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yanderenightmare · 22 days ago

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Yandere Days of the Week

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, drugging, alcohol/poisoning, vomiting/forced/emeto, abuse of power, plotting murder, waterboarding-ish, squirting, implied bottle-fucking

♡ FEM reader

♡ INSPO: this by the lovely @yanderedrabbles

Monday is your strict boss.

He’s always breathing down your neck around the office, checking if you come in on time, laying into you when you’re anything but perfectly on the dot—not even allowing you to get settled into your cubicle before dumping a workload onto your desk on top of the one you already have, coming back with a fresh one right after lunch again.

You know you’re probably just being sensitive, but you feel as though he singles you out. Barking at you to redo things, even after you’d gone through the extra measure of running it by a coworker who’d given you the thumbs up. You don’t know, it sort of feels as if he has it out for you.

Being yelled at is already bad enough, not to mention how he’ll demand you work late to make up for the slack. And yet, that’s not even the worst part!

No, the absolute worst part is that he’ll insist on staying behind, too—to supervise you.

It’s utterly nerve-wracking. ‘Cause he isn’t only your boss, he’s also sort of… well… really hot. Always dressed sharply in a tailored pin-striped suit and those sharp-tipped newly-polished shoes—hair slick with a fresh barbershop cut and a chiseled face to match.

He smells good, too. And it all just makes it extra awkward for you. Especially when you stay late together, alone. He’ll remove his tie and jacket, then button up his collar and roll up his sleeves—flexing those burly arms of his and that fat wristwatch that’s worth more than your entire life savings.

That neat hair of his will start to fall apart as the late hours take their toll, getting disheveled and only sexier for it—and the way he’ll drag his ring-clad fingers through it with a groan, looking at you with such a fierce glare, you actually have to calm your breath and suppress the urge to rub your thighs together.

But although his voice is definitely something you could dream about, you could do without it when he talks down to you, always admonishing you, grumbling about what a poor employee you are, how you only give him more work to do, how he should be compensated for it.

You’re certain he’s going to fire you soon.

And it turns out soon is even sooner than you’d thought or hoped.

This is it, you think, once he calls you into his office. He’s finally going to do it. You’re going to have to find a new job now—without a good recommendation to help you out, no less. Knowing him and how much he despises you, he’ll probably give you a really poor review on top of it all—he might even call around to make sure no one ever hires you again.

You’re almost about to cry.

“You’re about the worst employee I’ve ever had,” he states, sitting behind his desk with you standing before him, twiddling your fingers while looking sorrowfully down at your heels, hoping he’d have enough mercy to at least make it quick. “But since firing people is fucking impossible nowadays, I’m just gonna haf’to relocate you somewhere else you won’t be damn useless.”

You look up at that. Tears held back in surprise.

Wait, so… he’s not firing you?

He sighs, looking through your employee files, making the changes, “And given it’s the only job open right now, starting today, you’ll be my new personal assistant.”

Gathering everything, he brandishes the documents with his signature, then looks up at you while sliding the pen and papers over.

“Think you can handle that?”

Stunned, you only briefly think about how you’re overqualified to be a personal assistant, but at the same time, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care, blinded with relief that you hadn’t been sacked.

You just nod your head all prettily, signing just as quickly while vowing, “I’ll try my best, sir.”

He becomes significantly nicer after that—always praising you for a job well done and giving you pretty gifts on top of your paycheck, which, funny enough, is nearly double what it used to be, all the while telling you how lost he’d be without you there keeping his life together.

You can’t help but let it all go to your head, completely forgetting that you had bigger plans than being an assistant.

He brings you everywhere he goes now. Out of the building on business meetings, out of the country on business trips. Expensive dinners, fancy hotel rooms, big yachts and galas. You can’t complain—too busy picking your jaw up from the floor—too busy to notice his leer and how he plans to keep you by his side for the rest of his life—too busy to understand that when he stays work late, he doesn’t mean doing paperwork.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Enji, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Toji, Higuruma, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Chrollo

Tuesday is your old classmate who just moved in across the hall.

It’s a funny coincidence, you both agree, as neither of you lives in your hometown anymore—what a small world, huh?

You’ll meet each other in the mornings when you both set out for work and small talk on your way down the stairs, then up the stairs when coming home again. It’s impressive how often it happens.

He’s always asking for the two of you to catch up—always inviting you over for dinner to talk about old times and what you’ve gotten up to since.

You never know what to say… You don’t feel like the two of you were all that close during school, so you’ve turned him down each time, hoping if you ask him for a rain check enough times, he’ll eventually just forget.

But after coming home, tired after a grueling Monday and an even harder Tuesday, on top of realizing you didn’t have anything stocked up in the fridge, you end up agreeing to his home-cooked meal when he offers in favor of ordering takeout.

He lights up at once, “Great!”

It’s a bit of an overreaction, you think. But hey, he just moved here—maybe he hasn’t made any friends yet. It’s not easy being in a new place—he’s probably dying for some company.

Shoot, now you feel a little bad for not having agreed earlier. You remember how it had been yourself when all you ever did was go to work every day—not knowing what else to get up to in the city. Maybe you could give him a hand, tell him about a few places—just to help him get on his feet.

“Yeah, just let me shower and change, and I’ll come over,” you say, unlocking your apartment.

“Sure thing! See you soon!” he cheers, watching you go with a big beaming smile on his face, only turning around to unlock his own place when you’d closed your door.

He’s a little strange, you can’t help but think—or maybe he’s just that eager. Thinking about it, you don’t remember much about him from college. Honestly, he’s one of those faces that just sort of end up blending into the background. He never made any impact in class or at any parties or other gatherings. You don’t know, he was always rather quiet. You don’t remember him having any friends either.

But whatever, people change, and he seems nice enough—maybe he was just more concerned with his average. Fucks knows you weren’t.

You shower quickly, not bothering to wash your hair or put on anything too nice. It’s only a Tuesday, after all—it should be casual. A bralette, boxers, baggy T-shirt, shorts, and slippers later, and you pop out the door and knock on his.

He’s quick to answer. “Hey! Come in, come in—it’s almost done!”

“Cool, thanks,” you say. “Smells good.”

He ushers you to take a seat at the tiny kitchen table he has. Similar to yours, actually—these apartments aren’t all that big. Still, his place is poorly furnished. But then again, he only moved in a little while ago, so you won’t judge.

He rushes over with dinner shortly. Spaghetti, meatballs, and red sauce. A classic. You’re not complaining. However, you could have done without the candles and moody lighting. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect from a corny date, but you decide to ignore it.

“Wine?” he offers despite it being only Tuesday.

You know you probably shouldn’t, but the start of the week has been hard, and you honestly wouldn’t mind the good night's sleep that follows a few glasses of red or anything that would make the affair go over a little more smoothly.

“Sure, why not.”

And yet, it’s still a little awkward. You don’t know what to talk about—you just end up droning on about work, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then you remember what you’d thought about earlier and start talking about some of the places and things he should check out now that he lives here. You try asking him about his work and why he decided to move here, but he doesn’t seem very interested in talking about himself.

After finishing, it isn’t long before you feel drowsy. You blame it on the wine at first—starting to think it was time you thank him for the hospitality and excuse yourself. But as soon as you get up, you’re already falling over.

No worries, though. He’s been waiting and ready to catch you for a while.

“It took you some time to agree to come—I was afraid you’d never say yes, but I’m glad you finally did… I was about to take other drastic measures…”

You’re so sleepy it’s suddenly impossible to grasp what he’s saying—as well as have any sort of grasp on the situation while you’re being carried bridal style away from the living room, through a door into a very dark room.

“I bet you don’t remember me that well, huh?” he continues as he lays you down on something soft, something that swallows your body in a way you can’t really decide if it feels nice or not.

He keeps talking while you try to figure it out, “Hm, that’s fine. I remember you very well.”

You connect one and two associations and come to conclude the thing beneath you is a bed. It ripples and dips with the added weight once your neighbor crawls over you. Your body doesn’t yet recognize being alarmed, but something behind the fuzz that’s taken over your mind still has enough common sense to make you feel as if something’s not right.

“I just had to follow after you, you know?” he keeps rambling, but you’re only barely able to listen. “I just needed some time to save up the money and all, but I was right behind you. And made sure I’d get this apartment right next to yours.”

He looks at your pretty face—all spaced out—stroking your cheek all slow and delicately.

He sighs, “Heh, I know they say that if you love someone, you should let them go—but I just couldn’t find it in me.”

His hand travels further down—eyes following the trail. Down, down, down, until reaching the hem of your shirt.

“I had a crush on you since day one, you know?” he confesses while pulling your tee up over your bra, exposing your pretty chest to him. He licks his lips, breath shuddering, and yet he keeps preaching despite it, “All three years. I wanted to tell you, but you were always surrounded by those pesky friends of yours. It was impossible to catch you alone.”

He feels your skin with a gentle touch as if in reverence. Still, now that you’re getting used to the effects of whatever it is he’s drugged you with, you’re lucid enough to feel the treacherous hard-on he has rubbing against you.

“Unlike me…” He stills for a moment, and something dark takes over. “I was always alone.”

Beyond uncomfortable, beyond alarmed, you’re fully terrified now. You want to scream, but you can’t find the strength to move, even just a finger. Completely limb, and yet not numb, but sensitive to all his awful touches.

“But that’s all in the past.” He smiles. “Now that I finally have you all to myself.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Tenko ♡ JJK – Yuuta ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

Wednesday is the cheerful clerk who works at your local grocery store.

You like doing your grocery shopping on Hump day. It only makes sense, after all—you’ve made it through the first half of the week and deserve to spoil yourself a little!

He’s only just a bit older than you and yet still plays the older and wiser card—all in good fun, though, making a few comments about your lifestyle, jokingly telling you that “Candies are strictly for the weekend, you know?” A brow quirked while looking at you slyly.

And you’ll return his banter, giggling while saying, “A little fun never killed no one.”

It’s an innocent flirt the two of you share—neither of you really expects anything in return. He’s just a really friendly guy—always coming over to help you in the store. Tall as he is, he reaches the top shelf, barely needing to stretch his arm. Sometimes, he’ll even take a look at your shopping list and help you gather everything, bag your items, and then carry them out to your car as if the two of you are the people around and the store isn’t filled with dozens of other shoppers in bigger need of his assistance.

He mostly only sees you on Wednesday, but he knows your entire life story and your day-to-day schedule the way the two of you end up talking. Usually, people would be wary of sharing things with strangers, but you trust him with so much exactly because he is a stranger—treating him no different from a confidant. No one knows you as intimately as him. He knows all your little habits—from what you eat on a daily basis to what brand of soap you use, even what type of tampons and pads you like.

He doesn’t appreciate you eating things outside of the groceries the two of you pick together. He fucking hates it, actually—it makes it feel like you’re cheating on him. Every time you eat out, order in, go to a bar or cafe, even a fucking candy store is like a stab to his back and heart all at the same time. It drives him crazy—he might just burn all those places down to the ground.

But he never lets any of that show when you’re in the store. It’s not your fault after all that there are so many temptations out in the world. You just need a little help saying no.

You don’t have to worry though. After he becomes your boyfriend, he’ll be that help for you.

Yeah, all you have to do is stay home and he’ll make sure you get what you need. He won’t let you indulge as much as you do now, of course, but he won’t be too strict either, so don’t fret.

He’ll make sure you get all the right nutrients to lead a long, happy, healthy life—get your body ripe and ready to start a family.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Yukimiya, Aiku ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

Thursday is your is your random-ass friend who’ll drop by unannounced. It’s never anything crazy, though—no, just a fun hang-out to get a little headstart on the weekend. He’ll bring a joint or maybe some gummies—he likes to keep you guessing. And the two of you will watch cartoons or shitty reality TV, play a round or a dozen of Mario Cart or the like—giggling over each other’s commentary.

He’s chill, laidback, a fan of both comfortable silences and making good conversation. A really good friend.

Yeah, a really good friend who likes sticking his tongue down your throat when you’re knocked out from all the laced drugs he keeps passing you.

“God, you’re so clueless,” he moans when bearing over your passed-out body where you lie all comfortably oblivious on the couch. “Just a naive cutie pie who’s gonna get her gullible little pussy used.”

You make him so hard—you have no idea how he licks your face and kisses your eyelids. Drunk of the power he has over you and feeling all but unhinged because of it.

He feels your limp tongue with his fingers, playing with it while grinding against your thigh. Breaths thick with lust—eyes half-mast, getting overstimulated by all the nasty things he’s going to do to you and how you will never ever find out about any of it.

“You know I fuck you raw every time I come over? That’s right, every single time,” he laughs and shudders in delight, whispering the truth into your ear despite knowing you’re in no state to hear it.

“Mh, I use this body like my own personal sex doll. There’s not a spot left I haven’t touched.” He tugs down your top and takes both your tits in his hand, squeezing them as if they belong to him because, in his mind, in these special precious moments he shares with you, there’s not a part of you that doesn’t belong to him and there’s not a part of you he can’t do whatever he wishes with.

And so, he sucks and licks your pretty tits too and keeps raving, “You’re all mine, every single part of you—I own it all.”

He pulls up your skirt and strokes your cunt through your panties, sliding his fingertip through the slit as if he’s teasing you even though you’re going to stay just as unresponsive no matter what. But in his mind, he imagines it wants him—that your pussy desperately craves him without you knowing—that it’s a secret the two of them share with each other and that they're somehow in cahoots on keeping you oblivious.

“You’re always so tight and wet—it takes everything in me not to cum inside, but we wouldn’t want you figuring things out and ruining our fun, now would we?” he rambles, finally sliding your panties to the side so that he could slip his digits within, pumping you sweetly while you sleep oh-so-soundly and blissfully unaware, getting you good and ready to take his cock in the next minute.

“Yeah, it’s gonna stay our fun little secret forever.”

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Karasu, Shido ♡ WB – Togame

Friday is the bartender at your go-to club.

He’s seen you in every state of drunkenness possible—from tipsy, plastered, sloppily drunk to flat-out shit-faced. You’re a bit of an alcoholic, you know that? Once you start, you can’t seem to stop yourself. If someone puts a drink in front of your face, you dont even think before grabbing it—all laughs and zero critical thinking.

Of course, the way he overserves you, you’re bound to get fucked up.

“Wanna go home…”

He holds your drowsy body against his chest, keeping you upright.

“My shift’s done, and my place is right above here, so you don’t gotta worry,” he says, soothing you as you cling to his side, utterly unable to stand on your own two feet, flinching at the flashing strobe lights and wincing from the blaring party music—feeling as if there’s a seismic eight earthquake raging on inside your poor head.

“Where’ my friends?” your words are so slurred, they’re barely audible.

But he hears you, chuckling before cooing at you, “Let’s get you someplace comfortable, and then we’ll contact your friends, okay? Sound good?”

You burble a few incoherent sounds before uttering out a weak, “Okay…”

“Alright then, baby, don’t worry, I got you,” he purrs in return, getting a better grip around your body as he leads you out of the club, into the elevator, and up to his flat.

“I feel sick…” you mumble, whimpering.

And he coos, “I know, baby, it’s okay, I’ll help you.”

He leads you to his bathroom, setting you down on your knees in front of the toilet. You don’t think much of it when he lifts up your little party dress and tugs it off over your head—feeling as if he’s just making you comfortable. Yeah, he's just taking care of you.

“Let’s empty that system of trash, yeah?”

He gets down on his own knees just behind you, cradling you as he gathers your hair back with both hands—gripping it a little too tightly in a single fist before being just as rough, sticking two of his thick digits deep into the back of your throat.

You immediately gag and throw up.

And he hums, sounding pleased while praising you, “That’s a good girl—get it all out.”

He doesn’t pull his digits out despite you struggling, trying to wrench away—no, he just uses his bigger body to keep you pressed and hunched over the toilet bowl while finger-fucking the back of your throat—smiling sadistically while at it.

“Come on now, baby, I know you got more in there. Let it out.”

He keeps you there for half an hour, making you dry gag and spit, mascara streaming down your pretty face as he feels your smaller body convulse under his weight. Fuck, it’s enough to make his cock pre.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting your hair and placing a kiss on your temple, all while you shudder and sniffle. “Let’s get you washed up, hm?”

He reclaims his harsh grip on your hair, just as tightfisted, using it to make you crawl across the tiles until reaching the tub. He takes his place behind you—trapping you between his legs, thighs, and crotch, keeping you locked against the porcelain edge while he fetches the showerhead and immediately sprays your face with the cold at full force.

“Open up, baby, let’s wash your mouth out.”

You yelp, whining, but he finds your protesting more amusing. Finding your nose with his other hand, he pinches it shut. Making you gape and gasp for breath through the water stream.

But he doesn’t leave it at that. No. The shower head is about the same size as your fist and proving to be just small enough to allow him to force it into your mouth—all but waterboarding you.

