TW: incest, non-con, rape, overstimulation, isolation, kidnapping, confinement, forced marking, dacryphilia, bondage, sexual punishments, BDSM, sadism, unhealthy power dynamics, toxic relationship, spanking, emotional and psychological manipulation, social isolation, physical assault and abuse, sexual violence, knife play, blood play, permanent injury, choking / breath play
“Trapped in his obsession, your brotherβs love is a cageβburning, possessive, and unyielding. Every kiss is a claim, every touch a warning. Youβre his, and heβll make sure the world knows it.”
Yandere! Older Brother : Sins of the Silent Heart – Part 2
Word Count: 7,861 words
The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay. You struggle against his ironclad grasp, but he’s too strong.
He shoves you onto the bed with a force that steals your breath, pinning your arms above your head with one hand while the other clamps over your mouth, muffling your screams. “Shh,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.
“You’re only making this harder for yourself. You need to understand.” His eyes bore into yours, searching for somethingβfear, submission, perhaps even love. But all you feel is a cold dread unfurling in your stomach, a horror that threatens to consume you whole.
Your brother’s grip on your face tightens, his thumb digging into your cheek as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours.
“You’re mine,” he repeats, the words a chant that seems to fuel his rage. His other hand begins to roam, skimming over your body in a way that makes you feel violated and disgusting. You try to kick, to fight, but he’s everywhere, his weight pressing down on you like a mountain.
“You think you can just go out there and give yourself to someone else?” he snarls, his eyes wild with jealousy. “You’re too good for them. You’re too good for anyone but me.”
His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. Panic sets in as you realize the full extent of his intentions, your eyes widening in horror.
You manage to break free from his hand over your mouth, gasping for air. “No, please, stop,” you plead, your voice shaky with fear and desperation.
“I’m your sister! Please don’t do this!” But your words only seem to fuel his rage further, his grip on your wrists tightening until you think your bones might snap.
“Your mouth will be the only thing that’s used for speaking my language tonight,” he sneers, his free hand ripping at the fabric of your shirt, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. The sound of buttons popping off and fabric tearing fills the room, echoing your own silent screams.
You feel a warm wetness between your legs, not from desire but from fear and the humiliation of knowing what’s about to happen. “You’re going to learn your place,” he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he straddles you, his weight pinning you to the bed.
You writhe beneath him, trying to find an inch of space, any way to escape, but his body is like a vice, trapping you in this twisted nightmare. He reaches for your pants, his hand fumbling with the button before he yanks them down with a rough jerk, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.
“You’re going to love me,” he says, his voice a twisted mix of anger and lust.
“You’re going to forget all about those other boys. They’re nothing compared to me.” His words are a knife to your heart, each syllable twisting the blade deeper.
Tears stream down your face as he pulls his own pants down, his erection straining against his boxers. You can feel his breath on your neck, his chest pressing against yours, his arousal against your thigh.
The room feels like it’s spinning, the walls closing in around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the monster above you, but his touch is everywhere, invasive and repulsive.
He pulls your panties to the side with a cruel efficiency, and you can’t help but sob out loud. “Please, brother, no,” you whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears.
He leans in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, “You’re going to scream my name. You’re going to beg for more.”
His hand moves to the back of your neck, pushing your head down into the pillow, the fabric smothering your cries. You feel his hand move away from your face and grip the base of his cock, guiding it towards your entrance.
The feeling of his bare skin against yours is a violation so profound, it feels like your soul is being torn apart. The tip of his cock nudges against your folds, and you tense up, trying to resist, but your body is too overwhelmed with fear to do much more than shiver.
With a grunt of effort, he pushes inside you, the pain tearing through you like a bolt of lightning.
You scream into the pillow, your nails digging into the mattress as he starts to thrust, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance.
You can feel the fabric of your ruined panties wedged between your thighs, a sadistic reminder of your innocence lost. His rhythm is punishing, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that sends shockwaves through your body. You try to hold back the tears, to hide your pain, but they come anyway, soaking the pillow beneath your face.
He drives through your hymen without mercy, the fabric of your innocence ripping away as he claims you as his own. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt beforeβsharp, searing, and unrelenting.
