hear me out yandere beomgyu that's obsessed with fem reader
𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇𝑆 𝐷𝐸𝐴𝐷 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐵𝑈𝑅𝐼𝐸𝐷. ݁₊ ♱
C.BG
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ!ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ꨄ︎ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: you have such a doting boyfriend, you have no idea the lengths he will go to for you. Really…you don’t… but you will.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: NSFW, minors do not interact, mature themes, reader described as fem presenting, unwanted advancement(it's actually not gyu), light stalking, murder(gyu is lowkey a psychopath okay ofc he's gonna be doing all that), blood, smut, dom!gyu, (he's a little mean I guess but not too much, mostly just obsessed), him and reader are freaks, pet names, hair pulling, light asphyxiation, rough sex, dirty talk, finger sucking, creampie, I’m probably missing a few but lmk
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.5k
𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ⚠︎
𝙆𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙨…⋆˚࿔ okay im obsessed with this prompt anon you really cooked with this, I haven't read many yandere fics but the ones I have oooou they are something >ᴗ< so I really I hope I did this justice for you!!! Enjoyed writing yandere gyu a lil too much so expect him to return sometime in the future!
Idk how common this is in the trope but I thought: imagine if reader was lowkey just as crazy as he is ahaha and then I rolled with it, hope that's okay <𝟑 .ᐟ
Beomgyu has always known from a very young age that somethings just look a little... different to him. Like there's a missing link somewhere in his synapses that carry that vital information of empathy to where it needs to be. It seems to leak out and get lost along the way.
Everyone is just purely so uninteresting to him that caring seems like a hassle. Why keep flogging a dead horse if it can no longer entertain you?
It's been spoken so many times that psychopaths all start the same, torturing any poor unsuspecting creature because it's easy to test the waters that way. They rarely scream and never fight back, they just cower and succumb to their fate at the hands of the superior hunter. The evolutionary predator that is the Homosapien.
Beomgyu thinks it's an overplayed conclusion. A bore. It's a waste of breath to tussle with something so insignificant to receive a brief jump of dopamine just to chase the thrill all again. Worthless feelings.
No, Beomgyu has never felt anything close to what those simpletons have felt. To chase something purely to feed a craving is beyond valueless to him it's barely worth the thought. A petty idea, to bend to the will of someone else, pathetic.
Of course, that was until he met you.
He's met so many pretty girls through each party he tags along to with his friends that he looses the desire to count. Every one is exactly the same as the last and they all start to blend into one another after a while, they flutter their eyelids, laugh and stroke his arm, all waiting for him to give them the same thing; his number.
Why? So they can hookup with him for one night and forget his name by the next. Pointless. Not a singular stimulating thought from any of their dull brains so for what purpose should he entertain any of them for? In fact he's starting to tire of parties all together, the same people rotating with the same people each time and then those people want to talk to him about menial, mindless chatter over speakers pumping too loud to hear. This is a bore too and so he'll leave, slip out the back so no one can even attempt to sway him into staying.
But as he manoeuvres his way through the sea of people for the opening he can spot past the backyard gate, he collides so forcefully with something it knocks himself and whatever was in his way down to the ground. In a split second he's formulating the sickliest sweet apology he can muster, all pre scripted because it's so much harder to fein sympathy from scratch, but he glances beneath him before the words can slip out.
You're a tiny little thing, all doe eyed and innocent until you open those succulent lips of yours "you fucker. Didn't your mother teach you to take a girl out before you get her wet?"
He's fucking hypnotised by you the second you speak. Your smirking up at him like butter wouldn't melt despite the filth in your words, but sure enough you've spilt the cup that was in your hands all down your pretty pink shirt, painted opaque now that the liquid is seeping through the material. Your bra is peeking out; ruby red and lacy and it makes him salivate.
"Are you gonna help me up or keep staring at my boobs?" You reprimand, face a little straighter now while you wait for him to offer a hand out for you to stand "fuck, sorry"
This apology is not rehearsed because it's the first time in his life someone has made him falter, stumble over how to navigate a situation because he prides himself on memorising every single lick of detail about how people communicate with eachother. It's a study he's proficient in but you have him like a goddamn kid in preschool relearning it all.