He has to chuckle at your fussing—you’re so weak he barely has to put in any effort keeping you in place—he nearly busts in his pants feeling it. But the best part is how when he lets go of your nose, the water starts coming up and out your nostrils.

He let’s go before you drown, of course. Snuff isn’t on the menu tonight. He’s been stalking you for far too long—he can’t just waste it with foreplay.

You collapse on the floor, shivering and coughing—head a spinning mess, still wasted, riddled with shock yet stifled by exhaustion to do anything but lie there, trembling against the wet tiles.

“No, no, no, baby, you can't fall asleep yet. The party’s still far from over,” he admonishes, giving your cheek a few small slaps before grabbing your upper arm and pulling you up. “Yeah, come here—I’m far from finished with you...”

He carries you out of the bathroom and drops you on his bed.

“God, you’re fucking dumb,” he grabs your face, pinching your lips while giving it an ugly kiss. “Did your mommy never tell you not to go home with strangers, huh?”

Leaving you there, he goes off to find your purse.

“Let’s let your friends know you’re home safe, hm.”

You try getting up while he’s gone, crawling around in the bedsheet like a worm, but not managing to get anywhere.

He watches you and scoffs while typing up a message, hitting send to your most recent group chat. It only takes a minute before all the dumb bitches you call friends send hearts in return, saying how fun tonight was.

They have no idea what they’re missing out on.

He saunters back to you. Enjoying every second of watching you squirm. Thank fuck for alcohol, and god bless dumb party girls.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He grins while grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, baby—you’re staying right here with me where I can have my fun with you.”

His hands go up and down your soft skin, thinking of all the pretty marks he’s going to leave on you before curling his fingers around your slutty string panties.

The lace is all wet from his earlier actions as he tugs it down your thighs and legs, tossing it over his shoulder before spreading your legs and pulling you even closer.

“Aw, you got your pussy all clean-shaven for me?” he awes with a smirk, “What a good girl you are.”

He’d planned on having a bit more fun with you before giving in to his urges, but seeing your pretty little cunt so ready to be fucked, he couldn't be asked to wait any longer, needing to fuck you like he’d been wanting to ever since he first spotted you in the club so many TGIFs ago.

“You sure like to party, don’t you?” he rasps while buckling up his belt and zipping himself down, letting his pants drop before grabbing his painfully hard cock. “Always at the club shaking this pretty little ass of yours—just a dumb party animal, huh?” He just knows your little cunt’s going to squeeze him tight like a trap—he isn’t even going to give you a finger test before bullying himself inside.

“Yeah, you like having fun—you havin’ fun now, babe?” he bows down, biting your cheek while putting his head to your entrance, pressing inside despite the resistance.

He was right—you are fucking tight, taking his cock just the way he thought you would.

“Fucking slut,” he groans as he starts thrusting, hugging your thighs tight. “Begging to get gangbanged out on that fucking dance floor—dancin’ like a fucking stripper for free and for all to see.”

Fuck, how he’s going to ruin you—give you a necklace of hickies all around your throat as he fucks you into a mess, then press a beer bottle inside you once he’s done—keep his cum in you all night long.

“You deserve to be used. And I’m gonna use yah for all you’re worth.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Karasu, Shido, Aiku ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Kaji, Togame

Saturday is a gym-bro. There isn’t a day he doesn’t go. Yep, not even Saturday.

You try to go as often as you can muster. But no, you don’t go every day, especially during the weekend—and that gives him a good reason to come up to when you do—teasing you about how he missed you last time. Acting all smug and cocky when asking you what bad habits you got up to on Friday that made you skip out.

He makes you feel sheepish standing next to him as he all but bullies you for being an itty-bitty weakling.

He’s not exactly being fair. It’s not as if you’re especially weak compared to everyone else. It’s just that absolutely everyone’s an itty-bitty weakling standing next to him. The guy’s pure muscle and taller than most of the equipment, for crying out loud!

One time, he’d demonstrated his strength by daring you to hang from his bicep. And sure enough, he could lift you like you were nothing. Using you like a dumbbell—which is what he’ll sometimes call you.

You’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. It’s flattering, but honestly, you think guys like him are a bit too much. His leg has the same girth as your thigh, and so does his neck—not to mention how you think he has enough strength in his hand alone to pulverize your skull in one simple squeeze.

Besides, he’s way too full of himself. You get being proud about health and fitness, but holy shit, does he never shut up? He’s always bragging about how much he benches and how many reps he does every day—and on top of everything, he seems to always be watching and studying you, commenting about your form, and mansplaining how you can get better.

He gets on your nerves.

But then again, the guy does seem to know what he’s talking about. And after several weeks of neither seeing nor feeling much results, you finally decide to let him help you out.

And he does. Taking you through all the motions, from warm-ups to really pushing yourself, and now, the cool-down stretches.

Though… you can’t exactly say there’s much cooling down involved in the way he has you full-feverish, sweating more than you did during the actual workout. In the locker room, suspended against his swole chest with his arms locked around your thighs, folding you clean in half, fingers locked behind your neck as he bounces you on his thick length. And fuck, even his fucking dick is riddled with muscles and veins—feeling as if he’s fucking you with an arm the way he’s stretching you out and punching your guts to mush.

“You holdin’ out, dumbbell?” he mocks, knowing you’re a mess. “Tap out any time, yeah?”

Fuck him, you think—as if you can move your arms in this position—as if you can even speak or make any sound except full-on panting like a bitch and drooling like one too.

One more hit, and you’re spraying—and he insists on fucking you just as hard through it. Straight pounding your wet cunt until he’s sure you’re empty before dropping you back down on your own two feet.

But just because you’ve cum like a shower doesn’t mean he’s done. No, far from it, as he rushes you up against the lockers next and continues where he left off.

The cool metal feels good against your cheek, so good you don’t even mind how he’s pressing you flat and free of air—keeping your neck in a chokehold and your hair in his other fist while fucking into you from behind.

“Trust me, this is way better exercise for someone like you,” he grunts with a grin, feeling you go limp. Your knees shot and your whole body listless, kept up solely by his strength like a puppet on strings.

He rasps out a laugh, “I’ll be your personal trainer, free of charge—just meet me after my reps, and I’ll put you to work and make sure you go home feeling proud.”

Yeah, sure, if you don’t pass out before then.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Kunigami, Shido, Baro, Aiku ♡ DS – Akaza ♡ WB – Togame

Sunday is the religious guy who always comes and knocks on your door to share his faith.

You don’t share his views, but you’d invited him in for lemonade and pastries once.

You don’t know exactly why. You usually just say no thank you and close the door, but that time, well, you’d just finished making cupcakes, and the house smelled like a bakery—it seemed like a waste not to have company.

Sundays were usually so anticlimactic you never really knew what to make of them. But after that, you came to really enjoy spending them baking, always trying out new fun recipes. And before you even knew it, since he always came knocking on your door on Sundays to enlighten you bout God, it quickly became a thing of ritual for you to invite him in.

You’d always thought strictly religious people such as him were more… how do you say… fanatic? Or, at the very least, be somewhat passionate about talking about their God. But he doesn’t seem to be very interested in telling you about that at all. No, he seems much more invested in you and how you’ve been since last time.

Oh well, you think—maybe he’s more accepting of people having different life views and isn’t deadset on changing minds after all. Maybe that was never his agenda—maybe he’s simply a good samaritan going door to door to see if he’s needed or wanted. That is what religion is all about, after all.

Little do you know, though… he’s not really a religious guy at all…

No, he’s actually a serial killer who’d been hunting for his next victim.

He thought you were just perfect, exactly his type—pretty and kind and dumb, just like prey should be. Oh, but then, you became a little too perfect, didn’t you? Inviting him in with such big doe eyes, despite living all alone, feeding him cupcakes, and telling him tales about your life as if he isn’t a total stranger. You might as well be begging him to make you his victim.

But he can’t waste perfection.

And so, instead of abducting you and frolicking in your screams as he cuts you up into a dozen pieces, he abducts you and frolics in your screams as he sucks your pussy into a dozen orgasms.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Tomiyama

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yanluvr · 1 year ago

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yan!shigaraki would pathetically fist his cock to pictures and videos he took of you when he believes you didn’t notice him. he follows you to your job, hangouts with your friends, and basically everywhere you go whenever he can; and if he can’t he’ll just sent one of the league members to watch you and report back to him. when shigaraki is playing his dating sims, he imagines the game’s love interest who is complimenting him is you. he only watches pornos if the person is a dom and shares some of the same figures as you.

shigaraki fantasizes about you pulling his hair and calling him names while also praising him and holding him close. he wants your lips to steal his first kiss, your hands and mouth to give him bruises and mark him as yours, and he wants you to have your way with him as you take his virginity.

when shigaraki sneaks inside your bedroom through your suspiciously open window, he goes to still whatever things he thinks you won’t notice are missing until he comes across a piece of paper that was being spot lit by your desk lamp. he walked towards the paper that was written in red ink spelling ‘surprise’. then out of nowhere you jump up from your hiding spot to tackle him onto your bed and put on quirk canceling handcuffs on him (where did you even get those?? he wondered).

you glared down at shigaraki like he was a useless insect, he really shouldn’t be turned on by this, but he is. your nonchalant expression turned sadistic as you watched your pathetic stalker try to blubber out excuses.

“well well well, the infamous leader of the league of villains stealing my clothes like a pathetic stalker. this is too funny. i should just call my many hero friends to take your dirty ass away… but fortunately for you, i pity you. so here’s what’s gonna happen.”

you run your hand down shigaraki’s twitching belly, unzipped the front of his pants, and slipped your fingers into his pre stained boxed to stroke his semi-hard cock into full hardness, all while he was whimpering pitifully and jerking his hips up along the movements of your hand. you watch his face like a hawk, grinning as you watch his expression change to lovesick and pleasure-filled.

“i’m going to give you the best fuck of your life, and in exchange: you’ll take me out on a date. we have a deal, stalker?”

shigaraki let out a shaky breath as he could feel the edge almost reach him, he nod his head and tried to resist kissing you right then and there. “y-yes, i’ll do whatever you want- oh god! f-fuck me, fuck me please!” he pleaded as his hands gripped onto your bedsheets for dear life.

oh you were gonna have so much fun with him.

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fairystar111 · 7 days ago

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Puppy Love

Chapter 2

By: fairystar111

Rating: Gen

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Summary:

Quirk: {Puppy love}: The user emits a pink ray from his hands. Once a target is hit they become the type of dog most suited to them. The quirk can only be undone by true love's kiss ie. platonic, friendship, or romantic. If the target manages to get a kiss from someone who truly loves them then they will transform back to human form. [Warning!]: If the quirk is not undone within a month, permanent canine characteristics will begin to accumulate on the target’s real body. If the quirk is not reversed within three months the target will lose their humanity, permanently becoming a dog.Or Shigaraki brings home a new pet

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko

Tags: Animal Transformation, Dog Midoriya Izuku, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, Unintentional Kidnapping, Yandere, Yandere Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Platonic Yandere, Platonic Kissing, Fluff, Body Horror, Protective Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Possessive Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Dehumanization, Non-consensual Pet Play, Platonic Master/Pet Relationship, Forced Pet Play.

Izuku awoke, strapped and gagged on a cold metal table inside a sterile lab-like room. He looked down and sighed in relief seeing his human body but froze when he remembered Shigaraki had seen him transform. He knew it was him the whole time.

He needs to get out of here. Now!

The boy tried to push as hard as he could against the leather straps holding him down, but they were simply too strong. He began to panic but stopped himself when he remembered he’s human again.

He can use his quirk now.

He called on One for All.

Nothing.

His core felt empty.

That's weird. Why does he feel quirkless again?

No—it must be a quirk suppressor. One for all can’t be taken unwillingly. There's no way he's actually quirkless.

The door opens, and Tomura Shigaraki saunters in, casually taking a seat at his bedside like nothing has happened.

He tries to ask what he did to his quirk, but his shouts were muffled by the gag. The man says nothing, only reaching out a hand towards his face. Izuku does his best to dodge the deadly hand, but the tight straps make it almost impossible to move. He whimpers as the strap holding down his chest slips downward, digging into his stomach and sending a sharp pain shooting through him.

A hand gently but firmly pushes him back down and adjusts the bindings. “Careful Sprout, you’ll tear your stitches if you keep squirming.”

Umm…what?

Why is he not dead right now, and why is he still calling him his pet name?

Tomura chuckled as the boy tilted his head in the same confused manner he did as a puppy.

“You must be confused. It's okay; I was too, at first. I thought this had all been an elaborate infiltration mission and you were a spy. I was so angry that you tricked me into loving you. I thought you had done it on purpose as a ploy to get information for the heroes. But even so, I couldn’t find it in myself to let you die. I brought you to the doctor and had him heal you and give you an examination. Then I did some digging and found out the truth. This had all been an accident. A split chance. A random series of events that led us to each other that night.” He smiled fondly down at the boy, though a glint of obsession lingered in his eyes.

“It was no wonder you were so oddly terrified of my hands when I first found you. You knew exactly what I could do, but even as a pup, you tried your best to help me. You didn’t care who I was or what I’d done; you still did your best to make me happy, but you knew your time was running out, so you had to leave. If you hadn’t escaped and made me realize how much I loved you, I would have lost you. Sprout is not Sprout without Izuku Midoriya.”

“When I saw you transform, I realized that it doesn’t matter. I don't care who you used to be. I don’t care if you don’t look like a normal dog anymore. You're still my pet. You're still Sprout. The same Sprout you’ve been all this time. I love you, and I’m not ever going to stop loving you. You're going to stay here with me and be by my side as any loyal pet should.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

How is this his life? So instead of an angry, deadly villain, he has to deal with an obsessive, crazy one. I mean, at least he's not dead, silver linings and all that. But an obsessive love like the one the man is displaying can turn dangerous very quickly.

He needs to get out.

Maybe he can use this to help him escape. He already did it once; he can do it again. He has his body back after all; it should be way easier, especially with his…quirk. Wait—where is his quirk?

He tries to ask the man through the gag, but Tomura only smiles down at him and pets his hair, ignoring his attempt to speak. So he does the next best thing. He starts to bite down on the leather strap. Only something in his mouth feels strange; some of his teeth feel sharper and longer than before and are easily sinking into the leather. He moves his jaw up and down, shaking his head, tearing through the gag little by little.

Izuku only stops when Tomura baps him on the nose. “Bad dog. You know not to chew on things that aren't yours.” He says, decaying the rest of the torn gag to dust.

“Stop calling me that! My name is Izuku!” The boy shouted, speaking for the first time in months.

“We’ve been over this, pup. What you were before doesn’t matter anymore, only what you've become.” The condescension dripping from his voice only infuriates the boy further.

“I’m not a pet, and you can’t keep me here! I don’t care how long it takes; I'll escape again, and then I’ll take you down!” His voice strained from underuse, but he didn’t care, only screaming louder in rage.

Shigaraki raises a brow, a mocking smile on his face, “Oh yeah? And how exactly are you going to do that?”

“I’ll bring the heroes here, and I’ll fight you!” Obviously, what kind of question even is that?

“With what power?”

“...What?” Izuku whispered, feeling like all the air had been punched out of him.

“Well, I'm assuming you would want to fight with your quirk, wouldn't you? All the battles you’ve won, you relied heavily upon it. I don’t know how you expect to win a fight against me without it.” He said it with such a finality, Izuku knew he was being dead serious.

“What did you do! Where is it! Where’s my quirk!” The boy yelled in desperation, once again beginning to struggle against the bindings. He knew the moment he'd woken up. The feeling of quirklessness is unforgettable, but he didn’t want to believe it. He thought One for All couldn’t be taken by force, so how?

“I will explain, but only if you behave. Now stop squirming and be quiet for me, puppy.” Shigaraki smirked, finding the boy’s anger amusing. He continued on once the boy stopped his feeble escape attempts.

“It just so happens that the day I found you, I was in a meeting to discuss a nest of rats sullying my territory. These rats were quite scientifically inclined and created a quirk-erasing serum. So we destroyed them and stole their formula, of course. But don’t worry, Sprout, we've tested the serum on hundreds of people before I even considered giving it to you. It’s safe; it only destroys the quirk once injected, nothing else.” The pup doesn’t need to know the chaos going on outside his peaceful little bubble nor the amount of heroes who have fallen in the past month alone. He doesn’t need to know how close they are to destroying the heroes; all he needs to focus on is being a good boy from now on.

“Nothing else… Nothing else?! You’ve destroyed my entire life! Do you even know what it's like to be quirkless! Do you know how many people you've condemned to death! How many people will take their lives because of you?!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. They’ll be fine the same way you’ll be fine.” He doesn’t need to know what really happened to those heroes.

“You don’t unders-”

“Shh, shh, calm down. It's okay; everything is okay. You don't need a quirk to be my good boy.”

