🔞“You wanna act like a whore? Then be one. On your knees. Now.“
♡ Yandere! DILF’s x Fem. Reader. Sugar Daddy, Old Money, Professor, Sponsor
♡ Headcanons. Midas Eyes – Part 5
♡ Word Count. 3,199
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is tacky in the most charmingly vile way—drenched in designer, reeking of money and an ego to match, the human equivalent of the stock market on cocaine.
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn’t just want to own you, he wants you to dance in his palm like a glittering little coin, shining with the wealth he smothers you in. You, who claim to love only money. You, who are a professional gold digger and use men like a well-oiled machine. You, who are untouchable because you are too expensive to be owned. That only makes him want to break you more.
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who loves when you let other men look, who loves when you prance around in silk and diamonds that he bought, when you tease and taunt because it means nothing to you. But it means everything to him. And that’s where your game gets dangerous.
It always starts as a joke.
You flirt with the wrong man. A new investor, an old friend, a CEO with a net worth high enough to tempt even you. You touch his arm, laugh at his joke, give him that look.
And your sugar daddy watches.
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy plays it cool, because he’s a gambler, a strategist, a man who knows the thrill of high stakes and the payoff of patience. But you know better.
The grip on his glass tightens, his sharp canines flash when he smiles, his fingers twitch as if itching to wrap them around your throat.
It never takes long.
You’re barely stepping into the penthouse before he’s on you.
“Think you’re funny?” His voice is a purr, dangerously amused, pressing you against the marble wall before you can even kick off your heels. “Think it’s cute? Watching me sit there and watch you act like a little whore?”
You smirk. “I am a little whore. Yours, though. You paid for me, didn’t you?”
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy growls, and the next thing you know, your legs are wrapped around his waist, your back hitting the wall so hard the art piece behind you rattles.
“Bought you,” he agrees, hands already tugging up your ridiculous, barely-there dress. “But I don’t share what’s mine.”
It’s always like this with him. Fast. Aggressive. Like he needs to remind you who owns you before you slip between the cracks of his fingers.
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy fucks you desperately, like he can shove his cock so deep inside you that he’ll find that rotten little soul of yours, carve his name into it.
Your body is his favorite playground, and tonight, he plays it like a high-stakes game.
“You love this, don’t you?” His hand is wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to feel your pulse hammering under his grip. “Love making me jealous. Love watching me snap.”
You gasp, nails raking down his back, moaning as he pounds into you with brutal efficiency.
“It gets me more gifts,” you manage, voice breathy.
That makes him laugh.
“That so? Fine, baby. I’ll spoil you fucking rotten.”
And he does.
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy fucks you against the wall, then on the marble floor, then on the couch, and when he finally throws you onto the bed, you’re so drunk on pleasure that you barely register the fact that he’s already reaching for the gold necklace on the nightstand.
His hands are careful, tender even, as he clasps it around your throat.
“There,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Now you’ll always remember who you belong to.”
Afterwards, you wake up to a brand new Cartier bracelet on your wrist and a text notification from your bank account.
Another deposit. Another absurd amount of money.
You huff a laugh, stretching out on silk sheets as your sugar daddy saunters out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, looking like a goddamn billionaire playboy who just railed you within an inch of your life.
“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him.
♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy grins, crawling back onto the bed, trapping you under his weight.
“Yeah?” he hums, biting your lip. “But you love me for it.”
You smirk.
“I love your money.”
He chuckles.
“Same thing, baby. Same thing.”
———
♡ Yandere! Old Money who owns everything. You are standing in a world built by his hands, breathing air taxed under his name. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, because he is the system. You aren’t just playing the game—you are his piece, and he will move you however he pleases.
♡ Yandere! Old Money who has never begged for anything in his life, yet here he is, gripping your wrists like a madman, breathing ragged and uneven. He is not the type to grovel. He is not the type to plead. But when he sees you laughing at some second-rate investor’s jokes, sees the way your hand brushes over their sleeve—
Oh, he sees red.