And you're beautiful. So painfully fucking gorgeous the angels must have wept when you left, gathering the harps and flutes to await your arrival once more.
"You owe me for this. How would you like to pay? I take cash or card, whatever you choose" he genuinely cannot tell if it's a joke because you're smiling as though it is but there's a flame behind your eyes, one that looks a little too similar to the reflection staring back at him in the mirror.
"I'm taking you out instead" a snap decision he knows is right the second you huff a laugh, linking your arm in his as you start to trot away with him in tow.
"Well? I don't have forever, either take me out now or never"
And that's how it started with you, but never where it ends. After the second date you're already calling him 'beomie' and clinging to him like he's the life raft tethered out at sea and he's never loved anything more. You're his polar opposite in every way he can think, dainty and cute and you look like a little piece of cotton candy hanging from his arm while he's all piercings and a swooping mop of dark hair, clad in all the dark colors you steer clear of. He's your perfect accessory, a guard dog of a boyfriend.
He use to think people were all sensless and monotonous, he still does but you; the little firecracker he spilt a drink on that one fateful night is never anything close to such. No, you're far too pure for anything this rotten world could touch, a diamond in the rough. He would quite literally torch the earth to see how the glow bathes you golden, watch you dance in the flames.
But to you, he's all smiles and 'yes, baby'. He holds doors for you like a gentleman does and pulls chairs out for you to sit on. His job pays him little but it's the only thing worth his time (apart from you), stacking the library shelves with books of vast knowledge on anything he can set his mind to, and no one to bother him with menial questions. With the pay he does get it all goes towards you, you only have to take one glance at a bag or a dress in a shop window and it's yours, sat neatly on your bed the next day with a note:
'From your Beomie xxx'
And he has oh so much fun ripping each and every new dress from your body, tearing them to shreds on his bedroom floor because your body looks so much better without the material shrouding it; underneath him and in his bed. He loves it so because here is the only place you smell solely of him, his sheets imprint his scent deep into your skin and his cum dribbles down your thighs to claim you his and only his.
As if his friends and yours couldn't tell already, he accompanies you to most meet ups like a lost puppy and his friends all call him 'whipped', as though he should be ashamed. He's not. When it comes to you, he'd lay down in dirt just so you'd have a carpet to walk on. You know it and adore him for it. You've never felt so loved and seen in your entire life, what's not to love about a doting boyfriend that doesn't allow you to lift a finger? Who makes sure you're eating enough and serenades you with love songs he's written just for you? Who fucks you crazy into the mattress and then treats you like a princess?
You hit jackpot with him because if only you knew the lengths he'd go to keep you content and happy.
You come home one day all sullen and flitting whenever he brushes against you and that just won't do. He's so in tune with each and every little mood you have that even the slightest deviation and he's painfully aware, and when he approaches from behind, wrapping his arms tight around your waist to surprise attack you with kisses scattered across your neck and you flinch, it makes bile rise high in his abdomen. The singular implication that you could be afraid of him devastates his entire self.
"What's wrong with you today, baby? So jumpy" he tries to play off the unpleasantries settling in his gut for you, you should never have to witness such an ugly side to him.
"Sorry, Beomie. Just on edge right now I guess" you gently huff and lean your head into his kisses, but now he's in no mood for that. He spins you gently in his arms, palms cupping your cheeks and without words you know he wants to know all your troubles. He needs to correct them so you can live pleasantly again.
You pout exaggeratedly, bottom lip wobbling as you look into your besotted boyfriend's chocolate irises "there's this guy at work..."
He's seething, the beginnings of a snarl ripping from his throat but he lets you continue. He'll always give you that grace.
"He's so strange, Beomie. Everywhere I turn he just seems to be there, watching me already. I must've told him about you a thousand times but he still asks for my number and claims to misremember me ever saying anything about a boyfriend. He kept trying to touch me discreetly today so I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put my worries from work on you" with every new word you add his blood is boiling, a rage so intense brewing inside his bones he's never known before. How this filth could make you tremble so in his arms when he only wishes to keep you cradled away from harm.
