🔞𝟏. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ♡ WC. 1,543
He should’ve ripped your heart from your chest the moment you stepped into his domain. That was the plan. That was always the plan.
But now here you are, barefoot on the damp stones of his Heian palace garden, toes nudging koi fish that do not flee you, hands behind your back, smiling like some idiot child while the sky turns violet with dusk.
And Sukuna—Ryōmen Sukuna, god-king, curse of a thousand hands, devourer of monks, rapist of warmaidens, plague of the plains—stands beside you in full regalia, four arms folded or clasped, or twitching with unreleased wrath, watching the same fish. Watching you.
Your skin doesn’t flinch under his stare. You don’t quake. You don’t even acknowledge the weight of his bloodlust. And it makes him mad—so very mad.
It’s not fearlessness. No, he knows fearlessness. He’d smelled it in warlords and beast-tamers. What you had was worse.
You were genuinely unaffected.
“You fed them,” he growls, all four arms moving in unison, robes rustling like the wingbeats of a vulture. His voice is velvet on rusted iron.
You blink up at him with that same bored gaze—like nothing he says matters, like everything he does is just data to be filed away.
“They were hungry.”
Sukuna tilts his head. Smiles. His real smile—jagged, inhuman, too wide for his face, fangs flashing between cracked lips. It isn’t charming. It’s predatory.
You just stare.
He could gut you. Cut from groin to gullet and let your viscera steam the garden paths. He could devour your brain and your soul and your cursed technique and he wouldn’t even get a taste. The barrier around your body—subtle, untraceable, infuriatingly Gojo—is tighter than any fortress he’s laid siege to. And the moment he tries, it rebounds like divine punishment.
Still, you obeyed the invitation.
You walked into his lair.
You sat beside him on the crimson lacquer platform and folded your hands in your lap like some perfect little maiden. You ate the poisoned dango he offered. You drank his wine. You listened while he spoke of war and slaughter and didn’t flinch when he detailed the way he’d made a noble clan matriarch beg for mercy with her own heir’s bones jammed down her throat.
You just asked: “Did she say anything worth remembering?”
He laughed. He laughed, and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.
You’re an oddity.
You’re a glitch in the world he thought he owned.
And more than that, you’re Gojo’s.
You bear the bloodline. He can taste it in the air around you, feel it in the way space bends just slightly wrong when you turn your head. But you don’t use it. Not in the way your ancestors did.
You don’t even fight.
You’re a sorcerer who won’t exorcise curses.
Sukuna watched you, days ago, kneeling in a field full of low-grade spirits—the cast-off children—and cooing at them like a priestess to stray cats.
He’d watched one curl up in your lap. Another nibble your sleeve. He watched you let them bite, let them climb you. And when they turned on each other and tore themselves to shreds for your attention, you wept.
“They didn’t have to hurt each other,” you’d murmured.
And he’d felt something inside him itch.
You are not kind.
You are something else. Something he hasn’t had in centuries.
A puzzle.
“Do you enjoy playing house with demons?” he mutters now, kneeling beside you, robes dragging on the ground like the shroud of death itself. His breath is hot on your cheek. “Do you want to die that badly, little Gojo?”
You shrug. “They don’t know better. Most of them are just confused. Lonely. And… people are worse.”
That earns you a real reaction.
His head jerks. His lips split. One of his left hands grabs your chin—too hard, but the barrier pulses again and he can’t break skin.
His eyes are fire. “You would rather them over me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to, little girl.”
The wind shifts. His cursed energy spikes, suffocating and malevolent, dragging the flowers around you into premature decay. Petals rot. Fish flee.
You don’t move.
“You’re a freak,” he hisses. “You think I don’t see what you are? Blank little doll. Empty puppet with a pretty face. Everyone else sees a ghost. A failed sorcerer. I see a weapon that doesn’t even know it’s a weapon.”
You turn your head, and this time—this time—he swears he sees the tiniest twitch of something in your gaze. Not fear. Not anger.
Pity.
He reels.
And then you’re smiling again. The same soft, innocent smile. “You asked me to come here.”
“You accepted.”
“I was curious.”
“Curiosity gets little girls killed.”
“Only if the monster catches them.”
Silence.