Your eyes fly open, and you scream into the pillow, your body arching off the bed as he buries himself deep within you. The sensation is a mix of agony and unwanted fullness, a violation that sets every nerve ending on fire.
His grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you, thick and demanding. “Look at me,” he commands, his voice a harsh whisper.
You force your eyes to meet his, and what you see there is a twisted mix of satisfaction and rage. He watches you, his pupils dilated with lust, as he continues to fuck you without care for your pain.
“Say it,” he hisses, his hips grinding against yours in a punishing rhythm. “Say you’re mine.”
Your throat is raw from screaming, but you manage to croak out the words he wants to hear. “I’m yours,” you whisper, your voice a broken echo of the defiance that once burned within you.
The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you know it’s what he needs to hear.
His eyes flash with triumph, and he releases your neck, allowing you to gulp in a desperate breath. “That’s my girl,” he says, his voice a sick parody of affection as he starts to move faster.
You feel his hand snake around your throat again, squeezing gently before sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll always take care of you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he pushes deeper into you, each stroke a declaration of his ownership.
You whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to focus on anything but the pain. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled cries and his grunts of pleasure.
He’s so deep inside you that it feels like he’s touching your very soul, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s any part of you that will ever be yours again. You want to fight, to scream, to push him away, but your body feels like it’s made of lead, heavy and unresponsive to your will.
He leans down, his mouth crushing against yours in a kiss that’s more claim than affection. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you taste the salt of your own tears.
You try to pull away, to bite him, to do anything that will make him stop, but he only grinds against you harder, his hand on the back of your head keeping you in place. “You’re mine,” he says against your lips, the words a dark benediction that sends a shiver of revulsion through your body.
Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the dresser. Your face is a mascara-stained mess, your hair a tangled halo around your head, and your body is a canvas of bruises already beginning to blossom.
The sight only seems to excite him more, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he watches your reflection, his eyes glinting with a malicious pleasure. You feel yourself start to detach, floating above the scene like a ghost, watching as your body is used and discarded by the person who’s supposed to love you the most.
“Please,” you manage to gasp out, the word a pathetic plea that hangs in the air, unheeded. “It hurts.”
But he either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care, his hips pumping faster, his breathing growing ragged.
The pain becomes a living entity, a monster that consumes you from the inside out, reducing you to a trembling wreck beneath him.
He shifts his weight, his hand moving from your face to your hip, his fingers digging in as he pulls you closer to him. “You’re so tight,” he groans, his voice thick with lust. “You were made for me.”
His thumb slides between your thighs, finding the bundle of nerves that had once brought you pleasure, and you feel a spark of hopeβmaybe if you can just make him finish, it will all be over.
But his touch is rough, almost punishing, and any hint of pleasure is drowned out by the agony of his invasion.
You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more frenzied with each passing moment. “You’re going to come for me,” he says, his voice a mix of demand and question.
“You’re going to come and show me how much you want this.” You feel his thumb circle your clit, pressing down hard as he continues to fuck you, his other hand squeezing your hip so tightly that it feels like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint of his fingers on your skin.
The pain and the pleasure meld together into something twisted and unrecognizable, and you can’t help but whimper as your body starts to respond despite your mind’s screaming protests.
His eyes never leave yours, watching your every reaction, feeding off your fear and pain like it’s his lifeblood. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. “Show me how much you need me.”
And you doβyour body betrays you, arching up to meet his touch, your walls tightening around his cock as the beginnings of an orgasm build against your will.
You want to hate him for reducing you to this, for making you feel like a whore, but the pleasure is too intense to fight.
With a final, brutal thrust, he releases your hip, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand still working you into a frenzy. “You’re mine,” he says again, his voice a hoarse growl.
“Say it. Scream it.” And as if on cue, your body shatters, your orgasm ripping through you like a tempest, stealing your voice along with your dignity. The only sound that escapes you is a strangled cry, a sound that’s half-pain, half-pleasure.
His eyes widen with triumph as he feels your body clench around him, his grip on your wrists tightening as he starts to come, filling you with his seed. The feeling of his release only adds to the horror, his hot cum a declaration of his claim on your body.
