summary: He blackmailed you into joining his group of popular kids, and... nothing bad happened? Yandere! Popular! OC x F! Reader
✧ note: I just read a few pieces with this trope, so I wanted to try writing one myself.
✧ cw: blackmail/coercion, one bloody beatdown, background family stuff (mentioned, not detailed), swearing, some concerning tendencies.
═══════════
"Look what I've got." He holds up a photo that captures your family's mess, waving it like a hundred-dollar bill in front of a desperate beggar. He's cornered you in the one place you usually find some peace from the swarm of hormone-charged teenagers.
A bastard is still a bastard whether he's popular or handsome, and this one is painfully childish. "What do you want?" You snap your lunchbox shut and snatch the photo, which he lets go of without a fight. Of course he has copies.
"Join my group for lunch in the cafeteria tomorrow." He stands there now, weight shifted onto one leg, hands shoved in his pockets.
Hellishly suspicious. Threatening you out of nowhere, acting like you're already friends, assuming you won't notice how strange that is? He's probably in the middle of some game of truth or dare, and tomorrow he'll find a way to humiliate you. (Or maybe that's just you, having read too much fiction, and he genuinely wants to be friends. Hmm. No. This is too contrived to pass as "making friends.")
"Yeah, and then you'll dump your lunch on my shirt or something, and everyone will laugh at me." You go back to packing your things, trying to think of a way out of this.
"Ugh, what kind of delinquent still does that these days? I could trash your locker instead, and everyone would say you had it coming." Look at that. He actually huffs with pride, as if he isn't some psycho straight out of a horror show. "Whatever. Just show up tomorrow. It's not like you have a choice." He shrugs and walks off.
Should you tell a teacher? The police? Chances are you'd end up in trouble too and get expelled in the end, or at best your quiet school life would curdle into being the kid labeled a troublemaker, rumors trailing you even after graduation. Sounds like reporting this to the authorities just makes everything worse….
You blow out a long breath. Life is really exhausting, isn't it? You stare up at a sky that knows nothing.
────────
"Let's meet again, sweetheart." Your school's cheerleader captain blows you an air kiss and throws in a wink as the two of you split up in the hallway. You wave back, trying to shake the faint daze of realizing nothing truly awful has happened, except that they've all gotten… friendly? Maybe just more stares, more attention. Beyond that, not much.
"See, not so bad, right?" The one who's been dragging you along, insisting on walking you to your next class, tilts his head with an air of total innocence. You don't answer, just keep walking, and let him fall into step beside you.
He lets your silence slide and keeps going. "Come again tomorrow."
You click your tongue. "Should I?" Why keep playing along at all? Who knows if they're just waiting for you to feel like you belong before they turn around and stab you in the back.
"Yeah. If you want that photo deleted." As if he isn't going to keep it forever anyway.
"You're going to keep holding that over me." The words come out in one breath, your voice kept low. You try to walk faster.
He matches your pace easily. "I'll delete it after six months. Until then, you just have to listen to me nicely."
You roll your eyes and scoff. "So I'm your slave from now on, is that it? You should've said so yesterday."
"That's a cruel way to put it. Haven't the others been treating you well? Besides, they don't know anything about the photo." You stop walking and turn to actually look at him. His expression seems innocent. He's already been watching you.
"What do you actually want?" You clench your fists, holding yourself back from punching his stupid face.
"You'll have to figure that out yourself." He muses over his own answer, and just as you're about to kick him in the groin, he stops you by raising a finger, like he's offering some kind of pinky promise. "I promise I'll delete it after those six months, if you behave." Okay. What kind of nonsense is this?
You don't answer and keep walking. Luckily your classroom is only a few steps away, and freedom from this misery.
Not to be left behind, he digs something out of his pocket and presses a folded piece of paper into your palm. "Here. Don't forget." Then he strolls off, waving and calling out loud enough that even more eyes turn your way.
────────
"Raining, huh. Want a ride?" You're about to pop open your folding umbrella on the front steps for the walk home when you find him standing beside you, spinning his car keys around one finger. His laid-back manner never changes, not even with rain coming down outside like a typhoon.
"Not driving the others home first?" Even as you consider taking him up on it, you don't close the umbrella. Just in case you decide to turn him down, or in case you say yes and still need it on the way to his car.