The air stills. Something ancient crouches between the two of you, thick as blood and dry as bones. It is not affection.
But it is something close to obsession.
He could end the world to understand you. Rip out the stars. Rewrite time.
And still, he doesn’t understand how someone like you exists.
You, who pat his severed arm like it’s a stray dog. You, who listens when he describes eviscerations and just asks for more details. You, who looks like an angel and acts like a cadaver dressed in silk.
It’s sick.
It’s beautiful.
“Tell me something,” he says, drawing a fingernail across the edge of your sleeve. His claws don’t rip the fabric. The barrier won’t let him. “Do you think I won’t fuck you the moment that protection of yours slips?”
You blink. “I know you will.”
No fear. Just fact.
He grins. All his mouths grin.
“I’ll destroy you.”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll rip you apart. You won’t be a girl anymore when I’m done.”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
That stops him.
Just long enough for you to turn back to the koi pond, toes nudging pebbles again. As if you hadn’t just whispered sacrilege into the mouth of a god.
“You were supposed to be a sweet treat,” he mutters. “I wanted to taste Gojo blood. Wanted to ruin the clan with your screams.”
“And now?”
“…Now I want to make you scream.”
Your head tilts.
“Not kill,” he clarifies, voice low, wicked. “Not yet.”
You say nothing. You don’t need to. You’ve already won this battle.
He realizes it too late.
You’ve made him curious. Not just about your power.
But about you.
The little angel who feeds demons and walks barefoot through hell.
And he will find a way to break your barrier.
He will. One day soon.
And when that day comes—
He’ll make sure the whole clan hears how their little prodigy screams.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
It’s all he can think about now—watching you bend slightly to adjust your sandals, soft hair falling over your shoulder, skin so pale it seems to glow in the low dusk.
He imagines your body under his. No, beneath him. Pinned.
Your wrists crushed in two separate hands. Ankles hoisted high, your back arched too far, your legs trembling, and his claws digging into the soft meat of your thighs while your cursed barrier shatters under a technique you didn’t know he had.
He’d start slow, just to watch the way your eyes would widen—not in fear, not even in pain—just confusion. Like a rabbit whose bones have finally broken and doesn’t understand why it can’t run.
You’re too small. He knows you are. Knows your hips won’t part enough to take one of him, let alone two.
He imagines it anyway.
One cock stretching your cunt—slow, inch by brutal inch—until your breath shatters in your chest. The second gliding up between your folds, pressed tight against the first, pushing both in.
He’d split you open. Ruin you. Paint the bedding in a waterfall of your blood and slick.
You’d cry. You’d scream.
You’d hate him—
Or maybe worse.
You’d go silent. Like you always do. Blank little doll, letting it happen with those hollow eyes, watching him with eerie calm even as he fucks the shape of your womb into his claws.
He groans, low and quiet, eyes half-lidded.
His mind floods with the scent of your sweat. The image of your tiny body writhing. The sound you’d make if he grabbed you by the throat and fucked you into the wall, teeth in your shoulder, forcing every inch in like a curse carved by flesh.
He wants you crying. Wants your pride gutted. Wants your blank face broken.
And then he wants to make it worse.
Hold you down while you sob through overstimulation. Force another orgasm out of you with two hands and a tongue you didn’t know could reach that deep. Leave you shaking.
Then fuck you again.
He will do it. He will. He just needs to find the crack in the armor. The weakness in the divine.
Until then…
He’ll keep feeding koi and dreaming of your insides.
“You’re quiet today,” you murmur, eyes on the water.
Sukuna turns, four hands in his sleeves, voice calm.
“Just thinking, little angel.”
You nod, as if that’s the end of it.
But it’s only the beginning.
Because one day, that barrier will break.
And on that day, Ryōmen Sukuna will devour you whole.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.
General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @mokingbrd78k , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay , @yandreams-storageblog , @tnsophiaayaonly , @ilyannailyanna , @starxvs , @iris-arcadia , @misscaller06 , @futuristicxie , @neuvilletteswife4ever , @takeyomikamakura
❤︎ Fang Dokja’s Books.
♡ 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 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I’d Burn the World.
♡ Book 4. 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.
♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.
♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.
