𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

🔞𝟒. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 — 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 ♡ WC. 3,238

He should’ve canceled.

He knew it the moment you opened your mouth and uttered a single line that chilled the blood even in his cursed flesh.

“He’s coming.”

He blinked slowly, arms crossed, four eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Who?”

You didn’t answer immediately. You never did. It was your nature—silent, calculated, frustratingly emotionless in a way he couldn’t pin down. Not shy, no. Not scared. Just… indifferent.

When your lips parted again, your voice was smooth as ink, words drifting like feathers but burning like acid.

“My brother.”

He regretted it.

He regretted letting you set the meeting spot in a neutral province, away from your clan or his, surrounded by the tittering common folk who knew enough to stay out of his shadow.

He regretted asking what a ‘date’ was, then agreeing to it—twice, three times, now four—just because your blank expression made his claws itch with confusion.

Why was he even calling it a date? He didn’t date. He destroyed. He took, ruined, laughed while they cried. You weren’t supposed to be different. And yet he hadn’t fucked you yet—which he hated. You fascinated him more than he cared to admit, and that fucking irritated him. He wanted to gut that fascination out of his chest.

But most of all, he regretted not asking who the fuck your brother was.

Because now he knew.

✦✧✦✧

The skies were bleeding a soft vermillion. Lanterns flickered like fireflies caught in trembling wind. Somewhere beyond the sprawling courtyard of the secluded estate he had claimed just to entertain you, the scent of sakura and blood clung to the breeze like perfume.

He waited for you. Reclining against the lacquered pillar like a god in repose, four arms folded with idle precision, blood red eyes half-lidded in something dangerous. His hair was swept back, ceremonial garb loose and majestic across that monstrous form. You were late.

He liked it when you were late. It made it easier to imagine what he would do if you never came.

And then, he heard the sound of your laughter.

But it wasn’t just your laughter.

There was another voice. Light. Irritating. Dripping with an ease he hated. Footsteps rang out, too loud, too ungraceful to be yours—and when the gate opened, he realized exactly why he’d felt dread pooling in his gut.

White.

Blinding white hair and a cocky grin, a stupid white blindfold and a lanky, unhinged confidence that made the very air tremble.

The brat who got banished from the Gojo clan’s inner court for committing unspeakable atrocities in a drunken bet with the Zen’in and Kamo heads. The arrogant fool who danced through provinces with a blindfold and a grin, destroying tradition with each step. The cursed blessed child who wielded the Six Eyes like a joke and laughed in the face of death.

He looked nothing like you.

The white-haired devil in blue robes had been waiting at the foot of the trail leading to the mountainside temple, lounging like it was a joke. Like he was the chaperone.

Loud. Tall. Flashy. And with one look, Satoru zeroed in on him like a wolf to the kill.

Gojo Satoru.

“Oiiiiii, Sukuna!~”

He wanted to commit a massacre.

“Sooo, you’re the creep dating my baby sister.”

“You brought your brother to a fucking date?” Sukuna had growled.

“You said we were going somewhere,” you said flatly.

But Gojo Satoru had already grinned, arms slung behind his head like a bored noble watching monkeys fight.

“She brings me everywhere. She’s too shy to say she likes you anyway, so I’m here to say she doesn’t. Back off.”

Sukuna wanted to kill him. Not fight. Kill. A body-leveling, shrine-desecrating, land-cracking obliteration. Four hands curled in unison. Veins bulged under the thick black ink coiling around his skin.

“Be polite, brother.”

Sukuna could’ve laughed. Could’ve split Satoru’s jaw open with a flick of his pinky and watched him bleed out on the cobblestones. But he didn’t.

You looked up at Sukuna, oblivious to the storm about to break, and smiled your soft, neutral smile, one that never quite reached your eyes. You gestured faintly. “He wouldn’t let me come alone.”

Sukuna said nothing.

Satoru slung an arm around your shoulder like he hadn’t just disrespected the most powerful tyrant in Heian Japan. “Can you believe this guy asked my baby sister out on a date? FOUR times? Man’s got balls the size of his ego.”

You blinked. Sukuna’s temple twitched.

The ancient king said nothing, staring at the white-haired sorcerer like he was measuring which limb to rip off first.

Satoru kept grinning.

“So what do you even do on these little rendezvous?” he asked, ruffling your hair. “Not like she talks much… You guys just sit around brooding at each other?”