But if he's learnt anything from studying people your eyes are pleading with his, begging him to understand your plight and be a shoulder to share your burdens. He'd take it all on if he could, erase every little negative thought this guy has ever planted in your head and wipe him from the face of the earth. In fact, he'd be doing you a disservice not to. It's his duty as your boyfriend; your protector to do just so.
So he swallows the wrath and places a soft kiss to your forehead.
"Don't ever apologise for feeling frightened or like you're a burden to me, you're my world and your problems are mine. Let me handle this, yeah?"
You nod softly into his palms, he coos and pulls you closer until you're fully embraced in his arms, rocking you in the kitchen as though all your worries can float away with the wind.
Because they can. You've given him permission and he has his sights set on correcting this moral failure against you. No one will ever lay their hands on you and he'll be there to see to that.
He follows you to work the next day, black hood up and you're so blissfully unaware of his presence. It should make him concerned how little aware of your surroundings you are, were you usually this unaware that anything could happen to you? But there's an underlying feeling that you can somehow detect his presence and it's settling you with ease. That's why you're so calm; because your beomie will always protect you.
He observes from afar, he'd never get away with sitting in the actual coffee shop with you or a college coming up to take his order, so through the glass windows will have to do, inconspicuously scrolling through his phone for appearances.
He witnesses with his own eyes just how disgusting this parasite acts towards you, every little thing that you don't; how he stares at your body when you turn your back and Beomgyu is not a reactive man but he just might have to become one, teeth clenched each and every time he hovers too close to something that doesn't belong to him.
It's made even more difficult because he can tell how restless this guy makes you, you're hyper aware of every little stimulus that brushes your skin because it could be him and the phone almost shatters by how tightly it's clasped in his hands observing this.
He needs to compose himself, because this fury he feels will not serve you in the long run. No, he needs to be calculated to deal with this for you, to reserve the turmoil inside until the moment comes.
Eventually your shift ends but Beomgyu remains, monitoring this creep until he eventually closes up, heading out as he makes his way elsewhere. Beomgyu stalks; it's not fun and it doesn't give him the thrill those psychopaths who start small with animals and move up to humans must feel when they do so. This is the exact effort he's never imagined applying himself to, following just distantly enough to not arouse suspicion is tough work when this guy seems to be aware that something is tracking him. But this is for you. To keep you safe so he'll truly do anything to ensure that.
For that to happen, this guy simply has to go. He's too much of a threat to you so each plunge of the knife feels therapeutic to Beomgyu. Perhaps he and those nutcases he reads about in the news have something in common after all, watching the light drain from his eyes, unadultered terror sinking into his bones does give him a rush of satisfaction. All for you. The guy is clawing into his hoodie, desperately trying to grip to life but Beomgyu jeers down at him, biting back the desire to spit his detest into this guys face for it to be the last thing he remembers of this world, but he can't leave his dna anywhere near this. Nothing that could pin this to him.
He's read enough of the books in his library to know the murders least investigated are homeless and drug involved incidents, the lowest of society that seem to be brushed under the rug in the eyes of the law and public. Luckily for him, this creep is the latter, he's already stocked with substances deep in the pocket of his jeans but adding more can never hurt, with the removal of the cash in his wallet and the empty shell of it thrown over his body, the scene looks nothing more than a drug dealers scuttle gone wrong. Exactly as planned.
Thankfully the dark material of his hoodie soaks up the crimson enough to conceal it under any lamplight that shines on him on the short way back to his apartment, carefully peeling the gloves away so he doesn't contaminate the door handles anywhere. When he's inside there's a plastic sheet already laid out on his floor to shed his blood soaked clothes onto and not straight into his wooden floors where he'd have to scrub to remove stains. As far as he's willing to go for you some steps are just unnecessary.
In the process the blood is marring his skin, painting his chest and abdomen red with streaks where he struggles to peel the hoodie off, heading to the bathroom to clean off properly but there's something he hasn't quite planned for. His bedroom door is titled slightly ajar and that's not how he left it, stalking carefully to take a peek inside incase he finds more than he bargained for, and a witness to his crime.
With knuckles clenched and ready to defend, it's all panic and euphoria to find you, tucked up in his sheets. You shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be witness to him in this state because you deserve sunshine and rainbow and not literal blood and guts. You're far too pure. But after all, this is his absolute favourite place to find you, where you belong. To know you seeked him out floods him with the sense of relief he's never understood until meeting you.