You lay there, trembling and sobbing, as he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, the room is silent except for your ragged breaths and his own, his weight a suffocating presence that makes it difficult to draw in air.
As the fog of pleasure fades, the reality of what’s happened crashes down on you like a tidal wave of despair. You feel soiled, used, and utterly broken. Your eyes fill with fresh tears, and you struggle to find the strength to push him off.
But he’s still inside you, his cock now limp but still a violation of the most intimate kind. “Don’t,” he says, his voice suddenly gentle as he rolls off you and pulls you into his arms.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” His touch is tender, almost loving, but it’s tainted by the knowledge of what he’s just done.
You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your face buried in his chest, your body shaking with sobs. He strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings that only serve to make you feel more disgusted.
“It’s okay,” he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of his actions. “You’re safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again.”
His words are a mockery of comfort, a twisted parody of the brotherly love you once knew.
You want to scream, to push him away, but all you can do is cry.
He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he says, his voice a soft command.
“I’m not going to let anyone else have you. You’re mine. You always have been.” His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of understanding, some spark of the love he believed you owed him.
But all you see is the monster he’s become, the predator that’s stolen your childhood trust in him.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” he continues, his tone earnest. “But you can’t leave me. You can’t love anyone else. Do you understand?”
You nod, the tears still streaming down your face, the taste of defeat coating your mouth like bile. “Y-yes,” you manage to whisper, the words barely audible. “I understand.”
It’s not what he wants to hear, not the declaration of love he craves, but it’s all you can give. For now.
ββββββββββββ
The weekend stretches before you, a prison of his twisted love and dominance. Each moment is a silent scream of agony and degradation, as your brother takes you again and again.
The bedroom, the kitchen table, the living room couchβevery corner of your shared home becomes a battleground for his obsession.
He fucks you in every position imaginable, his hunger insatiable, his need to claim you complete.
You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, used and abused at his whim, your body a canvas for his depravity.
ββββββββββββ
On the first night, he ties your wrists to the bedposts with the usual belt he uses to punish you, spreading your legs wide as he looms above you. “You’re going to take it all,” he says, his voice a dark promise.
“Every inch of me, until you’re screaming my name.” He pushes into you, his cock thick and unforgiving, and you bite back a whimper, your eyes squeezed shut.
He’s gentle at first, almost loving, but as the night wears on, his strokes become more forceful, his grip on your hips tightening.
You’re too tired to fight, too broken to resist. When he finally releases you from your bonds, you collapse onto the bed, your limbs trembling from the exertion.
ββββββββββββ
The next day, he takes you into the shower, the water a scalding caress against your bruised skin. He soaps you up with a tenderness that feels like a slap in the face after what he’s done. “Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low growl.
You do, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the water cascading down your breasts. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Say you love me.”
The words stick in your throat, a lie that feels like acid. But you whisper them anyway, because it’s what he needs to hear, because you’re too scared not to.
ββββββββββββ
In the kitchen, he bends you over the counter, your hands gripping the edge to keep from collapsing. You can hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the jingle of his belt loops echoing through the room. “You’re going to learn to crave this,” he says, his voice a harsh promise.
You feel the head of his cock against you, and your body tenses, bracing for the pain. “You’re going to want me more than anyone else.”
His hands are everywhere, pushing into your hips, squeezing your breasts, his thumb circling your clit.
You hate the way your body responds, the way your pussy clenches around him, begging for more even as you silently pray for it to end.
He enters you from behind, his hands on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. You grit your teeth against the pain, your knuckles turning white as you hold onto the counter for dear life.
He’s deep inside you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and you can’t help but moan despite the fear choking you.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice thick with pleasure. “You like it, don’t you?” You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, your eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the kitchen tiles beneath your feet.
But the orgasm builds, unwanted and unstoppable, stealing your voice as it rips through you, leaving you trembling and sobbing.
ββββββββββββ
Later, in the living room, you’re forced to straddle him on the couch, his cock buried inside you as he watches TV. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements, his eyes flicking from the screen to your face, watching you with a perverse fascination.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the horror of his actions.
You want to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words won’t come. Instead, you stare blankly at the TV, trying to lose yourself in the flickering images, trying to forget the reality of your situation.