You tugged at his sleeve gently. “You said you would behave.”

“I am behaving!”

You looked at Sukuna. Still silent. Still smiling in that terrible, empty way that meant heads would roll if no one intervened.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, little sister?” Gojo said eventually, leaning in to your ear as if Sukuna wasn’t right there.

Sukuna did not tolerate disrespect. Especially not from bratty so-called brothers with too much power and no fear.

But you only blinked up at Gojo, slow. “Yes.”

“You’re not the same since you met him.”

You said nothing.

“That’s not a compliment,” Gojo added.

Sukuna chuckled darkly. He couldn’t help it.

It was going to be a long night.

And the fourth date hadn’t even started yet.

✦✧✦✧

Satoru flopped down across from you both, legs kicked out, grinning like a man who feared nothing—not death, not gods, not the King of Curses himself. His presence was a contradiction: breezy and relaxed, yet vibrating with enough raw cursed energy to shatter the earth.

“So,” Satoru said, teeth bared in something too sharp to be a smile, “what are your intentions with my sweet little angel?”

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed. “To fuck her senseless and make her mine.”

You didn’t flinch.

Satoru did.

There was a beat of utter silence before Satoru’s cursed energy surged like a flash flood, tearing through the illusion of civility like a blade. The ground cracked beneath the table. The nearby civilians screamed and ran. The air dropped twenty degrees.

You lifted your tea and sipped calmly.

Sukuna didn’t move. Not a twitch. But his second mouth peeled open on his cheek, laughing.

“Come on, Six Eyes. You brought this on yourself. No one told you to crash our date.”

Satoru’s eye twitched. “You don’t date. You abduct. You ruin. You corrupt.”

“I don’t see her resisting.”

“She doesn’t resist anything. That’s her curse.”

Your cup clinked gently as you set it down.

“Stop,” you said.

One word. And both men froze.

After a moment of silence, Sukuna finally moved.

Only one set of hands at first. Slowly. Elegantly.

He poured the sake.

“Would you like a drink, Gojo?”

The smile was a threat.

Satoru blinked, seemingly oblivious. “Don’t mind if I do!”

You took the smallest sip from your cup, quiet and composed, and let the silence do the talking.

Sukuna passed a cup to Satoru.

“I should kill you,” he said, softly.

Satoru beamed. “But you won’t. Because she likes you. For some godforsaken reason.”

Sukuna’s expression didn’t change. “She doesn’t like me. She tolerates me.”

Your lips twitched upward. Just a little.

Satoru blinked at you. “Wait. You don’t like him? Then what the hell are you doing on a fourth date?”

You tilted your head. “Studying him.”

That made Sukuna laugh.

A low, cruel, booming sound that echoed through the garden. Something dark and ancient twisted behind it.

“You hear that, Gojo?” he smirked. “Your precious little sister’s using me. What a heartless little thing. It’s almost admirable.”

Satoru stared between you. And for the briefest second, his expression darkened.

Then, he smiled.

But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You hurt her,” he said, voice a whisper. “And I’ll scatter your soul across a thousand realities.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow.

“You’d try.”

The sake burned. The night deepened.

You sat between two gods poised for war, and drank like none of this concerned you at all.

✦✧✦✧

Sukuna didn’t believe in divine punishment. He was divine punishment.

But if there were a hell for the wicked, it would look exactly like this:

You. Sitting beside him. But not with him.

You, leaning into the shoulder of the Six Eyes bastard with a softness Sukuna had never seen before. Not in battle. Not in conversation. Not even in those rare, unguarded moments when your exhaustion slipped past the edges of your apathy. You were always distant. Always detached. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t let anyone touch you. You certainly didn’t let anyone coddle you.

Except Gojo Satoru, apparently.

“You should eat,” Satoru cooed, plucking a piece of tempura and holding it to your lips like you were royalty. “Come on, angel. For me?”

And worse than the nickname was the way you obeyed. Quiet. Composed. Accepting.

You let him tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You let him squeeze your hand, press his cheek to your temple, speak in that infuriatingly fond tone that made Sukuna want to rip his throat out.

This wasn’t possessiveness.

This was mockery.

The worst part? You didn’t even notice. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t care. Maybe you enjoyed watching them tear into each other. Maybe this was all part of your little game—cold-hearted, quiet thing that you were.

Sukuna watched, arms folded, sake untouched, the smile carved into his mouth nothing but a razor wire snarl.