Because truly, you've introduced him to waves of new emotions that were seemingly locked away deep inside. You, who is vibrant and adorable and everything right with the world. The only thing right. You've made him so profoundly fucking obsessed, the kind you move mountains for. The kind you kill for.
But the creek of the door seems to rouse you awake, eyes snapping to the hallway where you see your lovely boyfriend, stood completely still, face blank and something staining his skin.
"Beomie?" You rub the sleep from your eyes and shuffle over to him, pausing on the edge of the bed where those blurry stains turn tellingly crimson and sticky. This is the exact moment he's been avoiding, he's never wanted to be seen as anything close to insane by you but if that's what he need to be to keep you, he will. So he's stood, calculating every possible response from here.
"Beomie, you're hurt..." you coo and prance up to him, clad in your tiniest bra and panties looking so insanely ravishing he wants nothing more than to take you right here and now, but he needs to know how this is going to go. Whether the depths of his devotion will revolt you.
When you reach him your fingers make quick work to glide along each red streak, feeling for some kind of wound but with each one you find nothing. He's watching the gears grind in your mind in real time as you realise that this isn't his blood.
"Whose blood is this?" Your tone falls as flat as his face, devoid of the sweetness when you call his name but still lacking the disgust he expects and he just knows; if you don't feel disgust by now he can mould you so that him and that thought never cross wires in your brain.
His hand comes to wrap around your neck, constricting just so that you can still breathe freely but you're stuck in place, held there by a minuscule of his strength. Oh, now he's sure that there must be something so deliciously wrong with you because he swears he hears you fucking purr.
"The things I do for you, baby. You should be on your fucking knees thanking me for it" he's pulling you closer by the neck, growling into your ear and the cool metal of his lip ring tingles your skin when he bites the shell of your ear. His other hand drags your body closer until you're plush against his chest, printing you with the same shade of scarlet.
He'd always thought of you as a perfect little angel, something heavenly gifted to him for some unknown reason but the blood of your harasser might just be the best accessory you can wear, you’re a little devil not gifted but hand crafted just for him.
"That asshole should've listened when you told him 'bout me. Went and got himself a little bit cut up for it, completely avoidable, right baby?" He's testing you, letting the hand rested on your waist slip lower, hovering above your panties and to his delight you're fucking soaking through the material.
"Oh you filthy girl... you like this don't you? Like knowing I'd do anything for you. You're fucking spoilt, you know that?" He squeezes just an inch tighter, constricting your windpipes only a little more and you whimper, bucking into the hand by your crotch, feening for him.
"So good to me, Beomie..." you flutter your eyelids, pleading for more.
In a snap he's picking you up in his arms, hands planted on your ass to keep you stable as he walks you to the edge of the bed, throwing you down because he knows the mattress is a soft landing. You yelp all the same and it lights a fire in his lower belly; sultry, bambi eyes as you look up at him and he knows he's done for. You're his undoing and his only vice.
His entire heart and soul.
He's kneeling before you just off the edge of the bed, ghosting lips above the lace of your panties while he's peering at you between thighs "always told you I'd do anything for you. Believe me now?" Snarling so the vibrations rumble straight to your core.
"...please don't tease" you whine, trying to shuffle closer but his arm clamps on your stomach to keep you planted exactly where you are, wriggling so tantalising against him.
"Now, now, baby, I've earned this. You gonna let me take what's mine or do I have to remind you?" You could stomp your feet, sulk but it's not going to get you what you want any faster, so you concede, throwing your head back in reluctant acceptance "good choice"
He feathers light kisses against your inner thighs, tauntingly everywhere but where you need him most so when his lips finally attach to your clothed pussy you sob unexpectedly, thrusting for every extra sensation you can get. Sucking the material allows all his saliva to soak through but leaves the barrier in place that separates your folds from his wet muscle and it's so frustratingly good.
"...so delicious" but his actions contradict, pulling himself up so that he can see how wrecked you are already, writhing below and reaching for him. There's blood everywhere now, sheening your skin and tarnishing the sheets. He never intended for it to get so...messy. Any other time he'd be repulsed having to clean this up for someone else but you look so goddamn inviting, begging for him even though you know what he's committed for you.
