#yandere reader

they spot you lingering. locked eyes with your cold glare. reached shaky fingers out in a gesture that you could only decipher as a cry for help.

and only then did you see the deep, dark liquid dripping down their throat. exactly where satoru buried his face into.

the street lamps glinted at just the right angle. showed just enough.

your eyes widened when you realised exactly what it was.

when you saw his fangs. heard him gulping.

without a doubt, that was blood.

satoru's jaw was latched onto their throat. his nails digging into their wrists. his adam's apple bobbing as he. . .

drank.

your mind scrambled. nerves tense. muscles frozen.

you should have ran.

you should have ran, should have screamed, should have jumped out of your very skin because what you were staring at was something that wasn't human.

instead?

you. . . pressed your thighs together.

and vanished from the scene as quick as you could. not from fear, but because of the throbbing dampness in your panties.

you weren't stupid. you knew exactly what that was. what he was.

and it. . . aroused you.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't bat an eye when your attitude problem seemed to grow by the day. he knew you by now. knew what you wanted. you pissed him off to get a reaction out of him. so that he could push you down into a desk in some abandoned classroom and fuck you until your knees jittered and your pretty panties were stained in his cum.

what he didn't realise was that you had another incentive now.

a new obsession.

after that night outside the dorm buildings, you dived head first into research. the biology of it all— vampirism.

folklore, documentaries, myths, whatever you could get your hands on. call it a hypothesis.

and what's the first thing about any hypothesis? field research. so of course you dedicated more hours to your watchful activities over your nerdy classmate.

you saw it again. saw him drain someone dry. saw him clean his fangs in the morning. saw him drink from birds in the night. your theory was correct.

and it fucking turned you on.

made you wanna be in their shoes. the bird in his clawed grasp. the bloodbag clutched in his palms. the victim under his fangs as he drained you dry of everything you had to offer.

for someone who just found out that their hatefuck buddy wasn't human, you sure had your priorities straight.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't quite sure what was going on. lately, he hasn't had to go rob a hospital, catch a bird, or pick out a new classmate to sink his fangs into.

they were delivered right to his door.

dead birds outside his dorm complex. in the gardens. convenient. with finals approaching, he never really questioned it. too buzzed on caffeine and too tired from hours hunched over a textbook to really care.

what did have him questioning, though?

the bodies.

dumped outside where the birds were. on the verge of death. puncture wounds in their throat and bleeding out.

he never could control himself.

feed first, ask questions later.

he'd drag them into his dorm. lay them out on his bed and feast to his heart's content. until his legs were shaking and he was gasping.

only then would he look at the puncture wounds. another vampire in town?

maybe trying to make an ally? he'd have to find them and personally thank them for giving him a little boost for dreadful finals.

little did he know that the "puncture wounds" were inflicted by your favourite pencil.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't question the rise in your sexual encounters. how your attitude seemed solely directed on him. how you bitched more, sneered harder, seemingly did everything in your power to drive him up the wall until he snapped and dragged you off to either finger you in an empty hallway or fuck you in the bathroom stall.

didn't question the way you'd grip his hair and bury his face into your neck. how you'd slip into his lap and smother him in yourself. how you wanted to be as close to him as possible.

he thought you needy.

what you really were was desperate.

desperate for him to lose that pesky restraint you noticed he had around you. desperate to snap his control so that he buried his fangs into whatever part of you he desired and drained you dry.

you wanted it. your blood on his fangs. your hands in his hair while he did it. your cunt clenching around his cock too.

let him shatter you, take you, ruin you— death by his hands started to sound like the sweetest fantasy.

it's what got you squirting around him every time he buried himself balls-deep. what had you sensitive to the smallest touches. with his face buried between your thighs and his glasses fogged.

you'd squeeze around his head. hope you'd allure him enough to lose his mind and bite on your thigh. gorge on your blood like he did your pussy.

if only.

if only.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ swore he tasted blood on your lipstick.

you were starting to get desperate. starting to grow tired of squeezing, and squirting, and sobbing for him— hoping he'd finally lose it. hoping he'd take you in another way that wasn't just fucking you stupid into his mattress.

