall onto the concrete floor.

────────────

When he returns, you're too tired to even look up. You feel him approach, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He's carrying something, a first-aid kit maybe, but you don't care.

You're beyond caring.

He kneels in front of you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he takes the rag and replaces it with something cool and clean.

"Shh," he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay."

The pain is overwhelming as he cleans the wound, the sting of antiseptic making you whimper.

You try to jerk away, but he holds you firm, his grip unyielding. "You have to let me take care of you," he says, his voice soft but firm.

"You're all mine, and I'll always take care of what's mine." He applies a bandage, his movements careful and precise, his eyes never leaving yours.

"It'll heal," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the bandage.

"But you'll always remember."

He stands up, his gaze lingering on your naked form. "I'll leave these off," he says, nodding to the ropes around your ankles. "But don't try to run. You're not going anywhere."

The door opens, and he steps back, giving you a view of the stairs leading up to freedom.

The temptation is almost too much to bear, but you know better than to try.

You nod, the reality of your situation sinking in deeper with every second.

He walks over to the stairs, his back to you. "You're going to stay here," he says without looking back.

"Think about what you've done to deserve this. Think about how much I love you."

The door closes again, and you're left alone with the echoes of his footsteps.

The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, a constant reminder of his control. You try to tug them loose, but they're tight—too tight.

Your eyes drift to the bandages. Hiding the deep, scarring marks just right above your pussy, his initials branded onto you like your mere cattle.

You can't believe it—you can't believe he's done this to you.

But the pain in your thigh is all too real, a pulsing, raw ache that throbs with every beat of your heart.

You can feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through the bandage, a grim reminder that you're not just his sister anymore.

────────────

List of Fandoms and Characters

Ace Attorney: N/A

Blue Lock: Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Rui, Sanemi Shinazugawa

Dishonored Series: Kirin Jindosh

Genshin Impact: Ayato Kamisato, Childe / Tartaglia, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Atsumu Miya, Hajime Iwaizumi, Kenjiro Shirabu, Suna Rintarou, Tobio Kageyama, Yūji Terushima, Ushijima Wakatoshi

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Chrollo Lucilfer

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Demon Aru

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zenin, Suguru Geto

Kill The Hero: Se Jun-Lee

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Xavier

Naruto Shippuden: Kabuto Yakushi, Tobirama Senju

One Punch Man: Amai Mask

Reverend Insanity: Fang Yuan

TOUCHSTARVED: Ais

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Dust! Sans / Murder! Sans

Wuthering Waves: Geshu Lin, Scar

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If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

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bl00dyfaiiry · 2 hours ago

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∘₊✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐒 ✧₊∘

❝ 𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥 & 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘦. ❞ (✦ 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚂 ✦)

🌙 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞: An underground sanctuary for the damned. You have entered a world of villainous love, cruel devotion, and inescapable obsession. This is where male yanderes reign supreme—where light is consumed by the abyss, and love is just another form of madness.

☕ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐭𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞: A shadowy, candlelit café-library buried beneath the city, only whispered about in dark corners. A place where books bleed, the coffee is black as sin, and every page is laced with tragedy.

📖 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨: Jesus Christ & My Husband. They are the only reasons I’m still alive. My books, my stories, and my soul belong to them.

✦ 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖘 𝖆 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖔 𝕵𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖘 & 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖚𝖘𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉.

🕯️ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✧ Lamentations 3:1-2 ✧ “I am the man who has seen affliction by the rod of the LORD’s wrath. He has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light.”

⟡ 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 – Devil's Antagonist ⟡

📌 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭:⤷ Current Polls & Events | Request Status | About Me

Who did I accidentally marry in my Wattpad fanfic arc? 📚💔

So you wanna date a psycho? Pick your gameplay, victim. 🎮💀

📜 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫: ⤷ General Rules + Request Rules | Expanded Masterpost

This is fiction, not endorsement. I write twisted, disturbing, and horrific things because it's cathartic. Fluff and slice-of-life feel more surreal to me than horror ever could. If you can’t stomach the dark, turn back now.

➤ Follow to Avoid Censorship 🕯️: [AO3 | Official Site]

⟡ 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ⟡ ⤷ Abyss Archives - Where obsession & desire intertwine. ⤷ Somniphage - RPG + erotic horror + Yandere Reverse Harem Otome

𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥. ⤷ 𝑮𝒐𝒅'𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕 → 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘴, 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵. ⤷ 𝑨 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅 → 𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯. ⤷ 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝑨𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆 → 𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢, 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴. ⤷ 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑭𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒔 → 𝘌𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥. ⤷ 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 → 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴. ⤷ 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 → Sadist Husband x Masochist Wife

✧𓆪 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙄𝙐𝙈 🖋 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 & 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𓆩✧𓆪 ⤷ 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐬 → 𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳. ⤷ 𝑰𝒏𝒌 & 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 → 𝘈𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. ⤷ 𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑷𝒔𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 → 𝘈𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘴, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. ⤷ 𝒁𝒆𝒓𝒐-𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑳𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚 → 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

⛧ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 ⛧ 𝐀 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐦.

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 & 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 — World Ablaze ╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 & 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 — A Heart Devoured ╰┈➤ 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 — Whispers In The Dark ╰┈➤ 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 & 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲 — Forbidden Fruits ╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐲 — Whispers In The Dark

🕯 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 🕯 ⤷ 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 – ink-spilled testaments of obsession, bound in leather & sin. ⤷ 𝘖𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘈𝘳𝘵 – 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮. ⤷ 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘩𝘸𝘢 / 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢 – devotion drawn in suffering, yandere love carved into eternity.

⟡ "𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒕."