“I don’t want-” He’s abruptly kissed on the forehead and feels himself beginning to pass out. He hears Shigaraki saying. “You should get some rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

The last thing he remembers is thinking whatever Tomura did to make him sleepy felt so familiar… almost too familiar, kind of like Recovery Girl’s quirk.

===

Izuku woke up somewhere he’d never seen before. He’s in a dimly lit basement? He can’t really tell; the only thing lighting the room was a single lightbulb hanging from a cord on the ceiling. He’s inside a massive chain-link cube and was lying on a flat, oversized dog bed. There were puppy pads lining one corner of the cage and a small dish with water near the bed.

He was freezing, in nothing but a nude pair of underwear. The concrete was cold beneath his bare feet as he moved forward to inspect the walls of his prison. The only opening was a metal door with an intricate looking lock on it. He reached out to touch it and gasped as an electrical shock surged through him as his fingers made contact with the metal, an involuntary yelp leaving his lips. He fell to the floor, panting hard as he waited for his muscle to stop contracting.

If he can't touch the metal at all. Maybe a well-timed smash would be better. He could wait until someone opens the door then-

Oh.

Right.

He’s quirkless now. His body is weak once again, and this time there's nothing he can do to change that.

Poor All Might, his legacy ended because he entrusted his power to someone so pathetic. What would he think of his ‘successor’ if he could see him now? Strewn across the floor, crying pitifully inside a dog cage. He’d be disgusted to see how far he has fallen from the promising young hero Izuku promised he’d be.

He snaps out of his stupor when he hears footsteps approaching. The hair on the back of his neck rising as he dashed down onto all fours, a snarl on his face, and a growl building in his throat.

Wait—what?

He pushed himself to stand, looking down at himself bewildered. What was that? Why had he done that?

Oh god. Was this why the man told him to be out of that form within a month? Was this the consequence for not listening? Was it permanent?

A canine whimper escaped him, making him panic even more. Shit, he even sounded like a dog!

He startled out of his rising panic as he felt something move between his legs. He looked down and was shocked to see a green fluffy tail.

Shigaraki stared at him through the fenced door. “Finally noticed, did you?”

“What did you do to me!” Izuku's hand reached behind him, and yup, that tail was definitely attached to him. He reached up to feel his head, and there was a set of dog ears sitting atop his head.

“Oh, I didn’t do anything. You did this to yourself. Staying in that form so long has permanent consequences, you know? The doctor found at least eight physical changes to your body, and he suspected there were more instinctual changes inside you as well. Judging from what I just saw, he was right.”

“I–” The boy took a deep breath, calming himself before asking, “What is wrong with me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say there's anything wrong with you, just some differences. You’ve already noticed the tail and ears, but your mouth has also changed. Your teeth and tongue have changed to that of a dog, as well as your stomach. You won’t be able to eat any foods toxic to canines and will find yourself liking things you would have found disgusting before.

Your nose has changed as well, though not physically; you have a heightened sense of smell of a dog. You also gained a second set of vocal cords in your throat and short claws on both your hands and feet that we’ll need to start filing.”

Izuku’s stomach curdled; so many changes were made to his body against his will. Was he even himself anymore? How much of him is even still left inside? These changes were hardly anything he could use to protect himself; with One for All gone, he was reduced to a useless, pitiful Deku once more.

Shigaraki interrupted his mumbling, his raspy voice cooing, “Don’t say that. You’re honestly much cuter this way. It makes you much more tolerable than before, though I still would have loved you plain.”

“What even is your plan? What do you gain from keeping me here! You destroyed One for All already; what more do you want?!” Did he want a way to get back at All Might? Or gather information from him? Maybe even use him as a hostage.

Shigaraki sighed in annoyance, “This is the problem with you hero types. You all have such self-inflated egos. Each one of you believes you are the pinnacle of justice, and it is your destiny to save the world from evil. But guess what? There is no righteous mission or torture planned for you. You're not special. You're not important. And you're definitely not the savior of humanity. You're just my pet, that's it.”

The words gutted him. Shigaraki was right; without his quirk, he was nothing. He can’t save anyone, but even so, he will never give up. He is a hero, quirked or not. If he can’t beat villains with his fists, he’ll do it with his mind. His close proximity to the League already gives him a leg up in that area. He'll just have to wait for the right moment.

“Now let's start your training!”

===

The so-called training was mortifying. Having his human mind back just made everything feel so much worse. Shigaraki's disdain for his refusal to behave became very apparent on the first day of training. His soft act crumbled, and he began to act cruel, his frustration peaking each time Izuku refused to do as he asked.

“If you don't want to comply, I can always go out and pick up one of your friends for encouragement. Uravity has made quite the splash with her recent debut. I wonder how she would react seeing you now.”

Izuku’s rebellion faded into nothing the second innocent people were threatened. If Tomura truly wanted to, he could go out and do it, and Izuku would be powerless to stop it. He didn't have his quirk anymore; there was nothing he could physically do to stop Shigaraki. Now all he can hope is he can use the endearment he has for ‘Sprout’ and use it to change his mind. So with that in mind, he resigned himself to learning the life of a human pet.

Rule Number One: Puppies aren’t allowed to walk on two feet. They crawl on the floor unless told otherwise. Pups who refuse to obey will lose their ability to move on their own and will be carried instead.

“Dogs don’t walk like that; get down on all fours.”

“But I–”

“I’m not asking Sprout. Get down before I make you.”

Izuku’s face burned as he lowered himself onto the ground. He had to remind himself of all the people he was inadvertently saving by distracting the man to keep himself from acting out.

“Good boy.”

Rule Number Two: Puppies aren't allowed to speak. Pups who can’t keep their mouths shut will lose their human vocal cords.

“If you want to communicate, you are only allowed to use your canine vocal cords unless specified otherwise by me. You can bark, whine, and growl to your heart's content, but if you are not referred to by Izuku, then you are not allowed to speak. Got it, Sprout?”

A loud growl of frustration came from the boy. He took that as a yes.

Rule Number Three: Puppies are not allowed to stray from their owners. They are to always stay near their owners unless left in their kennel or with a temporary guardian. Pups who cannot follow their owner will be leashed.

“Sprout, come!” The villain patted his thigh twice, a signal the pup had been trained for recall.

Izuku reluctantly crawled out of the corner he had been sulking in, not wanting to spend the day being tugged around on a leash. He just hopes he doesn’t want to take him to another meeting. He can’t stand the stares of the smug villains looking down on him in Tomura’s lap like he's nothing more than a dumb pet.

It was honestly insulting he was even allowed in those meetings. It felt like they were spitting in his face, inadvertently telling him, “You're too weak to ever be a threat to our plans. So why bother hiding them?”

Maybe it was true…

Rule Number Four: Puppies are never to take off their collars. They are there to keep them safe. Pups who refuse their collars will be microchipped.

“Just know that you made me do this, Izuku.”

“No, please! I’m sorry I’ll wear the collar! I promise! AH!–” He screamed as a thick needle pierced the scruff of his neck. He felt a small oval bead slip beneath his skin as the needle was pulled out. He sobbed as his neck was wrapped in bandages, thinking of the implications a tracking chip would mean for his future escapes.

“Look at what happens when you fail to obey, Sprout. Now you know, nothing good will ever come from your pointless rebellion.” Shigaraki tutted as he buckled the collar right back over the bandages.

Rule Number Five: Puppies are meant to be loved and cherished. They do not run away from physical affection. Pups who shy away are put into isolation.

“Come on, Sprout, let's take a nap.” Shigaraki cooed from atop the bed, patting the spot next to him expectantly.

Izuku stared hesitantly at the bed. It was much easier to ignore the weirdness when he was in the body of a real puppy, but ever since he’s transformed, a deep embarrassment always lingers in his mind whenever the man is affectionate. There were still some instincts and feelings left behind in his mind from his time as a dog but not enough to stop the shame that burned his cheeks each time he was asked to do something cute. It didn’t help that his body was so much bigger now; everything felt so awkward and humiliating compared to before.

Shigaraki impatiently growled, “Do you want to go back to the white room, Izuku?”

The boy hung his head, ears flopping down sadly, and whispered, “No.”

“Then come here!”

“Yes, sir.” He crawled into bed, curling up and laying his head on the other man's chest.

“Good boy.” A kiss is pressed to the crown of his head before the man lays his chin atop his head, an arm wrapping around him to close the gap between them. Soon the man's breathing evened out, and snores sounded through the room. Izuku lay awake wondering what his life had come to.

Rule Number Six: No biting, hitting, or fighting of any kind. Pups who bite get put in a muzzle.

“No biting, Sprout! I know you're teething and your new teeth hurt, but you're not allowed to chew on me.”

Izuku huffed, begrudgingly pulling away from the arm he was experimenting on. He wanted to see the strength of his new bite force, but Shigaraki kept regenerating too quickly for him to see the damage he was causing. Also, his teeth itched, and the biting helped.

“Here, puppy, gnaw on this.” Tomura gently pushed a bone-shaped rubber toy into his mouth. He bit down and noticed it was filled with a blue cooling gel inside. No matter how hard he bit, it would not pop, and it only got colder the more force was applied to it. He begrudgingly admitted in his head that it felt good turning his face away from the man so he couldn’t see his satisfaction, but unfortunately his wagging tail gave him away, and Shigaraki’s chuckles trickled into his ears.

Rule Number Seven: Only well behaved puppies are spoiled. Pups who fail to obey are stripped of their privileges.

“Bad dogs don’t get to wear warm clothes or sleep in soft beds; only good dogs do that. And you haven’t been a very good boy, have you, Sprout?

Izuku whined in fear as he was pulled off his feet and carried off to the kennel room. It was so cold in there with no bed, clothes, or blankets to use. He was only ever left there when he misbehaved like he did today.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

Shigaraki had taken him on a walk outside the mansion. He was actually allowed to walk properly this time since the man had just given him a bath the night before and didn’t want him getting dirty; unfortunately, he still had to wear his leash. They ran into another villain who bowed to Tomura before turning to Izuku and saying, “Well, don't you make a cute pet, Hero,” and trying to pet him. The vicious anger that had been welling up in him all this time came out, and without thinking, he bit down. Hard. His new teeth sinking deep into the hand. The villain screamed, his other arm lashing out to hit him, but he was stopped by a four-fingered grip. Tomura briefly apologized for his behavior before dragging him back into the building.

He was lectured about his disgraceful behavior and how badly it reflected on the villain to have such a misbehaving pet. All while a muzzle was strapped onto his face. He was placed inside the metal cage and left alone to “think about his actions.”

Rule Number Eight: Puppies don't use their hands to eat. They either use their mouths or are hand-fed by their owners. Pups who disobey are not allowed to eat any food.

“Here you go, baby, eat up.” The man placed a bowl of lukewarm rice, chicken, and chopped vegetables onto the floor by his water bowl, signaling him with his hand to go. Shigaraki then went to sit on the couch and booted up one of his video games.

After a couple of minutes of button clicking and mumbled cursing, Izuku hesitantly crawled towards the bowl. He looked back to make sure Tomura was still focused on his game before reaching out a hand to the food.

“Ah, ah, ah, you know you’re not allowed to do that.”

He freezes in his tracks. Shigaraki was staring at him now, a single eyebrow raised. As if he were daring him to disobey.

Izuku puts his arm down and leans down to begin to eat. It was a messy process; sticky grains of rice stuck to his burning face along with little pieces of carrot and potato. It's embarrassing but not as embarrassing as being spoon-fed like a baby by the villain. When he’s finished, he crawls back to Tomura, who already has a wet rag in hand to wipe off his face. He allows it, not even trying to bite; his dignity wasn’t worth the risk of innocent lives.

He feels a part of him break as he’s praised for being such a “good boy,” and his tail, the treacherous thing, begins to wag.

Rule Number Nine: Puppies address their owners with utmost respect. They know their place and refer to their owners as either Master or Sir if allowed to speak. Pups who fail to comply do get to voice their thoughts.

“I love you deeply, puppy, but you are not my brother, nor my son, a friend, ally, lover, or even an equal. You are a pet. That is all. I own you, and you will address me as such. Do you understand, Izuku?”

A shiver racked his body as intense red eyes stared right through him and put him in deep unease. He wouldn't dare disobey.

“Yes, sir.”

Rule Number Ten: Puppies must never leave their home unattended. Pups who try to escape will face severe punishment.

“If you ever dare try to escape again. I will level entire cities in your name and let the whole world know you are the reason for those tragedies. Do you understand, Izuku?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

A part of his soul died that day.

He knew in his heart he would never be able to escape this place. Not even in death. He’d just be turned into a Nomu and still be forced to live out the man's fantasy.

There was no escape.

#platonic yandere #yandere bnha #yandere #yandere shigaraki tomura

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ablobwhowrites · 27 days ago

Note

Do you think detective y/n does anything in particular without knowing to catch the eye of certain heros or villans. Like he has a mini garden and Poison ivy brings over her plant babies to meet his. Or like he likes to do the crossword puzzles in the newspaper and suddenly the riddler starts sending him riddles in the mail

(detective y/n just wants to have a normal hobby.)

Detective y/n can't have any normal hobbies in Gotham. Like if y/n has a art hobby and makes art or does pottery, just know Catwoman is taking his paintings, pottery or anything art related things y/n makes. This goes the same with the penguin but he gets his henchmen to take it. If Bruce finds out then he's getting supplies for y/n and it worries how Bruce knows he has a art hobby.

Gardening is not normal, I tell you want cause y/n always comes to check on his plants and sees more that he didn't put there and think it's just the plants growing more. And now he has a small version of Audrey II from little shop of horrors but instead of wanting to eat people, they spy on y/n for ivy and they are taken care of pretty well. Y/n is afraid of pissing off the sentient plant that likes to eat meat but they do make for a grea buddy to talk to in the mornings.

Riddler loves sending y/n stuff in the mail and he's even more in love than he already is when hearing, y/n likes doing word puzzles or just anything that involves riddles or anything like that. Bro is sending y/n more things and his mailbox is overflowing with letters and things riddler has sent. And oh boy if y/n likes the theater and with clay face use to being a actor, more or less shows y/n the stuff clay face use to do and their roles in movies and such. (sorry if I'm getting clay face's character wrong but he was a actor but please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) y/n being scared for his live obviously but clayface just kinda ranting on about the glory of being a actor of the arts and the most spectacular roles he played in but obviously Batman comes to save y/n.

If y/n shows interests in studying fish or something then black manta is definitely going to snatch y/n up to take him into his domain. (Manta makes sure that y/n can breath with the oxygen tanks he put on y/n) like manta is definitely not going to trap y/n down in his domain so manta can keep y/n forever.

The heros are as bad as the villains as superman or flash hears that y/n likes to travel. Y/n would be asked what country they'd like to go to and then immediately they would be picked up and carried to the place they wanted to go and let me tell you, when y/n was finally able to stand on their own after bascially being delivered to another country they wanted to see. They did yell a bit at flash or superman (after throwing up from how fast they were going.), they did try to enjoy their time there for a until having to go home the same way they came in (y/n is clinging into flash or superman for dear life when traveling fast in far distances).

The bat family is just as bad. Because Grayson and y/n work together like Gordon and Batman basically, so it's nice to have at least a normal person who would listen to y/n about his hobbies. As y/n does like to read books a lot and even started a good chunk of a collection. But of course, they can't be normal as Grayson would be recommending his favorite books (he's been wanting to yap about the books he reads. But most are murder mysteries or thrillers or something.) Damian likes to be included but manly lures in the shadows keeps tabs on y/n as Damian actually likes being around y/n like a little brother and big brother dynamic. Tim is the same as Damian but more of wanting to show y/n cool shows he watches and wants to have y/n see how cool they are and stuff because Damian doesn't like the shows or movies tim watches, Grayson is always busy and Jason doesn't really care all that much but watches them with tim. But y/n actually does like the shows and stuff so Tim will yap about his favorite characters to y/n and then deep dive on the series. Jason has a whole weapon arsenal and knife collection that he is very proud of and shows to y/n as still basically seeing y/n as a cool friend and wanting to show off his cool collection but Jason also does like reading the books y/n likes as they could talk about it in the future depending on when y/n comes over to the manor again.

Also imagining when Valentines comes around, just detective y/n being kidnapped by joker and Harley to have a romantic dinner but Batman saves y/n (to much of jokers and Harley's dismay) and ended up getting multiple Valentine cards and date requests letters from heros and villains a like. Detective y/n can't have a day off cause duty calls (also I'm planning to have detective y/n start dating someone in the series but I'll keep that secret for later. He's finally getting some love but later, he needs his angst arc to continue till then.)

(That's if for my yap session today but if you want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n ideas. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

#yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #dc x male reader #dc x reader #dc #x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male reader #Detective y/n #yandere bnha #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batman #batfam #yandere x male reader

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aajjks · 9 months ago

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warnings: 18+ thèmès, YÁNDÈRÈ MÈN, öbsëssïön, ünhëälthy dèvôtïôn, mèntïôns ôf örál, kïssïng, mèntïôns ôf sèx, mèntïôns ôf sùïcídè.

