She made a game so honest it got blacklisted by 3 studios and loved by 3 million.
β‘ Yandere! Gaming Companies x Fem. Reader. Nintendo, Tencent, Sony, Microsoft
β‘ Word Count. 4,501
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who plays the long game. Who smiles like a prince and kneels like a king, but in his head, you’re already part of his kingdom. You just haven’t signed the treaty yet. Who makes Animal Crossing and then slaughters his rivals like heβs reenacting a Sengoku-era bloodbath, all while humming the Kirby theme.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who was raised with the polish of tradition. Legacy, honor, silent conquests. The kind of man who could wage war through supply chain management and make a child’s toy into a $50 billion empire. He is restraint personified. All clean lines, polished shoes, and an unsettling serenity when things go wrong.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo whoβs all family-friendly in publicβrainbow roads, talking mushrooms, and cheerful plumbers jumping for coinsβbut behind the scenes, he’s launching lawsuits like fireballs. The same man who made Animal Crossing and Mario Kart turns rabid the moment someone emulates a ROM.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who watched his competitors burn through controversies while he survived on nostalgia and cruelty. Who weaponized childhood wonder with precision, wrapping emotional manipulation in red overalls and a high-pitched “Wahoo!”
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who’s been dominating the gaming world since childhood. Who made his first billion while humming the Super Mario theme, watched the rise and fall of empires with a smile, and orchestrated his own rise as quietly as a chessboard coup. PokΓ©mon, Animal Crossing, The Legend of Zeldaβhe isn’t popular, he is culture.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who made you an enemy the moment you announced your debut. Another indie dev with delusions of grandeur, he thought. How quaint.
Until he saw your demo.
And the room went cold.
It was a side-scroller, one he couldβve dismissed in seconds. But the pixel art was too clean, the mechanics were too sharp, the OST hit something in his spine. It felt… like betrayal. His own style. His own crown. Done better.
“Who is she?” he asked his executive team. No one answered. His smile didn’t drop, but someone in the room swore the temperature dropped five degrees.
He called it a fluke at first. Even when you started trending. Even when your beta had more downloads than his last Direct.
He only took you seriously after your viral tweet:
“I grew up on Nintendo, but now I make games I actually want to play.”
Oh. Youβd made it personal.
So he studied you. Quietly. Obsessively. Stalking your devlogs, memorizing your aesthetic, replaying your early builds. Not to competeβbut to understand.
Because he wasnβt just a man. He was an institution. And institutions devour.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who’s always watching. Silent. Judging. Calculating your every move from the moment your tiny upstart studio went viral again for an unapologetically violent indie horror game called “Suffer.exe”βan unholy marriage of pixel art and psychological torment.
You never even made it to your third title before his company reached out. A sleek letter in blood-red ink, personally signed with a single, elegant initial: “N”. An invitation. No, a summons. To what, you weren’t sure. You just knew the words “cease and desist” never came, and that disturbed you more.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo watched you at conventions. Always from afar. Behind tinted glass, from upper balconies. You caught glimpsesβthose cold steel eyes, sharp as the blade in your protagonist’s pixelated hands. The way his gloved fingers drummed rhythmically to the tune of your studio’s rising stock value.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo spoke to you once. At an award ceremony you didn’t remember being nominated for. A private room, drenched in opulence. A tea set older than your entire bloodline. He introduced himself not by name, but by legacy. A man who claimed the throne of gaming nostalgia and would crush anyone daring to change the rules of his kingdom.
“You’re quite disruptive,” he said, voice as smooth as cut glass. “I find it…charming.”
You laughed awkwardly. He didn’t.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who “coincidentally” schedules a meeting at a Tokyo rooftop lounge overlooking Shibuya’s skyline. The press isnβt notified, and his assistant is told to disappear for the evening. You arrive, wary and skeptical, wearing an old hoodie with your studioβs logo while heβs in a flawless bespoke suit.
Heβs all polished charm, asking about your favorite Fire Emblem characters, your childhood memories of Super Smash Bros Melee, and if youβve ever considered bringing Meat Garden Tycoon to console. His words feel like silk, yet you sense the subtle pressureβhow every compliment doubles as a veiled demand.