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bl00dyfaiiry · 13 days ago

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writers, this is a sign for you to say fuck censorship and write a disgusting fic that will sicken your readers

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bl00dyfaiiry · 13 days ago

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You don't need a man to text you back. What you really need is a desperate, hopeless, superstitious yandere. A guy who writes your name over and over in his journal, who eats twelve grapes on new year's eve and thinks only of you, a guy who pays a witch on etsy (multiple times) to cast a love spell on you. The kinda guy who knocks on wood when he thinks of you and tries to read tarot when you don't text him back. The kind of guy who kisses you and all he can think is "I manifested you, girl of my dreams."

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

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Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

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Yandere Serial Killer x GN!reader

tags: non-con, gore, blood, sadism, helpless reader, insane yandere, possible death, stabbing, knife, twisted mind, gore painting, psychopath yandere.

a/n: this is not really long but aside that enjoy reading

You had noticed him in class, the quiet one with the gentle smile and the way he always had his head bent over a sketchbook, his pencil moving in swift, sure stroke.

he was known for his art. It was something of a surprise when he approached you one day, asking if you'd like to come over to his apartment to see his latest project.

You had nodded, curious but slightly uncomfortable. Art was subjective, and you didn't want to hurt his feelings if you didn't get it.

The apartment was small but surprisingly well-kept, a stark contrast to the chaos of your own dorm room. His artwork adorned the walls, a mix of charcoal sketches and vibrant paintings that seemed to pulse with life.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you took in the crimson hues that dominated one corner of the room. He noticed your gaze and offered a proud smile, gesturing towards the pieces. "These are my latest creations," he said softly. "I've been experimenting with a new medium."

As you stepped closer, the unmistakable metallic scent of blood filled the air.

You swallowed hard, telling yourself it was just a clever use of paint, a trick of the light.

But when you examined the textures, the way the "paint" pooled and dribbled down the canvas, you couldn't ignore the truth.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you looked up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of madness.

He watched you intently, his gentle smile never wavering as he took in your reaction. "It's a bit... intense, isn't it?" he mused, his voice low and soothing.

"The human eye can't quite replicate the depth of color, the visceral quality of real blood. I find it... inspiring." You nodded, trying to keep the horror from showing on your face, trying to play it cool.

But then he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Would you like to be a part of my next masterpiece?" His hand closed around your wrist, and your heart stuttered. The room spun as he pulled you closer to the crimson canvases.

You tried to pull away, but his grip was like steel.

You looked around frantically for an escape, your eyes landing on a sharpened palette knife glinting on his desk.

He followed your gaze and chuckled darkly, "I knew you'd be special." With a swift movement, he grabbed the knife, his smile turning into a grin that sent chills down your spine.

"But not quite in the way you're thinking."

The panic bubbled up in your throat, but you swallowed it down, forcing a shaky laugh. "It's... really something," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of fear or disgust, but you held his gaze, trying to convince him you were unfazed.

"You know, I've never actually painted with real blood before," you said, hoping to distract him. "It must be quite an experience." His grip on your wrist tightened, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Oh, it is," he breathed. "The way it flows, the way it dries... it's like capturing life itself."

He guided you to a chair in the center of the room, his touch cold and firm.

"You're going to be perfect," he whispered, his voice thick with excitement.

The realization of what was happening hit you like a ton of bricks, but your voice remained eerily calm.

"How do you get the blood?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation going while your mind raced for an escape plan.

His smile grew wider, his eyes darkening. "Ah, that's a trade secret," he said, his voice a serrated whisper. He reached out and traced a finger along the edge of a crimson smear, his eyes never leaving yours.

"But I can show you, if you'd like." Your stomach lurched, but you nodded, keeping up the act.

He stepped closer, the knife in his hand glinting in the soft light. "I usually find it on the street," he began, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "But sometimes, I get to harvest it myself." The words sent a jolt of terror through your body, but you managed to keep your expression neutral.

"It's all about the connection, you see. The bond between artist and muse."

Your eyes flicked to the knife, then back to his face. He noticed your gaze and brought it closer to your skin, tracing the line of your neck with the cold steel.

You could feel your pulse pounding beneath the blade. "Don't worry," he assured you, his smile never wavering. "I'll be gentle."

The room grew hot and airless as he began to cut, not deep enough to be fatal, but deep enough to make you wince.

The pain was sharp, a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal. You bit your lip to keep from crying out, watching as drops of blood welled up and trickled down your skin, staining your clothes.

His eyes lit up with a twisted sort of pleasure as he caught the droplets on the tip of the knife, then brought it to the canvas. He painted with your blood, the crimson mixing with the other hues in a macabre dance of life and art.

You felt faint, the world swirling around you as he worked, but you forced yourself to stay present, to keep up the facade of interest and engagement.

You had to get out of here, had to find a way to escape before things went too far. The smell of your own blood was thick in the air, mingling with the chemical odor of his paints and the faint scent of his cologne. You tried to focus on the latter, anything to keep the panic at bay.

As the crimson streaks grew longer, his eyes grew more feverish, his breath coming in quick gasps. His grip on the knife tightened, and you knew you had to act now.

With a burst of adrenaline, you brought your knee up sharply, aiming for his groin. He grunted in surprise, his eyes flickering with pain, but his grip on you didn't loosen.

He leaned down, his mouth close to yours. "I don't think that's going to work," he whispered, his breath hot and sour.

He shoved the chair back and you stumbled to the floor, your vision blurring.

He was on top of you in an instant, his weight crushing, the knife forgotten. His hands were everywhere, tearing at your clothes, his touch cold and unyielding.