"Nah, let them figure it out. Maybe later, so I can get them to owe me drinks." Before you can call him out on the habit, he's already slipped himself under your umbrella. "So?"
"You're still asking when you've already decided to steal my umbrella?" His hand has wrapped over yours where it grips the handle. You just let go, and he takes it with a look far too pleased for someone merely holding it for the two of you.
Like a proper gentleman, he lets his own shoulder get a little wet, tilting the umbrella to keep you covered, then opens the car door while still holding it over your head, before folding it shut and tucking it into the door pocket. You've ridden in this car enough times to know exactly where he keeps his towel. You pop open the glove box and hand it to him.
He thanks you easily and takes it, then attacks his damp hair with the towel, ruffling it with such theatrical vigor that you scold him and the two of you end up laughing together. Then he goes quiet all at once, as if remembering something. He pops open the armrest compartment and holds out what you assume is a flash drive.
"Here… that photo. Sorry, for being a bastard about it." You take the flash drive, a little stunned to realize it's already been almost six months, and that you've been having so much fun you'd forgotten the whole reason you ended up with these friends in the first place.
Six months isn't exactly short, but it isn't long either. Still, at least now you know they've genuinely been trying to be your friends, rather than setting up some cruel trap that would scar you for life. You huff, amused despite yourself. "Well. As long as you know you were wrong. I'd say you owe me about seven lunches for it."
"Even if it's a hundred, just say the word." He starts the car.
"Show-off." You give him a look that says exactly how shameless he is about money.
"Isn't it natural for a guy to want to look cool in front of someone he likes?" There he goes again, throwing you a signal, though he keeps the tone joking. Whatever he wants, whether he means to keep playing games like this or let it turn serious somewhere down the road, it isn't as if this catch game of his is something you can actually win over.
Still, you aren't about to let him off the hook. "If anyone else heard you say that, they'd kill your vibe and call you a boi-failure. Remember the spicy noodles that—"
"Hey! That came out of my nose because I choked, and it was way too spicy!" He clears his throat loudly, scraping together what little dignity he has left, which has probably shrunk to the size of an acorn by the time you're done wrecking his hair with the towel. In moments like this, he looks boyish, nothing like his usual playboy resting face.
Maybe the only thing you still regret is how your old friends, the ones who used to be with you, have drifted away like you were some kind of germ. To this day, you still don't know what you did wrong to make them leave.
────────
To be fair, what do you really know about him? His antics, his place in the school’s social hierarchy, his hobbies, his family situation, and what he’s like when it’s just the two of you?
"Stop it. If you keep beating on them, they might actually die." He's already dropped you off and, just like he said, is driving the rest of your mutual friends—the popular kids home too, except he happens to swing by an alley and takes so long that the friend riding along gets out to check on him.
"Ah, sorry. Almost done here." That's all he says, tossing a couple of limp bodies toward the dumpster and the still-damp corner of the alley. Lucky for him, he's worn dark clothes today, or the blood splatter would show clearly. Unfortunately, that does nothing about the smell.
"What is it this time? Aren't you overdoing it a little?" Overdoing it, apparently, only applies to the bodies he's beaten, not to what's spilled from the victims' bags: books, a phone with its screen cracked. He can throw a punch, sure, but he prefers to keep things tidy.
"One of those guys got a little too close to her. I couldn't just let that slide." He brushes off his hands like there's dust on them, though they're scraped red and raw. It has to sting, but he lets it be for now. "I wonder what she'd do if she saw my hands like this."
His friend huffs, annoyed at how easily his mood shifts the moment you come up in conversation, and grumbles at him, "she probably will just scold you for being a bad dog."
He should snap back at being called a dog, but if it comes from you, he supposes it isn't so bad.
—
Bonus:
The piece of paper he gave you: his number with a note saying, “Save it and text me back ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎”
CW : oneshot only for now, mean! Dom! Fem! Wife, open relationship, technically cheating...?, heel stepping, orgasm denial, no feelings (or is there?), dirty talk, unnamed husband.
For someone who insists he hates you, your husband is a pussy. He acts high and mighty, telling you "Don't get attached with me, I loathe you." On your first night together while sleeping on the leftmost part of the bed, even using a silk sleeping mask like a princess.
God, you despise him. The feeling is very mutual. Who does he think he is? You two are a product of arranged marriage. Apparently he's getting too old for his parents' liking, and yours sold you to this family because apparently they're rich, and could make you happy, they say.