ββββββββββββ
On the second night, he takes you to the floor in the hallway, pushing you onto your knees. “You’re going to suck me off,” he says, his voice cold and demanding. “And you’re going to swallow every drop.”
You hesitate, your throat tight with fear, but his hand wraps around the back of your head, pushing you closer to his erection.
“Do it,” he growls, and you have no choice but to comply, your mouth opening to take him in.
You can taste the salt and the bitterness of his lust, and you want to gag, but you force yourself to swallow, to keep going until he’s satisfied.
When he finally comes, you feel his hot cum spurt down your throat, and you have to fight not to throw up.
He pulls out, his hand releasing your head as he watches you, his eyes filled with a perverse satisfaction. “Good girl,” he says, his voice a taunting whisper.
You crawl away from him, your body trembling, your dignity shattered beyond repair. You can’t believe this is your life now, that you’re nothing more than a toy for his sick games.
ββββββββββββ
On the final day of the weekend, you’re lying on the floor of his room, your body bruised and sore from his relentless attention. He’s sitting on the bed, watching you with a strange mix of love and possession.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice almost gentle. “So beautiful, even when you’re broken.”
You force yourself to meet his gaze, searching for any hint of remorse, any shred of the brother you once knew. But all you find is a monster, a creature consumed by his own desires.
He stands up, walking over to you with a predatory grace that sends a shiver down your spine. “It’s time to go back to your room,” he says, his voice a command.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, as he helps you to your feet. The room spins around you, the pain making it difficult to stand.
“You’re mine,” he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. “Always remember that.” He gives you a final, bruising kiss before releasing you, his eyes never leaving your face.
You stumble back to your room, feeling his gaze on your back like a physical weight.
The door closes behind you, the soft click echoing in your ears. You collapse onto the bed, your body a mass of pain and despair.
You can’t believe what’s happening, can’t believe that the person you trusted the most has become your worst nightmare.
But even as you cry into your pillow, a part of you knows that this is only the beginning.
ββββββββββββ
Days turn into weeks, and the abuse continues. You try to find ways to resist, to fight back, but his control over you is absolute.
He’s always watching, always waiting for the slightest sign of disobedience. You start to feel like you’re going mad, trapped in a cycle of fear and pain that never ends.
But you keep the secret, hiding your bruises beneath layers of clothing, smiling when you know he’s watching.
ββββββββββββ
One evening, as you’re serving dinner, a knock at the door pierces the tension that’s become a constant in your home.
It’s a friend from school, someone who’s been worried about you since you stopped hanging out. You can see the concern in his eyes as he asks about your well-being.
Your brother’s grip on your wrist tightens, a silent warning not to say a word. “She’s just been busy,” he says, his voice too cheerful. “Aren’t you, little sister?”
You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve had a lot of… stuff to do.”
The friend’s gaze lingers on you, searching for the truth behind the forced smile. “Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me,” he says, before finally turning to leave. The door closes, and the room feels smaller, suffocating.
He pulls you closer, his grip painfully tight. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You don’t need anyone else.”
His eyes bore into yours, demanding assurance, and you nod, the lie rolling off your tongue like a well-rehearsed script.
“Yes,” you murmur, “I know.”
ββββββββββββ
As the days go by, the lines between fear and obedience blur. You learn to anticipate his moods, his needs, his desires.
You become an expert at hiding your own emotions, burying your pain beneath a mask of submission. You go through the motions, cooking, cleaning, smiling when he enters the room.
But inside, you’re screaming, a caged animal waiting for an escape that never comes.
One day, you’re in the kitchen, your hands shaking as you prep dinner. The knife slips, slicing your finger, and blood wells up, a stark crimson against the pale flesh.
He’s there in an instant, his eyes flickering with concern before they darken. “Careful,” he says, his voice a low warning.
“You’re too clumsy for your own good.” He takes your hand, leading you to the sink to clean the wound.
But instead of the gentleness you expect, his grip turns cruel, his fingers pressing into your palm until you wince.
“You’re going to be more careful,” he says, his voice cold. “You’re too precious to be ruined by something as stupid as an accident.”