You fought back with all your strength, your nails scratching at his face, but it was like fighting a monster in a nightmare, his body unyielding and relentless.

The fabric of your shirt gave way, and you felt the cool air of the room kiss your exposed skin, sending a fresh wave of panic through your veins.

He pinned your arms above your head, his eyes alight with a sickening hunger. You screamed, a raw sound that seemed to echo off the walls, but his mouth was on yours, muffling the sound, his tongue invading your mouth like a serpent tasting its prey.

His hands moved down your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You struggled beneath him, your muscles straining against his iron grip.

His weight was unyielding, a crushing force that stole your breath. The world outside the apartment was a distant memory, a muffled existence that you were desperately trying to reach.

You felt his hands on your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

As he pushed into you, you gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut, willing the pain away. But it was inescapable, a searing agony that seemed to split you in two.

You could feel every inch of him, a violation that went beyond the physical, invading your very soul. Your body trembled and arched, trying to find some semblance of comfort, some way to resist the horror of what was happening.

But then, unable to contain it any longer, a scream ripped from your throat. It was a raw, primal sound, filled with all the fear and rage and despair that had been building inside you.

He stiffened above you, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing into a look of irritation. He leaned back, raising the knife, and with a swift, practiced motion, he stabbed it into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pain was blinding, a white-hot fire that consumed you. The room spun, the colors running together like a Jackson Pollock painting.

You felt the warmth of your blood spreading across the fabric of your shirt, seeping into the floorboards beneath you.

The world grew dark around the edges, the edges of your vision closing in like the pages of a book slamming shut.

Then, there was a soft laugh, a sound so incongruent with the horror that it almost seemed like a hallucination. His breath was hot against your cheek, and his voice was a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't mean to make it hurt so much." The words were a knife twisting in your gut, a mockery of compassion from the monster on top of you.

You felt the warmth of your own blood soaking through the fabric of your shirt, and the pain from the knife wound in your shoulder was a pulsing reminder of your plight.

Yet, amidst the agony, something inside you refused to give in. A spark of defiance flared up, pushing back the tides of fear.

then you black out and never see the light again.

#yandere x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere gore #yandere #non con #tw noncon #artist yandere #yandere artist #cw: gore #yancore #yandere noncon #yandere x reader noncon #jjk smut #smut #lemon

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

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Yandere! Himbo! Werewolf! x Witch! Fem! Reader

TW: forced impregnation, mind control, gore, non-con, dubcon

Kofi: Wanna buy me a coffee?

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

The deep woods is your home. The animals within it respect you and often help you. The sun's light even points out the trails to walk upon. Though, after the first full moon in January, the wolf moon, things started to change in the forest. Glowing eyes would be in the darkness near your cottage. The noises of animals that filled the forest suddenly began to disappear. Clumps of hair started to appear at your front door. But the most frightening part for you is the mutilated human bodies appearing in your woods.

They were bloody and torn like a wild animal had gotten to them. Hearts were missing from their chests. But, most importantly, there were letters carved into each victim's chest. Each letter slowly spells out your name. Luckily, the new chief of the village, Aaron Flor, believes you when you say you're not involved in these murders. But he did say he wanted to speak with you at sunset, which it now is.

"Y/N, are you here?" Aaron asks, knocking on your door.

"Coming!" You reply, turning off the stove and letting the lavender scent fill the room.

You open the door and see Aaron with a bouquet of roses.

"These are for you. I found these on a bush near your cottage," Aaron says, blushing a little.

"Aaron, that bush is mine. But I still appreciate your gift," You say, placing the flowers in a nearby vase.

"Oh, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. For the last couple of weeks, I've been changing. I've gotten stronger and dumber. And I can't stop thinking of you and your…perfect body."

"Aaron, sit down. You're practically sweating buckets."

You guide Aaron to your bed and lay him down on it. You go into the bathroom to make him a cold washcloth. You place it on his head, and he grabs your wrist. He easily pulls your whole body on top of him and wraps an arm around your waist.

"Aaron, what are you doing? You're a good, virtuous man," You say as Aaron's lips draw closer.

"Hehe…your lips are so plump and kissable," Aaron giggles, his hand rubbing your ass. "Mmn!"

Aaron's peck on the lips leaves you flustered, and he uses it as a chance to undo your hair bun.

"You don't need this bun when there's about to be a bun in your oven," Aaron coos, letting a stray finger go from your stomach to your crotch. "Let's get naked. We need to start working on our family together."

"What family?! Aaron, you're delusional and need to rest!" You yell, but it's too late. Aaron is already untying the back of your dress.

It drops to the floor, leaving your naked body vulnerable as Aaron begins to undress.

"Aaron, I know you're not yourself, but we should think about this. I'm sure you'll be much happier if we have a family after we're married like everyone expects of you."

"I can marry you after filling you up and making you mine."

The moonlight seeps into the room, and you hear his bones crack. You can only watch in horror as brown ears grow at the top of his head, his stature becomes bulkier, hairier, and taller, and his teeth resemble a wolf's. His clothes tear, and he walks towards you with his now bigger penis erect.

"A-Aaron, we can find a cure for you-"

Aaron slips a digit in your panties and slices them off. He gets on his knees and takes a deep whiff of your crotch.

"I can smell your ovulation. It's so intoxicating," Aaron swoons, his long licking your pussy.

"Ah-Aaron!" You moan, tightening your legs to close him off.

"It's ok, darling. I'll make this pleasurable and as comfortable as possible," Aaron replies.

