Berry

✦୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ Welcome to the Berry Patch! ✦ ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ

I’m Huckleberry or just Berry! (she/her). I’m glad you stumbled in, but be careful where you wander… the bushes here have thorns, and some of the men hiding among them aren’t so nice.

This blog is my little patch of sweetness and brambles, where you’ll find both fluffy comforts and darker fruits. Please be mindful of what you pick: I often write yandere content that can include non-con/dubcon, kidnapping, toxic relationships, stalking, and other thorny behaviors that may be triggering or uncomfortable.

🌿 Minors, this patch isn’t for you do not interact, or you’ll be plucked out and blocked! 🌱

Asks are open!

Masterlist - Yandere Inserts

Masterlist - DC comics

last masterlist update... 10/26

Current Works - JJK - Masterlist tbd

Yandere! Gojo x Puppy Hybrid! Reader (smut)

Pathetic Yandere! Gojo (smut)

Yandere! Geto who eats ass (smut)

Traumatized as in waking up screaming from nightmares and inexplicable loads of survivor's guilt?

And then, having to live with that same cruel man who also killed all of reader's comrades?

How do you think that evil little twink would deal with/ react to that?

cw: yandere, toxic, violence, blood, masochism, sexual arousal from violence, grief/loss, emotional manipulation, mdni

Mm, I believe that evil twink would very much enjoy egging you on until you finally start trying to beat him to death. He'd smile through it, letting you hit him again and again, your knuckles catching the sharp bone of his jaw, the apple of his cheek, maybe even breaking his nose hard enough for blood to smear over the sneer stuck on his face.

The new Chainsaw Man movie has me thinking about Jason Todd with an angel! reader <3

Imagine him dragging you home just to piss Bruce (and Damian) off, strictly out of spite for that "no metahumans in Gotham" rule Bruce pretends is still enforceable (as if he doesn't have Clark over on Saturday nights). However, Jason just stands there in the manor foyer, arms crossed and standing beside you looking Bruce directly in the eyes like:

"Oh? You’re going to kick out a literal angel? Mm? Go ahead. See how that looks in the press."

You can almost see Bruce’s blood pressure rising. Jason is so smug about it too. Even has the excuse to slam down Damian the moment he tries to run experiments on you.

But the thing about this situation is that if it were yandere! Jason Todd… he’s terrified of losing you. So yes, he’ll show you off. Yes, he’ll be proud of you. Yes, he’ll fight and burn the world for you.

But he’ll also do whatever he has to do to make sure you stay.

Even if that means taking a knife to the soft feathers of your wings, clipping them, careful, murmuring apologies against your shoulder the entire time. You still get to keep them, you just can't fly away now. Like a tamed house pet. He’s protecting you. Keeping you safe. Keeping you his.

I have a thought where, if you were kidnapped by any member of the Batfam, you’d be brought to the manor for weekend dinners or early morning brunches after a long mission. Afterwards, while your yandere is training or taking the moment to go on patrol - finally without the anxiety that you won’t be there when they get back - you somehow end up confessing the situation to Bruce.

Doing what you used to do to your own daddy back when you were a little girl: acting all sweet and coy, playing with your hands, asking for a bit of help out of your predicament. And the way he looks back at you almost makes you think, for a second, that he’ll help you. That he’ll grant you one of his apartments, maybe even one in Metropolis - just a road away but far enough to escape your captor’s crash-out.

Yet as you walk close into his open arms, teary-eyed, a pretty pout on your bottom lip, oh is he quick to grab you by the wrist and drape you over his lap.

Guess your daddy didn’t spank you enough as a kid? Don’t worry - count to twenty, maybe even thirty if you’re still protesting. He’ll get those thoughts of leaving out of that pretty head of yours, and maybe even indulge himself in running his fingers over your damp panties and pushing them to the side as you kick and scream.

He’s just doing what none of his children would do: taming a brat that isn’t thankful for what they have received.

Sorry i am too dumb. Did perhaps set a record when he about to kill us?

You're not dumb, anon! I just never explained it because I’m wasn't sure what route I wanted to go… anyways, his audience is a collection of young men like himself who believe in his acts of “cleansing” the city from filth (terrible people).

You, my dear reader, are first considered filth in his eyes because you make him feel things - things he normally wouldn’t feel or do. He was going to kill you and proclaim your death as proof that there’s always going to be a weakness in this line of work. But he couldn’t get over how cute you were, how you huddled close to him despite the elephant in the room (the body).

So, he kept you alive :3 Because maybe it isn’t so bad to have you after all - his angel in this filthy world.

Headcanons for how Jason Todd takes that cute little virginity of yours.

Jason Todd, who sits you right on his lap before even thinking of sticking his fat cock into that tight little hole of yours.

Jason Todd, who spreads your legs nice and wide - using his own to keep them open while you're nestled on his lap - while one of his large hands rests just above yours, right on your clit, showing you how to touch yourself, while the other slowly works a finger inside, opening you up nice and gentle.

Jason Todd, who isn’t the most impressive in length but more than makes up for it in girth. Girth that has him worried it might rip you right open if he isn’t careful. He slathers lube right onto your cunt, working it in with his fingers, fucking that tight ring of muscle while helping you rub your clit, holding you tight through your first orgasm.

Jason Todd, who lays you down gently, hovering right above you, encouraging you to keep touching yourself while the tip of his cock leaks a bead of precum right onto your hole - giving a few teasing taps. He’s not much of a talker, but you’ve got him mumbling under his breath when he starts to slowly push himself inside.

