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twistedheartsclub · 2 months ago

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Training Her Right Male X Fem Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Dark Romance · Age Gap · Power Imbalance · Obsession · Grooming Themes · Corruption Arc · Noncon/Dubcon · Emotional Manipulation · Discipline · Military Trainer x Civilian Girl · Slow Burn · Toxic Dynamics · Psychological Control · Praise & Degradation · Yandere Male Lead · Loss of Innocence

Y/N didn’t belong here.

She knew it the second she stepped inside the studio—mirrors gleaming, music pulsing low and steady, air thick with the scent of sweat and eucalyptus. The women inside were sleek, toned, barely dressed. They moved like they lived here. Like they were built for this.

Y/N tugged her oversized hoodie lower over her hips, trying not to think about the way her thighs touched when she walked. She wasn’t thin. Wasn’t toned. She had hips, full breasts, a soft stomach that she always tried to suck in, even when it hurt.

The girl at the front desk barely looked up.

“Looking for someone?”

“I just—wanted to ask about pricing. I’m not sure if I’m—”

“You can check the website.”

Y/N nodded, already turning toward the door, cheeks burning.

That’s when she saw him.

At the far end of the studio, near the squat rack.

He stood with his back to her—broad, hard, unmoving. His shirt clung to his body like second skin, sweat darkening the fabric along his spine. He turned slightly, just enough for her to catch the sharp line of his jaw, the set of his mouth, the brutal stillness in his expression.

Military. She didn’t even have to ask.

The woman he was training was flawless—abs tight, legs long, not even breathing hard as he corrected her stance with a hand at her waist.

Y/N meant to look away. But he looked up.

Right at her.

Not a glance. Not a flicker.

He saw her.

Really saw her.

His eyes dragged from her face to her covered chest, down the curve of her waist, to the swell of her thighs beneath black leggings. No mockery. No judgment.

Just… calculation.

Like he was measuring something only he could see.

She turned quickly, fumbling for the door, her heart pounding. Stupid. Why had she even come?

“Wait.”

The voice froze her in place.

His voice.

Low. Controlled. Firm enough to command without raising its volume.

She turned slowly.

He was closer now, walking toward her like something out of a dream that didn’t care whether you woke up or not. Taller than she expected. Built like a weapon. His eyes were grey-blue, cold and clear like glacier water.

“You looking to train?” he asked, voice calm, unreadable.

“I—I was just looking around.”

“Have you trained before?”

“Not really,” she admitted, tugging on her sleeve.

His gaze swept over her again. Slower this time.

“You’ve got structure,” he said. “Stability. Balance in the hips. Strong glutes. Good shoulders.”

She flushed. No one had ever said anything like that to her.

“I don’t usually take new clients,” he added.

“Oh. That’s okay, I—”

“But I could make an exception. If you’re serious.”

He pulled a card from his pocket. Black, minimal, his name printed in silver block letters.

Cole Maddox.

Private Trainer.

Discipline over motivation.

Their fingers brushed as he handed it to her.

Her stomach flipped.

“Text me,” he said. “If you want to change your life.”

He turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Y/N stood frozen in place, his card warm in her hand.

And from that moment on—her life stopped belonging to her.

Cole hadn’t expected to think about her again.

When he saw her standing by the door that day—nervous, oversized hoodie hiding her shape—he saw potential. That’s it. Not a conquest. Not a fantasy. Just someone who needed fixing.

He’d been training long enough to spot strong foundations. Her posture wasn’t bad. Her gait was balanced. Her legs were thick, yes, but they were powerful. There was control buried beneath the softness.

And he’d always liked softness.

He never said it aloud. Not in the military. Not in gyms. Not around other men. But the kind of woman who jiggled when she walked? Who moaned softly from pressure on her thighs, who blushed when sweat rolled down her chest?

That did something to him.

Still—he hadn’t seen her that way. Not at first.

Until she texted.

“Hi—it’s Y/N from the studio. I’d really like to train with you. Do you have time to talk about a program and meal plan?”

Short. Polite. Hopeful.

He stared at the message for three minutes before replying.

“Come by tomorrow at 6. We’ll sit down and plan.”

He should’ve left it at that.

But when she walked into his office the next evening—fresh-faced, hair pulled back, wearing a black tank top and leggings that hugged her hips too well—he felt the first thread of restraint snap.