Aaron throws you over his shoulder and carries you through the forest to a dark cave that smells of musk and sex. He puts you in a nest made of bloody clothes, shredded fur, and silk sheets. Aaron kisses your neck and gently spreads your legs. You worriedly glance at his big, veiny cock, and Aaron throws you onto his hairy chest. He holds your face on his right side and places a comforting hand on the back of your head.

"It's ok. My scent will make you calmer and more prepared to be my mate," Aaron comforts, making you smell his pheromones. "Just take deep breaths, and then you'll be ready."

Forced to breathe in his scent, you take a deep breath. Your body feels more relaxed, and your mind becomes a pup and mating-filled mess.

"Aaron, you smell so nice and…safe," You comment, your hips unconsciously grinding against his crotch. "Ooohh…"

"You want my pups, don't you?" Aaron asks, his hand going to your pussy and rubbing your clit.

"Oh, yes! I would love to be your mate! I want your seed! I want it!" You beg, looking into his canine-like eyes.

Aaron chuckles and places his dick inside you. You moan into his chest, making his cock twitch.

"Aaron, please! I want it so bad!" You plead, starting to ride his dick.

"I know, sweetie! I know!" Aaron responds, leaning forward and placing you in a mating press.

Aaron begins to thrust into you, and all you can do is moan for him like a good mate. Aaron pants like a dog, and soon enough, his thrusts start to get faster.

"Take it! Take it! Take it like a good bitch!" Aaron moans, his knot growing by the minute.

"Ah! Yes! Yes! I'm a good bitch! I'm your good bitch!" You coo, your eyes rolling into your forehead.

Aaron gently slaps your cheek and makes your eyes focus on him.

"Tongue out!" Aaron commands, sticking his tongue, expecting yours to touch his.

You stick your tongue out, and Aaron gives you a big, sloppy kiss as his balls empty into you. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm rocks your body. His hands grip around yours tighten, and you mentally tap out at the feeling of multiple strings of semen entering your pussy, ready to make you pregnant.

"Oh, darling, you have a cute little bulge from my cock," Aaron teases, running a hand around your stomach.

"Ah…ah…ahaha…" You moan, deliriously staring at Aaron.

"I might as well make sure your boobs are ready for our pups."