Jason Todd, who angles your body just so, making you watch as his cock sinks into your fluttering little cunt, your walls trying their best to adjust to the stretch. And when you make that cute little whimper sound, he’s quick to kiss you, taking over rubbing your clit just to help you relax.

Jason Todd, who has to bury his face in your neck, because if he sees those teary eyes of yours, he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast. He lets out the prettiest whimper, followed by a groan when he finally bottoms out, holding himself still with slow, shallow thrusts as his teeth sink into your shoulder.

Jason Todd, who only really starts moving after you give him the okay. His hand laces with yours while the other slides beneath your knees, pushing you into a mating press that has your eyes rolling back and a string of pet names leaving your lips. Call him Daddy. Baby. Whatever you want - it doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is how soft and tight you are. How your walls squish and flutter when you start to relax. How much harder he can finally fuck you without feeling bad for breaking you.

Jason Todd, who pulls out and paints your stomach white with his cum, only to immediately kiss those pretty tears from your cheeks and capture your lips with his own.

Jason Todd, who’s all nonstop praise in the shower, you’ve never seen him so needy. Hands gently washing away the sex, kissing over any love bites or bruises, murmuring how proud he is of you.

Yandere! Murderer - who shows up at your apartment straight from a job. The one where he kills people in case your pretty little head forgot.

He’s smiling the way he always does when his eyes find you - though the face mask hides most of it, you can tell by the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He fills the doorway, broad shoulders, blocking any hope of escape before kicking it shut with the heel of his boot.

Those eyes have haunted you ever since the night he took you. The night he said he was bringing you “to work,” only for you to end up in that basement - his so-called studio. A single flickering bulb overhead. A camera pointed straight at you. An audience you couldn’t see but could somehow feel.

He called it a date. Said you’d make a cute co-star.

He wasn’t planning on keeping you alive, but hey - love finds a way.

So when you open the door and see him again - after a week of police visits and reports claiming no man fits your description - there he is. Standing before you, soaked in blood and breathing hard. For a moment, your mind refuses to process it. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening again.

But it is. He’s here. In your apartment.

“Hey, baby,” he says, voice warm despite the rasp in his throat. “Missed me?” He drops his bag at the door. The sound makes you jump. A sound too loud to be anything normal. Your mind already imagining a body or something worse.

Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’re moving. You can’t stop shaking. He looks you over you affectionately. There's something domestic about this to him.

“What’s with the tears?” His tone softens as he steps closer, boots leaving faint red prints across the hardwood. A pain to clean later. “You’re crying again.” When you don’t answer, his brows knit together in confusion. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. The blood on his gloves smears your jaw as he cups your face, thumbs dragging slowly across your skin. The scent is unbearable, metallic and sour and alive. You can feel it tacky on your cheeks.

He tilts his head, observing yet childlike. “You’re so cute when you get all emotional like this. What, you think I came here to hurt you? I’d never, baby. You know that.”

You choke out a sob in response, cowering closer into the wall.

“Aw, baby. You forgot movie night, didn’t you? That’s why I came here - I figured I’d save you the trip. Even brought snacks too!”

He points at the bag by the door. Your mind continues to think of the worse. Unable to imagine that he stopped by the store for your favorites.

The last “movie night” flashes in your mind - his hand on your thigh while a body dangled from the ceiling, the flicker of the live feed on that monitor tucked in the back corner.

“Cute place! A little messy, but hey you probably forgot I was coming” he says, chuckling when your knees give out and you sink against the wall. “You always get worked up about that sort of thing. I should’ve texted first.” He leans down, eyes meeting yours as he begins to talk slowly.

“I didn’t wanna be late, baby. I even brought popcorn this time. Real date-night stuff.” His voice dips, tender, coaxing, trying his best to be sweet. “C’mon now. Don’t cry. You’ll make me feel bad, and you know how I get when I feel bad.”

His thumb smears another streak of red over your mouth. Watching as your sobs die out. Perhaps going into shock. “There she is,” he murmurs in a laugh. “God, you’re so pretty when you have tears in your eyes. Now let’s pick a movie, yeah? But before that - ”

He crosses the room and crouches by his duffel, unzipping the worn bag with the slow rasp of a zipper that sounds far too loud in the quiet room. You don’t move from your place against the wall. Every muscle feels locked, like your body’s afraid it might start screaming again if you breathe too deep.

“See? Told you I’d bring everything this time.” His tone is light, almost teasing. The camera glints as he pulls it out - compact, familiar with a Sanrio sticker off to the side, the same one that watched you in that basement. He tests the lens, wipes a smear of blood from the screen with the edge of his sleeve. “Don’t want the audience missing that pretty face of yours.”

You shake your head once, a tiny movement that barely makes it past your shoulders. It doesn’t matter. He’s already talking over the silence.

“Let’s make it like before.” He sets the tripod up near the coffee table, angling it toward the couch. “You sit right there. I’ll grab the popcorn, we’ll pick something soft, yeah? Maybe a rom-com this time.”

Your throat aches when you try to answer. No sound comes out.

He looks back at you, and for a heartbeat his smile softens. “Hey. Don’t give me that look. I'm just documenting our love. It's inspiring to them!” A small chuckle when he watches you cower. “You know I hate it when you look scared. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want our night together. That’s all.”

He adjusts the focus, satisfied with the frame, then reaches a hand toward you - blood dried dark along his knuckles, palm open a chance for you to go willingly.