But how did you two end up in this situation then? Him sloppily sucking on your strap while his hands are bound on his back. His eyes are brimming with tears while he looks at you with enlarged, dilated pupils. You pulled his hair back, and smirked down at him.
"This is what you get for having sex in my bed, you idiot." You spat. Technically this is an open relationship. But even open relationships have rules. You don't have sex and get a bed wet with cum and sweat. Can you imagine going back from a week of supervising work abroad, only to see your bitch of a husband pounding another woman on the bed you two shared? You've told him countless times to do it on the many guest rooms you two had.
You two have had sex a few times, actually. All of it is either angry sex or drunk sex. You challenge him in a drinking contest every time the two of you want to rip each other's hair off. After a while, you focused back on the disgusting man in front of you. You've chased away another whore he brought home, and now it's your time punishing him in front of your vanity.
"What? You want to cum?" You toyed on his tip on the carpet below with the tip of your red heel. He moans and so does from the friction, but you only pull on his hair harder. "Dirty mutts don't get to cum, you know?" You cooed sarcastically, before thrusting the strap deeper. You can practically see his throat bulging, and his hands wiggling to be set free, but you're not letting him off the hook so easily today.
After promising him countless ejaculations (and rejecting it mid-way), you finally stepped hard on his weeping tip. He cums a river on the carpet, and you scoffed from the disgust. Sperm is pooling on your shoe, and you make note to tell your assistant to throw the pair out tomorrow.
You finally let go of his hair and it throbbed. Then pulled out the strap and let him fall backward while coughing and moaning in pain. His dick is still hard and pouring little bits of cum and that disgusted you even more. This masochistic man goes off fucking bitches when he's actually a bitch in heat too. You can only shake your head and grab your make up for tomorrow. There's no way you're sleeping in this messy, sex-reeked room.
When your hand is already on the knob, you swore you can hear something from your husband. "[Name], please don't leave." But you figured it's something on your head, because there's no way he's begging for you to stay. He'll be indifferent tomorrow, like always. You two will pretend this never happened and repeat the same cycle in another week at minimum.
Unfortunately, you don't see your husband reaching his head out to look at you. His throat burns, and his knees are bruised for kneeling for so long. But he couldn't help but think that he deserved it. If only you know how much creepy men (at least in his standards) that he already shooed off for you.
"it's worth it."
A/n : thought of Wesker while writing this. But anyone can imagine any character they want!
"Sorry to disturb a sweet thing like you at this time of night, but I'm a long way from home. Can I come in to use the bathroom? Promise I'll be out your hair the minute I'm done."
The man standing in front of you was charming as sin. Handsome, fit. His head was tilted to the side as he smiled at you, his eyes gleaming with a youthful mischief that almost hid the darkness inside of them. Almost.
Most people would let him inside without thinking twice. Southern hospitality, like your folks used to say. Doesn't ever end, even if it was the middle of the night. But you didn't.
"Sorry," you started cooking up an excuse in your head. "But my bathroom's not workin'. The plumber can't come 'til later tomorrow."
To his credit, he wasn't deterred. "Oh, that's alright, darlin'. I'm sure we could figure something out, can't we?"
"Yeah," you hesitantly agreed, keeping your hand on the door. "I'm sure someone else is still up as well. It's a big neighborhood."
He sighed, shaking his head. "I already tried the neighbors. But they sleep like the dead. And you're the only one with your lights on."
For some reason, that innocent statement about your neighbors sent a chill to run down your spine.
"I'm sorry," you said, never good with confrontation. "But I think you should go. I'm sure there's a store or gas station that's still open," you added apologetically as you went to close the door.
Your heart dropped when he stuck his foot out, hard leather boot stopping the door from closing with a soft thud.
"Let me in, sweetheart," he drawled out the pet name. His eyes connected with yours and smiled when your face paled.
He stepped forward, off the welcome mat and inside into the doorway, leaning in close to you as you instinctively backed away. Fangs peaked out as he spoke, sharp and deadly.
Yandere knight who wants you instead of the princess.
Sequel here
Dead dove Do not Eat
Tw. For noncon, MDNI, Fem pov
Yandere knight who has been training in the palace for a very long time. It's an honor for a commoner like him to even set foot into the castle walls, so he works earnestly.