Aaron sucks your right nipple, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through your spine. The other boob is stimulated by his hand rubbing and pulling your nipple.

~~~~~ "Aaron! Aaron, what have we done?!" You scream, looking at your naked body next to his.

Aaron, now back to his senses but still werewolf-like, quickly calms you down with a kiss.

"I told you I'd take care of you. Now rest. Your body needs it."

"But, why are you a werewolf?"

"I got bit by a wolf in the French countryside a while back. But it doesn't matter now. What matters now is our pups."

You cum at the mention of your impregnation, and that's when you notice Aaron is still inside you.

"Now go to sleep unless you want to be fucked to sleep."

"Yes, my love."

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

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Yandere with a unknown identity

Breaking and entering

M!Yandere X F!reader Warning: non-con, fingering F! Receiving. Summary: You had a terrible day and end up going to bed early when a masked man breaks in and decides to make it all better.

Part 2 aaand Another part

You had such a bad day today. Nothing seemed to go your way. All day you kept your emotions in. When you got back home all you did was throw off anything uncomfortable and then crawl into bed to just cry it out.

While crying your heart out you don't notice the bedroom window slowly creeping open and a dark shadow climbing in. He is just about to walk further into your apartment when a sniffle stops him in his tracks.

Perhaps it's the feeling of being watched, but something tells you to turn around. When you do you are met with a tall man dressed entirely in black. Not even a speck of skin is showing. His face is covered by a balaclava and the room is dark, only the lights from outside shine in but you can tell he is looking at you.

In an instant he throws himself on top of you, pinning you down. You try to scream but he covers your mouth, muffling any sounds you make. Your panic is met with soft hushes which by no means calms you. He is way stronger than you. He holds both your hands down with one hand while he covers your mouth with the other. He has one leg on either side of you, straddling you, forcing you lower body in place while not putting all of his weight on you.

You struggle against his grip but to no avail. Tears stream down your face. The mix between panic, crying and a hand covering your mouth makes you gasp for air.

"Shhh, shhh. It's fine, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Just breathe, breathe okay?" He hushes you softly. Because of the lack of air you force yourself to calm down. Taking slow breaths through your nose.

"I'm going to move my hand okay? Don't scream." He says firmly and when you do he chuckles, pleased by your obedience.

"Good girl." He whispers as he starts to wipe away your tears.

All the while you look up into his only exposed feature. His eyes. Even with only the moonlight shining in through your window his blue eyes are piercing through you.

"Don't hurt me.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“I'm not going to, I told you that before." He stops for a moment before he speaks again. "Why were you crying before?”

He wipes away a few more tears that escape you as you avoid his gaze.

"It's okay, you can tell me." When you don't answer he continues.

"Did something happen today? I could tell you were upset when I got here."

When you still don't answer he moves off your body and with one arm pulls you after him making you sit up beside him. His sudden motion and the fact you don't know what he possibly could want from you makes you panic again.

"I don't have much money. I… you can have my jewelry."

"I don't want any of that, I want to know why you're crying." He cuts you off. You take a moment to calm down before you answer him.

"I just had a bad day, that's all." It feels like your heart is beating out of your chest. But then he nods, straightening his back.

"That's alright, it's over now. If that's any help." Then he squints his eyes and you can only guess that he is smiling under his mask. Then he looks down, catching your shirt riding up exposing skin. He takes a deep breath before he continues with a low voice.

"Maybe I can make it a little better." Without really being able to do anything he moves you to sit in his lap with your back pressed against his chest. You let out a small gasp and squirm in his grip as you feel something hard pressing up against your ass. He grabs one of your legs to hold you in place and to spread your legs. You try to pry his hand off you but his grip on you is too firm.

He places a leather gloved hand on your clothed cunt, groping and rubbing. The friction makes your breath hitch. He moves his finger up and down your underwear and much to your dismay a sting of pleasure hits you everytime he brushes over your clit. He rests his head on your shoulder whispering in your ear.

"You're so beautiful, I'll make all your problems go away, I promise."

He pushes your panties to the side and slides a finger inside you while he circulates your clit with his thumb. He curves his finger looking for that perfect spot.

"Please stop…"

"Shhhh… you will feel so good soon."

He adds another digit inside you, that together with the gloves extra thickness he stretches you out. A whine escapes you, which prones him to work faster. You can feel yourself getting closer with each move he makes. Your breathing grows heavier and so does the knot in the lower half of your stomach. His fingers hit a certain spot inside you and you jolt as if electrocuted. A moan leaves your lips as he continues to abuse that spot.

You grip his arm, scratching him through his shirt as your orgasm riples through you. Throwing your head back on his shoulder as you bite your lip to try and suppress any sounds, but a muffled moan slips you anyways. He works you through your high and stops when you relax leaning back on him.

"Didn't that feel good huh?" He nudges your cheek with his nose.

"How about we go for another one?" You shake your head but he doesn't care. His hands start up again.

His hand lets go of your leg and worms his way under your shirt. With no bra on he goes right to squeezing your boobs and playing with your nipples.

"Oh, you're so wet. I wish I could be inside you. Feel your pussy clench around my dick instead of my fingers."

Another orgasm ripple through you. But this time he doesn't stop.

"You're doing so good. Just a few more for me."

The room is filled by the wet sounds from your pussy and the moans that you have stopped caring about. All your mind can focus on is his fingers.

You couldn't keep count over how many orgasms he made you go through until he decided you finally had enough.

You feel exhausted. Leaning back panting on his broad frame. Sore from the over stimulation.

"How are you feeling?" He holds you so impossibly close to him, one of his arms wrapped around your waist. He is gently rubbing your cheek with his index finger. The leather feels cold against your skin.

You look up at him through hooded eyes and for a moment you two just look at each other. Then you move your hand to pull off his hood but he grabs your wrist.

"Not today, hun. Another time I will show you." He gently lifts you up and moves you off his lap.

"I'll be back in a sec okay? Don't move." He tells you as he stands up. Before he leaves the room he grabs your phone. You can hear him walking around in the kitchen.

