i’m zeh (she/her, 20, bi) and this is my blog to write about yanderes and dark themes (stuff i do not condone btw, it’s all just fictional). your media consumption is your own responsibility. there are warnings of each of my works so please read them carefully.
so don’t interact if you’re not into that.
i don't write for kpop groups that much at the time being but i guess it mostly depends on my mood. for now i create yandere ocs and write about them so let me know if you have any ideas <3
i don’t have a segregated masterlist as of yet but click here to access my works !!
cw. soft dubcon-ish at the start, 9th member reader, chan's whipped and desperate and a perv (and fucks you like his life depends on it), wc. 2680 minors dni.
note. it's been a while but i haven't forgotten the 7k event :)) this turned out softer than i expected... might post a noncon version of the same story if there's enough interest! prompt: #31 "shh. go back to sleep."
you're not sure what wakes you.
for a moment you think it's the dream you were having; something about the choreography you kept messing up today and the steady hold of chan's hands on your waist after he pushed minho aside to correct your posture himself. you recall his breath chilling the sweat on your nape as he counted the beats. how close he'd been standing and how difficult it'd been to not step back and press yourself against him.
the hand on your hip shifts. your foggy brain struggles to catch up, your small room still dark except for the faint glow of city lights bleeding through a crack in the curtains. you can barely make out the shape of your desk chair, clothes piled on it. then you notice the warmth of a body behind you, and your pulse jumps —
"hey, it's just me."
chan's voice, barely above a whisper, but you'd recognise it anywhere. you blink hard to try and clear your sleepy haze, stifling a surprised whimper when his thumb brushes over your bare thigh. your heart is still hammering away in your chest, adrenaline and confusion jumbling together. you open your mouth to ask him what he's doing in your room, in your bed, but no words come out.
his hand finds your shoulder, its warmth bleeding through the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. his fingers gently curl around the curve of your arm. they move with a deliberate, soothing motion, the kind of thing he does when a member is having a panic attack or breaks down after an intense performance. but his hand doesn't move away this time. it lingers, thumb stroking in a slow, deliberate path down your arm.
"i heard you calling out my name… thought you were having a nightmare."
the dream. your face burns, and you're grateful for the darkness shielding your expression from him. the way he'd positioned you, his hands firm on your body, not unlike now…
his hand slides from your shoulder to the side of your neck. his palm covers the column of your throat, not pressing, just resting there. you desperately try to control the frantic beating of your heart, and you know he can feel your pulse jumping against his skin.
"are you okay? i could hear you through the walls."
you shiver. your room doesn't share a wall with his. his is down the hall, past the bathroom, on the other side of the dorm.
"chan-ah…" you whisper, but he answers the question before you can ask it aloud.
"i was walking by to get some water. then i heard you."
it's a flimsy explanation. you both know it is. he ignores the nickname he begrudgingly allows you to use sometimes, despite you being a year younger than him, hand softly squeezing your throat instead. there's none of his usual teasing, just the heavy tension hanging in the silence between you.
"i've heard you before," he admits. his thumb brushes along your jaw and there's no doubt he feels the way your breath hitches in your throat. "other nights. you think these walls are thick enough? you think no one can hear you?"
embarrassment washes over you. you think back on the nights you touched yourself thinking about him, muffling your whimpers in your pillow as best as you could, sure no one could hear —
"chan, you should leave."
before it's too late, you want to add, but the words fizzle out before they can reach your lips. there's too much at stake… the fans, your career, the company, this family of eight men you've become a part of. you won't jeopardize that.
"i can't stop thinking about you." there's a rawness to his voice, as if someone is dragging the words out of him. "it's driving me fucking crazy. i asked ji to work on the new track because your voice gets stuck in my head all day, and all i can hear is the way you moan." his hand moves up, fingers tightening in your hair, firm enough to pull at your scalp. "countless times i've stood outside this door and walked away, trying to be the better man. but not tonight. i won't walk away now."
