𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Chief of Police x Reader

♡ Headcanons. #1

♡ Word Count. 425

“Her breath, her fear, her pulse—mine.”

He memorizes the sound of your heartbeat like a metronome, clocking its rhythm when you tremble under his scrutiny. A predator, cloaked in a badge, his authority becomes your noose.

Chains hidden beneath silk gloves.

He calls you his with a soft growl, the word wrapping around your throat like a verbal shackle. Manipulation is his art; paperwork forged, alibis invented—he ensures no one will question your “disappearance.”

“Scream louder. They’ll never hear you.”

Beneath the fluorescent lights of his basement—once used for interrogation—your cries echo in vain. His knife traces your skin, not cutting, but pressing close enough to let you feel how easy it would be.

The dichotomy of man and monster.

By day, his smile disarms entire precincts. By night, his sadism blooms. He handcuffs you not for restraint but for humiliation. The keys dangle from his neck, close enough to see, far enough to taunt.

“The world is filth. I am justice.”

His twisted sense of morality paints you as his salvation. “You’re lucky,” he hisses against your ear. “If I didn’t love you, you’d rot like the rest of them.”

Age, power, decay.

His age doesn’t weaken him but sharpens his dominance, every scar across his chest a reminder of the battles he’s won. His fingers leave bruises, each one a mark of ownership that blooms purple against your soft skin.

Science and suffering.

His knowledge of anatomy is surgical, precise. He dissects your psyche with the same care as your body, knowing which nerves to press—literally and metaphorically—to wring out the perfect screams.

“Obey, or you’ll bleed.”

When you resist, he doesn’t strike—he looms. His presence alone crushes you, the scent of sweat, gunpowder, and cologne suffocating as his leather gloves curl around your jaw. “Good girls don’t make me angry. You don’t want me angry.”

Horror in the mundane.

The most terrifying part? How easily he blends back into normalcy. A crooked grin at the precinct, a firm handshake, and no one suspects the horrors lurking in his shadow. He plays the loving man for an audience you’ll never reach.

Your hell is his paradise.

“You’re mine,” he snarls in the dark, his chest heaving, muscles taut as he cages you beneath him. “The second you accepted my coffee that morning, you belonged to me. Forever.”

Final Line

“You’ll never escape me, sweetheart. Even death won’t sever my hold.”