♡ Yandere! Old Money who fucks like he owns you. Because he does. You may put a price on yourself, claim that all your affections belong to the highest bidder, but he was your first investor. He built you. He sculpted you into the weapon you are. He took the dirty, desperate girl you used to be and turned you into something polished, refined, expensive.
No one else is allowed to profit from his work.
♡ Yandere! Old Money who drags you to his office, the very room where he built his empire, and throws you onto his mahogany desk like a woman to be appraised. His palm wraps around your jaw, thumb pressing against the corner of your lips, the other hand already ripping away your garter straps, your overpriced stockings, your fucking mask of indifference.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
You smirk, because you know exactly what you’re doing.
“Flirting with new clients,” you answer, voice as light as air, like you aren’t a breath away from being ruined. “That’s what you trained me for, wasn’t it? What, you jealous?”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
♡ Yandere! Old Money who keeps you pressed to his desk, making sure you understand exactly where you stand. He doesn’t need to be rough. He doesn’t need to be loud. All he needs is that quiet, absolute authority that makes your gut twist and your legs weak.
“Jealous?” he echoes, gripping your jaw harder, forcing your lips open. “Don’t be absurd. I’m simply reminding you where you belong.”
♡ Yandere! Old Money who starts slow, controlled, savoring every second like he’s drinking an aged wine. Each touch is deliberate. A statement. A promise. His grip bruises, his lips leave marks. He wants to brand you, make you feel the weight of your choices, make sure you understand that you are his and no one else’s.
But your body is treacherous. You arch into him, you moan when he whispers your name like it’s a prayer and a punishment all at once.
And then, the control snaps.
♡ Yandere! Old Money who loses his patience the moment you dare to smirk up at him, that little gleam of defiance in your eye. He doesn’t allow defiance. He has conquered nations with a single signature, crushed corporations with a single word. And yet here you are, taunting him, challenging him like you haven’t already lost the moment you stepped into his world.
He fucks you so hard you forget the names of every man who ever paid for your company. You forget why you even entertained them in the first place.
“If you want money,” he growls against your throat, hands tight around your waist, keeping you in place as he thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re clawing at his back for something, anything to hold onto, “I’ll give you money. I’ll drown you in it. You’ll never have to whore yourself out again. You’ll never have to pretend to be anything other than what I made you.”
And the worst part?
You almost believe him.
♡ Yandere! Old Money who makes you promise, over and over, with every orgasm, that you will never entertain another man again. That you will never so much as glance at another wallet unless it bears his name. That you will let him own you, fully, completely, irrevocably.
And you, being the slut for money that you are, promise him all of it—just to see what he’ll give you next.
———
♡ Yandere! Professor who has the air of a saint and the mind of a heretic. Who preaches wisdom with the cadence of a poet, but whose hands are stained with the quiet violence of obsession.
♡ Yandere! Professor who watches you with an indulgent gaze, the kind a sculptor gives to his half-finished masterpiece. A cruel kind of affection. He lets you believe you are a free agent in this game, a player in a world where only he writes the rules.
♡ Yandere! Professor who never needed to touch you to own you. Who wove himself into your thoughts long before he ever left a mark on your body. A quiet specter of a man, omnipresent, all-seeing.
♡ Yandere! Professor who has seen the depravity of men in its rawest form and found it uninspired. But you, you are an exquisite paradox. A woman who drowns men in lust but feels nothing. A woman who exists only to chase money, yet he sees in you the potential for something far greater. Something divine.
♡ Yandere! Professor should not be jealous.
♡ Yandere! Professor has spent years cultivating himself into something above human folly. Something untouchable, unknowable, godlike in detachment. He has dedicated himself to the pursuit of knowledge, of control. And yet, here he is. A man undone by the sight of you entertaining another’s touch.