Yandere knight who's been catching glimpses of not only the lovely princess throughout the years, but her handmaidens as well. You're a daughter of a somewhat lesser noble house, and therefore you have essentially been given to the royal family until you're eventually married off to another courtier.
But of all the noble ladies, who often ignore him, he finds you to be the most approachable and kind to him and the other squires. He's developed a bit of a crush on you over the years, and he eventually found it in himself to express his feelings. They were innocent and pure then, and he stood there blushing and awkward waiting for you to accept or deny. He would've taken a no from you. Really, he would have.
But then that pompous bitch got in the way.
The princess had you pulled away by her other attendants before you could answer, and she all but sneered at him.
"My maids are not for common rife like you to sully," she spat, a look of disdain carved on her delicate features.
Yandere knight who was deployed to the battlefront soon after. He spent years in misery knowing it was that royal woman's meddling that had both sent him here and stopped him from knowing how you truly felt.
Yandere knight who carved through foe upon foe with the flash of his sword while thinking of you. He would wipe blood from his face and wonder what it would take to have you. He resolves to become so renowned that he could have you and the respect he deserved all those years ago anyways.
Yandere knight who comes back as the hero of the nation. A parade is thrown for him upon his return, and flowers are thrown at his feet by the masses of people. He is awarded a noble title, a duke (impressive), a territory of land to manage, and the blessing to have the hand of any eligible lady in the land from the king.
The implication was for him to go for the princess, sitting there in a gown befitting of an engagement party. She wasn't the heir to the throne, and having a young, impressionable Duke to have and father a potential crown prince or princess was certainly a draw for her to act so sweet and lovely despite her previous attitudes. He had to use all the will in his body to hide his disdainful glare towards her. Instead, he strode up with a near giddy grin, breezed past the waiting royal, and knelt before you.
"[Name], I shall have you as my wife," He says with a beaming smile. You try to protest, but he's already sweeping you into his arms. The king seems surprised by his choice, but as he stares between Yandere Knight, lovestruck and beaming, and you, squirming and utterly shocked, he realizes that he cannot simply go back on his word. The king waves his hand, and your fate is sealed.
Yandere knight feels bad for not giving you a proper wedding. In fact, he feels bad about not taking you to your new home before he's pulling up your skirts. He's a dog, he knows, but you're just so tempting now that you're all his. He shoving you down onto the plush upholstery of the carriage seats, and you let out a startled cry.
Yandere knight who cannot claim he's chivalrous. He wishes he could, but he loves the way your breasts look pushed up so tightly in the laced bodice of yours. He lets out a groan, petting your hair and shushing you as you whimper under his wandering touch. Button after button becomes undone.
"Love, you'll never wear such stifling clothing again. You hear me? All robes and lace from now on. None of this nonsense," He murmurs into your skin. He pulled your corset and chemise from your body, and he pressed fervent kisses to the crook of your neck. He grasps at your breasts, kneading them experimentally. He's had time to experience women on the battlefield. A fling or two in some field on the outskirts of a freshly liberated village. He would think of you the whole time and imagine what he was latching his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple while a random girl cried out underneath him. But this was real. Your warmth beneath his much heavier form was on of the most beautiful feeling he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.
He parted your legs, and he could feel you shy away from him. He laughed. As if you had a choice. He knew you would love him eventually, but for now you can't blame him for how ravenous he was as he felt between your shaking, parted legs. He smirked as his lips met yours. His fingers slid against your folds, gathering slick arousal on his digits with a curious hum. He grinds his thumb against your clit as he slowly pushes his way into your warm, spongy walls.
"Oh? Is it good there? Or here? Where, love? You gotta use your words," He teases and licks the tears rolling down your cheeks, peppering your soft skin with kisses. He feels you pulse and stretch around his hand, and he relishes the way your back arches when he curls his fingers just right against that sweet little spot. Desperate noises tumble out of you, and he smiles.
He pulls his fingers out, and you cry out at the sudden sensation. Your chest is heaving with small moans, and your pretty pussy is drooling onto the carriage cushions. He pushes your legs up to your chest for a better grip, and his shudders at the way your twitching feels against the head of his cock.
Yandere knight knows that, as he thrusts into you, he's going to enjoy the luxury of finally having you both under his body and under his control.
Imagining a desperate yandere who just can’t keep his hands off you….