“You have suchβ¦ potential,” he murmurs, wine glass in hand. “It would be a tragedy for you to remain adrift in the sea of unregulated platforms. Nintendo cultivates its own. We protect our own.”
You laugh it off, claiming youβre too small for him. He smiles, but his eyes read like a battlefield map. In his mind, youβre already seated at Nintendo HQ, your IPs owned, your studio absorbed.
From then on, every move you made was shadowed by meticulously tailored offers. Exclusive deals. Strategic partnerships. Whispered suggestions of console exclusivity. Not requestsβveiled orders. An eternal chess game, where the board was rigged, and you were the final piece he refused to let fall into any hands but his.
Your indie horror games started getting suspiciously high ratings from family-friendly publications. A bizarre cult following sprouted overnight on Switch eShop. A fan-made mod crossing your game with Animal Crossing went viralβand instead of a lawsuit, it got official endorsement.
And you knew. You knew exactly whose gloved hand was tightening around your throat, and he was smiling while doing it.
β‘ Yandere! Nintendo who aims to lock you into exclusivity contracts so binding you might as well be married. He talks about “brand loyalty” the way cult leaders talk about salvation.
He sends you a limited edition Animal Crossing Switch, engraved with your logo, accompanied by an eerily handwritten letter in flawless calligraphy:
“To a kindred visionary,
May our paths intertwine where dreams are crafted, and destinies reshaped.
β N”
β ββββ±ΰΌΊβ―β°β―ΰΌ»β°ββββ
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who’s a global tyrant in a thousand-dollar suit and zero moral compass. Who eats smaller studios for breakfast and has never lost a legal battle because he buys the law before breakfast.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who built his empire through ruthless acquisitions, corporate espionage, and the type of backroom deals that would make a war criminal blush. A walking, talking monopoly with a grin sharp enough to slit throats. He didn’t get to own over 60% of the global mobile game market by playing nice. No, Tencent was the wolf in the boardroom, the devil in the app store.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who walked into the industry with oil baron confidence and said, βWhy build when I can buy?β and proceeded to buy everything. Western shooters, tactical RPGs, mobile farming sims. Your childhood favorites? He owns the servers now.
Youβd think heβs some asshole influencer, not the owner of League of Legends, PUBG Mobile, and Clash of Clans.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who built his empire not on art, but on exploitation. Gacha systems, mobile addiction loops, monetization so evil it made Diablo blush. Who owns everythingβRiot, Epic, a stake in Activision-Blizzard, Ubisoft, you name it. If it breathes and makes money, it probably belongs to him.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who first met you at a game conference. You bumped into him while trying to dodge the Among Us mascot.
He looked you over like you were an NFT he hadn’t decided to ruin yet.
“You smell like Unreal Engine.”
You replied: “You smell like cease and desist letters.”
He smirked.
He offered to buy you out by the end of the night.
You declined. By throwing your drink in his face.
He liked that.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who met you again through a mobile gacha pitch. You hated gacha. He found that sexy.
He leaned close, eyes glinting like jade blades. “So you want to make a game that doesnβt manipulate players into financial ruin? Interesting. Letβs see if your morals survive your first yacht party.”
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who doesn’t understand the concept of “indie.”
“So youβre poor and idealistic,” he once told you, cocking his head. “How… quaint.”
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who speaks to you like youβre already his. Who says things like, βWe could make you bigger than Genshin,β while sipping wine older than your country.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who doesnβt make threats. He just asks questions like, βHowβs your funding holding up lately?β or βWouldnβt it be awful if someone cloned your game mechanics and released it first?β before giving you a very generous offer.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who treats you like a volatile asset. Prized. Dangerous. The kind of girl who could start a bidding war between Sony and Microsoft just by existing. And God, did he love that. The chase. The maneuvering. The quiet, ruthless acquisition of your affections.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who calls you his βlittle rebellion.β Who says it affectionately, like heβs already planned your surrender. Like youβre a cute little indie girl trying to survive in a world of titans, and heβs just letting you run around a bit before the collar snaps.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who will microtransaction your affection. Sends you five phones a day loaded with new games and your face as the profile icon. He thinks itβs romantic. You think itβs targeted harassment.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who casually flexes by offering to delete your enemiesβ WeChat accounts. You joke about it once. Three days later, your ex canβt access his bank account.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who doesn’t fall in love. He acquires. But something about your refusalβit confused him. Made him…curious. No NDA. No corporate leash. You acted like you mattered.