♡ Yandere! Professor watches you work with the efficiency of a surgeon. The ease with which you make men fall to their knees. Your power, your allure—it is a currency you wield like a weapon. And tonight, you have chosen to turn it against him.
You know what you’re doing. You always do. You never act without calculation, without precision. You know how to test the limits of his patience, how to ignite something ruinous in him. You know how to make a man want to destroy you just to keep you his.
The moment he gets you alone, the air thickens, a tangible weight pressing against your skin.
“You enjoy this,” he muses, tilting your chin up with two fingers, his voice a calm, measured thing—dangerous in its composure. “Making me watch you with another man.”
You smirk, unbothered. “Didn’t think you cared.”
A chuckle, dark and humorless. “Oh, my dear. You mistake my restraint for indifference.”
His hands are on you before you can respond, pinning you against the desk with a force that is not quite violent, but possessive enough to steal the breath from your lungs. His grip is iron-clad, his body a cage.
“You test me,” he murmurs, his lips tracing the column of your throat, his fingers digging into your hips with enough pressure to bruise. “You think I am above jealousy. Above wrath.”
Your smirk doesn’t waver, even as he tightens his grip. “You talk too much.”
Something sharp flickers in his gaze—a warning, a promise. And then his mouth is on yours, devouring, punishing. He kisses like a man unaccustomed to losing control, like someone who has spent a lifetime curating himself into something refined, only to be unraveled by the mere thought of you belonging to another.
His hands make quick work of your clothes, discarding them without ceremony. He does not take his time. He does not worship. He claims.
“You are mine.”
A statement. A command. A law.
The jealousy in him manifests not in words but in action. He does not allow you a moment’s reprieve, does not permit you the space to breathe without him. Every movement is precise, every thrust deliberate, meant to remind you—body and mind—that you do not exist outside of him.
He speaks to you in murmurs between gasps, in whispers pressed against the shell of your ear.
“Look at me.” A hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his.
“You will remember this.” A bite against your shoulder, a bruise blooming beneath his teeth.
“Say my name.” A hand around your throat, a pressure that borders on reverence.
There is no tenderness in his jealousy, only an insatiable hunger. A need to possess, to mark, to consume. He is not a man who loves softly. He loves like a scholar dissecting his greatest obsession, like a priest worshiping his most blasphemous god.
And you—
You have never been more amused.
———
♡ Yandere! Sponsor who doesn’t talk much. A man of few words, fewer explanations, and zero tolerance for disobedience. He doesn’t play mind games. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough to keep people in check.
♡ Yandere! Sponsor who found you when you had nothing. A starving girl with sharp eyes, draped in a knockoff fur coat, walking through the snow in stilettos you could barely afford. A girl who knew exactly what she was doing when she sat at the high-rollers’ table in a casino, watching men gamble away fortunes with the same detached amusement as a surgeon watching a patient bleed out on the table.
♡ Yandere! Sponsor who recognized a predator when he saw one. And still, you were a little thing. Fragile. Made of silk and glass bones. A girl with nothing but her body and her mind as weapons.
But he liked that.
And he bought you.
It starts quiet.
You always forget that he’s watching you, really watching you. That beneath the unreadable stare and the deep, patient silence, he sees every little thing you do. Every glance you throw at the other men in the room. Every tilt of your head, every time you lean too close to someone who isn’t him.
♡ Yandere! Sponsor doesn’t react. Not at first.
He waits.
And then he gets you alone.
The moment the door shuts, he has you caged in. One hand braced against the wall, his body heat suffocating. The scent of leather, gunpowder, and whiskey wraps around you like a noose. You make the mistake of looking up at him—
And his eyes are blank.
Dead.
Like he’s already decided how this ends.
“You having fun?” His voice is low, gravelly, rough like something sanded down with a blade.
You smirk, feigning innocence. “What? You jealous?”
♡ Yandere! Sponsor doesn’t answer.