"chan —"
"shh." he shifts, rolling you onto your back and throwing a leg over yours, caging you in. "go back to sleep, then. you were saying my name so prettily. let me hear it again."
"it's not - we can't —", the words come out jumbled as his hands push under the hem of your shirt. the friction of his rough callouses against your skin make your core clench. "the members…"
"are asleep." his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts, hovering there. "it's three in the morning, no one's going to wake up. they won't hear you. unless you're too loud… which you might be. because you get loud when you think about me, don't you? no need to be shy now."
you think of him standing right outside your door, his ear pressed to the wood. listening to every desperate, needy sound you made as you touched yourself thinking of him.
the thought should horrify you. instead, a hot pulse of arousal throbs between your legs, and you hate yourself for it. your body is responding to this – to him — like an over-eager dog keen to please its owner.
chan squeezes, just once, relishing in the way you arch into his hands.
"there she is. i knew you'd feel like this. so soft."
he tugs up your shirt, bunching the fabric above your sternum. cool air washes over your bare skin, your breasts exposed to the dark room, and you instinctively try to cover yourself. chan catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, holding them there against the pillow.
"don't hide from me." his gaze travels down your body, and even in the dim light you see his pupils are blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "you have no idea how many times i've imagined you like this."
his free hand cups your breast, thumb dragging across your nipple. you bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound but a soft whimper manages to escape. chan smiles a small, crooked smile — nothing like the bright grin he shows on screen — and does it again, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger until it stiffens.
"let me hear you." he pinches harder, switching to your other breast and giving it the same treatment, his voice taking on that same gentle tone that guides you through your parts in the studio. "just like that. you sound so sweet."
you turn your head to the side, unable to look at him. this is wrong. he's your leader, your co-worker, your friend, your family — and he's touching you, and you're letting him. you're not fighting hard enough. you're not fighting at all.
his mouth finds your neck and the wet heat of it shocks you. he grazes your skin, sucking and biting hard enough to leave a mark chaeyoun will have to cover up tomorrow while loudly complaining about your lack of self-control. but it doesn't matter, not when chan grinds down between your thighs and rolls his hips into yours.
"say my name again. say it like you do when you're touching yourself. when you're thinking about me fucking you."
he licks a stripe up your neck and a sob catches in your throat. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. you feel how wet you are, how obvious your arousal is, and there's no hiding it from him anymore. his fingers drag through the slick mess between your legs and the noise he lets out is almost a laugh.
"so fucking wet." he circles your clit with two fingers, "all this from a little touching? or were you this wet just dreaming of me?"
your underwear is pulled down your thighs, your knees, off one leg and left dangling around the other ankle as he dips down and hoists your thighs over his shoulders. he wastes no time, tongue licking a fat stripe up your slit.
"chan," you gasp, and his grip on your hips tightens in response.
"again."
he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.
"chan - hnng, ah, don't stop —"
"again."
you cry out when two of his fingers thrust inside you. he doesn't waste time being gentle, curling them to find the spot that has you chanting his name over and over again.
"that's it, baby," he coos, and you barely register the pet name between the feeling of his fingers fucking you open and his hot tongue lapping at your clit. you can already feel something building in your core, a coiling tension threatening to snap. it's too much, too soon. it shouldn't be this easy for him.
"just let go. i've got you. i'll always have you."
his words push you over the edge. the sudden wave of your orgasm overtakes you, thighs clamping around his head, and you bite down on your own arm to muffle your cries. chan works you through it with relentless fingers, sucking on your clit until you're shaking and overstimulated. your arousal drips down his hand, pooling beneath your hips. your legs twitch on the sheets but chan doesn't give you a chance to breathe. his fingers start moving again before you've come down, fucking into you with a wet squelch that makes you jerk in his grip. your whole body is trembling now, every nerve ending on fire, too sensitive and raw.
