“You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive.“
❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.
♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader
♡ Oneshot. #2 – The Devil Who Saved You
♡ Word Count. 3,153
♡ TW. descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia
♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author’s official website or Ao3.
♡ A/N. I’m glad you enjoyed it :)). I’m surprised you’re rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I’ve written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it’s a nice idea, and I’ve already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it’s war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I’m hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).
♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts
The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.
You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.
In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.
You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.
And he deemed you salvageable.
There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”
The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.
You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”
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The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.
“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”
You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.
The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.
The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.
A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.
You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.
“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”
Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”
A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.
“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”
The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.
You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.
“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”
Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.
Another scream pierced the air, this one a child’s. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A small figure, no older than ten, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.
“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”
The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.
He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”
You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.
“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”
His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”
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The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.
He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.
“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”
You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.
“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”
He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.
“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”
The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.
In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.
“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”
You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”
He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.
“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”
You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”
He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. Children locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.
“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”
You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.
“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”
You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.
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So you stayed.
Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”
The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.
“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”
There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.
And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.
The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.
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𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 