Yandere men who are so in love with you, they are head over heels, who think that you’re a miracle, you’re the love of their life, they adore you, absolutely adore you, who adore your body with theirs. Who kiss you like you’re the air, who fuck you like they want you merge you with them. Who make love to you day and night, kissing you until their lips are swollen, fucking you until their legs give out, eating you out until their jaw breaks, who tell you how much they love you until their throat is bleeding. Who would absolutely kill themselves if you ever left them.

“Oh my yn… you are a miracle- you can’t be real- please please let me fuck you- just one taste… I just can’t get enough of you- you’re like addictive- please I need you so much, don’t ever leave me I’ll die without you.”

Izuku, gojo, yuuta, Luffy, tamaki, Xiao, Geto, Shouto, Nanami.

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i-cant-sing · 1 year ago

Note

What do you think president Kai’s search history is like

"Who is First Lady Y/n's favourite man?"

"Who are First Lady's exes?"

"Why are my sons so ugly?"

"How to make my daughter stop being mad at me for not buying her an octopus?"

"First Lady Y/n x reader fics"

"First Lady Y/n x Kai Chisaki fics"

"Y/n x Kai Chisaki fanart"

"How to throw my kids out of the house?"

"Is my wife pregnant again?"

"Why isnt my wife pregnant again?"

"Conspiracy theory: Y/n and Kai's wedding is a sham"

"Y/n Chisaki's thick thighs fandom-"

"Are my kids a part of a satanic cult?"

"Is Dabi Chisaki a criminal?"

"Who is Himiko Chisaki dating?"

"Does Tomura Chisaki have Oedipus complex?"

"Also, how to kill Sigmund Freud again?"

#yandere kai chisaki #yandere overhaul #yandere president overhaul #yandere president kai chisaki #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #bnha imagines #yandere mha #bnha headcanons #yandere dabi

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after-witch · 8 months ago

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The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You wake up in a room you’ve never been in to the sight of a man you’ve never met.

Word count: 3500ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, degradation, drugging

Memory and time and the world itself are fuzzy, gray things as you wake up. Before the abrupt, awful, heavy awakening, there was nothing--just a dull blackness where you did not exist.

Yet there’s a dim sense as the world returns to you, as your heavy eyes struggle to open, that you are, indeed, alive.

Alive and a person, you remember that, too. Alive and a person and... somewhere. You must exist somewhere, that is a basic tenant of existence, isn’t it? But as your eyes finally open and the world above you is stark white, too bright, you can’t quite remember where somewhere is.

Underneath your head, there is a body. That, too, feels heavy. So you flex it, or at least you try. Your fingers feel like fuzzy sticks but perhaps they are moving when you try to curl your hands. The fuzziness extends all the way through your body, like you’ve rolled around in pins and needles and have yet to shake them off.

Breathing--you’re breathing, too. That is a sign that you are alive, that you have returned to the world. Even if your mouth feels dry and sticky, and there is an awful taste in it. You open and close and it almost hurts; there’s a vaguely wet smacking sound, and the awful taste is amplified by the trace spit that registers against your tongue.

Your head hurts. Your neck, too--specifically one point. There’s an instinctive desire to reach for that point, and your arms obey, feeling like heavy lead, until your hand slaps against it. Why does it hurt like that?

It’s a small point of pain, like someone had stuck a needle into your--

And there. There. It all comes flooding back to you. Your name, your life, your world, the moments before it all went dark.

You worked the day it all went dark. It was an ordinary day of work, a bit stressful, with moments of reprieve. Your lunch had been soup and rice and a treat: blue raspberry soda from the vending machine. After work, you went grocery shopping--you needed something for dinner--and returned home to your apartment. You remember the sound of the key turning in the door, the surprise that there was a light on in your kitchen--hadn’t you turned it off that morning?--and then… and then…

The pain, in your neck. That small point. An awful prickling, like being stung by a bee. Only there was no time to swat it away, and you fell into darkness, the bags of groceries hitting the floor before you did.

That was… however long ago. How long had the world been gone? A few hours? A day? Days?

With the returned sense of self, your body seems to want to catch up with your mind, and the sense of buzzing heaviness fades away enough for you to push yourself up onto your elbows. The material underneath you is soft: a bed, a mattress, with plain white cotton sheets.

You’re in a bed. In a bed, in a room with plain white walls. There is sparse furniture: two wooden dressers, a table, two chairs. There looks to be a folding door--a closet?--and two more doors, besides.

Are you in a hospital? Did you pass out, and some kindly neighbor heard the thunk-thunk-thunk of your body and bags falling to the ground, then called for emergency services? It would explain the sparse room, although there’s no IV in your arm, no machines monitoring your heart rate.

It would explain, too, what you’re wearing.

You’re not wearing the clothes you fell down in. Instead, you’re wearing a cotton nightgown, made from a thick but relatively soft material. There is lace on the collar, which is strange (but not impossible, your mind reminds you) for a hospital. Still. It makes sense. You pry away a thin comforter with still fuzzy hands and see that your shoes are gone; your feet are clad in only soft white socks. That, too, makes sense. You wouldn’t be put in a hospital bed with work shoes. That would be silly, and silly things did not belong in hospitals--which must be where you are.

Even though there are no IVs hooked into your arm, and no machines monitoring your heart and blood pressure and many more things, besides. Even though this appears to be some private suite, and you were sure that no hospital would put someone who fainted into a fancy room like this. You weren’t wealthy or notable, just a nobody who lived in a mediocre apartment and had a mediocre job and--

The door opens, and a doctor walks in. Or he must be a doctor, because who else would walk in wearing a tailored black suit and a face mask, if you had woken up in a hospital? Which must be where you were--despite all the confusion, and the strange details, and the fact that you had neither the wealth or status to be in a private room like this.

He stops when he sees that you’re sitting up. He must be surprised to see you awake, or perhaps he’s looking you over for signs of continued injury, because the way he stares is a bit unnerving.

You want to ask where you are, and what happened, and if anyone called your emergency contact. But your head still feels heavy, a little cottony, and all that comes out is--

“Um.” The word comes out all dry and croaked, and you’re suddenly aware of your dry, parched throat.

“I’ll get you water,” the mystery doctor says. He has dark hair and his voice is low, almost neutral. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? Doctors probably had to practice speaking like that; like nothing was wrong, even if you’d clearly had some awful medical episode that required some sort of specialized care with a private room.

He steps away from the door he entered--locks it, too, and isn’t that strange?--and walks to the only other door in your suite. When it opens, you realize it’s a bathroom. Just as white and sterile-looking as the main area. There’s a squeak of a tap being turned on, and a rush of water, and before long he walks up to you.

Your heavy hands move forward to take the glass, but he takes one look at the trembling and tsks.

“I’ll hold it,” he says. The thought makes your stomach squirm but, he would know best, wouldn’t he?

So you don’t protest when he raises the glass lid to your lips, and tips it back so you can take a drink. He doesn’t hold it there for long. Just long enough for your throat to feel soothed and damped. Then the glass goes away, and he sets it down on the nearby table before grabbing a chair and placing it near the bed.

He sits.

You stare.

Shouldn’t he be taking your vitals, or something? The thought comes softly. He’s not like any doctor you’ve ever seen. And this is not like any hospital room you’ve ever been in; even a private suite should have… something, right? An IV bag trailing into your arm, a heart rate monitor in case something went wrong.

The sense of wrongness hangs in the air as he begins to speak.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I had to guess at your body weight, so I wasn’t sure if I had the correct dosage.”

Your brain feels heavy as you ask--

“The correct dosage…” Dosage, of what? “You mean, medicine?”

He blinks impassively at you. Then there are wrinkles around his eyes, like he might be smiling.

“The sedative.”

The sedative? The sedative--

Memories come back slow, unwillingly, like dragging your feet through heavy gray slush in the winter.

When you opened your apartment door, the kitchen light was on. The kitchen light was on and when you turned, there was something; no, not something. Someone. A man with no mouth--a mask--and cold eyes and there was a glint of silver before it plunged right into your neck.

This wasn’t a hospital.

The man in front of you wasn’t a doctor.

If you had been hooked up to a heart monitor, it would have no doubt gone haywire in the next moments, as you forced your leaden body to shove back against the wall, your trembling legs getting stuck on the cotton sheets of the bed. There was nowhere to go; the bed was pushed up against the wall and he blocked the only exit.

“You--you--” The words come out stuttered and tingling, like they aren’t even coming out of your mouth. “You kidnapped me.”

He eyes your sudden skittering with nothing more than a moment of raised eyebrows.

“I acquired you,” he corrects, as if that was a correction to be made at all. “To keep you safe. To keep you away from the filth.”

His words barely register as your breathing speeds up. You’ve been kidnapped. Kidnapped and redressed and taken to some bizarre room by someone who was clearly out of his mind. So you do the only thing you can think to do in an awful situation like this: you bargain.

“Please,” you say, and the dryness in your throat comes back and makes your words crack. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. If--if it’s money you want, I don’t have much, but I can--”

He raises a gloved hand.

“Please, this has nothing to do with money. I won’t be letting you go.”

You shake your head, like that matters.

“Who are you?” You ask, not sure if you really want to know.

The lines around his eyes crinkle again.

“Chisaki Kai. That’s what you may call me, anyway.” He sighs, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Very few have the privilege of doing that, you know.”

You’d rather have your freedom than this thing he calls a privilege, but you don’t have the wordpower to voice that particular thought.

Your fingers cling to the only thing they can: the cotton sheets underneath you. Tighter and tighter, until they almost feel like they’ll cramp up.

“Why did you bring me here?” There are tears in your eyes now, and you can see his gaze begin to follow them as they trickle down your cheeks.

“To protect you,” is all he offers, before slapping his thighs and standing up. “Now, it’s time to get up.”

A million awful scenarios rush through your head at once, leaving you feeling sick. What is he going to do to you? Is he going to hurt you? Kill you? Are you just one in a long line of people he’s brought to this room, all drugged and hazy, before he kills them and does who knows what with the bodies?

You shake your head.

He tsks from behind the mask. There are no crinkles around his eyes, now.

“Get up,” he orders. Softly, yes, but there’s a finality and firmness to his tone that makes your wobbly legs push towards the end of the bed as if you were an automaton.

“Why?” You squeak out. If he’s going to kill you, will he tell you, first?

He turns around and repositions the chair so that it’s back at the table, and pulls out the second. His hands hover around you as he guides you on jelly-like legs to sit down.

“It’s time for breakfast.” A simple answer, like you had met him on the street and asked the time. Like he didn’t just admit to drugging you and kidnapping you.

“I’m not hungry,” comes the automatic answer. You’re not. Your stomach feels empty, but it’s wrenched; from fear and stress and gallons of adrenaline.

“You will eat breakfast,” he says, just as automatically. “You will eat everything on your plate, as well. I’ve calculated out the perfect nutrition for your needs.” There’s a bit of a smile to his voice, even though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

The wooziness in your body, the fresh horror creeping from your skull down to your toes, keeps you rooted to the chair while he briefly leaves. When he returns, he’s carrying a tray--it reminds you of a hospital tray, despite everything--with a modest amount of bland, healthy looking food on it.

Your stomach turns.

The rest of your day comes in awful little vignettes, all blurry black around the edges, only becoming clearer when he explains the rules to you. It’s an awful form of clarity.

He doesn’t call them “the rules,” but that’s what they’re meant to be, certainly. He lays them out so simply, almost sickly sweet. Like you’ve been brought to some boarding school and are getting shown the ropes.

The thought of ropes makes you feel sick. But he hasn’t tied you up, and that’s some small relief.

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the rest of those black-rimmed vignettes that fill up your day.

When he picks out an outfit--a simple dress, a pair of clean underwear, and soft socks--and turns around, telling you to get changed. He won’t look, as long as you behave; as long as you don’t make a fuss.

When he shows you the dresser, the closet, the bathroom, the empty shelves. Tells you that if you behave, you’ll get rewarded; with books and paper and pencils. That the better you are, the happier you’ll be here, he says. Like you had any control over the situation at all.

When he makes you eat lunch and tells you to chew your food more slowly, more thoroughly. It helps with digestion, he says. You’ll get an upset stomach otherwise. As if you aren’t fighting the urge to gag with every bite you take--as if the reason you’re feeling queasy isn’t sitting in front of you with a mask on his face.

When you tell him, teary eyed, that you want to go home and burst into sobs but he merely waits until your hiccuping shoulders have ceased to move and tells you: “This is your home now. I’ll take care of you. Crying is only going to work you into hysterics.”

When you refuse to eat dinner--your first act of rebellion, such as it is--and he simply sighs, leans back, and tells you that if you refuse to eat, you will go to the clinic and be fed through an IV.

“Would you like that?” Honey drips bitterly from each word.

You would, in fact, not like that.

The spoon trembles when you lift it, but the soup goes inside your mouth, all the same.

“But why do you have to watch me?” The words come out dry and scratched. If you were home, you would brew yourself a cup of tea and drizzle in a modest amount of honey for good measure. You, however, are far from home.

“It’s my job to look after you.” Even if he wasn’t wearing the mask, you’d have no idea what he looks like right now, because you can only manage to stare at the tiles on the bathroom floor. Below you are your bare feet, feeling shakier than ever; above, your cheeks are burning so hot it almost hurts.

“You don’t have to… I’ve always--what I mean is--I can do this myself,” is what you manage, fists clenching at the soft fabric of your dress. It felt flimsy enough all day--how much flimsier, then, if you were to pull it over your head and let him see you bared?

“I’m sure you think that.” There’s something like a smile in his voice, and it’s a smile you hope to never see. “But the reason you’re here is that you can't take care of yourself. Now,” he says, with an air of finality. “Remove your clothing and step into the tub.”

There’s no room for argument. No room for pleading, no room to change his mind. There’s only one thing that you can do to end the situation, and that's to do exactly what he wants: take off your dress, your underwear, even your white padded socks, and sit in the clear water while he stares at your naked body.

“I’ll turn around while you get undressed.”

It’s a wonder that you don’t burst out laughing.

Instead, you fight back tears and look up, staring at the still back of the man who has turned your world into a frizzy, confusing mess in a matter of 24 hours.

Despite the warmth of the water steaming up the room, you shiver. Your heart might as well be in your ears, for how well you can hear it pounding. That haziness from the morning returns, a sort of numbness as your fingers clench the fabric of the dress and you pull up, up, up, slipping it over your head and dropping it on the floor.

The underwear takes longer to remove. So long that you worry he’ll turn around, and that’s what finally has you yanking the fabric down, has you stepping out of them and then--like an automaton cranked too tightly--rushing to step into the tub.

Water splashes around you as you settle, pulling your knees up to cover what you can.

He turns around and, of all things, kneels next to the tub. If he touches you--if he reaches for the sponge and tries to wash you--you think you’ll scream.

But his hands stay where they are, resting on his knee.

You look at his hands, and not his face. There’s nothing you want to see less than his eyes right now.

“Most people don’t know how to bathe properly,” he tells you, as if instructing you on something of high importance. And it probably is, to him. You can sense the beginning of some long speech, a list of things you must do in the bath, just as he gave you a list of things you must do when dressing, when eating, when everything.

“I know how to wash myself,” you mumble, feeling hot around the ears.

He doesn’t bother acknowledging you, and a further rush of shame flushes through your chest and threatens to jump out and migrate to the wobbling knees pressed against it.

Instead, he points--you follow his hands, still unable to look anywhere else--to a line of cloths and brushes hanging from hooks on the wall of the tub.

“They’re color-coded,” he offers, almost cheery. “Pink is for the initial scrubbing, to slough away the initial dirt and dead skin. Blue is for cleansing with antibacterial soap. Purple is for rinsing.” His fingers tap the brushes. “The same for the brushes, for your back.”

There’s a moment where you think he might actually grab the cloth and wash you, but thankfully, his hands return to their former position.

A moment more--two or three, at least--and he clears his throat.

“Start with your legs. Most people do not scrub their legs well enough, and it leads to an excess amount of dead skin.” There’s a bit of distaste in his voice at the mention of dead skin. Your thoughts go to the gloves on his hands, the mask, the insistence on making sure you get clean enough in this tub of his.

You grab the pink cloth. Dip it in the hot water, and start scrubbing at your knee.

He clears his throat again, and your stomach drops.

“Put your legs down. Scrub under the water, so the dead skin doesn’t accumulate on the cloth.”

No. No. No-no-no-no-no. It’s what you want to say, a simple word, a clear word.

But the word is stuck in your mouth, and you’re left with nothing to do but let your knee slide down, one, then the other.

He can see you. He can see you.

The thought makes the held-up tears finally come, bubbling out like soap. Something childish in you glances at him, then, hoping for pity--for disturbance, for him to wonder if perhaps he’s doing the right thing.