"no, 's too much, please, chan, i can't…"
"you can," he grunts, withdrawing his fingers only to push three back in, stretching you until the burn makes you sob. his thumb grinds against your swollen clit without mercy. "you owe me that much."
there's something desperate in his voice, cracking at the end of each phrase, and you realize he too has been burning up with need for months and months.
"do you know how many times i've jerked off thinking about you?" the words spill out faster now, as if the dam has broken and he can no longer contain the flood. "in the studio. in the shower. in the living room when the others had their own schedules. in my bed with my hand over my mouth so no one would hear me saying your fucking name —"
the wet, obscene sound of his fingers fucking you open fills the room, and your second orgasm builds just as sudden as the first one. you shake your head wildly, but your cunt is clenching around his fingers, sucking him in deeper.
"i used to steal your underwear." the confession comes out in a low growl, almost ashamed, but he doesn't stop. his fingers work you so expertly your vision starts bleeding white at the edges. "from the laundry. the ones you wore to practice… i'd hold them to my face and breathe you in and imagine this, you underneath me, imagine you crying on my cock the way you're crying now —"
you moan, cunt spasming around his fingers. a gush of wetness splashes against his palm, dripping down your thigh and thoroughly soaking the sheets beneath you. the orgasm is bordering on painful in its intensity and you can barely breathe, chan's gaze in the dim morning light almost too much to bear.
this time he lets you come down, slowly pulling his fingers from your swollen pussy and bringing them to his mouth. you watch in a haze how he sucks his fingers clean. his eyes fall shut and a shiver runs through his whole body. he licks between his fingers to lap up every drop, and when he opens his eyes again they're glassy and unfocused.
"not enough." he grimaces, snapping back into reality. "i need - i need more. i need to be inside you. i can't… i can't fucking think anymore —"
he shoves his sweats down and you hear the fabric hit the floor somewhere in the dark. you're unable to move, boneless and spent and still trembling. your aching cunt clenches around nothing.
then his cock brushes against your thigh and panic rises in your chest at the thought of him being inside of you. at the sudden understanding of this being real, and not some dream or figment of your imagination.
"wait —" you try to scoot backward on the mattress, but his hand grabs your hip and drags you back down. he wraps a hand around himself and strokes, and you hear the wet sound of it, feel him bump against your entrance. "chan, if we do this, we can't go back."
there's no need to elaborate. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air between you, and chan lets out a desperate sigh.
"i know. and i don't fucking care. i spent months caring and it didn't get me anywhere. i'm gonna go mad if i don't get to feel you now."
he steadies himself and pushes, one long, brutal thrust that steals the air from your lungs. he doesn't give you time to accommodate the stretch of him, the way he fills you so completely radiating through your whole body. your hands fly up to grip his strong biceps, nails digging in hard enough to hurt, and you faintly register the sound of your own voice — a string of broken, desperate sounds you can't seem to stop from spilling out.
"oh fuck," his forehead drops to your shoulder and he breathes the words against your skin. "oh fuck, you feel perfect, baby - i knew it, i knew you'd feel like this —"
his hips pull back and snap forward again and again, and the force of it pushes you up the mattress. the way he moves is raw and desperate, as if he's trying to reach something so deep inside of you he has to drive himself further with every thrust.
"eight months," he grits the words out between strokes, each one punctuated by the wet slap of his hips against yours. "eight months of watching you walk around the dorm wearing nothing but a towel after every shower. eight months of you bending over in front of me during practice. eight months of you smiling at me like that, as if i'm not losing my fucking mind —"
his hands grab your thighs and push them wider, folding you nearly in half, changing the angle so he can reach impossibly deeper. the new position lets him grind against that sweet spot, his pubic bone pressed to your clit. you're not even trying to fight the familiar build of another orgasm this time, your body surrendering entirely to his.