Chapter Three: The First Slip

Her top kept slipping.

Not drastically. Not on purpose. Just enough.

Every time she leaned forward to look at the sample meal plan, the fabric dipped. The swell of her breasts peeked out—round, heavy, skin flushed from the heat of the room.

Cole cleared his throat more than once.

She didn’t notice.

She was too busy trying to absorb the information, nodding eagerly as he spoke about macros and protein intake. Her pen tapped the desk nervously. She smelled like coconut shampoo and lotion. Sweet and warm. Human.

“I know it’s a lot,” he said, voice calm, hands folded tightly in front of him. “But if you trust the system, I can take you far.”

“I do,” she said, too fast, too soft. “I mean—I want to. You seem like you really… know what you’re doing.”

She smiled, a little embarrassed.

Then she stood to grab her water bottle from the chair beside him—and her hip brushed against his knee.

She froze.

“So sorry,” she said, hand fluttering nervously, cheeks burning.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because for just a second, the swell of her ass had pressed against him, soft and perfect and so close—and he felt himself twitch. A slow, hard ache that filled his groin with heat.

She didn’t notice.

Or maybe she did.

Because her eyes flicked to his lap—then quickly away.

She sat back down, chewing her lip.

He forced himself to speak. Steady. Unshaken.

“You don’t need to apologize. This space is tight.”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. Her thighs pressed together under the table. She didn’t say much after that.

He watched her leave.

Watched the sway of her body.

And told himself it meant nothing.

But that night, he didn’t touch anyone else.

He didn’t need to.

They started training three times a week.

Nothing extreme at first—mobility drills, resistance bands, form correction. But Cole had his hands on her constantly. Always correcting, always guiding.

“Roll your shoulders back—good, hold that.”

“Breathe through your nose. Don’t break eye contact.”

“Let me feel your core—no, here.”

She flinched the first time his fingers grazed the edge of her sports bra. Not because it was inappropriate—he made sure it wasn’t—but because it sent heat up her neck.

He didn’t look away.

Just nodded, satisfied, and moved on.

They started talking in between sets. Just small things at first—music, food, weekend plans.

Then it got deeper.

She told him she was twenty-one. Just starting to figure out who she was. Didn’t have many friends. Never dated seriously. Still lived with her mom. Still didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life.

“I just feel stuck sometimes,” she admitted one day, wiping sweat from her brow. “Like I’m not doing enough. Or I’m just… not enough.”

He didn’t mock her. Didn’t offer some cheap motivational quote.

He just said, “You don’t need to know everything right now. You’re building. And building takes time.”

She stared at him like he’d just pulled her from a hole.

“What about you?” she asked softly. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Midwest,” he said. “Small town. Left for the military at eighteen. Infantry first, then special operations. I was gone most of my twenties.”

She nodded. “Did you like it?”

He was quiet for a long time.

“No. But I was good at it.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten.

“You ever think about going back?”

He looked at her then—eyes cold, unreadable.

“Not when I have something to stay for.”

She didn’t know what to say.

So she smiled. A little shy. A little proud.

He looked down at her water bottle and said, “You been sticking to the meal plan?”

“I’m trying,” she said, embarrassed. “But it’s hard. My mom doesn’t cook the same way, and I’m just… not good at prepping stuff in advance.”

He reached over, plucked the bottle from her hand, and capped it.

“I’ll help you.”

“What?”

“Your meal prep,” he said simply. “We’ll do it together. I’ve got the space. You come by after your session tomorrow. Bring your groceries.”

She hesitated.

He leaned in slightly.

“I want to make this easier for you. You’re not alone in this.”

And something in the way he said it—

Like a promise. Like ownership cloaked in care—

Made her nod.

“Okay.”

She showed up at his place with a tote full of groceries and a nervous smile.

It was a quiet street. No neighbors in sight. His house was dark brick, clean lines, military neat. Controlled. Masculine.

He opened the door before she knocked.

He wore a black t-shirt this time—tight over his chest, sleeves hugging his biceps. He looked younger here. Less instructor, more man.

But his eyes were the same.

Watching.

She stepped inside, trying not to stare at the polished floors, the leather furniture, the cold modern fixtures. It smelled like cedar and something deeper—earthy, clean, him.