Gojo met his gaze over the rim of your tea cup.

And winked.

He winked.

Sukuna’s fingers twitched.

“She’s a picky eater,” Gojo said, cheerful. “But with the right touch… she’s obedient. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded. Just once.

Sukuna had torn kingdoms apart for less.

“Funny,” Sukuna drawled, voice like silk over a blade. “You treat her like a doll, and she plays along. I remember a time she would’ve torn your arm off for less.”

“You don’t remember her at all,” Satoru said, smile still plastered to his face, but his tone dipped like frostbite. “You only know the version she shows you. I know the rest.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened.

Your hand was still in Satoru’s lap. Resting lightly. Thoughtlessly.

He shifted closer.

Sukuna didn’t even blink.

He couldn’t.

And still—

You let Satoru kiss your forehead.

The edge of Sukuna’s sake cup cracked under his grip.

You glanced at him. Just for a moment. Your eyes were unreadable. Unblinking.

But you saw him.

And somehow that was worse.

Because he wasn’t part of this. Not really. Not the way Satoru was.

“You’re quiet today,” you said, voice soft.

Gojo smiled like he’d won.

Sukuna bared his teeth.

“Enjoying the show,” he replied.

“It’s not a show,” you said, simply.

Then why did it feel like he was the audience?

Why did it feel like he was being tested?

Sukuna leaned back, eyes narrowed.

✦✧✦✧

Sukuna was not a patient man.

He’d long since abandoned the idea of virtue, of restraint, of playing the gentleman. The only reason he hadn’t dragged you out of this suffocating room, away from the smug bastard beside you, was because he didn’t take what was his in half-measures. When he finally got his hands on you, there would be no question, no gray areas, no uncertain glances.

You’d be his.

Utterly.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

And he’d make sure your precious Six Eyes watched every second of it.

Gojo brushed your hair back again, fingers lingering. The bastard was always touching you. It made Sukuna’s teeth itch.

“Careful, Satoru,” Sukuna murmured, voice a lazy, predatory growl. “Keep your hands to yourself before you lose them.”

Gojo just laughed, leaning in closer to you like Sukuna wasn’t even there. “Someone’s grumpy. You forget this is my girl you’re drooling over?”

“Your girl?” Sukuna scoffed, leaning forward on his elbows, his grin sharp and feral. “Cute. You think giving her pet names and hand-feeding her means she’s yours? She lets you touch her because she knows you’re harmless.”

Gojo’s smile didn’t waver, but his gaze went cold. “And she doesn’t let you touch her at all. Must sting, huh?”

It did.

God, it did.

But Sukuna wasn’t interested in crumbs.

No, he was going to take the whole feast. He’d have you spread out, legs trembling, begging for mercy that wouldn’t come. He’d fuck you so deep you’d forget your own name, only able to sob his over and over. He wanted to see the apathy in your gaze shatter, wanted to hear you scream, to break apart on his cock while your dear brother watched, helpless, furious, and powerless to stop it.

He wanted to ruin you.

To stain you so thoroughly that no one else could stand to look at you without seeing him in every mark, every bruise, every desperate moan.

And Gojo would see it. He’d have to.

Sukuna watched the way your lips curved around a bite of tempura, imagined them slick and swollen around his cock. He imagined pinning you down on this very table, shoving every dish to the floor, making you cry for him while Gojo sat there, white-knuckled and seething.

“You’ve got no idea what she wants,” Sukuna said, voice dropping low, dangerous. “What she needs.”

Gojo tilted his head, still smiling, but it was brittle at the edges. “And you do?”

Sukuna met your eyes.

You looked back.

Unflinching.

Empty.

But not untouched.

He saw it. That flicker, buried deep. The faintest quirk of your brow, the way your lashes lowered, like you knew exactly what he was thinking.

And didn’t tell him to stop.

His cock twitched.

He was going to have you. Sooner or later. And when he did, Gojo would never look at you the same way again.

Not when he’d turned his angel into something obscene.

You reached for your tea again, as though nothing had happened. As though two gods hadn’t nearly leveled the entire district over your heart.

Sukuna watched you for a long time. Watched your blank face, the serene curve of your mouth, the way your eyes held nothing and everything at once.

“I still want to fuck you senseless,” he said.

You stirred your tea. “That’s not surprising.”

“And you still don’t like me.”

“No.”