You nod, your heart racing as you watch the blood swirl down the drain. “I’ll be more careful,” you whisper, the words feeling like a noose around your neck.
He releases your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good,” he says, his voice softening slightly. “I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”
But the way he says it, you know he’s not just talking about accidents.
He’s talking about you leaving, about you telling someone. The fear is a living thing inside you, a creature that feeds on your hope.
He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” You can feel his arousal pressing against your side, his desire for you a constant, unyielding force.
You nod again, because what else can you do? He takes your injured finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut, the sensation surprisingly gentle.
The room spins around you, the line between love and hate blurring until you can’t tell the difference.
His eyes never leave yours, his gaze holding you captive as his mouth works its magic. When he pulls away, you’re left gasping for air, your body a battleground of emotions.
“Why?” you finally manage to ask, your voice shaking. “Why are you doing this?”
He looks at you, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. “Because I love you,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re mine, and no one else can have you.”
You pull away, your heart racing. “But we’re siblings,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t right.”
He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. “Don’t say that,” he says, his voice a low warning. “You’re the only one who makes me feel alive, the only one who truly understands me. I’m going to marry you, make it official. No one can ever take that away from us.”
His eyes are wild, desperate, and for a moment, you see the little boy who protected you from the monsters under the bed.
But the monster is him now, and there’s no escape.
You nod, your voice trembling. “Okay,” you say, the word sticking in your throat. “I’ll be yours.”
It’s a hollow promise, but it’s what he needs to hear.
His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, lighting up the room and your heart despite the fear.
That night, he takes you gently, as if you’re made of glass. His touches are softer, his kisses more tender.
But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. You lay there, your body bruised and used, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, of telling someone.
But every time you open your mouth to speak, the fear clamps down, silencing you.
ββββββββββββ
As the weeks turn into months, the abuse becomes a twisted routine.
You find yourself craving the moments of tenderness he offers, the fleeting moments when he’s not a monster, but the brother you once knew.
His love feels like a drug, an addiction that you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.
And he’s always there, watching, waiting, making sure you know you’re his.
One evening, as you lay in his arms, the room lit by the flickering TV, you feel something shift inside you. You’ve been playing along, pretending to be the obedient little sister and wife he wants, but the weight of the lie is crushing you.
You look up at him, his eyes closed in contentment, and for the first time, you feel something other than fear.
It’s anger, burning hot and pure, a fire that’s been smoldering deep within you. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your voice shaking with the force of your emotions.
He opens his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “What do you mean?” he asks, his hand stroking your hair.
You sit up, pulling away from him. The words come out in a rush, the dam of your fear and anger finally breaking. “This isn’t love, it’s not normal. You can’t just take what you want from me.”
You can see the hurt in his eyes, but it’s mixed with something elseβa hint of anger.
“What do you know about love?” he snaps, his grip on your arm tightening.
“You’re just a kid, playing games you don’t understand.” His voice is low, dangerous.
“You’re mine, and you always will be. You don’t get to decide who loves you, or how.”
You try to pull away, but his hand is a vice, his nails digging into your skin. “Let go of me,” you say, your voice trembling.
But he doesn’t.
He pulls you closer, his eyes searching yours, looking for the submission he craves.
“You don’t get it,” he says, his voice a harsh whisper. “You’re all I’ve ever had. You’re all I’ve ever needed. And now that I have you, I won’t let anyone else touch you.”
His grip tightens, and you know he’s not just talking about love anymore. He’s talking about possession, about control.
You try to fight back, to push him away, but he’s too strong. “Please,” you whimper, the word a pitiful sound in the quiet room.
But it’s not enough.
He’s already decided what you are to him, and he won’t be swayed.
He yanks you closer, his breath hot and sour in your face. “You’re going to learn,” he says, his voice a snarl. “You’re going to learn to love me, to want this.”
His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple. You flinch, the pain mixing with the fear and anger. “Look at me,” he demands, his eyes boring into yours.
“Tell me you want it.”
You can’t find the words. You can’t bring yourself to lie to him, not when you’re so close to breaking free of this psychological cage of hoping he’d change.
Instead, you look away, your eyes filling with tears. “I can’t,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.