“No shoes,” he said casually, nodding to the mat.

She slipped them off.

And just like that, she was smaller.

More vulnerable.

He took her tote without asking and moved to the kitchen. She followed, heart beating a little too fast.

“This is… really nice,” she said.

“I built it myself,” he replied. “Didn’t want anyone else touching my space.”

The way he said it made her toes curl.

The kitchen was large, spotless, professional. Stainless steel everything. Organized spice racks. A row of knives mounted on the wall.

“You ever use a knife like this?” he asked, selecting one and flipping it expertly between his fingers.

She shook her head. “I—I usually just microwave stuff.”

He smiled. Not mocking.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

He stood behind her while she chopped.

Too close.

His hands guided hers—big, warm, steady over her small fingers.

“You’re too tense,” he murmured. “Loosen your grip.”

She exhaled, adjusted.

“Good,” he said softly. “See? You’re already learning.”

He smelled like soap and smoke and something darker underneath.

Every time she leaned forward, her ass brushed against his hips.

He never moved away.

And when she apologized, cheeks red, he said:

“I like the way you move. Don’t hide from it.”

They cooked in silence for a while—protein, vegetables, oats, rice. He showed her how to portion, how to measure, how to prep for the week. Every motion was exact. Like a ritual.

He didn’t offer small talk.

He didn’t ask her questions he didn’t already know the answers to.

But when she finally relaxed—sitting at the bar with a glass of lemon water—she opened up.

“I used to hate my body,” she said quietly.

His eyes darkened.

“Used to?”

She looked away. “I don’t know. You make it seem like it’s not something to be ashamed of.”

He came around the bar and stood in front of her.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed,” he said. “Your body is strong. Real. Yours. You’ve been told your whole life that softness is weakness. But it’s not.”

She didn’t speak.

Just stared up at him, something flickering behind her lashes.

“You think I want the girls at that gym?” he asked, stepping between her knees. “The ones with hollow ribs and air between their thighs?”

Her breath hitched.

“No,” he whispered, voice lowering like a secret. “I want the kind of body I can hold. That I can train. That I can build from the inside out.”

Her thighs pressed together.

He saw it.

Felt it.

“I should get going,” she said, voice trembling.

But she didn’t move.

He reached up—slowly—and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re safe here.”

That was the first lie.

And she believed it.

The moment was small.

It started with laughter.

Y/N had leaned over the counter again, her tank top slipping the slightest bit as she reached for a Tupperware lid. Her hips shifted, brushing against Cole’s lower abdomen.

He didn’t step away.

His body pressed back—firm, deliberate, unmistakable.

She froze.

His breath was at her neck. Warm. Heavy.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Don’t test me.”

Her pulse jumped. “Wh—what?”

But his voice had returned to calm.

“Knife’s still on the counter. I don’t want you cutting yourself.”

She laughed awkwardly, pulling away, brushing a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear. “Right. Of course.”

He didn’t smile.

Just watched her.

The weight of his stare stayed on her skin long after she left.

Y/N didn’t tell anyone about that moment.

She figured she was reading into things. Cole had always been close—physical in that trainer way. He was professional. He never touched her wrong.

She didn’t see the way he looked at her when she bent at the waist. How his jaw clenched when she let out soft, breathless sighs after a tough set. She didn’t know how many times he’d watched her walk away and imagined ruining her softness with his hands.

She came to his home twice more that week. They prepped food. Drank tea. Talked about sleep schedules.

He gave her a new supplement. One he picked just for her.

“I want your hormones stable,” he said. “Fatigue’s hitting too soon. You’re better than that.”

She smiled. Trusted him. Took the pills without question.

It was supposed to be a normal day.

They were halfway through her circuit—sweat beading on her skin, shirt riding up with every twist—when she said it.

“I’m going on a date tonight,” she said, almost giddy. “It’s stupid, but I’m kind of excited.”

Cole paused.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

“A date.”

“Yeah. Leah set it up. He picked the restaurant and everything. He even sent me the menu to help me track my macros—how sweet is that?”

She laughed, reaching for her water bottle.

Cole didn’t laugh.

“Sounds like a lot of effort for someone who hasn’t met you yet.”

Y/N blinked. “Well… yeah, but that’s kind of the point, right?”