But the only thing you see in his eyes is a flash of impatience.

“If you take too long,” he says, over your sniffles, “the water will not be hot enough to disinfect. We’ll have to start over, at that point.” Start over and--would he want to take over, fed up with your clear incompetence?

And so you get back to work, the colored-coded cloth scraping at your skin, and you can only hope you’re doing it well enough to avoid dragging out the bath any longer than possible.

“Don’t forget behind your knees,” he murmurs. Despite not looking at him, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching. Assessing.

And that’s what he does: assess. Because the comments don’t stop, even as you move on to cleansing and rinsing and everything else he’s ordering you to do.

Wash this. Scrub that. Do it gently, do it harder. Use this soap and only one pump--don’t wash your hair like that, it causes breakage--let me test the water to make sure it’s hot enough.

That night, on clean sheets, in a clean nightgown, with a clean body, you cry yourself to sleep.

And in the morning, when you wake up, you’re still here.

And Overhaul still comes in through the door, breakfast tray in hand, a smile hidden behind his mask.

#yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere #afterwitch writes

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fangdokja · 4 months ago

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Forbidden Fruits (FF) : Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

Step into a world where love is a weapon, devotion is madness, and desire knows no boundaries. Forbidden Fruits is a collection of intensely dark and unapologetically explicit stories that plunge you into the arms of your most dangerous obsessions.

Each tale invites you to surrender to the irresistible pull of yanderes from across your favorite anime, manga, manhwa, and games. They’ll devour you whole—body, mind, and soul—with a love that is as passionate as it is possessive. From bloodstained confessions to twisted vows whispered in the dark, this anthology explores every forbidden craving, every unspoken taboo, and every edge of desire.

There’s no escape. They’ll have you, ruin you, and cherish every shattered piece of you. Because in their world, you are theirs—and they will destroy anyone, even you, to keep it that way.

Forbidden Fruits is a feast for the bold, where no sin is too dark, no boundary is sacred, and the sweetest pleasures are found in the shadows.

Trigger Warnings (Dead Dove): Contains extremely dark themes, explicit non-consensual content, and depictions of taboo scenarios. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Table of Contents

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ ⭐. Author's Personal Favorites. ♡ 🔞. NSFW / extremely explicit themes (non-con, sexual torture, dangerous edge play, degradation, humiliation, BDSM, etc.)

♡ Schedule. The following stories are released or scheduled for release:

────────────

General Stories

Yandere! Family & Daughter

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Grandfather, Father, Older Brother, Twin Brother

Novella 1 : Daddy Issues

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Yandere! Fan/s & Playgirl

Novella 1 : Savage Love

🔞Savage Love 1

🔞Savage Love 2

Savage Love 3

Savage Love 4

Savage Love 5

Yandere! Older Brother & Little Sister

Novelette 1 : Sins of the Silent Heart

You’re his sister, but to him, you’re everything he’ll never let go of.

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

Yandere! Serial Killer/s & Little Detective (?)

Novella 1 : Hybristophilia

⭐"The first time I touched death, I vowed it wouldn’t be the last."

🔞Hybristophilia 2

🔞Hybristophilia 3

🔞Hybristophilia 4

🔞Hybristophilia 5

Hybristophilia 6

Yandere! Stepfather & Stepdaughter

Novella 1 : Paternal Privilege

He’s your family, but he doesn’t act like it.

🔞Pleasure in every strike, pain in every kiss.

🔞In the end, love is both their salvation and their damnation.

🔞His love is suffocating, but she’s forgotten how to breathe without it.

🔞Love shouldn’t feel like drowning, but he’s the only one who can save her.

She fell, but not by accident. He made sure of it.

Consent is a game he lets you think you’re winning.

Yandere! Valentines Special

Novella 1 : Red Roses, Black Hearts

⭐This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse AU

Novella 1 : “If I Can’t Have You, No One Can.”

Zombie Apocalypse 1

Zombie Apocalypse 2

Zombie Apocalypse 3

Zombie Apocalypse 4

Zombie Apocalypse 5

Zombie Apocalypse 6

Specific Stories

Multiverse / Crossovers

Headcanons

Oneshots

WuWa! Scar, HXH! Hisoka!, BL! Shido

———

Mixed Character Stories

Headcanons

Deon Hardt, Villain! Deku

Novella 1 : Dominate Me, Daddy. (Brat Tamer)

🔞Will you scream? Or will you beg? (Bakugo Katsuki, Yoichi Isagi, Ryōmen Sukuna, Rex Lapis, Sunday)

Novelette 1 : Rivals (Enemies to ...?)

Alhaitham, Dr. Ratio, Mortefi, Viktor

———

Note: Before the NSFW Jealousy Headcanons Scenarios and other noncon NSFW, there will be 2 Headcanons Series (General + Jealousy) for every set of characters.

Blue Lock

Headcanons 1 : A Slave To His Will (General)

With him, there’s no ‘no’. Only ‘yes, sir’. (Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Michael Kaiser, Isagi Yoichi)

Headcanons 2 : (Jealousy)

(Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Michael Kaiser, Isagi Yoichi)

Boku no Hero Academia

Headcanons 1 : Ruined, Owned, Loved. (General)

You’re the light he vowed to keep, even if he has to snuff it out first. (Katsuki, Shouto, Villain! Deku, Dabi)

(Endeavor, All Might, Eraserhead, ...?)

Genshin Impact

Headcanons 2 : Heart's Chains (Jealousy)

The cage he’s built for you is so beautiful, you almost forget it’s there. (Alhaitham, Diluc, Zhongli, Dainsleif)

"You’ll love me," he whispered. "Even if it kills you." (Ayato, Childe, Scaramouche, Kaeya)

His affection is a slow poison—sweet, deadly, and inevitable. (Baizhu, Itto, Kazuha, Lyney)

He’ll pay any price for your love—what’s your worth? (Pantalone, Heizou, Venti, Xiao)

[Meme] "The Genshin Yandere You Picked Could Have a Lot to Say About Your… Interests" (Alhaitham, Diluc, Zhongli, Dainsleif, Ayato, Childe, Scaramouche, Kaeya, Baizhu, Itto, Kazuha, Lyney, Pantalone, Heizou, Venti, Xiao)

Headcanons 3 : Heart's Sins (SNAPPED! Jealous NSFW)

[Prelude] "You didn’t just break my heart; you shattered it. And now I’ll make you pay for it." (Alhaitham, Diluc, Zhongli, Dainsleif, Ayato, Childe, Scaramouche, Kaeya, Baizhu, Itto, Kazuha, Lyney, Pantalone, Heizou, Venti, Xiao)

Haikyuu!!

Headcanons 1 : General

(Atsumu Miya, Oikawa Tooru, Tetsurou Kuroo, Wakatoshi Ushijima)

Honkai Star Rail

Headcanons 1 : The Game of Surrender (General)

He doesn’t need your trust—he just needs your surrender. (Boothill, Blade, Sunday, Aventurine)

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it. (Mr. Reca, Mydei, Anaxa, Phainon)

(Dr. Ratio, Caelus, Nanook, ...?)

Headcanons 2 : Falling Into Darkness (Jealousy)

He doesn’t love like anyone else—he loves you like you’re the last thing that matters. (Boothill, Blade, Sunday, Aventurine)

🔞Every glance you give someone is a dagger in his heart, and he's ready to make you bleed. (Mr. Reca, Mydei, Anaxa, Phainon)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Headcanons 1 : The Ruin of You (General)

He made the word “forever” sound like a death sentence. (Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Ryōmen Sukuna, Naoya Zen’in)

[Meme] 🔞You like them crazy because deep down, you are too. (Gojo, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Yuji, Inumaki, Kenjaku, Shiu Kong)

Headcanons 4 : Eclipse Paradiso (Otome Isekai)

In a world where love is a curse, who will you trust to keep you alive? (Gojo, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Yuji, Inumaki, Kenjaku, Shiu Kong)

Novella 1 : Two Birds Forever Young (Sukuna)

Two Birds Forever Young 1

Two Birds Forever Young 2

Two Birds Forever Young 3

Two Birds Forever Young 4

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang

Headcanons 1 : When Love Kills (General)

⭐️Fleeing is futile. The hunt has only just begun. (Granger, Gusion, Aamon, Xavier)

Headcanons 2 : (Jealousy)

(Granger, Gusion, Aamon, Xavier)

Wuthering Waves

Headcanons 1 : Unholy Possession (General)

⭐️He’ll destroy you—because that’s how much he loves you. (Scar, Geshu Lin, Jiyan, Xiangli Yao)

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on this post. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay , @yandreams-storageblog , @tnsophiaayaonly , @ilyannailyanna , @starxvs , @iris-arcadia , @misscaller06 , @futuristicxie , @neuvilletteswife4ever

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 19 days ago

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(Dark!) BNHA: Trying to get you pregnant

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Bakugo + Deku + Shoto

Reaction: An inside view of some moments between the boys and their darling when they're deeply invested in getting you pregnant - willingly or not.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captive reader; Implied Non-con.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

–

Hawks

“... none of that, babe, just close your nose and gulp it all the way down.” Keigo’s soft voice does little to help you, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the contents that attempt to rise up to your mouth.

He patiently stands by your side, holding the cup of the disgusting mix of vitamins, nutritional powders and vegetables, waiting for you to recover from the small sip.

The taste is somehow even worse than the putrid smell, lingering in the corners of your mouth – bitter and repulsive. It takes long minutes before you’re reasonably recovered – after painfully swallowing back the bile that kept rising up your throat.

“C’mon, just a few more sips and it’ll be over quickly, okay? Just pretend this is a soda and trust me, this will go down much easier.” you turn your face away, pursing your lips shut when Keigo pushes the cup closer to your mouth.

“I can’t drink more.”

“Babe, we talked about this.” he sighs. “This is for your own good, to make you healthier and stronger.”

“I’m just fine.” you weakly scoff, pushing his hand away. “And you’re just saying that because you’re not the one drinking this gross thing. It’s seriously awful.”

“Babe…” he starts, wings ruffling behind him, restless. “You know exactly why drinking this is so important.”

“And I already told you – I don’t want a kid. So why bother?” you argue back.

Keigo visibly frowns at that.

“Don’t be like that.” he says. “Of course you want a kid. Maybe not now, but trust me, when our little birdie is born you’re gonna love it.”

“I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. And arguing with me won’t let you off the hook.” his tone hardens at that, brows tightening for a moment before Keigo forces himself to relax. “C’mon, just a few more sips, okay? Super tiny sips and I promise it’ll be all for today.”

“Keigo, I can’t, it tastes so bad, I’ll just end up throwing up.” you grab his arm vehemently, begging.

“You’re a strong girl, I’m sure you can hold it all down, right?” he cheers you, immediately pressing the cup back to your lips. You gasp, feeling the sickening content touching your lips.

Keigo doesn’t relent until you finally open your lips, even when your hands attempt to push back the glass away. In the end, it takes the sharp stab of a red-feather against your thigh for you to at last open your mouth and Keigo is eagerly tilting the cup and slipping as much as he can into your throat.

“That my good girl, drinking it all down.”

Your ears barely catch onto his praise as you’re too busy choking, the retching content refusing to slip down your throat and worse, it seems like all of it – including what you had already swollen – is aiming to come to the surface, much to your dismay.

All it takes is one fleeting glance towards the kitchen sink and Keigo is immediately behind you, aggressively tilting your face backwards.

One hand slaps down on your mouth while the other works on pinching your nose shut. Muffled screams and tears are the only reaction you’re able to deliver, unable to push Keigo away.

Fumbling and pushing is futile against his overwhelming strength and your vision starts getting fuzzy, the lack of oxygen getting to your head and you barely realize that you’ve swollen the nasty liquid until Keigo is finally allowing you to breathe again.

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.”

Shoto

Slowly scanning the test, it comes back as negative and relief immediately floods you, tense shoulders relaxing at the good news.

But the tension returns just as quickly when Shoto reaches from behind you, retrieving the test to see for himself.

Controlling your face to be neutral is harder than it seems when Shoto’s disappointment switches into cold rage in a heartbeat. His hand angrily presses down on the pregnancy test, crushing it between his fingers before your silent figure catches his attention.

Pressing your arms to your sides and lowering your eyes to the ground do little to calm Shoto's emotions and the tall man walks closer to you until he’s breathing on your hair.

“I’m sorry.” the words escape from your lips, coated with softness.

“Yes, you should be.” he icily glares at you, squinting his two-colored eyes down at you. “It’s been five months since we started trying and there are yet no positive results.”

“I’m sorry.” you repeat.

“Look at me when I’m talking.” Shouto hisses at you, his simmering frustration leaving you uneasy as you reluctantly raise your eyes to meet his monochromatic eyes. “I don’t care about your meaningless apologies. What I want to know is why aren’t you pregnant yet? Care to explain that to me?”

“I don’t know…” you quietly mutter, fingers fidgeting with each other in a nervous tick. “... but I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

“Yes, I know that. There are no ways for you to prevent a pregnancy – I made sure of that – but clearly your effort and desire of building a family together is disappointingly low, to say the least.”

If you could, you’d roll your eyes at that, frankly insulted on why would Shoto even think you’d be thrilled to have a child with your kidnapper.

Instead, you shrug your shoulders.

He groans in frustration, hand rubbing all over his face.

“Clearly you don’t desire this child as much as I do. I can’t force you to want a child, I’m aware of that.” he starts, provoking a wince in you when he brings his hand - his cold hand - to cup your cheek a little tighter than usual. “But I’ll be damned if I can’t make you love them. They deserve your love and attention, just as much as I do.”

His eyes burn into you, hot turmoil behind them.

“And then we shall be a perfect family. No matter what I have to do in order to achieve that reality.”

Bakugo

“Bak– Katsuki, can I take a break? I’m tired…” you beg breathlessly, sweat profusely running down your forehead.

Your feet are numb and the muscles of your legs burning with how long you’ve been forced to walk on the treadmill.

Ever since Bakugo cemented the idea of having a baby you haven’t been able to rest for a single minute, constantly terrorized by the man that demands you to exercise following an incredibly demanding and exhausting physical plan.

“And I don’t care. I told you before, the exercise plan has to be followed correctly to get results.” Bakugo sharply reprimands you. “How the hell are you supposed to be healthy and in shape to carry our kid if you can’t even walk the treadmill for 45 minutes, huh?”

You frown at that, sending him a dirty look that he clearly chooses to ignore. Fuck him and fuck the kid. If it’s up to you, he won’t ever get that baby he wants so much.

But much like everything that has been happening, your level of decision is frankly limited.

“You’re almost done with the treadmill anyways. 10 minutes left, that's a piece of cake.” he declares, checking the smartwatch on his wrist before returning his full attention to you. “After that, it’s the 60 push-ups and some light pilates. See? Easy work-out since you’re whiny today.”

You scoff.

“Oh yes, soo easy, thanks a lot.” your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed as Bakugo raises a brow at that.

“Keep bitching and I might add more exercises to it.” he lightly threatens you. Pressing your lips together, you push yourself to keep going and finish the stupid workout.

Bakugo doesn’t give up on pestering you as he leans forward, veiny hands holding onto the handrail and pink lips curling into a smirk.

He looks you up and down, drinking in your figure dressed with a revealing sports bra and tight leggings and his eyes darken with desire.

“Might even create a new special workout exercise just for you.” he rasps out. “Get those legs ready cause I’m gonna make you ride me till I knock you up.”

Deku

“Is this uncomfortable, my love?” he asks, fingers gently tracing random patterns against the slightly wet skin of your legs. Izuku’s messy hair tickles you when he leans to press a few loving kisses over the expanse of your naked stomach.

“Silly question, of course it’s uncomfortable.” he replies to his own question, shaking his head. “But you’re fine with this, right, my love?”

He looks up, sickly smiling at your exhausted figure.

You can’t answer – not with a gag-ball stuffed inside your mouth. You can’t move either – not with your arms rigidly tied to the bed’s headboard.

But what Izuku truly means is the obnoxious position way your legs are being held up into the air, blackwhip rigidly holding them up.

You’re not even certain if the old trick to holding legs in the air is scientifically proven to be accurate, but Izuku has been obsessed with forcing you into such a pose ever since Kaminari confided to him how Jiro got pregnant after a short period of time by doing this trick.

Izuku coos, noticing the clear discomfort on your face.

“Hey, I know, I know. It’s not very cozy, is it?” he apologizes, moving up so that he can hover over your face. His face is glowing, covered by a thin layer of sweat and happiness.

“But just think about it, my love, how all of your little sacrifices are going to be worth it in the end when we finally get to hold our little bundle of joy. Our own sweet baby!”

His eyes glint, unhealthy obsession and delusional love glimmering in those green esmeralds. Izuku looks nothing but personified insanity.

“Oh, I can’t wait!” he reveals blithely, shuffling his body to lay your head on his bicep as he nuzzles your neck. “We’re going to have the cutest babies ever. Even Kacchan will get jealous, I bet.”