"tell me you're mine," he pants, pressing his mouth against yours. his lips are soft, almost gentle despite his desperation. "promise me."
your body arches into him, cunt fluttering around his cock when he snakes a hand between your bodies and finds your clit again. your hands reach around his back, pulling him in closer.
"i'm yours, chan," you gasp into his mouth, not wanting to put an inch of space between the two of you.
he lets out a broken moan, cock throbbing and spilling deep inside of you. your nails drag a path down his back, deep enough to leave marks, but he holds you closer as your cunt milks him to the last drop.
you lay there sweaty and panting, the sudden quiet of your room no longer tense. you're sure he's fucked you so hard the bed left a dent in the wall, but you no longer find it in yourself to care about what the others might've heard.
chan kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, anywhere he can reach without having to pull out just yet and you giggle, feeling him smile against your skin. he's still holding you when you drift off into slumber again, his strong chest pressed against your back, as if he's always been there.
just a reminder that this blog is run by someone who:
— is anti ICE & fascism
— is pro-choice & feminist
— supports trans & queer people
— hates generative AI & capitalism
— supports immigrants & people of color
— is pro-environmentalism & social justice
— supports palestine & all other territories unjustly suffering
atp my works are getting eerily self indulgent as i'm getting obsessed more and more by players of a certain sport but well, it's alright i guess?
anyway i haven't slept in about 48 hours, have had way too much coffee then i should've, given an interview to a university for my postgraduate diploma, my endsems are in 2 days and i got to know that yesterday and i'm having physical reactions, so pardon me if the end feels a bit rushed, a girlie has to let out her ovulation hormones somewhere!
female reader. 1.4k words. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. warnings : this is noncon so please proceed with caution, implied kidnapping, the reader is a captive, the yandere is apologetic only verbally, unprotected sex. please proceed with caution, i'm telling you again, this is mostly just self indulgent filth. thank you.
the tubelight zaps on and off, dancing in its own rhythm, it had never done this in all the time you had been there, whether it was subtly foreshadowing an event occuring that had never done before, you didn't know and at this stage in your life, when most of your days were stuck in this artificial lighting and enclosed room with next to no furniture, no event could be predisposed to be good. you knew that at least.
As always, all you were left to play with was the one piece of jewellery that was allowed to you, a silver chain that you had traced more times than you’d like to admit now. The soap and the shampoo from the shower you’d just taken was still fresh, asserting itself in your nostrils. what day it was, you didn’t know, what season it was. The list went on. You thought you’d have more aversion towards your situation than you actually do, but being here, kidnapped, could we call it? It had made you realize that if you wanted to survive it, it could only be through acceptance and patience. So you waited. Patiently. More often than not, you ended up losing your temper at the sheer arrogance of your kidnapper, who thought it was his very right to be loved by you. But you had also figured out that the days he was displeased with you would be harsh on you rather than him, so there had been lesser instances as such recently.
But he had never been angry on you.
The most he would be is give you boiled food for meals, or not see you for a while, but other than that whenever he would be there with you, he would be gentle, sweet, pampering you in his own way, even when you were throwing a tantrum.
The tubelight flickers again, this time more intensely and then turns off abruptly, a corner of the room near the door painted in darkness. Something seems to be off, pun intended.
At the very next moment there is a turn of the key, the sound of a lock unlocking, and your heartbeat rises, as it does everytime you see him, even though it has probably about a year since you were here in this room.
The only way you could measure time was by the length of your hair, they had been shoulder length when he first took you away and now it reached your elbows.
When he enters, he doesn’t enter alone, the faded fragrance lingers in the air around him, it has faded but it still manages to suffocate you, the smell that attaches itself to the pillow you sleep on and to your very body.
He doesn’t greet you or anything, but you stand up still in respect (?) or maybe just not knowing what to do to let him know that you acknowledge his presence. He walks up to you slowly, taking a pause by the bed and sitting down there instead.
“Hey, are you okay?”
You walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder, he still doesn’t look at you.