When he gets back he hands you a glass of juice and a towel. You cover your lower half with the towel as you watch him pick out new clothes for you. You can't not notice the giant wet stain that is left on his pants. He hands you the clothes and goes to get his bag by the window and set it back down on your bed.

"Do you want me to help you shower?”

“No, I want you to leave.” You say firmly. He takes a deep breath before nodding.

“Okay, I'll leave. Just before I go." He opens up his bag and reaches down. Fear overwhelms you like a cold shower. He must have noticed you tensing up because he says.

“It's okay, I'm just going to give you money. Take the day off tomorrow and the day after that too. This will be plenty to not disrupt your economy. And hey, treat yourself, eat out or buy something nice. I know how hard working you are, you deserve it." He hands you the money and then heads for the front door.

But before he leaves he turns back to you once more. “And remember to lock, will you? Been too many times where I have got here and you've forgotten to lock for the night. The window too. You can never be too careful.” And with a wave he is gone, left is just a stack of money in your lap.

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

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Here's a complete list of all my original works to date.

Yakuza Series

Masterlist here

Yokai Harem Series

Masterlist here

Yandere School Series

Masterlist here

Yandere Prison Series

Masterlist here

Bodyguard Series

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Fem!Reader (I)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Fem!Reader (II)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Fem!Reader (III)

Asks: Background & Skills, Children, Training, Bratty Reader, Love notes

Doodles: Under lock and key

Generic Yandere

Cute!Twisted! Yandere x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Lawyer x Embroiderer!Fem!Reader

Yandere!Patient x Psychiatrist!Fem!Reader

Yandere!Host x GN!Reader

Yandere!Serial Killer x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Serial Killer Scenarios (+Character Design)

Yandere!Bad Guy x GN!Reader [Tig]

Nerd!Loser!Yandere x Bully!Fem!Reader

Yandere!Politician x Bratty!Fem!Reader

Yandere!CEO x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Android x Fem!Reader (I)

Yandere!Android x Fem!Reader (II)

Yandere!ASMRtist x GN!Reader

Yandere!ASMRtist x GN!Reader 2

Yandere!Nun x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Crime Boss x GN!Reader

Yandere!Crime Boss x GN!Reader 2

Yandere!Magical Boy x GN!Reader

Clumsy!Yandere x GN!Reader

Lazy!Yandere x GN!Reader

Yandere!Swordsman x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Artist x GN!Reader

Yandere!Con Artist x GN!Reader

Yandere!Caretaker x GN!Reader

Yandere!Chef x GN!Reader

Yandere!Senpai x GN!Reader

Yandere!Mushroom Boy x GN!Reader

Yandere!Soldier x GN!Reader

Yandere!Cowboy x GN!Reader

Yandere!Prince x GN!Bodyguard!Reader

More Yandere!Prince

Yandere!Restaurant

Yandere!Circus

Yandere!Male x Willing!GN!Reader (Parody)

Yandere!Tumblr Writer x Literal!GN!Reader (Parody)

Yandere!Gamer Boyfriend Scenarios (GN Reader) (Parody)

Short: Double personality boyfriend (GN Reader) (Parody)

Short: Coming out as genderfluid

Short: Sleepyhead Reader

Short: A yandere like Courage the Cowardly Dog

Short: Overconfident Yandere

Short: Dumbass!Reader

Asks: [Android] Technical details, [Android] Jealousy, Yan!Gamer Boyfriend (meme), More Clumsy!Yandere, Blind!Reader, [Yan!Restaurant] Special Services, Yan!Chef with eating Reader, Yan!Chef cooking for you, [Android] Jealousy

Doodles: [Android] Reader Insert, Kabedon Meme ft. OCs, [Meme] Yan! Burger, Yan!CEO's wife, [Yan!Restarant] Milking Station, Yan!Chef, Yandere Circus Preview, Yan!Swordsman preview, Yan!Professor preview, Yan!Professor nudes, Fairy!Reader, Yan!Prince and Flirting, Yan!Prince Theatrics, Nerdy!Yandere NSFW, Family Portrait, Yandere!Trio, Nerdy!Yandere Haircut, Yandere!Trio Comic, Lazy!Yandere x Clumsy!Yandere, Yan!Cowboy Comic, Magical Boy x Senpai Duo, Yan!Nerd kisses, Yan!Circus Dating Perks, Yan!Con Artist

Misc: Yandere!OCs as sharks, Cuddly OCs, Which OCs would let you bite them, OCs with menstruating Reader, Y/N Plush Care

Yandere Monsters

Masterlist here

Chat with them: Character.AI list for OCs

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

Note

I can clearly see nerdy yandere getting hot and needy and humping on our leg while eating us out, cumming way too soon

Another suggestion: Nerdy!Yandere is the kind of guy to stop in the middle of eating you out because he just remembered that fun fact he wanted to tell you earlier.

“Oh, and another thing!” he’ll say, completely oblivious to your flushed, panting face. “This is not a commonly known thing, so you won’t find it online, hehe”

Mind you, he’s not edging you on purpose. He just got too excited and forgot about your…circumstances.

He’ll await your reaction to this fantastic information, somewhat taken aback by your tired nod. Is it not that interesting-

“Ah! Right, sorry…”

He quickly resumes his performance. Maybe now was not the best time to offer you dinosaur facts.

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

Note

Ozz.. at this point I think you should just make fic of yourself… I call thee :

“Ozzgin, The groom of many, Poet of depravities, Maker of the Ancient House of whores (readers), and Hands of the illustrator.”

Faq, wait, now you sound like Zeus….

Yeaaaah, I do very much enjoy my consent, thank you :’) But mythological scoundrels aside, you did give me a very funny idea, anon. Like...

Yandere! Tumblr Writer x Literal Reader

TW: stalking, obsessive behavior

"Oh, a new post!" You roll over to the side and begin scrolling. Your favorite writer just shared a new story, and you can't wait to get your yandere fill.

You scan the paragraphs with a wide grin, yet as the story progresses, your features begin to twist in confusion. Are you imagining things? The author's notes mentioned something about a particular kind of Reader for this plot. But this...

It starts rather generic, then the details are fleshed out. Details eerily similar to your own life. "W-well, many people look like this, I suppose", you tell yourself reassuringly. That's right. A lovely, unexpected coincidence. At least you can insert yourself better into the story.

Oh, but it goes on. Isn't this your nickname? The place described sounds so much like your own home...and your family situation...and your street. You sit up and stare at the phone. What the hell?

Not only is everything an exact account of your life, but the plot dutifully replicates your last week, almost as if someone had followed closely behind. The times you left your place, what you wore, where you went. You just realize you've been holding your breath.

The story moves on to what would be tomorrow. The yandere finally decides to make a move, essentially trapping the Reader. You continue to gawk at the words, unable to look away.

It must be a misunderstanding. With trembling hands, you type in an anonymous ask. Funny coincidence, you explain, you nearly thought this story was about you.

Seconds later, you receive a notification. The writer just responded: "I have to get my inspiration from somewhere, (Y/N). I'll see you tomorrow :)"

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

Note

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