You screw your eyes shut but that doesn’t stop a lonely tear from sliding down your cheek. Izuku hums, kissing the tear away.

“You’ll see, my love, we are going to be one big happy family.”

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toji-bunny-girl · 7 months ago

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subby panty sniffer loser!shigaraki i cant stop thinking abt 😖

Shigaraki has always hated you.

Ever since All For One brought you in, and your jaded eyes first met his—you’ve always goaded an odd, frustrating burn in him. At first, you both merely ignored each other’s presence. And he has always preferred that. Then things soon got annoying when you started cozying up to him and trying to be friends with him. It’s fucking irritating and the burn gets worst the closer you press yourself into his space.

All it took for you to switch it up was his unrequited demeanour to your friendliness. It’s a bit too easy, really. A harsh word or two and a sneer at your face already got him on your bitch-list—just like everyone else would.

Everybody’s the same.

And you’re nothing special. That’s what he tells himself, repeatedly, over the years. Even when the glow in his belly comes alive whenever you brush pass him, his eyes memorised the curves of your grown body behind the curtains of his shaggy hair and god—the sweet, head-spinning scent of your underwear that sends his nerves tingling.

Yes, you’re nothing but a pest. A pest who always leaves her clothes in the laundry room, and often finds her panties gone without a trace.

Stupid and forgetful and—

“What…the hell?”

The hair on his nape flew erect, prickly dots snaked beneath his skin in a shot the moment he heard your voice—laced in utter disbelief and disgust.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You weren’t supposed to collect your laundry this early yet. Weren’t you supposed to be training with All for One?!

“So, you’re the panty thief?” you sneered at him, the same way he would at you. You would’ve never in a million years even think of the scene in front of you—Shigaraki Tomura, who openly despises you, rubbing his cock with your panty? “What a joke.”

His pale face grew crimson red from the blood that rushed through his pulsing veins, his pride ripped from his clutch with every blink of your eyes soaking the embarrassing sight of him. God, he wanted to die right then and there. He shouldn’t have initially neared your laundry before, he should’ve ignored the tugging burn that urged him to touch the remnants that enveloped your bare body, and you shouldn’t have came here in the first place!

His thoughts are chasing after his sanity, and his heart threatened to beat its hard last. You’re nearing him and his sweating form with every dreadful step, and his body had the guts to feel…excited—his cock throbbed and the familiar burn came roaring through his vessels again.

Just what are you doing to him?

You snatched the damp piece of underwear from his grasp, soaked with his sticky precum, and his cockhead twitched from the lost warmth that previously hugged his shaft.

He’s now bare, blood continued to pump his cock hard as you stared at the mere size of his—length and girth you’d never thought would be hiding behind his dirty clothes; tip flushed in a pretty shade of pale pink, and veins that stemmed from the bush of light blue. His heartbeat thumped loud in his ears as you looked, and he almost lost of your words from the beating.

“Is this some kind of perverted hobby you have? I always knew you’re weird, but not to this extent,” you threw your underwear aside before shoving him, his back roughly bumped into the wall behind. Fuck, he doesn’t know what to say—and what to do other than to watch how you’re reacting to this twisted mess.

You’re staring at his twitching cock when his gaze flickered to your face, his hot panting hazed the air and it scorched your cheeks in a burnt shade. What are you thinking?

“It’s only fair for me to touch you after you’ve been jerking off to my panty, right?” it’s almost a reassurance for your own self than to him. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as you wrapped your hand around his throbbing member.

“W-What are you doing?!” he bit his bottom lip to muffle a moan, fingers curling into fists against the wall, nails poking into his flesh.

“Entertaining myself with a freak like you,” you snickered, stroking his veiny shaft with your cold fingers. Shigaraki shuddered to your touch, the nerve-numbing burn soaring through his stomach as his chest rose and fell quicker by the second.

“Get your d-dirty hand off of me,” his breath hitched as he stretched his throat, pushing his head against the cool wall. His toes curled as you pumped his length, and his nerves tingled from the sight of you staring at his cock with that look in your eyes.

“You seem to enjoy it, hm? I thought you hated me, I can’t believe you’ve been busting over my fucking panty. Do you have a crush on me or what?”

“Y-You…hngh—bitch!”

“I didn’t know a mutt could talk…much less call me a bitch?” your grip tightened, unforgivingly so around his slippery cockhead, earning a pretentious grunt—which tumbled out of his chapped lips in the form of a pathetic moan. “What was that? You sound like a little girl,” his cheeks burned in embarrassment as you made fun of him, your snickers ringing in his hazy mind, taunting the pleasure that piled over his nerves. “I want an apology, you perverted loser.”

“N-No way—nngh!” Shigaraki’s sweat-glazed body jolted from every painful twist of your fingers, his thighs shaking from the way you’ve been abusing his cock; flashes of bloody ruby glinted from behind his greasy bangs. It’s funny, really. He thought he looks all fierce and intimidating when actually, he’s nothing but a slutty mess holding back his drool.

“It’s not a fucking request,” your hand wretched his face closer to yours, his eyes nearly melting under your flinty gaze.

“F-Fuwah—aanh!” his hips drew backwards in creeping sensitivity, and a loud slick sound bounced off of the lewd-seen walls as your nails flicked in contact with his twitching red tip.

“You know I’m impatient, hm? So hurry,” your thumb hastily rubbed over his leaking slit, splattering his pre-cum all over the both of your clothes. His body shook into your arms, jerking and whining as his hands scrambled to hold onto you for support.

“Mmmgh! Haa—” his weight slopped onto your body, and his heavy head rest against your shoulder as you continued to stoke his throbbing fat girth with your tightening grip. “So—aangh! S-Sorry, m’sorry!”

“Aww, who knew you’d sound cute when you all whiney,” your other hand rose to tilt his chin, his ruby eyes glistening with tears of desperation, drool slipping past his mouth as he clenched his teeth. “What a pathetic face.”

His hips pistoned into your hand, clumsily rocking forward and messing up the fine rhythm of strokes you had, his moans sounding more and more breathy—you could tell he was at the near edge. Drawing your face closer to him, your soft lips met his cracked ones just as a crooked cry leaped out of his dry throat, and you could feel his hot cum shooting onto your shirt, staining your top white with the smell of him.

Shigaraki stayed unmoving, merely gulped as you licked and wet his lips with your tender tongue, your saliva mixing and dripping down his chin. The burn in him wasn’t just a flame anymore, it had exploded into chains of reaction—his heart squeezed and insides bursted into a sloppy, chaotic mess.

Does he have a crush on you?

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yanderenightmare · 5 months ago

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♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either.

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck.

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right?

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked.

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him.

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor.

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies.

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything.

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you.

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?”

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face.

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember.

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex.

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either.

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault.

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs.

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ INSPO

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yandere-romanticaa · 8 months ago

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"You know..." he trailed off, his voice gruff but cool. Two fingers danced across the countertop as you chopped the potatoes sloppily, as you were still not quite adept with handling a knife.

He continues. "... You would be a really nagging wife, did anyone ever tell you that?"

A scoff escapes you but even so, you chop. It's a little hard trying to focus on cooking all the while this idiot keeps trying to rile you up like crazy. Why was he even here, who even invited him? Yeah, he was popular around town and it wasn't uncommon for him to hop from place to place, regardless of what it may be. Be it someone's house, a bar, a club, a gaming center, it honestly didn't matter.

It just freaked you out how he was slowly morphing into the shadow you never wished to have.

"Is that so?" You ask him sarcastically, your face schooled into an unreadable expression. The smell of delicious spices enveloped the whole kitchen and it made you even hungrier. You were going to kill your friend for allowing this god awful fiend inside here. Refusing to turn to him, you still probed him.

"Don't marry me then, I never asked for your opinion to begin with."

He's stunned for a millisecond before regaining his composure, a booming laugh soon reverberated across the entire room. He clutched his chest a little, as if you had just told him the funniest joke in the whole wide world.

In a way, it was.

He, despite his bravado, wouldn't mind having such crummy a wife by his side.

He was living the good life and nothing could stop him. But there was just something about you, something that would always make him take a step back and think. It was so cute how you were trying to concentrate on making a tasty meal for himself, of course he was going to steal a little later.

He adored your cooking, even if it could get sloppy at times.

The "you'd be a bad/annoying/nagging wife" thing started off as something to humor him, and to piss you off naturally. Nothing brought him greater satisfaction than to see a scowl on your face and just straight up ruin your day. It was exhilarating to watch the light in your eyes crumble the moment he took a breath of air which came from your direction, let alone actually come to you.

It didn't hit him that he was actively interested in you.

He never even realized just how many of your dumb little habits he had picked up on, just how many times he had to stop himself from doing more than he already did because he didn't want to give you the wrong idea.

He doesn't like you, he thinks you're a fool. Plain and simple, just like that.

It doesn't matter that his heart beats so much faster at the mere thought of you, it doesn't matter that he started to fantasize how you would look like if you were his actual wife.... To come home to you, in your soft embrace as a meal was ready for him...

No matter. He'll trick, tease and steal from you as much as he possibly can.

🎀 Gilgamesh (Fate), Bakugo Katsuki, Dabi, Hawks (BNHA), Gojo Satoru (JJK), Guren Ichinose (Seraph of the End), Ayato Sakamaki, Laito Sakamaki (Diabolik Lovers), Satori Tendo (Haikyuu!), Aalto (Wuthering Waves)

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aajjks · 1 year ago

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tw/ hórny èx bf, hè ís à crèèp, nôncôn, èxplïcït ând nsfw thèmès.

It’s hard to break up with someone like him because he doesn’t get the hint- it’s been barely 6 days and he finds himself right in front of your door.

Really horny. And quite frankly messed up.

He bangs on your door- at first he’s gentle, but then he finds himself losing his patience when you don’t open up after a few bangs at your door, even with the bell It’s not working.

He just might have to be a little bit more aggressive with it. See now, he doesn’t like being aggressive with you. He knows that you hate this side of him. That’s why you broke up with him in the first place.

It’s not really a break up to him though because you’re just trying to break and he thinks that this break has lasted way longer than it should have in the first place. So he takes deep breath, and he starts banging at it like a maniac.

“Yn! YN OPEN UP!” But you don’t. You’re really trying to test his patience and then you try to lecture him on his aggressive nature.

His pupils are dilated at this point, he’s feeling so crazy right now, it’s aching and his pants, and he has missed you like crazy-staring at your pictures is not enough anymore. Not at all.

It’s your fault, you know.

It’s your fault that you’re so beautiful and that you have his heart in your hands… he closes his eyes for a moment, and then he takes out the spare keys he had to your apartment-of course, you don’t know about them, but he had a locksmith make them for him.

Without any rational thinking- he unlocks your apartment with ease.

And soon the familiar scent of your home hits him and your ex boyfriend finds himself relaxing, his head feels a little better now. “Yn!~~~” he calls out your name with affection but you still don’t respond.

Weird.

So he decides to check if you’re home. He really hopes that you are because he needs to talk to you and… a lot of other other things.

First to fall of course it’s gonna be your bedroom, his feet, take him to the familiar room so easily, because he remembers every single room in your home, like the back of his hand.

And to his surprise? He hears the shower running. A Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his lips. But before he can think anything else, the shower drops sounds come to a halt.

Oh, so you must be done..

He waits- by sitting on your bed and waiting for you to come out, and he doesn’t have to wait long, so he unzips his pants, creepy? He doesn’t give a fuck.

He needs to fuck you and get you back. He has everything you ever want. Quite frankly, you can be ungrateful. Anyone would kill to be in your place… but too bad he wants you.

And there you are, in all your wet glory-with a towel loosely wrapped around your body, you gasp, expected, in surprised to see him, he smirks.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to scream at him, he doesn’t mind you can because he’s missed your voice a lot.

“Hi baby.” He greets you. Licking his lips, because he feels himself getting harder when he stares at your soaked, freshly washed body.

You look so sexy like this I can’t help but remember all the times he would fuck you senselessly in the shower or sometimes when you were done with it.

You’re just so irresistible. You get him so horny for no reason at all. It’s your fault and now you’re going to have to help him out.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” You finally say something to him, even though you’re screaming at him like a maniac, he doesn’t mind.

“I can’t help it baby you know I love you and I can’t live without you-and I’m so horny right now.” He licks his lips again, getting up from your bed to walk towards you.

He needs to touch you right now.

“I told you you couldn’t break up with me but you thought you could.. so I just wanted to give you a little break, but I think it has lasted enough now I need you back.” He groans. You smell so good even his muscles are pulsing.

His eyes are you like a predator and You should know that you cannot escape.

He is way too strong for you.

“Come on now- look at me? I’m so fucking hard because I was thinking about you- and look at you.. fuck…” he breathes out, taking you by your waist.. but then he gets another idea.

So instead of holding you, he drops to his knees.

This is gonna get you so weak for him.

“Let me eat your pussy. Missed it so much.” He looks into your eyes when he grabs your legs. You barely manage to hold onto your towel, which was about to fall. And something switches in your eyes.

You have missed him too.

He smiles. “I bet you missed me too. Fuck- baby let me have a taste please- I’m doing this to make it up to you. I know I pissed you off, so let me make it up.” He breathes, slowly, removing the towel and he starts to tease you by rubbing his hands over to your clit.

You whimper, you’ve always been so weak for him.

He knows you need him-equally as bad as he needs you. And he’s going to make you realize it tonight. He leans his face closer to your cunt, and you grab his wide shoulders for support.

“Oh look at you baby- you’ve already started to get wet.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your thigh, and then his kisses get closer to your heat, “f-fuck. You’re so fucking bad for this.” You moan out. He knows that you’re trying to reject him still even though he knows what your heart and body really want.

Him.

“I know yn.. but fuck- you’re my bad habit.” He replies before he takes one of his fingers out of your pussy and he smashes his mouth into it- his tongue starting to eat you out.

“Nghhh fuck.” You moan as he starts to tease you again with his teeth- he’s so messy right now, all sloppy as he pushes his tongue in deeper and deeper.

That’s how you like it.

His mind is in a frenzy because the noises you’re making are purely sinful- your towel gals to the ground and your back arches.

He won’t let you fall.

He will make you cum in his tongue.

“Ugh fuck..” he groans as he eagerly laps at your juices, you’re giving him so much.

And he knows you’re already going to cum.

“A-Agh fuck don’t stop- don’t fuckin stop.” You command him and grab on his locks- that arouses him anymore- you taste so fuckin good.

He can kill anyone for you.

“O-Oh fuck- baby cum on my tongue- you can do it.” He praises you- his hands on your ass as he squeezes it, you pull on his hair.

His teeth graze your clit.

“Should I fuckin bite? Since you’re so *pants* fuckin mean to me? Nah.. I love you..” he barely manages to speak because you’re suffocating him and you’re going to cum.

“You can *pants* only cum if you come back to *pants* m-me.”

BNHA- hawks, aizawa, bakugo, deku

JJK- gojo, geto, toji, sukuna

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shinig6mis · 2 months ago

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transferring to a new university was nerve-wracking. but finding out on day one that there was no dorm room for you? even worse.

apparently, some glitch in the system left your name off the dormitory list. and now, there wasn’t a single open spot on campus. you wanted to cry, but calling your parents and worrying them was the last thing you wanted to do.

so you spent the entire evening scouring for solutions. a faculty member pointed you to a site where students looking for roommates could post listings, and by some miracle, you found one that seemed decent. the description was short but to the point:

walking distance from campus. only one room available. don’t be loud.

it wasn’t exactly the warmest ad, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. you sent a text, got a short reply, and now here you were.

standing outside the apartment door, your arms ached from carrying a heavy box of books and sentimental junk while your suitcase full of clothes sat by your feet. you hesitated for a second before knocking. the moment the door opened, you almost regretted your entire life.

a tall guy with white hair, scarred skin, and heavy-lidded, almost dead-looking eyes stared back at you. his presence was so intimidating that your first instinct was to turn and run back down the hall. but you froze instead, staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“is touya here?” you managed to squeak out, trying your best not to sound completely terrified.

he raised an eyebrow. “speaking. who the hell are you?” his voice was deep and rough, his tone sharp enough to cut.

“i-i’m y/n. your... roommate? i applied here two days ago, we spoke over t—”

“oh. right.” he cut you off, scratching the back of his neck. “didn’t think you’d be here so damn early.”

if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was complaining. but then again, it was 7 a.m. if anything, you must’ve woken him up.

“ya need help with all that?” he asked, gesturing toward the box in your arms.

“uh, yes... please,” you said, relieved and surprised he even offered.

he grabbed the box with one hand like it weighed nothing, and you followed him inside, dragging your suitcase behind you. he set the box on the dining table and kicked the door shut behind him. the place was neat. not spotless, but cleaner than you expected. the furniture was simple, dark-colored, and kind of mismatched, giving the place a weirdly manly vibe.