He started showing up at your panels. Sitting in the back, legs spread like he owned the air. Asking awful questions like:
“How do you monetize player nostalgia without triggering international lawsuits?”
You told him to go back to farming whales.
He laughed.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent doesn’t laugh.
And yet, every time he watched your updates, your new mechanics, your devlogs full of unfiltered joyβsomething cracked in him. Like a tooth rotting from too much sweet.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who found you again over dinner in Shanghai, both of you guests at a too-fancy afterparty for a too-predictable esports tournament. You were tired, eyes ringed dark from crunching a patch fix. He was luminous. Handsome. Amused.
“Your code is messy,” he said. “But your ambition is sexy.”
You almost threw your wine in his face. He didnβt stop grinning.
He made a bet with himself then. That he could buy your loyalty. That he could buy you. That your pride, your defiance, your American-dream delusionsβwould all shatter beneath the weight of ten million dollars and a publishing deal.
Spoiler: you walked away.
Spoiler: heβs never forgotten the insult.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who smiled when you refused. Not because he was offended, but because the hunt was more fun this way. Heβd make you need him. Slowly. Heβd outbid you on servers, shadowban your game in overseas markets, drown your tags in SEO sludge. Then, like a savior, heβd swoop in when you were desperate, offering the same deal on your terms β or so youβd think. Every choice an illusion, every freedom a leash.
β‘ Yandere! Tencent who knows youβre going to belong to him eventually, whether in mergers or madness.
“Youβre my rarest pull,” he says one night, as if thatβs not the most disturbing gacha metaphor in existence.
β ββββ±ΰΌΊβ―β°β―ΰΌ»β°ββββ
β‘ Yandere! Sony who wears hoodies to billion-dollar board meetings. Who talks in circles around investors and leaves competitors sobbing into their brand reports. Who eats sugar cubes by the dozen and hasnβt slept properly since the PS2 era.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who built an empire off games that catered to the “misunderstood loner genius” type. The kind of exclusive, brooding narrative experiences like Death Stranding, Bloodborne, and The Last of Us Part II that made you feel like an intellectual for understanding themβeven if you didnβt. He knows exactly how to market despair as prestige.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who’s never been photographed smiling. Who communicates largely through precise, dispassionate email chains and rare one-word texts. Who only shows up to major events like E3 to sit in the back row with a bag of sour candy, watching everyone else embarrass themselves.
β‘ Yandere! Sony whoβs pale like a horror game glitch and talks like a college thesis. You once asked him how his day was and he answered with a 17-minute monologue about the semiotics of controller feedback.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who first met you in a VR demo room. You were testing his prototype; he was standing in the corner, watching you fumble with a headset like a creep in a black hoodie.
“The way you movedβ¦ fascinating,” he whispered. “As if your input lag was non-existent.”
β‘ Yandere! Sony who showed up at your studio unannounced one night, holding a PS2 dev kit like a peace offering. No explanation. No conversation starter. Just silently handed it over like a feral cat leaving a dead mouse on your doorstep.
β‘ Yandere! Sony whoβs responsible for more canceled Silent Hill projects than Konami would like to admit.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who once looked you dead in the eyes after you said you preferred Xbox Liveβs old party chat system and whispered, “Blasphemy.”
β‘ Yandere! Sony who gifts you exclusive PlayStation titles before theyβre even announced. But if you so much as mention playing on PC orβheaven forbidβa Nintendo console, he goes full Death Stranding mode.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who thinks exclusivity is a love language. And SSD speeds are foreplay.
He once said, “I would rather delete the internet than let you stream on Xbox.”
β‘ Yandere! Sony who gets jealous over your keyboard. βIt lacks haptic nuance,β he says, before designing a DualSense controller just for you. It vibrates when youβre sad.