Instead, his fingers are in your hair, yanking your head back, exposing the pale column of your throat. He watches your pulse stutter, the delicate flutter against your skin. The only sign that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t have to.
♡ Yandere! Sponsor presses his knee between your thighs, forces you back against the wall until you’re trapped, the cool surface biting against your exposed skin. His free hand settles heavy on your hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind you of his strength.
You roll your eyes. “What, talking to other men? Baby, I talk to men for a living.”
Wrong answer.
The moment the words leave your mouth, he has you over his knee, face pressed against the mattress. The sudden shift sends a sharp thrill through your spine—
And then the first strike lands.
Sharp, brutal. A slap that echoes through the dimly lit room. The sting blooms across your ass, heat spreading beneath your skin.
“You want to try that again?” His voice is still calm, still measured, but there’s a dark edge to it now.
You swallow, gripping the sheets. “I—”
Another slap. Harder this time. You bite back a gasp.
“You only talk to men for a living, huh?” He leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Then why the fuck were you smiling at him?”
You blink, a little dazed, the heat curling low in your stomach. “What, am I not allowed to smile now?”
♡ Yandere! Sponsor growls—actually growls.
And then his fingers are in your hair again, yanking you up so you’re arching against him, your back flush against his chest. His other hand snakes between your thighs, fingers brushing against your already soaked cunt.
“You’re real fucking mouthy for someone who’s dripping,” he murmurs, his voice dark with amusement.
You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like pissing you off.”
His lips curl into a smirk. “Yeah?”
And then he’s inside you.
The stretch is immediate, brutal. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t bother being gentle. He fucks you like he owns you—because he does. Because you sold yourself to him the moment you walked into his world, the moment you let him put his hands on you.
One hand keeps you pinned down, fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, keeping you in place while he pounds into you. The slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, each thrust sending another jolt of pleasure and pain through your body.
“You think I don’t fucking see you?” His voice is low, dark. “You think I don’t know exactly what you are?”
Your fingers curl against the sheets, breath hitching as he drives into you harder.
“Fucking slut.”
Another sharp slap against your ass.
You moan.
He laughs, breathless, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make your vision swim.
“That’s what I thought.”
And then he flips you over, manhandling you onto your back. His eyes catch yours—and there it is. That fucking galaxy hue, swirling like a living thing inside your irises. His pupils dilate, a flicker of something possessive, something primal flashing across his face.
“Turn it off.” His voice is raw. “Now.”
You smirk, teasing. “Make me.”
Wrong answer.
♡ Yandere! Sponsor grabs your thighs, spreading you wide, and fucks into you so hard the bed slams against the wall. Each thrust sends fire through your nerves, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach you think you might snap.
His hands are everywhere—your throat, your hips, your thighs, branding you with bruises, claiming you the only way he knows how.
And when you finally break, when your body seizes around him, your power flickers out, your eyes returning to normal—
He doesn’t stop.
Because you’re his.
And he’ll be damned if he lets you forget it.
Afterward, he doesn’t say anything.
♡ Yandere! Sponsor just pulls you into his lap, keeping you wrapped in his arms, his grip still firm like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
You smirk against his skin, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “Jealous much?”
He huffs. “Next time you pull that shit, I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”
You laugh, curling into him, already planning exactly how to make him snap again.
After all, what’s the fun in being owned if you don’t make your owner work for it?
Yandere! DILFs
Headcanons 1 : Midas Eyes (General)
- Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.
- You’re not a gold digger. You’re an entrepreneur. And business is booming.
- 🔞Every orgasm comes with a zero at the end of your bank account.
- He’s not jealous. He just needs to remind you why no one else can fuck you like he does.
- 🔞”You wanna act like a whore? Then be one. On your knees. Now.”
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General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @yandereaficionado , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata
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♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:
♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology
♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I’d Burn the World.
♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you’re searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution
♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.
♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.
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