Twisted Oneshots | Yandere!Men x Fem!Reader

You think the first time you met him was on the subway.

But that’s not the truth.

The truth is—he’d seen you long before.

Your days were small, repetitive things. Classes, part-time shifts, late trains home. Always in a rush, always with tired shoes scuffing pavement, always clutching your worn-out bag like it held your whole life. You never noticed the way his gaze lingered from a distance. You never noticed the men he stationed at corners, shadows watching your steps, testing the perfect angle to take you away without a trace.

That day, when you hurried down the stairs, head bowed against the rain, he had already been waiting. His men were already in place, ready to close in. A van on standby. A route mapped out.

It would’ve been so easy.

But then you bumped into him. Just a brush of your shoulder, your small voice spilling a rushed, “Sorry!” before you darted off, never even lifting your gaze to see him clearly.

That single moment—so fleeting, so unremarkable—changed everything.

He’d expected fear. He’d expected tears, struggling, muffled screams against rough hands. But instead, you gave him something else entirely. A soft collision, an apology, and your scent carried faintly in the rush of air. Innocent. Untouched. You hadn’t even realized the danger you’d been in.

And for the first time, Nanami thought—

Why waste this?

Why shatter you immediately when he could tame you instead? When he could make you come to him willingly, step by step, until you didn’t even realize the leash coiled around your neck?

So he called off the men with a flick of his hand. Plan A dissolved. Plan B discarded. He chose Plan C.

He waited a few days, studying your routine again, slipping back into the shadows until the moment was right. And then, at last, he stepped forward with that neatly folded handkerchief and a calm smile.

“You forgot this.”

It worked. So easily, it worked.

And you—you never questioned it. You accepted his voice, his composure, his steady presence at your side. Piece by piece, you let him into your world until the idea of saying no seemed absurd. Until you began to crave the way he spoiled you, the way his hand lingered over yours, the way he made everything heavy feel lighter.

So tell me, little one—what would have happened to you if he hadn’t gotten to you first? If it had been another man on those subway stairs?

You shudder to think.

But you don’t have to.

Because now, you’re finally close to him. Under him. With a leash wound tightly in his hand, the links digging into his palm as he holds it steady. Exactly where you belong.

Exactly where he wanted you all along.

"I love seeing my pretty little thing wearing my collar, so sexy and all mine..." His voice was a low, husky growl that sent tingles down your spine. "Now, let me show you how much I love you…"

Suddenly, he flipped you onto your stomach, pushing your upper body down against the mattress. His large hands gripped your hips, pulling them up and back as he positioned himself behind you. The head of his impressive erection brushed against your slick folds, teasing you with what was to come.

Bracing his knees on the bed, he gripped your hips tighter and thrust into you with a single, powerful stroke, burying his thick, hard length deep inside your tight, wet heat. A low moan tore from your throat at the sudden, intense sensation of being so suddenly filled and stretched by his impressive size. Your inner walls clenched around him, instinctively trying to adjust to the overwhelming intrusion. A choked cry escaped your lips as he began to move, his hips rolling into you with powerful, intense strokes that set your body ablaze with sensation.

It was too much, too overwhelming as he took you hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. You gripped the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white as you tried to anchor yourself against the force of his thrusts. "Hnngh... a-Ahh... K-kento... s-slow down..." you panted out between breathy moans, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heart.

Nanami's response was a low, feral growl as he leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back, his hot breath scorching the side of your neck. "Mmh... can't... slow down... need you too much, baby..." he rasped, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm.

Held captive beneath him, you could only surrender to the intense pleasure, each powerful thrust sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your nerves. The feeling of complete surrender to his dominant passion was as terrifying as it was thrilling, the intensity of it all leaving you breathless.

Suddenly, without warning, Nanami withdrew his throbbing member from your dripping heat, leaving you feeling achingly empty. Before you could protest, he flipped you onto your back, pushing your thighs apart. He settled his broad shoulders between your legs, his intense gaze locking with yours as he stared up at you hungrily.

He leaned in close, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive, glistening folds. Then without hesitation, he dragged the flat of his tongue through your slick slit, from your entrance up to your clit, savoring your exquisite taste with a low, approving groan.

It was too intense, too sudden, and a sharp cry tore from your throat at the electrifying sensation. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your aching breasts towards the ceiling as your fingers tangled in Nanami's goldish hair. "Ahhh~?! Ohh... don't-!" you gasped out, your voice ragged and high-pitched.