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bl00dyfaiiry · 21 days ago

Note

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

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bl00dyfaiiry · 27 days ago

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THANOS NSFW HEADCANONS

Pairing: Thanos (Choi Su bong/player 230) x Fem!reader

Genre: smut, headcanons

Warning: dead dove do not eat, noncon, you get forced to take drugs, cum eating, groping, Thanos is a huge asshole. might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read.

Thanos, the man that comes up to you during the endless questions the guards received before the first game. calling you "senorita" and asking you to join him and his friend during the games. you declined, making him tsk and walk away.

Thanos, the man you stared at in fear during red light green light. he pushed down a row of people, pushing them to their death. he just stared at you back and winked, as if he did it to impress you.

Thanos, the man that approached you right after the game ended. asking you to join him and his newly formed team. the 5 people stood over you eerily, scaring you into saying yes.

Thanos, the man that kicked out gyeong su during the team game. whispering into your ear, "I saved you baby" before sitting down onto the floor with the other 3 people in the team.

Thanos, the man that scares you to your core, he's unpredictable. kicking out someone from the team without a second thought but then running to him when he makes out alive. explaining how it was an accident.

Thanos, the man that says outloud "so y/n! whatcha gonna do for me, y'know..as a thanks for not kicking you out of my team." his voice was loud and annoying..but you knew deep down he had meant it with dark intentions.

Thanos, the man that will force his weird pills into your mouth right before the lights go off. telling you it helps with sleeping well.

Thanos, the man that insists on sharing a bed tonight because you're "deeeeefiantly scared"

Thanos, the man that gropes your ass and the rest of your body when the lights go off. whispering into your ear " I know you want this.." his dark voice filling your eardrums

Thanos, the man that slips his finger into your pussy, aggressively pumping them in and out, ruining your delicate insides until you cum all over his fingers.

Thanos, the man that will bring his fingers to your mouth. the ones that were just inside of you, he commands you to eat your own cum unless you want him to kill you that second.

Thanos, the man that will sneak into the bathroom with you to fuck you, using your disassociated state (from the drugs) as an excuse to reorganize your insides. explaining to you later when you sob into your hand infront of him that you 'never said no'

Thanos, the man that jerks off in the bathroom to the thought of your distressed state. you were so weak and small he wanted to ruin your entire life.

Thanos, the man that you overheard talking with his friend. slut shaming you, explaining how this entire time youve been begging for his cock. but you know its not true, when all you've been doing is begging him to stop

Thanos, the man that abandons you during mingle. leaving you to fend for yourself. and when you get upset at him for his, his excuse was "my team and I decided we don't want dirty whores with us. you might rub off on us. sorrry!"

Thanos, the man that slaps you infront of every in the room when you try to confront him. "bitch! you tryna ruin my life or whaaat? I never touched you! I'd never touch a dumb drooling slut like you"

Thanos, the man that groped your tits that night. whispering sweet nothings into your ear, explaining how he was 'sorry' for being so cruel and that he'd made it up to you with his cock.

Thanos, the man that you wished nothing but death upon. you were nothing but ecstatic when he had finally died.

Another note: I think I made him too much of a bitch and ooc idk...this was rushed and lazily made bc I just wanna push something out and idk if I'll write a longer fic today hshshsh ILL MAKE A PROPER THANOS FIC SOON I SWEAR sorry if this sucked.

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

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bl00dyfaiiry · 27 days ago

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let me help ya’ relax.

thanos / player 230 x reader (squid game)

warnings — noncon, public (voyeurism), tears, kissing, use of the word bitch, use of the word rape, pussy kissing, choking, slight / barely but manhandling,

by clicking read more you consent to reading this content and you are 18+

“hey beautiful.”

“the hell?”

standing right in front of you, or rather over you, player 230. it was night and everyone was asleep or sitting in a corner somewhere. you didn’t know this guy beside seeing him the first two games and seeing him act like a fucking lunatic. you sit up and gather yourself.

“what do you want?”

“oh you know, just wanted to talk to a pretty girl.”

he does a cheeky smile. you stare. what do you even say to that. thank you i guess…?

“uh—”

“no need to thank me, it’s what i do. just such a great fucking guy right?”

he picks at the cross on his neck before pulling a pill out and holds it out to you.

“you use?”

“what?”

“drugs. do you do drugs? or have you done them before?”

how the fuck did he manage to bring his shit in here for one, and for two; why the hell is he more worried about doing drugs rather than living. that’d be the last thing you’d be thinking about.

“no. i dont do them and i dont have any interest in that.”

he does a fake pouty face.

“come on babe, loosen up ya’know? don’t wanna stress your pretty little face out.”

he pops the pill in his own mouth. where was this guy going with this? he clearly wants to stay here, hence the big blue ‘O’ on his jacket. so if he’s bored he should go talk to the people on his side. how the hell could you relax watching people you’ve gotten close to or even have just spoke to once die? meanwhile this dudes been jumping around having the time of his life while he’s been here. if this game ended tomorrow, he’d join it again a million times over. or maybe he wouldn’t but the drugs in his system sure as hell would.

“yeah, no… i appreciate your kindness but i don’t even know you and i think i’m just gonna lay back down.”

he grabs your hand and starts shaking it aggressively.

“my names thanos, it’s great to meet you! now you know who i am.”

he smiles again. you just stare. that’s not how it works at all. you could tell he was waiting for you to introduce yourself but you just brush it off and tell him again you’re going to lay back down. before you get to turn over and lay though, he grabs your face with both of his hands and presses your lips together into a deep kiss. he holds you there for a good while, and it felt like you were suffocating.

“what the fucks wrong with you?”

“baby, you could be my new drug! change that ‘X’ into an ‘O’, we’d be absolutely unstoppable!”

“this is real life you idiot, not some fucking video game!”

you slap his hand away from you and try telling him to get lost, but he just grabs your wrist and pushes you back onto your bed. you yell at him to get the fuck off of you but he just presses a finger up to your mouth hushing you.

“sex is a great way to relieve stress. just let me make you feel good. don’t be too loud though, unless you want the others to see us. but by all means, do it. it’s only making me harder.”