He didn’t respond.

Just stared at her. Hard. Still.

The silence stretched.

Then he grabbed the weighted bar and dropped it in front of her.

“Deadlifts. We’re pushing your numbers today.”

She hesitated. “Now?”

He nodded once. Cold.

“Five sets. Eight reps. No breaks.”

He pushed her harder than ever before.

When she whimpered, he grunted, “Again.”

When she gasped for breath, he said, “Control it.”

When she stumbled, dizzy, he caught her—but held her too long, one hand gripping her lower back like it belonged there.

By the end, she was shaking. Dripping. Red-faced and glassy-eyed.

“You’re not focused,” he said sharply. “If you can talk about a man while you’re training, then I’m not pushing you hard enough.”

She looked up at him, hurt blooming in her chest. “I didn’t mean—”

He stepped in, closer than usual.

“I want you to remember something,” he said, voice low. Dangerous. “Your body didn’t look like this three months ago. I built you. I reshaped every inch of you.”

She swallowed hard. His breath was warm against her cheek.

“You think some guy picking a dinner menu gives a damn about what it took to make you move like this?” His fingers brushed her waist, possessive. “To make you feel this way?”

She took a step back, heart racing. “I think I should go.”

He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t say another word.

But when she turned away, she felt his eyes burning into her spine.

Y/N didn’t tell him where she was going.

She didn’t need to.

He’d read the name of the restaurant off her phone days ago when she wasn’t looking.

And now here she was—stepping out of a rideshare in a soft, curve-hugging wine-red dress that made his throat go dry.

He’d been parked across the street for fifteen minutes, waiting.

His date—a tall, model-thin woman in a sleek black gown—had her arm draped around his. She was beautiful. Elegant. Cole didn’t even remember her name.

He only brought her here for one reason.

To be seen.

And Y/N saw him the moment they reached the host stand.

Her smile froze.

But she didn’t falter.

She walked up slowly, her date at her side—nervous, clearly trying too hard in his ironed blazer. She introduced him with a kind, careful smile.

“Cole—this is Evan. Evan, this is my trainer.”

Her voice was steady.

But her eyes were wide.

And Cole saw the flicker of fear buried in them.

Good.

She was starting to understand.

“Nice to meet you,” Evan said, extending a hand.

Cole took it. Firm. Crushing.

“Likewise,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Y/N laughed nervously. “Small world.”

“You look well,” Cole said to her directly, ignoring Evan completely. His eyes traveled slowly down her body, devouring every curve the dress clung to. Her hips. Her breasts. The bare skin of her collarbone. His gaze lingered there.

She shifted on her heels, arms crossing instinctively over her chest.

“Thanks. Um. You too.”

His date leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Shall we get our table?”

Cole nodded, eyes never leaving Y/N.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again,” he said smoothly. “We have training in the morning, don’t we?”

Y/N swallowed. “Right. Yes.”

The two couples parted—hers visibly shaken, his pristine and composed.

But all night, she could feel it.

His eyes.

Even from across the room.

When she laughed too loudly, when she leaned in toward Evan, when she licked sauce off her fork—Cole watched her like a predator chained to a post.

When she excused herself to go to the bathroom, she almost ran into him in the hall near the coat closet.

Too close.

Too dark.

He said nothing at first. Just stood there. Towering. Blocking her path.

She stiffened.

“I thought you were busy,” she said quietly.

“I was.”

“You brought someone.”

His eyes flicked down her body again.

“So did you.”

She tried to walk past him.

His hand caught her waist—brief, firm, hot.

“You look like you’re trying very hard to forget who you belong to.”

She flinched.

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.

“You will.”

And then—he let her go.

The gym was empty when she arrived.

The lights were dimmed low, the early morning sun barely filtering through the frosted windows. No music. No receptionist. Just the low hum of the building’s heating system and the steady pounding of her own heartbeat.

Y/N stepped inside and pretended not to be nervous.

She hadn’t slept.

Not after the hallway.

Not after the heat of Cole’s breath against her ear, his hand on her waist, the feeling of being owned without consent.

She swallowed that fear now. Buried it.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He was already waiting by the mats. Arms crossed. Black compression shirt. Barely-there smirk.

“You’re early,” he said.

“So are you,” she replied.