Tags: yandere x reader, fingering, soft, gentle, dumbification, noncon, gn neutral reader, afab reader
He's plunging his thick fingers deep into your cunt, achingly slow. Other hand holding your face against his heart while you lay your back on his naked chest. His breath shaky as he watches his digits disappear past your folds, your juices forming a puddle beneath you.
The soft touches leaving you weak and shaky, unable to exert any more energy than a feeble push at his arm, nothing compared to the layers of muscle lining his body. Feeling the slow pumping, in, out, in, out - infinite and soooo fucking slow. Whining as drool slips down the corner of your mouth.
He cradles your face with his unoccupied hand, eyes drowning in your own. He leans in and messily licks up your spit, tongue flat against your face as his heavy breath hits your feverish flesh. You can’t even shake your head ‘no’ as he slobbers all over your cheek, his palm keeping you firm in place. Keeping you there for hours. Lazily fingering you until your brain melts out your pussy.
First like actual post on this account holy shit 😓
— 𑣲⋆｡˚ suggestive ❨ just friends ? ❩ ft. yandere! tamsy caines
why should tamsy care? after all you two are just friends.
but friends don’t fuck and then ghost each other. and it was never him who ghosted you, it was you. i mean he’s tamsy caines. he shouldn’t be annoyed by it, one because he’s a narcissist, two because he’s a manipulative and three who randomly targeted a young boy and destroy everything he has to get him at his best potential.
but why?
because he saw something in you that he wanted to mold. something raw, untouched and perfect. and tamsy caines always gets what he wants — then reshapes it into his image. you were never just a friend. you were his next masterpiece. and masterpieces require sacrifice. starting with your precious little heart.
i mean ghosting him was your act of rebellion, the only card you had left to play. you thought sleeping with him and then vanishing would prove you weren't just another toy in his collection, that you wouldn't fall into his rhythm. but for a narcissist like tamsy, rejection isn't an ending—it’s a personal insult. it’s a crack in the mirror.
but why?
because he's obsessed with control. and you took that away from him. he can't have you, and that drives him insane. he wants to punish you for daring to walk away, but more than that, he wants you back. not as a friend, not as a hook up—as his.
because for tamsy caines, he is the one who creates the pain, never the one who feels it.
and you broke the golden rule: the hunter doesn't get haunted. by walking away after being that intimate with him, you stripped him of his control. those hallway stares aren't just longing—they are a wounded predator trying to understand how the prey slipped the trap.
he couldn’t manipulate you, he couldn't hurt you. you were the key to his heart—something he never wanted to admit, something he never wanted to feel. every time he sees you, every time he remembers that night, it's a reminder of his weakness.
you are his weakness.
but there’s good memories, the ones where you brushed his long beautiful hair while metal rock was playing on his radio— and those times where you put his hair into a bun— or that one time you kissed his cheek
those memories itch at him. those were the moments when the carefully constructed walls of the manipulation started to crumble. the long hair—he'd never let anyone touch it, let alone brush it and put it up. only you. he'd be sitting there, music blasting, all metal and chaos, but somehow when your hands were in his hair, it felt peaceful.
that cheek kiss was the final nail in the coffin. it wasn't sexual, it wasn't demanding—it was pure affection. and tamsy, a man who thrives on manipulation and destruction, had absolutely no defense against it. you weren't fucking him; you were loving him. you domesticated the monster. that’s why he can't move on.
he thinks in the future, just maybe one day— to all those people you loved end up dead on the chairs, on the day you two get married. old 90s music playing while smudging the blood on his pretty white suit. waiting any moment for you walk down the aisle
he plays that scenario in his head like a twisted romantic comedy. you walking down the aisle in white, surrounded by chaos, and him standing there in his immaculate white suit — the only one clean, the only one waiting. he'd have slaughtered everyone who ever hurt you, every person who made you smile but never really knew you. a bloody altar, for you. and only you.
or maybe he decides that kissing on top of the piles of the dead body underneath you two is more his style. in his eyes, that’d be his ultimate goal. he wouldn’t mind the smell of the iron blood, the smell of human flesh and your scent mixing in with the rotten humans.
after all, what better way to seal a love than with blood and destruction? your kiss would taste like copper, your hands stained red as you hold each other.
that's not just love; that's possession. i mean after all, what a dark love story written in crimson.