so that's when you did it. you were already killing off students and dragging their bodies to that same damned garden— would this really make you any more of a sinner?

it was just a few droplets. three to be exact. not enough for you to notice. but enough that he would.

you kissed him at every opportunity you had. pushing him into the lockers in the middle of the hallway. crashing your lips into his and loving the way his whole body ticked up. how he froze.

god, a sick part of you wanted him to drain you in front of everyone.

you kissed him in the library, in the study room, the cafeteria, wherever you could get your hands on him just so you could feel his shake on your waist.

bingo.

you might just be getting this nerd obsessed with you after all.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't like that thought. the idea of needing you more than for just some desperate fuck to keep his mind off of his bloodlust.

now? he was really starting to imagine you in his bed whenever he pushes another body into his sheets and stained them scarlet.

maybe that's why he didn't stop your bolder touches. how you seemed to stop caring about being seen with him in public. how you wanted him at every hour of the day.

maybe, just maybe.

whatever he was feeling was threading a line on something dangerous.

it's why he didn't stop you when you got touchy with him. one late friday night in the lab. jerking him off under the table when you both should be dedicating the time to your looming research deadline.

instead: his head was tossed back. blunt nails digging into the smooth lab table as his glasses fogged and condensed with his heavy pants.

"fuck— fuck. 'm gonna cum if you don't stop—" he huffed, free hand gripping around your wrist as you squeezed him at the base.

your eyes were dilated. dare he say feral. he's been seeing that look from you more and more lately.

it throbbed that prominent underside vein of his.

"yeah, toru?" you cooed, sweet. sweeter than you had been to him all semester.

he wasn't sure why you were taking such a deep interest in him. maybe it was the way he filled you up. the way he fucked you. how desperate he sounded as he fucked his hips up into your hand in a lab where the professor could very well trot back into.

your wrist rotated. something sharp glinted in his peripheral. with his eyes fluttering and his breath heavy, he hadn't had the chance to catch sight of what was happening between his legs before—

he smelt it.

cutting, metallic, oh so fucking sweet.

his stare shot open. wide. pupils and irises shrinking as his eyes snapped down to your hand.

you were bleeding.

worse, you were smiling.

before he could shove you off and scamper away— you squeezed around his tip. harsh. with your fucking.

bleeding hand.

"wait—" he rasped.

your pace turned filthy. squeezing his cock and fucking him with your fist, using your blood as the lube.

your sweet, sinful, sanity-shattering blood.

the gums around his fangs swelled. his nostrils flared. eyes wide and flickering at the ceiling— and yet all he could do was needily buck into your pumping hand and whine from the back of his throat.

"shit— shit, fuck. I'm gonna cum. gotta stop, I'm. . . I'm gonna—"

"c'mon toru."

your thumb shoved to his tip. smearing blood with cum as you rubbed at the slit of his cock. squeezed with your other hand at his throbbing balls until his eyes rolled up.

until his fangs were on full display and he almost.

almost.

lost himself and shoved you to the table. buried his fangs into whatever part of you he found first and drained you dry while your hand went limp around his dick.

"oh my god," he croaked, whispy bangs sticking to his forehead and glasses strewn over the bridge of his nose as pleasure and bloodlust crashed on him in a dizzying, devastating splurge of sin.

and you?

still so sweet. still so fucking insane.

jerking him off with your own blood. even as his hips bucked and he snatched you by the wrist. held you tight. as his cock tensed, and trembled— and finally tipped over the edge.

thick, creamy ropes mixed with the smears of red. pouring down his dick and staining your hand that squeezed him still.

until all that came from his mouth was desperate little whimper.

till all he could think about was—

scarlet consumed blue. swallowing his irises into something carnal. violent.

his hand shot to your wrist. cramped it. with his sheer strength he shot to his feet and shoved you into the desk. dug his thumb into your wound and sneered above you as the scent of your blood finally pushed him over the edge—

satoru's not sure what made him snap out of it.

he was certain that he'd buried his face into whatever vein or artery he could and drank until you were nothing more but a memory on his tongue.

he didn't know when he pulled away.

when he scampered off.