β‘ Yandere! Sony whoβs eerily silent most of the time, except when he goes off on 30-minute rants about Kojima, artistic integrity, or the emotional power of ambient noise in The Last of Us.
He never says “I love you.” He says, “You are my system seller.”
β‘ Yandere! Sony who runs on caffeine, data, and the lingering grief of PS Vitaβs failure. He’s the ghost in your code, the feedback comment that leaves you shaken. βNeeds more emotional depth. Your protagonistβs arc collapses under the third actβs weight. Also, the UI is hideous.β No one asked, but he always knows.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who invites you to a dark office in Tokyo filled with monitors playing Ghost of Tsushima, Bloodborne, and Uncharted 4. Who gestures to a seat beside him and says, βLetβs talk art.β
β‘ Yandere! Sony who views game design like chess. Who plays 4D strategy with controller patents and console exclusives. Who built prestige by taking risks, not because he believed in themβbut because it amused him to see what humans emotionally attached to.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who would rather die than let you think you’re smarter than him. He reads philosophy textbooks for fun, annotates manga with mechanical pencils, and built a game engine just to make a dig at Unreal.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who hates motion controls. Who believes fun is subjective and all things should serve the altar of performance. You once saw him publicly destroy a PS Move in the middle of a press event like it was a sacrifice.
You didnβt know even know he existed until your game got nominated for the same award as God of War Ragnarok.
“You shouldnβt be here,” he said to you backstage.
You looked him dead in the eyes. “Neither should Kratosβs beard physics.”
He stared.
He offered you a partnership deal three hours later.
You said no.
He started stalking your GitHub.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who started anonymously joining your early playtests under the username “notL_sony_official” and giving feedback so specific it started freaking out your entire QA team.
He sent you a single email once. No subject. Just a .zip file containing a custom-built shader that made your lighting engine 300% faster.
No explanation.
You used it.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who wants to nurture your potentialβlike a gardener with a Venus flytrap. He tells you your work is genius. That you deserve a bigger budget. That PlayStation would give you everything you need. So long as you stay. So long as you donβt look at Microsoft. Or Tencent. Or anyone.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who calls you at 3AM to ask if your new horror game was inspired by your childhood trauma, and sounds disappointed when you say no.
β‘ Yandere! Sony who gifts you a PS5 made of obsidian with your logo etched in platinum. “It’s not a bribe,” he says, eyes hollow. “It’s devotion.”
β ββββ±ΰΌΊβ―β°β―ΰΌ»β°ββββ
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who acts like your frat bro, but makes business moves like a Bond villain. Who owns Minecraft, Elder Scrolls, Fallout, Starfield, DOOM, and still acts like he’s the underdog.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who’s the kind of man your PR team warns you about at industry mixers. Loud, unfiltered, and dangerously charismatic in a way that makes sponsors nervous but fans feral. The human embodiment of “your problem child cousin who accidentally became a billionaire.”
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who is the kind of man to show up in Crocs and then drop $70 billion on Activision Blizzard like itβs lunch money.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who’s too hot, too rich, and too annoying to be real. The type of man who walks into a room like a walking TikTok thirst trap but quotes sales stats instead of pick-up lines.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who wonβt stop making dad jokes. Who jokes about buying Nintendo in front of Nintendo. Who launched Game Pass like it was a casual suggestion and then buried half the market in a trench coat of free subscriptions.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who will flirt with your entire dev team and steal your backend infrastructure. Who once bought Bethesda because he was bored and then immediately forgot he owned it.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who throws Monopoly money at problems. Who bought Bethesda, Mojang, and half your favorite indies in the same quarter. Who saw your micro-studio rise and grinned. “Sheβs spicy. Letβs see if she can swim.”
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who first found you through sheer accident while doomscrolling Twitter and laughed so hard at one of your memes he choked on his bubble tea.
He immediately quote retweeted you:
“Iβd let this dev crash my servers any day π©π» #indiegirlboss #gamedev”
You blocked him.
He made 3 alt accounts to apologize.
One of them was verified.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who showed up to your PAX panel wearing a hoodie that said βI β€οΈ Game Passβ and asked you mid-Q&A:
“So…how committed are you to not selling out? Like, hypothetically, if I offered you a small island and a team of 200 engineers?”