he laughed and winked at you. you suck the air through your teeth and he still holds onto your left wrist with one of his hands while letting the other one push at his chest. you’re more cautious with your voice level now and in a whisper you try again to get him to go.

“i don’t want to have sex with you, can you just go? go jack off in the corner or mess with literally any other girl here!”

he ignores you for the time being and goes to push your pants down, but with your free hand you grab his hand to stop him.

“gee babe, how sweet of you to wanna hold my hand! but uh, i kinda need it to get to the fun part.”

he ignores your hand continuing to grab at his, not proving to be much of use at all besides annoying him. he pushes your pants down, and then your panties to your ankles; acting as sort of some form of restraint. it would prove to be somewhat more difficult to kick at him now as your footing would get caught in the pant legs. he sits up off of your chest finally and starts to pull his pants and boxers off. you wanted to scream at him so badly to get off of you, to scream for some help, but you knew nobody would and all they’d do was watch. it wasn’t anybody’s problem and they weren’t going to make it theirs.

he cups your sex and starts rubbing circles at your tiny little hole to get you all soaked and ready for him. he leans down and he kisses it. he was literally about to start making out with your fucking pussy.

you squeezed your eyes shut and a couple tears come sliding down. god, first you’re in this game that seems normal, then people around you start getting shot, nobody wants to go home, and now you’re getting rapped by some crazy ass drug addict that calls himself fucking thanos. thanos! you’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel his thumb on your face and him wiping your tears. you slightly open your eyes and he kisses you again. this time with your free hand you push as hard as you can at his face. he moves back and he makes an ‘ow’ face and rubs his forehead. he grabs your used to be free wrist and just pushes it to your side and holds it there.

“it’s always the prettiest bitches that play fucking hard to get.”

he lines up his cock with your somewhat wet hole. he maybe would’ve spent a little more time prepping you but you just ticked him off and he wasn’t going to help you anymore than he already has.

“it’s alright, i’ll have screaming my name and this whole place will know it by the time we’re done baby!”

oh god you were gonna be sick. you feel the sudden intrusion and you immediately tense. biting your lip back from screaming and shaking your head, tears flying left and right. you try to bend and claw your fingers at his hands that are holding yours down but it proves to be futile. you yell at him, while still keeping your voice down to stop and that he’s gotten enough and that he should go.

“agh—please—”

“please? you—fuck’—you want me to please keep going? well you don’t have to tell me that, i was already going to!”

he keeps a fast pace going, and the bed might as well of slid off of the shitty bars it was being held up on. everybody sleeping above you could definitely feel the whole thing moving. you try to fish your legs out of your pants legs to at least have some sort of way of pushing him away but it proves to be slightly harder than you thought.

“fuck babe—you feel so—fuck- so fucking good.”

he sucks the air through his teeth breathing heavy, while you’re doing the opposite and holding your breath.

“god you’re so tight, and you’re so — m’- so hot. i wish i could feel every inch of your — agh - you’re body but you’re too much of a fucking bitch, so i gotta keep ya’ still.”

he stops at an in thrust and moves his face down to yours, causing his cock to go deeper in you and causing you to bite back a moan and squeeze your eyes shut. he press his forehead to yours, your sweat causing them to almost stick together. he whispers to you while keeping perfect eye contact.

“but your my fucking bitch right? you’ll be my dumbed out little whore, baby. should get a tattoo on ya’ that says thanos’s bitch.”

he laughs moves down to your neck, starting to kiss all over it. leaving sweet marks all over as he starts thrusting into you again. you just feel his heavy hot breath against your neck and you just stare up at the bars above you and hold in the choked up sob threatening to come out. you feel his cock tense in you, threatening to shoot his load out and your eyes widen. he starts thrusting harder. he lets go of both your wrists and before you can even breathe out, relieved from the slightest bit of less pressure, he wraps both his hands around your throat and looks you in the eyes the whole entire time.

“come on bab — fuckk’- babe. look at me pleas- come on, watch how good you — you make me feel.”

you start to scratch at his his hands and his arms. he’d most definitely be marked up all over by the morning. finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe. you finally decide to look him in the eyes, sending him a pleading look to stop and to quit choking you, your face slowly starting to turn a shade of blue. upon your eyes looking at him, seeing those teary orbs and pleading face, it sends him over the edge. he sends a curse your way before he surprisingly pulls out his load going all over the bed. he lets go of your neck and pulls up his boxers, falling on top of you. his weight making it hard for you to completely catch your breath. you start to choke and hiccup on your own tears before he looks up at you and strokes his hand across your face, catching a few tears in his hand.

“i told you it wouldn’t be bad at all. don’t you feel a little more at ease now? are you prepared for the games tomorrow?”

not at all. was he fucking delusional? he lays his head back on your chest, looking up at you like a child, and rubs his hands up your sides.

“tomorrow when we vote, you better change to an ‘O’. wouldn’t want my pretty girl to betray me after all.”

he does a fake pout at the end of that. you go to sit up to pull your pants back up but he stops you.

“uhm, allow me. wouldn’t want you to do any hard labor! i’ll take care of it all for ya.’”

he pulls your panties and your pants up and sits up off of you, getting his own pants situated. he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to the top of it, looking at you in your eyes with a smile, your eyes still watering. and you send a glare his way.

“ouch babe! you hurt me here.”

he smacks his chest a couple times where his heart was.

“i’d stay here and sleep with you, but my friends will want a piece of you too if they find out that’s what i did tonight.”

you shudder at the thought of that.

“but dont worry. i’ll see you tomorrow. i’ll see ya at breakfast, yeah?”

he pulls you in for one long kiss and you push him away and he almost falls into the next bed over. he grabs at his heart again dramatically.

“ugh, i don’t wanna leave you. we’ll talk tomorrow though, kay? maybe have some more fun too.”

he winks at you again before turning over his shoulder and literally skipping away, running with his arms in the air and his hands in fists. you just hug your knees, crying into them, and now more than ever you wanted to go home. god this was so fucked. you just wanted to go to the bathroom and wash all over yourself but you knew they wouldn’t let you in. you just keep a tight grip around your knees, trying to find some sort of solace while you’re stuck here.

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