“I’m fine, we just.. Lost. our first game in a decade almost.”
“Oh,” you can barely verbalise it. But you can imagine the condition of the world right about now. Your kidnapper/celebrity crush was part of a sports team that prided itself on this game, on the legacy that it holds, one can only imagine the shambles the social media was in over them losing the game.
“It’s fine, sometimes you lose, it’s not a big deal,”
He looks up at you and you notice he looks like he has cried over this. After all, carrying a legacy is not such an easy task.
“It’s not, even you know it,”
You rub his back in an attempt to comfort him, he melts into your touch and takes his face in his hands in frustration, you realise that the least you can do is offer him a hug, so you sit down next to him and throw your arms around him.
“I need a favour tonight,” he says out of the blue.
You retract your hands from his body to yourself.
“Yes?”
“Remember how i said i won’t touch you unless you ask me to?”
“Yes?”
“I need to right now, the lack of touch is getting to me, and i just can’t.”
Sitting beside him seemed to be a bad idea, you slowly withdraw to the other side of the bed.
“You promised you wouldn’t,”
“I know, it’s just, i don’t want it to be someone else, do you understand?”
He gets up and smiles at your futile attempt to get away, closing in on you, the wall behind your back too close for your liking, there was a chance to get away had it not been so close.
“I know i promised you, my love, and it kills me to do this, but would you like it if your future husband slept with someone else while being with you?”
“No, right?” he answers for you, and you can only nod.
He pushes your hair back, rubbing his nose over your neck, taking a deep inhale.
“Oh dear, how much i’ve wanted to do this,”
When he licks a stripe near that very region, it evokes a jumpy reaction from you, which he only accelerates by sucking on the skin, in full intention to leave marks.
You try to push him away and lock away your neck from him, but it doesn’t, instead he drags you to the bed and pushes you on it.
“i’m so sorry,” he keeps on repeating as he throws away your tshirt, then your shorts, then your underwear.
he towers above you as he frantically removes his own clothing, the shirt, the pant, and meanwhile he can't stop himself, so he starts kissing you just as he removes his underwear.
“god, you don't know how much i’ve wanted to do this,”
you try to paralyse yourself so that he gets the memo and withdraws but the one he's sucking on your skin and kissing you all over your body has, by this time, evoked multiple reactions from you, verbal and physical.
as his hand hovers your bra straps and he removes them and uncovers your nipples, he feels that he might cum just from looking at them.
all those times when he would imagine them from your low cut tops (or not, it didn't matter actually to him, if you're into boobs, you just need a bit of an imagination and you’re good to go)
he keeps sucking on them until they are sore, the left, then right, constantly keeping a hand on the other one so as to not let it be neglected. you reach out, in futile attempts, to pull his hand or his face away.
“i wish this was under different circumstances, princess, i really do, but i can't hold back, i need this release,”
with that he remembers that his dick is still out in the open, stroking it once, he rubs your pussy.
“this is what you “don't” want? i can't wait to see how it is when you want it,” pointing to the obvious moisture between your legs. you try to close them but it only takes one of his hands to pry them apart.
when he finally puts his dick inside you and buries himself in your neck, you don't know who is moaning or grunting anymore—you or him, the pressure feels so much inside your cunt but it feels like it is the only thing in the world that exists right now. him, you, interconnected like this.
“fuck, you're so warm and tight, so good,”
he keeps on thrusting, the two of you drowning in sweat and saliva, the shower that you had taken was very well gone to shit.
“please, let me cum inside you, angel, please,”
“no, no, don't do it, please,” you speak up for the first time.
but it's too late, he's already thrusting like he's about to finish.
“fuck, i’m sorry, i really am,” again, he repeats, this time, you can feel hot tears sting your eyes, sonce he can't see them, you are safe.
and he passes out like that, on top of you, heaving from the activity that has taken place, and you wish, the entire night of something that might never be possible, something that will get you out of his arms.