Its intoxicating.
"You're just as fucked up as I am" snaring greedily down at you, your panties rip as his fingers tug them away and you squeal, red lines forming against your hip from the friction "hush, baby. Don't pretend like you don't like this"
He drops his boxers and thrusts roughly inside you with one swift movement, no time to adjust before he's slamming in and out in brutal tempo
"Don't pretend like I can't feel you clenching around me at the thought of me being so devoted to you" he gruffs in your ear, downing out the harsh sounds of skin slapping echoing on his bedroom walls.
"Like you're not soaking me to the thought that I'll end the life of anyone who disrespects you" it's all true, you can hear the squelch every time his hips collide with yours, you're just so lucky to have found someone so unwaveringly loyal. Your beomie.
His hands are both gripping the sheets beside your head, holding himself steady to drill repeatedly inside you but you pull one of his hands to your lips, slipping his index and middle fingers past your tongue so you can suckle, holding such deep eye contact while you do his heart won't settle down pumping blood just for you.
An animalistic gnarl claws its way out of his throat at the sight of you, cheeks hollowed and lips puckered around his digits while you swirl your tongue them around. He could cum from this alone but he's not quite finished with you yet.
"-You're gonna be the death of me, baby"
You release his fingers with a pop, beckoning him to lean down for you in what he thinks will be one of the sweetest kisses you'll grace him with but as he's halfway down the bed to reach you, you're gripping his hair and pulling him the rest of the way by his roots. You ghost your lips against his but never actually kiss there, murmuring "you're not allowed to die, I'll kill you if you even think about leaving me like that"
You emphasise by tugging his lip piercing with your teeth, sending a shiver down his spine. Oh he's met his match with you.
"My god I fucking love you-"
He swats your hands away and holds them above your head so you know whose in control here, constricting how much you can move against the restraint no matter how much you wish to touch him, he won't let you now. He has to prove to you that no matter the obstacle, he'll always outplay it, that he'll cheat death just to remain with you.
He pounces you back on the mattress with a sloppy kiss, it's all tongue and saliva but neither of you care much when there's still blood painting the both of you. It's ferocious and all passion, a fervour to feel deeper and harder.
Bruising against your cervix with each brutal pounding, your legs are starting to tremble with each tremor thrashing you about, now your wrists are pinned under his hand you're solely at his mercy "gonna cum, beomie- FUCK!-" you're actually screaming, a serenade to his ears and convulsing around him uncontrollably, legs now quivering as your body contorts to the feeling of reaching a peak so delectable "that's it, such a good little princess for me"
You're wriggling, trying to run away from the overstimulation of reaching your end and still feeling him plunging over and over "Want me to fill you up?" Nodding nonsensically, anything to have the savagery of his thrusts mellow to allow you a breath
"beg..."
You're so beyond words but they seem to find you in a miracle of coherency "please, beomie, want you to cum inside so bad, need it..." if there's one thing he's taught you it's how to apply your words just right, pushing down all his pressure points until he can no longer resist you. He never really wants to, but sometimes you just need that gentle reminder that you're his.
"So sweet...can't say no to you" in one final thrust he's spewing everything he has into you, diving so deep his seed will have nowhere spill to, your body has no choice but to accept him as it always does. He's all gritty groans and shuddering breaths while locking himself inside you, releasing your hands finally to grasp your cheeks and pull you into his lips again.
"I promise you I'll always keep you safe. This fucker tried to steal you and look where that got him. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever come between us" He's speaking through broken kisses, glancing down between your bodies with his eyes where the blood has dried against both of your skin, the last remnants of some nobody you've already forgotten the name of.
"My sweet, beomie. God help the next one" you smirk because you know your boyfriend all too well. Now he's had the taste of vengeance he'll likely let rip on anyone who even glances wrongly at you. He knows it too.
It's not an obsession of killing, that's the grubby part, the part he has to get his hands dirty for the sake of you. His infatuation runs so far down that he will never complain though, it's his honour to defend you. Your knight in bloody armor.
You've found home in his heart and he'll never let you go now, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @nota10butadefinite8 @buttersoob