The anger in his eyes flickers, and for a moment, you think he might hit you again. But instead, he sighs, his expression softening slightly.
“You will,” he says, his voice a promise and a threat. “You just need time.” He releases your arm, his hand moving to gently wipe the tears from your cheek.
“But for now, you’re mine. You’re going to stay here, with me.”
ββββββββββββ
But, that doesn’t mean he’s not vengeful.
Your older brother drags you down the stairs to the basement, his grip unyielding. The cold concrete floor hits your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. You struggle, your body protesting, but his strength is too much.
He throws you into a dank, dimly lit corner, the scent of mold and dust thick in the air.
Ropes coil around your wrists and ankles, securing you to a rusty pipe that runs along the wall. You whimper as the metal digs into your skin, leaving a trail of cold, metallic pain.
“Why are you doing this?” you manage to ask through clenched teeth, the reality of your new prison setting in.
He paces the floor, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and disappointment. “Because you need to learn,” he says, his voice echoing in the confined space.
“You need to understand that you can’t just decide to stop loving me.”
You stare at him in disbelief, the ropes biting into your skin as you try to pull away from the pipe. “This isn’t love,” you spit out, your voice raw with emotion. “What you’re doing to me is sick.”
He stops pacing, his gaze meeting yours with a cold intensity. “You think I don’t know that?” he snaps.
“But it’s all I know. It’s all we have.” He strides over to you, crouching down so he’s level with your bound form.
“You’re going to stay here, and think about what you’ve done.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
“And when you’re ready to tell me the truth, when you’re ready to love me the way you should, I’ll be upstairs.”
You feel bile rise in your throat at his touch, his words a twisted echo of the love you once knew. “I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please, just let me go.”
He sighs, his expression a mix of frustration and something elseβsomething that looks almost like regret.
“You don’t get it,” he murmurs, his hand dropping away. “This is for your own good.” He stands, walking towards the stairs.
“You’re going to thank me one day, when you realize what I’ve saved you from.”
You watch as he ascends, the door at the top of the stairs slamming shut with a finality that makes your heart sink. The darkness of the basement envelops you, the silence deafening.
You try to scream, to call for help, but your voice is hoarse from the weekend’s screams. You’re alone, trapped in the cold embrace of the concrete walls.
ββββββββββββ
Days crawl by, each one a blur of pain and despair. He comes down to check on you, bringing you water and the bare minimum of food to keep you alive.
He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t speak of love. His eyes are hard, his expression unreadable.
But the silence is worse than the abuseβit’s a constant reminder of the distance he’s put between you. You beg, you plead, you scream, but he just watches with a detached air, as if you’re nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.
On the third day, he finally speaks. “You’ve had your time to think,” he says, his voice cold and unyielding.
“Now it’s time for your next lesson.” He crosses the room, his boots echoing on the hard floor.
You shrink back against the wall, your heart racing.
You’re not ready for this, not ready to face the monster again.
But there’s no escape, not here in the dark.
He unbinds one of your wrists, pulling you to your feet. You stumble, your legs wobbly from days of disuse. He leads you over to a dusty old chair in the center of the room, the legs scraping against the floor with an eerie sound.
“Sit,” he commands, his voice devoid of warmth.
You do as you’re told, the chair creaking beneath your weight, as he restrains your arms and ankles to the chair. He then stands in front of you, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that makes your skin crawl.
“You’re going to tell me you love me,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “You’re going to mean it, or you’re going to regret it.”
You shake your head, the words caught in your throat. “I can’t,” you choke out. “I’ll never love you like that.”
His expression darkens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to hit you again. But instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, the silver glinting in the dim light.
“You will,” he says, his voice a promise. “I’ll make sure of it.” He flicks open the blade with a metallic snap, the sound echoing in the basement.
You try to jerk away, but the ropes around your ankles keep you in place, the chair digging into your back. “What are you going to do?” you ask, the fear in your voice clear.
He steps closer, the knife glinting in his hand. “I’m going to show you what happens when you deny me,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“You’re mine, and you will say it.” His hand moves to your chest, pressing the cold steel against your skin just above your heart.
The threat is unmistakable.
You swallow hard, the fear thick in your throat. “I can’t,” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please, don’t make me.”