all he knew was that his back was slamming into the locked door of his dark dorm once he was inside. that his pants were still unbuttoned and that he'd haphazardly shoved his cock back into them when he pried himself away from you.

his breathing heavy. ragged.

hand on his heart.

eyes fixed to the ceiling.

cock still stained in your sweet. . . sinful. blood.

a trembling hand raked down his face as he caught his breath.

did you see his eyes? see his fangs? did you understand that he was about to bring you to death rather than an orgasm?

his exhaustion and shock told him you didn't know. that you didn't know a damn thing. that you were just a crazy bitch who was into some freaky blood play.

and that he just overreacted.

yeah. overreacted. he needed a shower. needed to think of anything else but you.

you.

obsessed, crazy, fanatic little you.

still in that lab with his cum mixed with your blood in your hand.

staring at your palm as you breathed, heavy. heated. your free hand slipped under your skirt. between your thighs.

with your mind on him. him. that loser of a nerd. that demon of the night.

your dreadful, dangerous obsession.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/yinartss

Poor Satoru who thinks that if he makes you, a virgin, orgasm hard enough with his tongue, you’ll be too spent to attempt at intercourse again. He awkwardly stumbles and falls face first into your pussy a few times as he sucks and licks fervently, because he has to somehow give you the best head of his life with his hands tied behind his back while he balances on nothing but his knees.

He’s successful that day, you can barely stand up for almost thirty minutes after he works his magical tongue on you. He coos sweet nothings into the side of your head with your slick still fresh on his tastebuds as you cuddle him in the afterglow, soothing you because part of his heart aches in guilt that he made you cum. Somehow, you’re the victim in Satoru’s eyes. A victim to what was likely a harsh childhood, to mean high school and college cliques, to boys your own age who treat women they don’t find attractive like they don’t have a right to exist, and to a lack of a companion you can rely on to never leave you.

Satoru can’t hold back the strangled groans clawing their way out of his throat when you finally get used to foreplay for a few days and have extra energy to spare for true fucking. He found his brows pinched in concern and tried to comfort you when you panicked at the full feeling in your stomach after sliding the entirety of his well endowed cock into you. You almost took off his chains so he could rub your clit to make it go smoother for you when he genuinely offered— saying something about the most important thing being your comfort, no matter the circumstances.

But then, your elastic insides get used to the stretch faster than he expects and Satoru starts to feel like maybe he’s getting a little too old for this type of sex, because you’re akin to a little bunny the way you hump his lap. He just can’t deny how pleasurable it is to be fucked and sucked in by your wet, little pussy. It’s not like he can do anything about this happening, all he can do is attempt to helpfully talk you through this process and hopefully make this easier on you and your body in the long run, fighting to push comprehendible words of advice and genuine inquiries of how you’re feeling out of his lips through the blinding pleasure.

Satoru told you what to do when, and if, the situation ever comes up where he expresses to you that he’s going to ejaculate. 1. Take that deep breath he taught you to stay calm, 2. stop all stimulation, and 3. dismount his penis completely— also! at least wait until he or you has cleaned all traces of sperm from his penis if you wish to have more intercourse after.

But when Satoru shakily breathes out a clear enough warning of imminent orgasm, you do the exact opposite of his little field guide on how to responsibly have recreational sex. You grit your teeth and bounce harder as he frantically attempts at questioning what you’re doing and if you remember what he told you. And when he lets out a particularly loud and aggressive, “fuck!” followed by a deep, primal, involuntary thrust up into what’s milking him, you instantly stop humping so he can properly inseminate you with your eyes absolutely rolling. You can feel the muscle contractions within his cock jerk and twitch inside your repeatedly vacuuming walls, and you can’t feel the sperm, but you just know that his warm cum is filling your cervix.

To an extent, Satoru understood you just wanted to fuck around and have fun like any other young horny college student, I mean, fuck, he actually gave you permission to hump his dick for this exact reason; it’s is why the field guide was discussed, but this? This is real shit, real life, getting pregnant will change your entire life forever.