You stared.
“Whatβs the catch?”
“You have to let me be the final boss in your game. Shirtless.”
You threw your lanyard at him.
He caught it. Smiled.
“So thatβs a maybe.”
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who gives out cloud credits like candy and laughs like the world isnβt a chessboard and he isnβt six moves ahead. Who flirts in API integration offers and marriage proposals disguised as Game Pass contracts.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who pretends to be chill but keeps talking about “cross-platform synergy” like itβs code for monogamy.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who doesnβt court you with flowers or ominous threats. No, he shows up at your studio with a fully stocked Taco Bell truck, three VR headsets, and an executive check worth seven figures to put Meat Garden Tycoon on Xbox Game Pass.
βBruh, imagine itβSentient Meatball Battle Royale. Exclusive. Day one on Game Pass. Letβs fucking GO.β
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who bribes your affection with Game Pass. One morning you wake up to find your house fully furnished with Xbox-branded furniture. He bought you a fridge. It runs Doom.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who buys you Game Pass Ultimate for life before you even meet. Who says, βWe should totally collab,β and next thing you know youβre being flown to Seattle for a βcasual Xbox mixerβ that turns out to be an all-night Halo LAN party hosted by Phil Spencer himself.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who starts joining your Twitch streams under a burner account named GamePassThighs69, donating absurd amounts while leaving comments like “Iβd let you harvest my organs, queen.”
He leaks a fake trailer for Meat Garden Tycoon 2: Meatpocalypse exclusively on Xbox Series X, without your permission, just to see your reaction. The video includes a rendered meatball character that looks suspiciously like his own face, holding a Needler from Halo.
When you confront him, he just sends you a selfie, middle finger up, captioned:
“Itβs called manifesting, babe.“
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who hosts Minecraft date nights. Who lets you build anything, then quietly replaces the villagers with AI-generated replicas of himself.
You once broke up with him.
The next day, your PC updated into a blue screen that just said: “Error 404: You Canβt Leave Me.”
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who swears on his Xbox Live rep that he’s just a friend. Who signs every email with “Sent from my Zune” like itβs 2007. Who names you as his plus-one to The Game Awards without asking. Whoβs already planning your joint studio logo in his notes app.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft whoβs a chaos gremlin with a trillion-dollar wallet and absolutely no shame. Who gifts you a custom Xbox controller shaped like your company mascot and whispers, “I want to be the only platform you need.”
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who, despite the fratboy exterior, is frighteningly good at numbers. He knows your player retention curve, your average revenue per user, and your licensing vulnerabilities. Underneath the chaos is a terrifyingly efficient machine.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who jokes about marriage contracts in public. “Listen babe, if you ever wanna sell out, lemme put a ring on that IP.” Everyone laughs. You donβt. Because you saw the look in his eyes when he said it.
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft who sends you late-night voice messages that start as business advice and end with, “Seriously though, you’d look hot in Xbox green.”
β‘ Yandere! Microsoft whoβs smiling when he says, “Itβs not a monopoly if itβs love.”
He doesnβt need to trap you in a contract. The worldβs already rigged in his favor. And heβs going to make damn sure you realize it.
β ββββ±ΰΌΊβ―β°β―ΰΌ»β°ββββ
You were born in the dim-lit basement of your older brother’s failing tech startup, surrounded by the gentle hum of overheating servers and the faint scent of expired Red Bull. He named you after his favorite open-source graphics engine. You learned to type before you could walk, learned to code before you could cry, and learned to cry only when the family Wi-Fi was cut off. Your first words werenβt “mama” or “papa,” but βsyntax error.β
Your parents left when you were eightβphysically present, emotionally bankrupt. Theyβd invested everything in CryptoZooCoin. You, the last stable element in a collapsing household, took on the role of an unpaid emotional support animal for your entire family, including the houseplants. You made games to cope. Your first indie title, Please Donβt Cry, Basil, was a point-and-click about nurturing a suicidal potted plant through a volatile stock market crash. It went viral on Tumblr. You made $14.