“bathroom’s down the hall,” touya said lazily, pointing. “kitchen’s over there. don’t leave your shit everywhere. and that’s your room.”

he gestured toward a door at the end of the hall, and you followed him inside. the room was small but tidy. the bed was bare, just a mattress and a pillow, but it was clean. there was a desk and a small closet, too. it doesn’t look like anyone’s ever stayed there.

“anyway,” he muttered, turning to leave. “don’t make too much noise. i don’t like loud people.”

six months later, you’ve realized that living with touya had been an adjustment. at first, there were awkward “hi” and “bye” exchanges, brief encounters in the kitchen as you grabbed a granola bar or nuked leftovers in the microwave. he wasn’t much of a talker, which was fine because you weren’t either. not to him anyway.

but then, slowly, things started to change.

it began with shared dinners. a random night where you’d made too much pasta, shyly offering him some because it felt wrong to eat in front of him while he sat on the couch scrolling through his phone. he’d taken the plate with a gruff “thanks,” but the next night, there was an extra bowl of ramen waiting for you when you got home from class.

from there, it spiraled into routine. dinners became a shared activity, a small tradition where you’d sit across from each other, trading sarcastic comments and the occasional genuine laugh. somewhere in between, touya went from your intimidating, scar-faced roommate to your closest friend. you told him everything now—your classes, your crushes, your petty grievances. he listened, mostly. sometimes, he’d even chime in with advice, though his tone always bordered on teasing.

so when you burst through the door that night, cheeks flushed with excitement, it felt natural to dump the day’s events onto him. touya was already on the couch, two bowls of noodles on the coffee table. his lips quirked into a small smile as he watched you kick off your shoes and drop your bag haphazardly by the door.

“guess what?” you beamed, practically bouncing onto the couch beside him, knees brushing his thigh. “some guy asked me out today!”

his smile faltered, but you didn’t notice. you were too caught up in recounting the story, your voice light and animated as you detailed every little moment.

touya’s grip on his chopsticks tightened. he forced a small chuckle, though it sounded strained.

“can’t believe this actually happened!”

“yeah, well… it’s about time,” he muttered.

but you didn’t hear the sarcasm laced in his words. you were too wrapped up in your own excitement, oblivious to the way his jaw clenched or how his gaze lingered a second too long on your face.

he should’ve been happy for you. he told himself he was. roommates didn’t catch feelings, not ones like this. and yet, every time you smiled at him like that, so sweet and innocent, he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

the days blurred after that. you went on your first date, then your second, then your third. touya tried to convince himself it was fine. this was fine. he was just your roommate. but you started coming home later and later, your absence stretching into the kind of silence that made his skin crawl.

the noodles he made for you—carefully cooked just the way you liked them—sat untouched on the counter, growing cold as the hours ticked by. he’d find himself sitting on the couch, staring at the door, half-hoping and half-dreading the moment you’d walk in, cheeks flushed with the afterglow of another date.

he hated it.

he hated him. the guy you wouldn’t shut up about, the one who’d taken up too much of your time, your attention. it should be him you’re coming straight home to after school.

touya couldn’t stand it anymore.

he barely needed to put in the effort. you were so trusting, so sweet, and all that innocent yapping gave him everything he needed. your schedule, your habits, even the places you liked to study or hang out. all it took was one stop after his own classes ended to track him down: the library.

the guy was just sitting there, headphones in, engrossed in his laptop.

by the time touya was done talking to him, the guy was pale and nodding, muttering weak promises to do as he was told. touya left the library without a backward glance, his mind already on you.

he got home with enough time to spare, pulling out the instant noodles he knew you loved, the ice cream he bought on the way back. he even set the table, everything arranged just the way you liked it. he’d planned it all perfectly, down to the minute.

and then the door creaked open, and there you were.

he already expected it but it still hurt nonetheless when he saw you—eyes red and swollen, your lips trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. the faintest sniffle escaped, your hands clutching the strap of your bag like it was the only thing anchoring you.

“he broke up with me,” you choked out, voice cracking.

and he almost regret what he’s done. almost.

you didn’t have to say more. he crossed the room in an instant, pulling you into his chest. his hoodie smelled like laundry detergent and faintly of cigarettes, and you buried your face into the fabric, tears soaking through.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as his hand rubbed slow circles on your back. “he’s an idiot. didn’t deserve you anyway.”

his lips brushed the crown of your head, a gesture so soft, so tender, it made your heart ache in a different way.

you melted into him, his arms the safest place you’d ever known. and as he whispered quiet reassurances, a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

this was how it should be. you, in his arms, leaning on him, trusting him. he’d make sure it stayed that way. you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

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fangdokja · 3 months ago

Text

You’re his sister, but to him, you’re everything he’ll never let go of.

❤︎ 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 1

♡ Word Count. 6,926

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, incest, unhealthy power dynamics, toxic relationship, spanking and slapping, emotional and psychological manipulation, social isolation, non-con kissing, physical assault and abuse

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

The dim yellow glow of the bedside lamp painted long, jagged shadows across the walls, distorting the once-familiar room into a grotesque parody of safety. His room—a chaotic vortex of textbooks, rumpled sheets, and the faint scent of stale cologne—now felt like a predator’s den, with you caught squarely in its jaws. The door clicked shut behind you with an almost mocking finality, the latch’s soft groan a promise of no escape.

He stood near the bed, his back to you, shoulders tense as if bracing for an internal war. His silhouette was a study in contradiction—strong, protective lines now cast in a menacing, foreboding light. The distant hum of the world beyond the house seemed to mock the thick silence between you, punctuated only by the rasp of his uneven breathing.

“Why are you here?” His voice cut through the stillness like a blade, low and clipped, every syllable weighted with restraint.

“I… I just wanted to talk.” Your words wavered, the carefully rehearsed lines evaporating under his icy stare when he turned, his eyes locking onto yours.

Those eyes, once a sanctuary of warmth during countless childhood nights, now held a glacial fury, as if he blamed you for some unseen torment. But beneath the chill was something darker, something that churned like a black hole, swallowing reason and morality whole. You couldn’t name it, but you could feel it—a suffocating, primal pull that made your stomach twist and your legs stiffen.

“I’ve been busy,” he said curtly, turning back to his desk, dismissing you as easily as one might swat away an insect. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I miss you.” The words slipped out, raw and vulnerable, a desperate attempt to breach the widening chasm between you. “I thought—now that we’re both here—maybe we could…” Your voice faltered as he turned again, this time slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling prey.

“Miss me?” he repeated, his lips curving into a bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t even know me anymore.”

The accusation hit harder than you expected, making your chest tighten. “That’s why I’m here,” you murmured, your hands clenching at your sides. “To know you again.”

He barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Know me?” His gaze raked over you, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. “You wouldn’t want that. Trust me.”

His words were a warning, but they only fueled your resolve. You stepped closer, driven by the memory of the brother who once held your hand during thunderstorms, who stayed up late helping you with your homework, who always told you everything would be okay. “You’re still my brother,” you said softly, pleadingly.

“Don’t,” he growled, his voice suddenly sharp, his hand twitching as if to reach for you but stopping short. “Don’t call me that.”

The air between you grew oppressive, thick with unspoken truths. Your heart pounded as his gaze darkened, his pupils blown wide as they drank you in. For a moment, his mask of indifference cracked, and what lay beneath made your stomach churn.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was low, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of a confession. “The way you look at me? The way you follow me around like a lost kitten?” He took a step closer, and you instinctively backed into the wall, your breath hitching. “You’ve always needed me. Always depended on me. And now you think you can waltz in here and what? Fix everything? Fix me?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Shut up.” His voice cut through your protest like a whip. He was close now, too close, his breath hot against your cheek. The smell of him—faintly metallic, tinged with sweat—wrapped around you like a suffocating shroud. “You don’t know the first thing about me, about what I’ve done. About the things I think about when I look at you.”

The room seemed to tilt, the floor buckling under the weight of his words. “I… I don’t understand,” you stammered, your voice barely audible.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he sneered, his hand shooting out to brace against the wall beside your head, caging you in. “Because you’re pure. Untouched. You don’t know what it’s like to carry this...this sickness. To want something you can never fucking have.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the frantic pounding of your heart. His confession hung in the air like a noose, tightening around your throat.

“I tried,” he continued, his voice shaking now, the cracks in his facade spreading. “I tried to stay away. To forget. Do you know how many women I’ve fucked trying to scrub you out of my head? But it doesn’t work. It never fucking works.” His hand slid down the wall, his knuckles brushing against your shoulder. “You’re in here,” he said, tapping his temple, then his chest. “In here. Like a damn parasite.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Why are you saying this?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why now?”

“Because you’re here,” he said simply, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “Because you walked into my fucking room and looked at me like that. Like I’m still the hero you remember. Like I haven’t been corrupted.”

“You’re scaring me,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he replied, his tone soft but laced with menace. “You should be scared. Because if you stay, I don’t know if I can stop myself.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room charged with a tension so thick it was suffocating. Then, with a suddenness that made you flinch, he stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “Get out,” he growled, his voice rough and uneven. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands fumbled with the doorknob, your legs barely supporting you as you stumbled out of the room. As the door slammed shut behind you, the last thing you heard was the sound of his ragged breathing, a haunting symphony of longing and despair.

────────────

It began in your first year of university, with a joke. A harmless, stupid, throwaway line.

"Hey, your sister's cute. Maybe I'll ask her out when she’s older."

You hadn’t been there to hear it. Maybe that was for the best. He’d laughed then, a sound so casual it might have fooled anyone listening. “Don’t even think about it,” he’d said, shoving his friend’s shoulder as if it were all a joke. But deep down, something had snapped into place.

It wasn’t anger, exactly—not yet. Just a quiet, simmering unease that he didn’t understand.

You were always close to him, always lingering just at the edge of his vision, a constant part of his life. He was your older brother; it was natural. He was protective—maybe a little too much so. But wasn’t that what older brothers were supposed to be? That’s what he told himself whenever he felt the strange, uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

It only became a problem the day he saw you with someone else.

It was late autumn, and the world was painted in muted tones of orange and gray. He’d been walking to the library to pick you up when he saw you standing beneath a streetlamp with a boy.

The sight froze him in place.

You were holding a notebook, pointing to something on the page, explaining something with that calm, patient expression you always wore. The boy leaned in, his eyes never leaving your face.

And that was when he felt it. That sick, twisting feeling in his gut. The way the boy looked at you—like he wanted something. Like he thought he deserved something.

His hands clenched into fists, the sharp bite of his nails grounding him just enough to keep him from storming over. He didn’t know what he’d say if he did. What excuse could he possibly give?

Instead, he stayed hidden in the shadows, watching as you finished your tutoring session. The boy lingered too long, said something that made you smile faintly, and then finally walked away.

You didn’t even notice him standing there. You just closed your notebook, adjusted the strap of your bag, and walked off as if nothing had happened.

He followed you home that day, keeping a careful distance.

After that, it was as though something inside him had cracked open.

He told himself it was normal to be worried. You were too trusting, too naive. You didn’t see the way people looked at you. You didn’t realize how vulnerable you were. Someone had to protect you—someone who knew you better than anyone else.

But it wasn’t just about protection anymore.

It was about possession.

He tried to ignore it at first. Tried to tell himself it was nothing. But every time he saw you leave to meet that boy, his anger simmered just a little hotter. It didn’t matter that you were only tutoring him. It didn’t matter that you weren’t interested. He could see the way the boy looked at you, the way he lingered when you weren’t paying attention.

He started watching you more closely after that. You didn’t notice—of course, you didn’t. You never seemed to notice anything when it came to him.

When you weren’t around, he buried himself in distractions. He went out with his friends, dated girls who were nothing like you, did anything he could to drown out the thoughts that haunted him. But it didn’t work. Nothing worked.

Every laugh, every touch, every kiss felt wrong. None of them were you.

By the time you started your second year of university, and him at his Master's, he’d perfected the art of keeping his distance. He didn’t want you to see the way he looked at you, didn’t want you to know the things he thought about late at night when he was alone.

But keeping his distance didn’t mean he stopped watching. He always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

You were his. Even if you didn’t know it.

Another day, he caught you talking to someone else. Another boy. It didn’t matter that the conversation was casual, that you barely even smiled. All he could think about was how easily someone else could take you away from him.

When you came home that evening, he didn’t say a word. You didn’t ask why he was so quiet, why he avoided your gaze, why his knuckles were red and raw as if he’d been punching something—or someone.

You never asked questions like that.

Maybe you should have.

Now, standing in his room, he runs his hands through his hair, staring at the picture of you on his desk. It’s an innocent photo, one taken years ago during a family trip. But to him, it’s more than that.

It’s proof. Proof that you belong to him. Proof that no one else has the right to take you away.

He knows he can’t keep this up forever. He knows the truth will come out eventually.

But when it does?

You won’t have a choice.

────────────

It began with distance. He thought it would fix things—make him normal again, make you normal again. He pulled back, growing cold and indifferent, watching you from a distance as you stumbled through life. You didn’t even notice, did you? How he deliberately stopped answering your questions with warmth, how he only gave you clipped, efficient replies. How he didn’t teach you the things he should have, the things that would have made you stronger.

You didn’t need friends. He made sure of that.

He liked it that way—your awkwardness, your inability to connect with others. It kept you safe. It kept you his.

But then...

Then, he saw the change.

You became distracted, eyes far away, your lips twitching into little half-smiles when you thought no one was looking. At first, he ignored it. Told himself it didn’t matter. But then he started noticing the way you doodled during your free time, how your handwriting softened, curling into childish hearts.

And then the name.

Daniel.

The rage that erupted in his chest was immediate, primal. He wasn’t proud of how quickly he found your diary, how thoroughly he read every naïve, saccharine line.

"Daniel held my book today! He smiled at me, I think! Maybe I’ll ask him to the dance? Would he say yes? It’s stupid, but I think we’d make a great match."

You wrote about your future. About marriage. Little plans you hid in the margins of your notebook like some ridiculous fairytale.

Marriage, when you didn’t even know what it meant. When you’d never spared him, the one who’s protected you your entire life, that warm, shy smile.

He could’ve broken your door when he threw it open that night. You weren’t even there to hear the sound splinter through the silence, or see the way he stood there, shaking, fists clenched white-knuckled. He tore through your things after that—pictures, scraps of paper, clothes—he wanted to find anything, anything that might explain why you’d betrayed him like this.

You didn’t have the right to want someone else. You barely knew what you wanted! That boy didn’t even like you. Couldn’t you see it?

The world saw you as the awkward, strange little thing you’d always been. And he liked it that way. It kept the wolves at bay. He kept the wolves at bay.

But this boy? This Daniel? He didn’t even look at you the way you thought he did. He didn’t deserve your thoughts, your shy little fantasies. He deserved nothing.

When you finally confessed to the boy, he was there.

He’d hidden in the shadows like a predator waiting for the right moment. Watching as you stood there, clutching that stupid notebook to your chest, stammering over your words.

Daniel’s rejection was inevitable. His awkward laugh, his half-hearted apology—it was all so predictably pathetic. But you didn’t stop there.

Even after being turned down, you followed him. Like a kitten, tail wagging, desperate for scraps of affection. The same way you used to follow him.

That night, he didn’t go home. He didn’t sleep.

His body ached, torn between the raw heat of his anger and the cold clarity of his realization.

You’d never shown interest in romance before. Never spared anyone those soft looks, those quiet smiles. Not until now. And the thought of you giving that warmth—his warmth—to someone else?

He didn’t just want to destroy Daniel.

He wanted to destroy you.

You traitorous, ungrateful little bitch.

The next time he saw you, you didn’t notice anything was wrong. How could you?

“Hey,” you’d said softly, the same way you always did when you weren’t sure if you were bothering him. He didn’t reply.

Instead, he crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps. You flinched when he cupped your face, his fingers rough against your skin.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” His voice was calm, too calm, each word slicing through the silence like a blade.

You blinked up at him, confused, your lips parting to stammer out a reply. But he didn’t let you.

“Do you think he could protect you the way I have? Do you think he even sees you? You’re so... stupid.” His grip tightened, just enough to make you gasp. “But I’ll fix that.”

That night, he showed you what it meant to belong to someone.

There was nothing gentle in the way he touched you. Nothing kind. It wasn’t love—not in the way you’d dreamed it would be.

It was sharp edges and whispered threats. The suffocating weight of his body pinning yours to the mattress, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured things too dark to repeat.

“I’ll make sure you never think of him again,” he growled, his voice low and venomous.

You cried. He didn’t stop.

Because you were his. And no one else deserved to have you—not even you.

The next morning, he watched as you sat silently at the table, your hands trembling as you picked at your breakfast.

You didn’t look at him.

Good.

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a satisfied smile.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he said, his tone light and conversational, as if nothing had happened. “You’ll see.”