For the first time since he’s been taken by you, he’s looking at you like he’s horrified as his body breeds your fertile, welcoming cunt. A few whiny grunts slip out behind his unstable breath and his features twitch behind the shocked expression, showing the deep white hot pleasure pushing through. And then you kiss him. Connected at the top and the bottom of your bodies, kissing him with such a clear passion, yearning for love and care, that Satoru feels that sympathetic pang again, the need to nurture your lost soul.

The day was hot. Sweltering. Your sensitive omega nose could smell the odor of everyone you passed. You scrunched up your face as you passed some dumb stereotypical alpha, flexing for your benefit as you ignored him.

You passed him and rolled your eyes. Gross.

There were some needy omegas so desperate for a knot that they would swoon and fall over themselves for almost any alpha. And likewise there were alphas that turned into drooling, horny idiots at the barest whiff of an omega. And that was almost understandable given how rare both alphas and omegas were. But you could never imagine behaving in such a way. There was more to a relationship than some nice musk and a fat knot tying the two people together.

You turned down the street and entered the gym on the corner.

This was where your alpha would be. Well, future alpha. He was yours already; he just didn't exactly know it yet.

His name was Marcus. He wasn't a grotesquely buff bodybuilder like some musclehead alphas. He was lean and perfect. His black hair accentuated his head nicely, his blue eyes holding the depth of the ocean. He wasn't some airheaded git or cocky privileged asshole. No, those eyes had clearly seen some troubles.

You sat on some gym equipment and made a show of leisurely using it while you waited for Marcus to come in. You knew exactly what he would do and where he would do it and the spot you were at would give you the perfect view of him.

And even with the smell of everyone else in the gym, you knew you'd get a perfect whiff of him while he worked out. And you were sure he'd catch yours as well.

Not that it seemed to help much, but still, you wanted it ingrained in his mind. Maybe it would slowly wear him down.

You had never asked him out; he seemed to be averse to people, rejecting everyone who had ever asked. While you liked that he didn't pay any attention to the advances of others. In fact, it was what had originally drawn you to him, thinking it was intriguing how an alpha ignored multiple omegas despite their rarity, but it was a double-edged sword.

You always made sure to get there before he did so that it never seemed like you were following him.

It wasn't long until he came in and started using the exact gear you knew he would. You had his schedule down to a science.

It wasn't creepy... you had to know all about your man, right? You were just being proactive. Taking the initiative. Learning about his interests and making sure you didn't have competition...

How could there be anything wrong with that? Especially with every omega, few though they were, that you saw throwing themselves at him. And many betas too.

Fucking sluts. Why did they think that they deserved him? They hadn't put in the effort! You had done all the hard work. If any of those randos had you, you would have noticed, given how much time you had dedicated to him.

Once you were sporting Marcus's bite on your neck and pheromones clinging to your skin, that would keep them away.

Marcus bent down, showing off his perfectly sculpted bubbly ass; you bit your lip while staring intently. Your daydreams were momentarily forgotten by the sight.

Ugh, you needed more of him.

At least you got a hit of his pheromones. When he hit the showers, his dirty clothes were unattended. You made off with his sweaty musk-drenched boxers and shirt.

This was the first time you had done this; it had been the only opportunity when no one else was around. Your heart pounded as you raided his gym bag before escaping quickly with your treasures.

Marcus wondered what had happened, never knowing you were huffing them in your car real quick before taking them home to more thoroughly enjoy your new trophies.

And you REALLY enjoyed them, either tugging at your dick vigorously or impaling yourself on your knotted dildo while inhaling the fresh scent, rubbing the pheromone-laden clothing all over your body so you could imagine yourself marked with his scent.

You panted and basked in the release after you came; you cleaned yourself off in the shower, but the act just left you needy and desperate for more. Scent from clothing alone would simply never be enough for you. You needed musk and knot and bites straight from the source. Only then would you be content.

Though the meditative qualities of a nice shower typically cleared your mind and allowed you to work through your problems, this time you weren't coming up with any particularly viable ideas.

Subtly becoming more than friends after establishing a friendship was out. Marcus didn't have friends. He pushed everyone away as far as you were aware. The sexy loner stayed away even from close family.

Just asking him out would be a flat no.