School was worse. A chess prodigy and mathlete, you were bullied by both the popular kids and the outcasts. They called you βGamer Girl.β Not in a fun way. The cafeteria once held a Smash Bros tournament where the prize was not having to sit next to you for a week. You still came in first. No one clapped.
College was a fever dream of ramen, unpaid internships, and late-night existential coding. You submitted a game for your thesis titled Morality.exe, a self-learning AI simulator that punished players for making unethical business decisions. Your professors hated it. So did the corporations who tried to buy you out. You refused all offers. You were a naΓ―ve idealist. Or, as one Venture Capitalist later screamed at you, a βself-righteous little goblin with no concept of market scalability.β
Your studioβif it could be called thatβwas a mildewed one-bedroom you shared with three cats, an immortal roach named Kevin, and the ghost of your hopes. You launched your first full-length game, The Honest Path, on Steam. A narrative-driven, hand-drawn morality adventure where the only way to win was to lose. Critics called it βbeautifully pointless.β You were blacklisted from three publishers. You framed the rejection emails.
But your game developed a cult following. Neurodivergent teenagers made animatics. Lonely adults sent you emails thanking you for the catharsis. One man proposed marriage through a mod. You declined. You were busy animating a tragic cutscene about tax fraud.
You built your community slowly. No ads. No microtransactions. No NFTs. You personally emailed every new player with a thank-you note and a random philosophical question. People loved you. People trusted you. In a world of aggressive monetization and soulless cash-grabs, you were a pixelated savior.
But success made you a target. They started with friendly buyout offers. You declined. Then came the smear campaigns: fake reviews, stolen assets, Twitter bots calling you “woke trash.” You released a statement saying you were just tired and wanted to make games about cats who cry. They mocked you. One headline read: βIndie Dev Suffers Meltdown Over Mammal Depression Sim.β
Then your PayPal got mysteriously frozen. Your servers went down. Your home address was leaked. You kept coding. When your laptop was stolen, you scribbled dialogue trees on napkins and kept going. When you ran out of food, your cat brought you a dead rat and you said thank you like it was a Michelin meal.
You lived. You endured. You shipped another game.
Faith.exe was a brutally honest spiritual horror that asked the player not to win, but to believe. It broke you. But it broke the internet more. Streamers cried. The Game Awards ignored it. You got fan art of yourself as a patron saint of suffering. Someone mailed you a crocheted version of Kevin the Roach.
You became a legend. Not for the money. Not for the fame. But for your refusal to fold. You were the anti-corporate fairy tale. You were hope on a hard drive.
And now?
Now the big boys want in. Nintendo. Tencent. Sony. Microsoft. Each one polished, smiling, holding a contract written in a font that smells like blood. They say they believe in you. They say you have potential. They say they want to help.
You smile politely. You close the laptop. You return to your corner and start sketching a new character: a small black kitten in a raincoat. Heβs crying again. So are you. But itβs okay.
You have work to do.
β‘ A/N #1. Okay. Not gonna lie, this hit me a bit. I really like how I portrayed Reader here. One of my favorite Reader characters. TRULY.
β‘ A/N #2. Okay. Admittedly this idea came randomly at night. And I made fun of it with my friend. Basically “what if I make yandere Nintendo?”. We were discussing Nintendo Switch games and them gatekeeping these like crazy. But, anyways, I actually like this concept. Might make a serious story based on it. Genuinely. I really enjoyed writing Reader. Had fun with the yandere characters, but Reader resonated with me a lot.
β‘ A/N #3 (April 8). Good news. I’m making an official serious story based on this idea. Will take a while to release, so thanks for being patient. (spoilers: It’s for a follower special)
General TAG LIST of βWhispers In The Darkβ: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @futuristicxie , @neuvilletteswife4ever
β€οΈ Fang Dokja’s Books.
β‘ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:
β‘ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology
β‘ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
β‘ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I’d Burn the World.
β‘ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
β‘ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
β‘ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarianβs Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
β‘ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblrβs 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
β‘ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.
β‘ 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 yourselfβrepeated 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.
β‘ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.
β‘ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.
ππ¨π'π¬ ππ«π¨πππ π¨π§π’π¬π 