He nodded toward the corner. “Stretch. We’re doing floor work today. Core, hips, control.”

She didn’t argue.

She did what he said.

It started normal.

Plank holds. Leg raises. Glute bridges.

He corrected her form like always—hands on her hips, brushing over the soft skin of her inner thighs, thumbs pressing low into her abdomen to “activate the muscle.”

But there was a tension in the air that wasn’t there before.

His hands lingered too long.

His breathing changed.

And when he knelt behind her during a tabletop hold—his pelvis aligned with her backside, body pressing forward—she felt it.

Hard.

Thick.

Unmistakable.

His cock was pressed right against the curve of her ass, moving ever so slightly as she breathed, as she held the pose.

Her breath hitched.

“Cole—”

“Hold it,” he said, voice low.

His hand slid down her spine, flattening between her shoulder blades to keep her from rising.

She tried again.

“This isn’t—stop. Please—”

“I told you not to test me.”

Then he pushed.

Not hard enough to hurt.

Just enough to knock her off balance.

She hit the mat with a gasp, chest first, elbows bent under her, body trembling.

And he was already on her.

One knee between her thighs.

One hand sliding under her ribcage to pull her up slightly.

His body pressed to hers—solid, unrelenting, ready.

“Cole—stop.” Her voice cracked now, raw.

But his mouth was by her ear again, just like last night.

“You wore that dress for him,” he hissed. “But you trained for me. Every inch of this body—I built it.”

His hips rolled forward, grinding slow and hard into her backside.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you do to me. That’s what you’ve been doing since the first time you said my name.”

Her whole body shook beneath him. Not from pleasure.

From panic.

She tried to twist out from under him.

But he held her fast.

“You don’t get to pretend anymore,” he whispered. “You wanted this. Every time you let me touch you. Every time you moaned under my hands. You. Wanted. This.”

And then—

He stopped.

Just as suddenly as he started.

He stood, backing away, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his temples.

Y/N stayed frozen on the mat, breath shallow, tears stinging behind her eyes.

“You can go,” he said, voice low. Controlled. Dangerous. “We’ll pick up again tomorrow.”

Leah knew something was wrong the second she opened the door.

Y/N stood there in her hoodie, pale and shaking, gym bag hanging off her shoulder like dead weight.

“Jesus—what happened?” Leah pulled her inside, closing the door behind them.

Y/N didn’t know how to start. She sat on the edge of Leah’s couch and stared at her hands, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound insane.

“It was Cole,” she said finally. “My trainer.”

Leah’s face went still.

“He… he didn’t do anything. I mean, not really. But it was… wrong. He was on top of me. Pinned me. And I told him to stop, but he didn’t. Not right away.”

Leah sat down slowly.

“You need to switch trainers,” she said, voice tight.

“I tried. I’m going to. I just—”

“No. Now, Y/N. Don’t go back there. Cancel everything. Get a woman. This is what happens when men get too close. They think they own you. They act nice until they don’t get what they want.”

Y/N swallowed.

“I should’ve listened,” she whispered.

“You still can.”

Y/N called the gym the next morning.

She requested a transfer. A new trainer. Someone else. Anyone else.

The receptionist on the line—soft-spoken, chipper—took her name, her request.

“Give me one moment to check availability.”

There was a pause.

Then, bright and casual:

“I’m so sorry, but all of our other trainers are at full capacity. Especially the female instructors. But you’re always welcome to stay with Cole—he’s one of our best.”

Y/N’s blood went cold.

She hung up.

And canceled the membership entirely.

She’d go pick up her things herself.

One last time.

The locker room was quiet.

Most of the lights had been dimmed. The front desk was busy checking out clients. No one saw her slip past. She just needed to grab her things. Her extra shoes. Her shaker bottle. The sweatshirt she always forgot to take home.

She kept her head down, heart thudding.

She wasn’t prepared to hear the door shut behind her.

Or the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoing across the tiles.

She turned.

Cole stood just past the corner of the lockers—arms crossed, jaw tense, eyes full of something feral.

“I was wondering when you’d come back,” he said.

Her throat went dry.

“I canceled my membership.”

“I know.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

He took a step forward.

She took one back.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, voice small. “Don’t—don’t come near me.”

“I gave you everything,” he said, voice tightening. “Time. Discipline. My hands. My fucking control. And now you’re trying to pretend none of it meant anything?”