He didn't seem particularly vulnerable to your pheromones at the gym, so the mighty powers of simple seduction wouldn't likely cut it either.

The only possible hope you had was to force it with determination and perseverance!

Yes, you'd combine the direct approach with some subtle seduction in the form of scented gifts. And you wouldn't take no for an answer. You'd wear him down until he gave you at least one date. You were confident that's all you would need to earn his heart.

The next day you began setting your plan into motion.

"Hey, would you be interested in go-"

"Sorry, no thanks."

A flat rejection, but you'd not be discouraged! He probably thought you were just another slut throwing yourself at him, but you'd show him differently. Once he saw your dedication and loyalty, he'd know you didn't pursue just any alpha.

You made it a point to ask every day and stuff your smelly towel, shirt, or briefs into his gym bag. If he objected to those gifts, you didn't know, but he was still denying your requests for a date.

Marcus didn't know what your obsession with him was. Or what his attraction to you was. Ever since he first got wind of your scent and caught your attentive eyes focused on him, looking at him like he was the only thing that existed, you had lived rent free in his head.

He wanted to just please you under him as he stuffed you full of knot.

Ugh! But he couldn't! He had to restrain himself!

Marcus had a horrible secret. It was considered a myth that long ago there were werewolves and that they were the origin of alphas and omegas. But it was true. And a few very strong alphas could still transform.

And he was one such alpha. At each full moon he turned into a snarling, bloodthirsty beast. He couldn't have friends or family or lovers.

Even though he wanted to. Even though he couldn't help but huff the gifts you gave him while jerking himself off the very second he got home.

Marcus knew he shouldn't give in, not even that much, but it was impossible to resist. Doing so relieved the tension built up by having to smell your pheromones at the gym and by hearing your lovely voice when you so sweetly asked him out on dates.

But he wouldn't break. He couldn't.

He didn't know you all that well, but the thought of hurting you made his chest tight. And on the off chance that he didn't tear you to shreds, you'd certainly be repulsed by him once you learned of his shameful secret.

At a loss for what else you could do to make Marcus realize you were his, you decided to follow him more closely.

Through your extremely thorough "research," you managed to learn a few hobbies of his. Like how he had some exercise equipment at home despite going to the gym. To be fair, his house was a small, secluded thing without much space for all the gear he used. And he probably just liked leaving the house.

His job seemed to be online; he was on his computer with a headset a lot.

Online gaming also seemed to be something he enjoyed quite a bit. You knew he was a gamer from some of the shirts that he wore, but you didn't realize he actually had an online social life through it.

While it was great to get to know more about your boyfriend, none of the information really helped you all that much. You got into a few of the games he played and tried to strike up conversations about them when he wore the shirts, but he cut any conversations frustratingly short.

Marcus was more tempted than ever to get between your legs and make you have toe-curling orgasm after orgasm, right there in the showers, but he held off. You even liked the same cool games as he did. But he played with online friends because it was safe to do so. He couldn't risk bonding with you!

You were going nowhere fast, so you decided you'd need to watch him even later.

This was largely uneventful too, though you did get to see him jerk off a few times. Wait, was that your underwear? Maybe you were making more progress than you had thought?

Things continued as they were until one night, on a full moon, Marcus went out of sight. Down into the basement, where you had never seen him venture. About half an hour later you heard screaming and what sounded like the snapping of bones emanate from below his home.

Even though you were outside, the sounds were clear.

They were followed by growling, snarling, and howling. There must have been a beast that had somehow gotten into his home. You hoped you weren’t too late!

You went back into the bushes where you had left a bat; you always took it with you late at night when conducting your advanced research. Marcus had a secluded place, and you were all alone in the dark, so it had seemed like a prudent precaution.

Then you wiggled in through his open window and charged downstairs. You opened the door and stared in terror at what you found.

Behind a set of bars was a bipedal beast with no signs of Marcus. A canine-like face, two sensitive fuzzy ears, sharp teeth, a long tongue from which drool dripped, a tail, and dark hair covering its entire body. It was a werewolf.

Looking into its eyes, you could tell that it was Marcus, having clearly trapped himself to avoid harming others.