Nanami just growled in response, the vibrations rumbling through you as he sealed his lips around your swollen clit and suckled hard. His tongue swirled and flicked mercilessly over the sensitive bundle of nerves, stoking the flames of your desire higher and higher.

Lost in a haze of overwhelming pleasure, you could only moan and writhe beneath him, your hips undulating instinctively against his wickedly clever mouth. He pushed your thighs further apart, opening you wider, his tongue delving deeper to plunder your dripping channel.

Just as you teetered on the edge of climax, your inner muscles fluttering and clenching around his invading tongue, he abruptly pulled back. Before you could voice your desperate protest, he gripped your hips and thrust his rigid cock deep into your sopping wet cunt with one powerful surge.

Your scream of rapture was swallowed by his demanding mouth as he claimed your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours—just like he made you dance, beneath the velvet night’s expanse.

—

He planned the night to be flawless. Every detail had been curated with the same meticulous calm he used for everything: the table set just a whisper away from the floor-to-ceiling window, city lights spilling like stars below; a playlist cued to your favorite songs so the first notes would lace around you the second you sat; the wine chilled to the sweet spot you always liked but never treated yourself to. He smiled once at the view, then at you, and the smile was quiet enough to hide the things he kept folded away.

“You like it?” he asked, voice low, like he was asking permission to keep the world this way for a little longer.

You could only nod, because he had wrapped it all in softness—so much softness you almost forgot there were sharp edges anywhere. You forgot the corner of your life where bills hissed and your aunt’s voice scraped. You forgot scraped knees and late-night shifts. You forgot everything he wanted you to forget.

After dinner, with the sea air cool and the moon a thin coin above you, he led you down to the water’s edge. The resort’s private stretch was empty except for the hush of waves. You walked barefoot in the wet sand, the hem of your dress lifting in little wet pearls, and when he said, “Go, play,” you laughed and waded in without thinking twice.

“Give me your phone,” he had said before you left the shore—calm, practical. “I’ll keep it safe. Enjoy.”

It sounded like a small, considerate thing. You handed it over the way you handed him everything else now: with a soft trust you couldn’t explain. You splashed and kicked, water catching the lights, letting the cool wash the day away. The music from the terrace filtered out, your favorite song folding you into something warm and slow.

On the shore, in the dark, he watched the screen blink with incoming calls. Your aunt’s name—repeated, frantic, probably. He listened to the small orchestra of worry and entitlement your family conducted, the prying strings that tugged at your life. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, a single, well-placed expression that never reached his eyes.

“They found out, huh,” he murmured to himself, almost disappointed, almost amused. “Too bad.”

His thumb moved across the screen with deliberate ease—block, delete, cast away. He thumbed through messages like someone clearing crumbs from a table. When he was done, he held the phone up a moment, watched the reflection of the moon tremble over its glass, then tossed it into the sea. It arced in a neat, controlled trajectory and vanished with a sound that was sharp and small.

You didn’t see any of this. You were laughing as a wave splashed your knees; you were turning, hair plastered to your face, breath light and salty. Then, without warning, strong hands slid around your waist from behind, pulling you back close, anchoring you to the solid of him.

“Y/N…” he said, breath warm against your ear. He pressed you to him, the contact immediate and possessive, and the world narrowed to the rhythm of his body and the pulse at the base of your throat.

His mouth found the skin along your jaw in a scatter of kisses—soft, rapid, claiming. “I’ll buy you a lot of things, alright?” he murmured between kisses. “This trip—next one—more. Everything you want.” His voice was a lullaby and a promise and a command all folded into one. “Next trip will be more interesting. Mm?”

You could only whimper, the sound muffled against his shirt, overwhelmed by heat and the sudden, dizzying closeness. You weren’t thinking about legality or morality or the way your family would react; you were only aware of heat and salt and the fact that his hands felt like the only tether you had left.

He held you like that for a long breath—steady, immovable—then let his forehead rest against yours. The ocean hummed a private song beneath you, and the lights from the terrace blinked like witnesses who’d been paid to look away.

You might ask—if you were brave enough to think about it later—why he did all this. Why the gifts, the interference, the careful erasure of your ties and the slow tightening of his hold.

The answer, in the quiet after the waves and the kisses, was simple and brutal and true. He wanted the forbidden fruit.

You.