He sighs, his expression shifting from anger to something almost pitying. “You’re so stubborn,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the blade’s path along your collarbone.
“But I’ll break you. I’ll make you love me.” He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear.
You shiver, trying to keep your revulsion from showing. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words feeling like acid on your tongue.
“I love you.” It’s the first time you’ve said it, and you hate the way it feelsβlike a betrayal to every part of yourself that’s been violated by his hands.
He pulls away, his eyes searching yours, looking for the truth he so desperately needs to see. You force a smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. “I love you,” you repeat, the words a little easier this time.
For a moment, you see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with satisfaction. “Good,” he says, his voice soothing now.
“Very good.” He reaches down, his hand brushing against the ropes that bind you to the chair.
“Now, let’s see how much you mean it.” He traces the knife along the fabric of your shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine.
With one swift motion, he slices through the material, exposing your bra. The knife lingers for a moment before he cuts the clasp, the cups falling away to reveal your breasts. He cups one in his hand, his thumb circling your nipple.
You can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips as he pinches it, the pain mixing with a twisted form of arousal that makes you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself.
“Look at how beautiful you are,” he says, his voice a hypnotic purr. “So perfect for me.” His other hand moves to the fly of his pants, the knife still in his grip. He opens them, freeing his erection, which stands tall and demanding.
You feel a fresh wave of dread as he steps closer, the knife still hovering near your skin.
“Now, tell me you want me,” he commands, his eyes dark with lust. The blade presses harder against your flesh, the sting of it making you flinch.
You look away, unable to meet his gaze. “I want you,” you murmur, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You feel his hand tighten around your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple until it’s hard and sensitive.
“Please,” you add, hoping it’s enough to satisfy his twisted desires.
He seems to consider your words, the knife pressing into your skin just enough to make you whimper. Then, with a smirk, he pulls away.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now, let’s make it official.” He grabs the knife again, this time bringing it to the waistband of your pants. With a quick jerk, he slices through the fabric, exposing you completely.
You struggle, trying to pull away from his touch, but he’s too strong. He forces you to remain still, his hand moving down to cup your sex, his thumb stroking your clit with a brutal gentleness that makes you squirm.
“You’re going to tell me you’re mine,” he says, his eyes boring into yours. “You’re going to scream it.”
You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m yours,” you murmur, the words a defeated whisper.
He smiles, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. “That’s my girl,” he says, his voice a sickening blend of affection and triumph. He steps closer, the knife now tracing patterns on your exposed thigh, sending shivers of fear and anticipation through your body. You can feel his erection pressing against your leg, hot and insistent.
Without warning, he slams the knife into the chair, the blade sinking deep into the wooden frame. You flinch, your heart racing as you realize how close you just came to being sliced open. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Now, tell me,” he says, his voice a demand.
“Tell me you’re mine, and mean it.” He repeats.
You stare into his eyes, the fear and disgust warring within you. But the knife, still lodged in the chair so close to your body, is a stark reminder of his power. “I’m yours,” you murmur, the words barely audible.
His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you, his breath hot and sour. You force yourself to remain still, to accept it, to survive. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his other hand still playing with your body.
You can feel the wetness between your legs, and you hate yourself for itβhate that your body can betray you like this.
He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes gleaming with triumph. You’re panting, your heart racing from fear and the unwanted arousal his touch brings.
He takes the knife from the chair, the wood protesting as it’s yanked free, and you can’t help but feel a pang of relief that it’s no longer a threat to your skin. But his gaze is on your thighs now, and you know that relief is short-lived.
“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and commanding. You meet his eyes, trying to keep the fear and disgust from showing. “You’re going to carry my mark,” he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. “So you never forget who you belong to.”
He grabs your chin, tilting your head back so you’re forced to watch as he brings the knife closer to your skin. You flinch as the cold metal touches you, the tip hovering just above the delicate flesh of your inner thigh.
His hand is steady, his eyes never leaving yours as he traces the first letter of his nameβa deep, painful groove that makes you try biting your lip to keep from screaming. The blood wells up, a crimson line against your pale skin.
But, it doesn’t work.