But in the dim light of the kitchen, his eyes glinted with something darker.

Something permanent.

────────────

He hadn’t kissed you that night. He hadn’t touched you—not in the way he craved. That would come later.

Instead, he had punished you.

The memory played like a cracked film reel in his mind, skipping over the sound of your muffled cries, the way your body jolted with every strike of his hand. He’d treated it like a lesson, hadn’t he? A father disciplining a wayward child, nothing more.

Except it was so much more.

Each tear that slipped down your cheeks, each broken sob, fed something primal inside him. It made him feel strong, in control—your trembling figure draped across his lap, your protests falling to deaf ears.

“You need to understand,” he had murmured between blows, his voice calm, deliberate. “You don’t need anyone else. You don’t get to have anyone else.”

It wasn’t until your body went limp, your resolve shattered, that he finally stopped. His hand lingered against your flushed skin, his breathing uneven. He could feel the temptation coiling inside him, the desire to leave more than just a warning.

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Not yet.

You were still too young, too delicate, and he loved you too much to break you completely.

In the days that followed, you clung to him like you always had. The defiance in your eyes was gone, replaced by a docile obedience that filled him with both satisfaction and guilt.

It was better this way. No friends, no distractions.

Just the two of you, the way it had always been.

────────────

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving him alone in the suffocating quiet of his room.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp as he exhaled sharply.

He could feel the cracks spreading, the fragile dam of restraint he’d built over the years threatening to shatter. You were older now—no longer the awkward, wide-eyed girl he’d once protected. You were beautiful, maddeningly so, and every time he looked at you, he could feel his self-control slipping.

But what was he supposed to do?

His parents had never cared, not about him, not about you. The only thing that mattered to them was the profit you both could generate. He doubted they’d even notice if he crossed the line.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

His gaze drifted to the doorway you’d just passed through, his chest tightening with something dark and suffocating.

He could take you now if he wanted to. No one would stop him. No one would care.

But he cared.

He loved you in a way that terrified him, a way that left him tangled in knots of lust and guilt and longing. He wanted you—to keep you, to claim you, to destroy anyone who dared look at you the wrong way. But more than that, he wanted you to love him the way he loved you.

And that’s where the conflict lay.

Would you still look at him with those soft, trusting eyes if you knew what he was thinking? Would you still cling to his arm, still smile at him, still call him brother if you knew the truth?

Or would you hate him?

The thought sent a shiver of rage and despair through him, his hands clenching into fists.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal.

What was the point of waiting?

Every moment he held back felt like agony, his need for you consuming him piece by piece. You were already his, in every way that mattered. You’d been his from the start, long before you even realized it.

He stopped in front of the mirror, his reflection glaring back at him—a predator barely leashed, a man fighting against the very instincts that defined him.

He exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a dark, humorless smile.

“As long as I don’t get caught, right?” he muttered, his voice dripping with bitter irony.

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

When he finally left the room, his mind was made up.

He’d wait, just a little longer. Long enough for you to grow even more dependent on him, long enough for you to forget whatever fleeting fantasies you’d once harbored about other men.

And when the time came, when there was no doubt in your mind that he was the only one who could ever love you, he’d take what was his.

Until then, he’d bide his time.

But God help anyone who got in the way.

You were his. And soon, you’d know it too.

────────────

Classes had started like any other semester. Despite sharing a dorm, he and you had kept your distance—a mutual, unspoken agreement that suited both of you.

On the surface, things appeared normal.

He excelled as always, juggling academics, sports, and a parade of temporary girlfriends like it was nothing. You thrived in your own way, delving into the competitive grind of your entrepreneurship course with an unrelenting focus. To the outside world, you were two strangers, bound only by circumstance. No one would guess you were siblings, much less tied by anything deeper.

And that was fine by him.

As long as you stayed close—within reach—he could tolerate the cold distance between you.

It began as a flicker, a subtle shift in your demeanor that most would have missed.

You’d always been poised, calm, your expressions muted and unreadable, much like his own. But lately, there was something else—an irritation simmering beneath the surface, barely contained. You’d still wear that neutral, aloof mask, but he could see through it.

At first, he dismissed it. Maybe you were stressed. Maybe it was nothing.

But then he noticed the reason.

It was another guy.

The bastard was a thorn in your side, a so-called academic rival who had taken to hounding you relentlessly. He was obnoxious and petty, constantly goading you with thinly veiled insults and challenges.

Initially, he’d thought it might be a good thing—an opportunity for you to toughen up, to learn not to rely on him or anyone else.

How fucking naive he’d been.

The longer he watched, the more he understood.

The interloper didn’t even realize he liked you, not yet, but the signs were there. The way he hovered around you, the excuses he made to stay close, the looks that lingered too long—it was all obvious to him.

What infuriated him most was you.

You, who never cared about anyone. You, who had always kept your distance from people, brushing off their advances without a second thought.

You weren’t pushing the bastard away.

You tolerated him, even seemed to accept his presence, and that made his blood boil.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

No need to make a scene. No need to draw attention.

But it gnawed at him, day by day, that stupid fucker sticking to your side like a damn parasite. He could feel it building inside him, a storm of frustration and possessiveness he couldn’t fully suppress.

And then it happened.

You were late for dinner one evening, and his annoyance was already simmering by the time he went looking for you. He’d told himself he was only checking in because it was still his responsibility to take care of you.

That’s what he told himself.

He found you in an empty classroom.

And you weren’t alone.

────────────

The moment he saw you with him, it was as if the ground beneath his feet had shifted.

At first, it was confusion—a fleeting, disorienting moment where he didn’t fully understand what he was looking at. The interloper, leaning closer, his expression soft and open, the kind of look reserved for someone you cherished. You.

You, standing there, not moving, not rejecting him. Your hand was still, almost brushing against his, your lips parted as if you might speak—or worse, respond.

The first spike of jealousy hit him like a blade.

Not the dull ache of annoyance he’d felt when you first started tolerating this bastard’s presence. No, this was different. This was visceral. It clawed at him, shredding through his carefully constructed self-control until all that remained was raw, unfiltered rage.

His pulse roared in his ears, a deafening drumbeat that drowned out reason. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He could feel the metallic tang of it on his tongue, sharp and bitter, mixing with the bile rising in his throat.

He’d always prided himself on being in control. He wasn’t some reckless animal, driven by instinct or emotion. He was better than that. Smarter than that.

But watching that fucking bastard lean closer to you—watching you let him—it unraveled something inside him.

This wasn’t just anger. This wasn’t just possessiveness.

This was a deep, gnawing sickness, a jealousy so consuming it felt like his very soul was being eaten alive.

He couldn’t stand the way the interloper looked at you, like you were something pure and delicate. Like you were a prize to be won.

That was his.

You were his.

The thought burned through him, scorching and absolute.

He’d spent years keeping you close, making sure no one else could reach you, molding your world so that he was at the center of it. And yet, here you were, letting this pathetic excuse of a man step into the space that only he should occupy.

It was a betrayal.

And you—oh, you—were just as much to blame.

You, who never cared for anyone. You, who always kept your distance, your heart locked away. You, who had followed him like a shadow for so long, who had looked at him with that shy, adoring gaze that made him feel untouchable.

Now you were looking at someone else.

And it wasn’t just the look—it was your body language, the way you leaned ever so slightly into the interloper’s space. The way your eyes softened, your lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

He wanted to rip that expression off your face.

Not because it didn’t suit you—it did. It was beautiful. It made his heart ache.

But because it wasn’t for him.

The jealousy twisted, dark and monstrous, until it became something else entirely.

He didn’t just want to destroy the interloper.

He wanted to destroy you.

Not completely—no, never completely. You were his, after all. But he wanted to shatter this version of you, the one who dared to look at someone else with warmth. The one who dared to let someone else get close.

He wanted to strip you down to nothing and rebuild you in his image, piece by trembling piece, until there was no room for anyone else.

And then the bastard leaned in closer, and the room seemed to tilt.

The distance between you shrank, his lips hovering just above yours.

────────────

You were letting it happen.

Something inside him snapped.

Before he realized it, he was moving. The door slammed open with a deafening crash, and the interloper jerked back, startled, his face paling when he saw the storm etched into his expression.

“Hey, man—”

The words barely left the bastard’s lips before his fist collided with his jaw, the sickening crunch of bone echoing in the empty room. The impact sent the other man sprawling, blood pooling from his broken nose as he groaned in shock and pain.

“Stay. Away.” His voice was low, lethal, the kind of tone that promised far worse if the warning wasn’t heeded.

The room was silent except for the ragged breathing of the crumpled figure at his feet.

He turned to you then, his chest heaving, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

You stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, your lips parted in disbelief.

“Get up,” he barked, his tone sharp, brooking no argument. “We’re leaving.”

You didn’t move, still staring at the man on the floor, and something in him snapped again.

He crossed the distance between you in two strides, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him with enough force to make you stumble.

“I said, we’re leaving.” His voice was quieter this time, but the edge of danger was unmistakable.

Your gaze finally shifted to him, your eyes searching his face for something—an explanation, a reassurance, anything.

But all you found was rage.

As he dragged you out of the room, his grip unyielding, his mind raced.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

You had betrayed him. Again.

And this time, he wasn’t sure he could let it slide.

No one else gets to have you. No one.

────────────

The door to your shared dorm slammed shut behind you with a bone-jarring finality. The echo reverberated in the small space, amplifying the oppressive silence that followed. You winced, clutching your throbbing wrist where his grip had bruised it. But before you could pull away, his hand was on you again, relentless and unyielding.

“Let go,” you hissed, yanking your arm back, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound resolute. The command only seemed to enrage him further.

His response was immediate, a blur of motion and a sting that burned like fire across your cheek. The force sent you staggering, your knees hitting the cold floor as your vision swam. Pain blossomed, sharp and unrelenting, and you tasted copper on your tongue.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His voice, usually so measured, so cold, was now raw and trembling with fury. He loomed over you, a monolith of rage, his shadow swallowing you whole. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see? Wouldn’t know?”

You pressed a trembling hand to your face, the sting of his slap radiating through your skull. You glared up at him, defiance flickering like a dying ember in your tear-filled eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat, your voice quaking as you pushed yourself up. “I didn’t do anything!”

The words barely left your mouth before his hand shot out, tangling viciously in your hair. He yanked your head back, forcing you to meet his wild, unhinged gaze.

“Didn’t do anything?” he snarled, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His lips twisted into a cruel smile that sent chills racing down your spine. “You let him touch you. You let him. Are you that desperate? That much of a pathetic little whore?”

You choked on a gasp as he tightened his grip, pulling hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your neck. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “I saw it. You didn’t push him away. You didn’t stop him.”

“You’re wong,” you bit out, your voice trembling with fury and fear. “You’re imagining things that aren’t there—”

Another slap cut your words short, sharper this time, enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You crumpled again, your cheek pressed against the floor, and before you could recover, his hand was back, dragging you up like a ragdoll.

“Do you spread your legs for anyone who pays attention to you?” he hissed, his voice venomous, laced with a dangerous kind of desperation. “Are you really that easy? That desperate for it?”

You glared at him through the haze of pain and tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. But he wasn’t looking for defiance. He was looking for submission.

For proof that you were his, and his alone.

His free hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. His expression was a terrifying mix of fury and something else—something far darker, far more possessive.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Say you’re mine. Say it, or so help me, I’ll make sure no one ever looks at you again.”

You opened your mouth to retort, to scream, but the words caught in your throat as his grip tightened, cutting off your air.

“Say. It.”

The room spun, your vision blurring as the oxygen left your lungs. Panic set in, and your resolve began to crumble. You clawed at his arm, your body trembling with the effort to stay conscious.

“Yours,” you gasped, barely audible, but it was enough.

His grip loosened just enough to let you breathe, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Good girl.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, a sickening mix of relief and terror. His grip in your hair eased, but only to drag you closer, his arms encircling you in a cage of muscle and iron will.

“Don’t make me do this again,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less threatening. “I don’t like hurting you. But I will if that’s what it takes to keep you.”

You stayed silent, too shaken to respond, your body trembling in his grasp. Deep down, you knew this wasn’t over. This was only the beginning of the storm.

────────────

Without another word, his lips slammed onto yours, a bruising, punishing kiss that stole what little breath you had left. Your eyes widened in shock, and you squirmed, thrashing against his iron hold, but it only seemed to fuel him further. His teeth bit down hard on your lower lip, drawing blood, and his tongue invaded your mouth with an almost feral desperation.

Every movement was a claim, a declaration, his hands gripping you like you might vanish if he let go. He growled against your lips, his voice a low, guttural snarl as he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours effortlessly.

“Since you’re so eager to spread your legs for any man who looks your way,” he hissed, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, “why not for me? Your own older brother. Or does that only make you more of a filthy little slut?”

You shook your head vehemently, tears spilling down your cheeks, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want your consent; he wanted your submission. Your humiliation. His lips crashed against yours again, his teeth marking you, biting and bruising as though he could etch himself into your very being.

His hips pressed against yours, the weight of him inescapable as he ground against you with a possessive growl. Every word that left his mouth was venomous, dripping with jealousy and rage.

“Do you know how sick you make me?” he spat, his voice trembling with fury. “How fucking jealous I get every time I see someone else looking at you? Touching you? You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

Your protests were muffled, your struggles weakening under the sheer force of his assault. His hands roamed your body with an almost methodical cruelty, every touch a reminder that you belonged to him and no one else. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air heavy with his dominance, his possessive need swallowing you whole.

“No one else gets to have you,” he growled against your ear, his voice a deadly promise. “No one.”

His lips crashed against yours again, bruising, punishing, and suffocating. There was no gentleness, no hesitation—only raw desperation and rage poured into every motion. His teeth scraped against your lips, a deliberate, cutting edge to the kiss that made you whimper, the taste of blood sharp and metallic as it spread across your tongue. He wasn’t just kissing you; he was claiming you, forcing his presence into every corner of your being.

When you tried to pull back, his hand was there, tangling in your hair with a bruising grip, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Every gasp you took was his to steal, every sound you made swallowed by his insistent, devouring mouth.

His tongue pressed into you, hot and invasive, tasting, consuming, as though he could erase any trace of anyone else with sheer force alone. The kiss deepened with every passing moment, turning darker, hungrier, as his free hand gripped your waist hard enough to leave marks, pressing your body against the wall with an unrelenting pressure.

The sharp pain of his bite pulled a gasp from your lips, and he seized the moment, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that felt almost mocking. It wasn’t enough for him to take; he wanted you to feel it—to feel the way he dominated every inch of you, every sound, every breath.

“You taste like lies,” he growled against your lips, the words vibrating through your chest as his teeth grazed your bottom lip again, threatening another sharp bite. His breath was hot and ragged, mingling with yours, and the fury in his eyes hadn’t dimmed—it had only sharpened, focused entirely on you. “Do you think I’d ever let anyone else have this? Have you?”

Your hands pushed weakly at his chest, but it was like trying to move stone. He laughed, a low, bitter sound that sent chills racing down your spine. “Pathetic,” he sneered, the word dripping with venom. “Look at you. Fighting when you know you’ll lose. You always lose.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, his teeth sinking into your lip just enough to sting before he licked the blood away with a slow, deliberate motion. “Mine,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and possessive. “Every inch of you. Every breath you take. Don’t forget it.”

He shifted slightly, his hips pressing against yours, trapping you further as his mouth moved with calculated cruelty. Each kiss was an invasion, each touch a brand, his lips trailing down to your jawline and then to the curve of your neck. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, sending a jolt through your body that you couldn’t suppress.

“You think they could kiss you like this?” he hissed, his voice rough and filled with bitter jealousy. His lips latched onto the base of your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise as his hands roamed your sides with deliberate possessiveness. “Think again.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face inches from yours, his breath fanning against your swollen lips. His thumb brushed your cheek, almost tender, before he pressed it against the raw bite mark he’d left. You flinched, and he smirked, leaning in to whisper against your ear.

“You’ll remember who you belong to. Every time you see these marks, every time you feel them—” His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “—you’ll remember me.”

Then his lips found yours again, relentless, brutal, as though he couldn’t get enough. His fingers dug into your waist, his nails biting into your skin, and every movement was a reminder of the storm raging beneath his skin.

“You make me like this,” he growled between kisses, his voice thick with fury and something darker. “You make me fucking crazy. You make me want to ruin you, just so no one else can even look at you.”

His words blurred with the heat of his kiss, the tension between you a heady mix of fear, pain, and something far more twisted. And in that moment, you knew there was no escape—not from him, not from this, and certainly not from the obsession that burned in his eyes every time they met yours.

"You're a such a fucking cheating bitch. But, you're my cheating bitch."

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: N/A

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

Wuthering Waves: Geshu Lin, Scar

Yandere! Older Brother & Little Sister

Novelette 1 : Sins of the Silent Heart

You’re his sister, but to him, you’re everything he’ll never let go of.

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

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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