You also noticed the massive cock starting to peer from the beast’s sheath above a giant set of balls.

Then you recalled the old stories and myths that alphas that had turned into werewolves could be soothed by their mate. Maybe this was your chance. It was so risky, and had you been thinking clearly, you probably would have left in fear, but your head was dizzy with the strongest musk that you had ever experienced emanating from Marcus’s crotch.

He must have felt the same because as he sniffed the air in your direction, his cock got harder and longer, and he started whining and growling and scratching at the cage, clearly needing a nice warm hole to slot his slimy canine cock into.

The cage was locked by a simple series of locks and latches that were easy enough to undo; the wolf just lacked the sense required to undo them. You could easily reach in and do so.

As you put your hand in the creature came up to you and licked you through the bars, your face, your neck, and your hands. He knew he needed to breed you; he was meant to, you were his mate. Something told him he had to make you feel good.

You unlocked the cage in a daze, hardly any conscious thought left to you.

You peeled away your clothes as the door creaked open, slick leaking down your leg. Marcus wasted no time in breeding you. Though he did so carefully, even in his current state he didn't want to hurt his much tinier mate.

It wasn't necessary; your body had prepped itself the moment his potent musk filled your nostrils.

Your hands gripped the cold iron bars you were pinned against.

Hot breath beat at your sensitive neck as he slipped himself into you. It filled you up better than any toy ever had or could hope to.

You sighed in pleasure, vaguely aware that this is what you had worked so hard for as Marcus thrust himself back and forth deep within you.

The werewolf licked and slobbered at your neck as you threw your ass back against him hard and fast, desperately needing a faster pace.

Seeing that you needed him to speed up, he happily obliged. Despite not being in control of himself in his current form, he was mindful of your pleasure and comfort more than his own.

He gripped your hips with his massive clawed hands and began pistoning into you hard and fast, each movement jolting your entire body rhythmically.

Moans, sighs, and pleasured unintelligible garbling poured from your mouth as your hole quivered around him.

One arm braced the bars with your head leaning into it while you wildly jerked your dick with your free hand. When you inevitably came, it was the most intense orgasm of your life; your cum rocketed through the bars of the cell, and slick gushed from you like a waterfall, and it was no less intense for your werewolf lover.

Marcus was in a fog, buried under mountains of near-feral werewolf instinct, powerful omega pheromones, and the sheer pleasure of sex.

He swelled with pride when you came, satisfied with having made his mate feel so good.

The alpha could feel you quiver and tighten around his cock, as if begging for his seed and trying to milk him. Your body got its wish.

He bit your neck, claiming you at long last, as he plunged in as deeply as he possibly could and filled you with a seemingly endless torrent of semen. If you had been in a state of mind to think properly, there would have been no doubt that you would definitely be pregnant.

Marcus pulled you down to the ground with him, having you sit on his lap, his cock still impaling you. He was ready to stop trying to get off so he didn’t overstimulate his probably sore mate, but you were not content with just letting his knot rest inside of you. No, you bounced and squirmed as best one could when the knot the size of two fists was rearranging their insides and didn’t stop until he had filled you a few more times and you passed out from exhaustion.

You were tied to the beast for the rest of the night, held protectively in his arms as the two of you slept, using him like a large furry bed.

In the morning both of you remembered everything that had happened but without the musk clouding your thoughts, and of course he was no longer a werewolf primarily driven by instinct.

When you had explained why you had been there in the first place, Marcus completely ignored or overlooked the fact that you had engaged in an “in-depth research campaign” because he was elated that not only did you not care one bit that he was a savage werewolf, but also that you calmed the beast and prevented him from even trying to go on a rampage.

After all these years living in seclusion, he no longer had to be alone. And having a nice hole to finally be able to unload in was certainly a nice bonus.

Several months later, and it was obvious you were pregnant. The werewolf nuzzled your neck sweetly as he slipped into you, careful not to go too rough on the omega with a belly swollen full of his pups. He went in nice and slow, his arms wrapped around you and hands roaming over your round tummy. When he turned back into a human the next morning, he went right to kissing your belly and practically worshiping it before pulling you into his lap and massaging it while he made love to you.