“This isn’t an interrogation. It’s a love story—you just don’t know it yet.”
♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Criminal Prosecutor x Fem. Reader
♡ Oneshot. #1
♡ Word Count. 844
♡ TW. dom + top yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances
The room is cold. Not the kind of cold that bites your skin, but the kind that seeps into your bones, into the marrow. The sterile fluorescence overhead casts you in an unforgiving light, illuminating every micro-expression, every tremor. He watches you from the other side of the table, his imposing frame seated with unnerving composure. There is no sound except for the faint hum of the light and the deliberate scrape of his knuckles against his jaw as he leans in closer.
“You’re lying,” he says, his voice low, a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence of the interrogation room. His lips curl into a slight smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes—black, sharp, abyssal—cut through you like a scalpel, slicing you open, layer by trembling layer. He knows. God, you can feel it. He knows everything.
You swallow hard, your throat dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to whisper, but the words sound flimsy, pathetic, even to your own ears.
“Hmm.” He tilts his head, almost amused by the pathetic defense you’ve mustered. He doesn’t need to say it—your guilt is painted across your face. His tongue clicks against his teeth, a sound that makes your stomach twist with dread. He leans forward, the movement impossibly smooth for a man his size. His presence is overwhelming, predatory. The tailored lines of his suit strain against the broad expanse of his chest, his muscled forearms flexing as he rests his hands flat on the table.
“You’re a clever girl,” he says, his voice deceptively soft, like velvet over a blade. “But cleverness can be extremely… exhausting, don’t you think?” His smile grows, sharp and cruel. “You’ve spent days trying to outmaneuver me. Lying. Denying. Running.”
Your hands are bound to the chair. Leather straps dig into your wrists, biting into the flesh. You’d struggled at first—so much so that the skin had broken, and now blood seeps slowly into the restraints, staining them a deep crimson. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d strapped you down. He’d been so methodical, so careful, making it feel like a lover’s caress rather than an act of restraint.
But the way he watches you now, the hunger in his gaze—it isn’t love. It’s hunger. Pure, unadulterated hunger.
“I now have all the necessary evidence, you know.” He pulls an object from his pocket—a photograph, crumpled, bloodstained. He places it on the table in front of you with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring every second of your growing terror. It’s your face in the photo, your hands stained with blood.
“No…” you choke, shaking your head. Your breath catches in your throat, and the straps dig deeper as you instinctively try to pull away.
“Oh, yes.” His tone is mocking, his expression one of predatory glee. “I’ve been watching you for months. Following you. Piecing together every step, every breath, every plan, every misstep. Do you want to know what I believe?”
He doesn’t wait for you to answer.
“I believe you wanted to get caught.” He stands now, the sheer height of him looming over you. He walks behind you, his presence an all-encompassing weight pressing against the back of your skull. You can’t directly see him, but you clearly can feel him. His breath against your neck. The heat radiating off his body.
“You left just enough evidence,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice drops, taking on a guttural tone that sends shivers down your spine. “You wanted someone to stop you. To own you.”
“I didn’t—”
“Shh.” His fingers brush against your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Do you think you’re in control here?” He chuckles softly, a deep, baritone sound that reverberates through the suffocating room. “Poor thing. You’ve never been in control. Not since the moment you walked into my courtroom.”
His hands, large and calloused, clamp down on your shoulders, forcing you to still. The pressure is unbearable, a warning of the strength he could so easily use against you.
“I’ve already decided your sentence,” he whispers, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “And it has nothing to do with prison bars and sentences.”
His harsh grip tightens, his fingers digging deeply into your flesh. You cry out, but it only seems to please him, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “You’ll stay here, with me. Forever. Every day, every moment, under my watchful eye.”
You shake your head, your breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps. “You can’t—”
“Oh, but I can.” He presses his lips against your temple, a mockery of affection and tenderness. “You’re mine now. Body, mind, soul. I’ll break you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me inside you.”
The realization dawns slowly, painfully, that there is no escape. The man before you isn’t human—not in the way others are. He’s something far darker, far more twisted. And he has you exactly where he wants you to be.
𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 