The second you feel the searing pain of the knife digging deeply, your scream rips through the basement, echoing off the cold concrete walls.
He tightens his grip on your chin, forcing you to keep watching as he carves the next letter into your skin, the blood running down your thigh in a warm trickle. Your eyes are wide with shock and horror, your body sweating and shaking with pain and fear. He’s methodical, taking his time with each stroke, his gaze never leaving yours.
The sound of your own cries is the only thing that breaks the silence, mixing with the wet, sickening sounds of the knife cutting into your flesh.
When he’s done with the last letter, he pulls back, admiring his work with a twisted smile. “There,” he says, his voice smug. “Now you’re truly mine.”
He reaches out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his thumb coming away smeared with your blood. “You’re beautiful, even when you’re crying,” he murmurs, his tone almost tender.
You can’t help but flinch at his touch, the pain from the fresh wound making your stomach churn.
You look down, the sight of your own blood and his initials etched into your flesh making you feel like a piece of meat, marked and claimed. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t stop the tears that stream down your face. “Please,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this to me. No more, please, I beg you.”
He frowns, his expression one of disappointment. “You’re supposed to be happy,” he says, his voice tight.
“This is a declaration of love, not something to be feared.” He grabs a rag from the floor, pressing it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.
“You need to learn to appreciate this, to cherish the bond we have.” His tone is firm, brooking no argument.
You can’t find the words to respond, your teeth chattering from the pain and the cold. You watch as he dresses himself, his movements deliberate and controlled.
He picks up the knife, wiping the blood off on the rag before slipping it back into his pocket. “I’ll be back with something to clean you up,” he says, his voice gentle, as if he’s just finished giving you a present instead of violating you in the most horrific way.
He leaves you alone again, the door slamming shut like a tomb. The pain in your thigh is a constant reminder of his ownership, a brand that feels like it’s burning into your soul.
You slump forward in the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, and sob into your knees. The basement is cold, the only warmth coming from the throbbing in your leg and the hot tears that fall onto the concrete floor.
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When he returns, you’re too tired to even look up. You feel him approach, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He’s carrying something, a first-aid kit maybe, but you don’t care.
You’re beyond caring.
He kneels in front of you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he takes the rag and replaces it with something cool and clean.
“Shh,” he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
The pain is overwhelming as he cleans the wound, the sting of antiseptic making you whimper.
You try to jerk away, but he holds you firm, his grip unyielding. “You have to let me take care of you,” he says, his voice soft but firm.
“You’re all mine, and I’ll always take care of what’s mine.” He applies a bandage, his movements careful and precise, his eyes never leaving yours.
“It’ll heal,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the bandage.
“But you’ll always remember.”
He stands up, his gaze lingering on your naked form. “I’ll leave these off,” he says, nodding to the ropes around your ankles. “But don’t try to run. You’re not going anywhere.”
The door opens, and he steps back, giving you a view of the stairs leading up to freedom.
The temptation is almost too much to bear, but you know better than to try.
You nod, the reality of your situation sinking in deeper with every second.
He walks over to the stairs, his back to you. “You’re going to stay here,” he says without looking back.
“Think about what you’ve done to deserve this. Think about how much I love you.”
The door closes again, and you’re left alone with the echoes of his footsteps.
The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, a constant reminder of his control. You try to tug them loose, but they’re tightβtoo tight.
Your eyes drift to the bandages. Hiding the deep, scarring marks just right above your pussy, his initials branded onto you like your mere cattle.
You can’t believe itβyou can’t believe he’s done this to you.
But the pain in your thigh is all too real, a pulsing, raw ache that throbs with every beat of your heart.
You can feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through the bandage, a grim reminder that you’re not just his sister anymore.
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List of Characters
- Blue Lock: Isagi Yoichi, Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi
- Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi
- Demon Slayer: Sanemi
- Genshin Impact: Ayato Kamisato, Childe, Xiao
- Haikyuu!!: Kageyama Tobio, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hajime Iwaizumi, Miya Atsumu
- Honkai Star Rail: Boothill
- Hunter x Hunter: Chrollo Lucilfer, Illumi Zoldyck
- Jujutsu Kaisen: Suguru Geto
- Wuthering Waves: Calcharo, Scar
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