“But you’re here.”

You finally looked at him, lashes lowering.

“Yes.”

He leaned forward, claws tapping the table, eyes burning.

“Why?”

Your expression didn’t change, but your voice softened.

“Because monsters don’t get happy endings. And I’d like to witness one try.”

Sukuna didn’t smile.

But something in him shifted.

✦✧✦✧

The moment the door clicked shut behind Satoru, silence spread through the room like a storm cloud. Heavy. Inevitable.

Sukuna didn’t look at you right away. He stayed where he was, sprawled back against the worn tatami mat like some lounging predator, a hand lazily cradling his sake cup, the crack along the rim a sharp line against his knuckles. He stared at the door for a beat longer, the lingering echo of Satoru’s smug grin irritating the skin between his shoulders.

“You spoil that idiot,” Sukuna muttered, low and venomous, though his gaze slid to you now, sharp and unkind. “Letting him hang all over you like that. Pathetic.”

You didn’t react the way he wanted. You rarely did.

Instead, you stepped closer, a faint amusement ghosting over your lips. “I told you before, Satoru’s not the one you need to worry about.”

His jaw clenched. “Didn’t look like it.”

You stopped in front of him, and for the first time, Sukuna caught it — the small, poorly wrapped thing in your hands. A square bundle wrapped in cheap patterned paper, some childish-looking ribbon tied crookedly at the top. It looked like something a kid might give their crush at recess. It was so at odds with everything about you, so jarring in its presence, that Sukuna’s brows drew together.

“What the hell is that?”

You didn’t answer right away. You held it out to him.

Sukuna stared at it like it might bite him.

“Take it.”

His lips curled. “I don’t want your pity charity, sweetheart. Go give it to your little lapdog outside.”

“It’s not for him,” you said simply.

A long silence stretched between you.

The flicker in Sukuna’s eyes betrayed him before anything else. The way his fingers twitched against the sake cup, the vein in his neck ticking. You never gave him anything. Not since the flower — and he’d crushed that beneath his hand just to see you smile at the absurdity of it.

But now?

Cautiously, like it might detonate, he reached out and snatched the package from your hand, scowling down at it. The paper crinkled under his fingers. The ribbon slipped loose, the knot never properly secured.

You took a step back, then another, giving him room. And then you did something stranger still.

You bowed.

A clean, respectful tilt at the waist. The kind that carried weight in its simplicity.

“Open it when I’m gone.”

He scowled harder. “What kind of bullshit—”

“Just open it,” you murmured, straightening.

And then you left.

You didn’t wait for a reply. You turned and moved for the door, tugging it open. Satoru was already leaning against the opposite wall, pretending he hadn’t been listening with both ears. He straightened with a shit-eating grin.

“Finally done? Geez, you two need marriage counseling or a cage match.”

You ignored him.

The door shut behind you with a final click.

Sukuna was alone.

The package sat in his lap, offensive in its innocence. A little damn ribbon. Pastel paper with dumb cartoon animals on it. He should tear it to shreds just on principle. Burn it. Pretend it never existed.

But—

There was a smell.

Faint. Subtle. Cloying in a way only he would notice.

Copper. Salt. Sweet decay.

His favorite.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Slowly, he peeled the paper back, revealing a bento box. Cheap, plastic, the kind you could buy at any discount store. Decorated with a ridiculous sticker of a waving cat.

Inside—

A meal.

Cute.

Pathetically cute.

Arranged with embarrassing care. Rice shaped into a little cat, tiny sausages cut like octopus, a hard-boiled egg with a smiley face drawn on in sauce. It was the kind of childish shit that would make any self-respecting killer want to vomit.

But the meat.

It wasn’t pork.

It wasn’t beef.

It wasn’t anything you could buy in a store.

Sukuna’s nostrils flared.

Human.

Fresh.

And tender, by the scent of it.

His fingers tightened around the box.

No one made him things. No one gave him anything. He took. He stole. He claimed.

And you—

You, the coldest bitch he’d ever met, who smiled at violence and never flinched when someone screamed, who taunted him, who never yielded — you made him a fucking meal.

A stupid, childish, personal thing.

For him.

Because you knew what he liked.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what this was. Not some peace offering. Not some clumsy attempt at affection. A test. A thread. A message without words.

And still—

A low, reluctant chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Crazy damn woman,” he muttered.

But he ate it.

Every last bite.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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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 [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.