“It didn’t. Not like that.”

He closed the distance in two steps.

Her back hit the locker.

His hand pressed beside her head—not on her, not yet, but caging her in.

“You liked how it felt,” he said. “When I touched you. When I pressed into you. Your body didn’t lie. You shook.”

“I was scared.”

He leaned down.

So close.

“So why didn’t you scream?”

Her breath hitched. Eyes wide. Body trembling.

He looked down at her lips. Her throat. Her chest. Still heaving.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured. “And you think it’s fear, but it’s not. It’s adrenaline. Need. You miss the way I made you feel.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m leaving.”

“You won’t.”

He stepped back.

Not because he wanted to.

But because he knew she would run faster if he gave her space.

And he wasn’t finished yet.

Y/N tried to vanish.

She blocked his number. Deleted the gym’s app. Told Leah she was staying at her cousin’s house for a while. She needed quiet. She needed to breathe.

She didn’t go to class. Didn’t answer unknown numbers. She even left her job early when she saw a black car parked too long across the street.

She felt hunted.

Because she was.

Cole was patient.

Not frantic. Not angry. Focused.

She didn’t scream when he touched her. That meant something. Her body responded. That meant everything.

He didn’t need to chase her.

He just needed to wait for the perfect moment.

So he created it.

It started with a letter.

A job interview—anonymous recruiter, professional formatting, all above-board. Too good to pass up. She hadn’t even applied, but the position was right. The pay? Even better.

Desperate to move on, to move forward, she went.

An office space. Clean. Empty. Quiet.

She stepped inside, heels clicking on tile.

The door shut behind her.

Locked.

She turned too fast—heart in her throat—and saw him.

Cole.

Sitting in a chair across the room.

Relaxed. Smirking.

Waiting.

“You didn’t think I’d just let you disappear, did you?”

Y/N backed toward the door.

“Let me go.”

He stood slowly. Larger than she remembered. Like the walls shrank around him.

“You walked away before I was finished,” he said calmly. “And I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

“I’ll scream.”

“No one’s here. I made sure of it.”

She shook her head, reaching for her phone.

He crossed the room in three long steps and took it from her before she even unlocked the screen.

“You never learned,” he said, gripping her wrist. “You still think you have power.”

Her body trembled.

“Why are you doing this?”

His voice dropped.

Low.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

“Because I trained you. I fed you. I shaped your body. I know how your thighs twitch when you’re on the edge. I know how your chest rises when you’re hiding arousal. I know how to pull every sound out of your throat—and you think you can give that to someone else?”

He stepped closer. Pressed her hand against his chest.

“I don’t care if you’re scared. I don’t care if you run. But you’re not leaving me. You’re mine. You were mine the second you whispered my name with your legs spread and your pulse racing.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“You don’t love me,” she whispered.

“I don’t need to love you,” he said, voice like gravel. “I just need to keep you.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over her ear—not kissing. Just claiming.

“And I will. One way or another.”

#yandere #dark fantasy #fantasy #tw noncon #x reader #dark romance #sfw noncom #power dynamics #age g4p #breeding k1nk #millitary #twistedheartsclub

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twistedheartsclub · 1 month ago

Text

Short Story Yandere Male X Female reader

Content Warnings:

Non-consensual sex (rape) • Dubious consent • Breeding kink • Obsessive behavior • Stalking • Emotional manipulation • Psychological abuse • Physical restraint • Size kink (size difference/overpowering) • Forced domesticity • Mentions of forced pregnancy • Crying during sex • Forced confinement • Yandere behavior • Power imbalance • Twisted "romantic" delusions

Y/N shifted again, tugging at the frayed hem of her denim skirt, feeling it inch higher up her thighs every time she moved. She let out a soft, nervous laugh, hoping Eli didn’t notice how uncomfortable she was — but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just smiled at her, that new, quieter smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it used to last semester.

They sat cross-legged on the living room floor, papers and a laptop spread out around them. His house — no, his home — was shockingly nice for a college student. High ceilings, polished floors, expensive-looking furniture. No roommates, no clutter.

Y/N still lived in the cramped dorms where the walls were paper-thin and the showers molded if you weren’t careful.

This… felt different. Isolated. Clean. Private.

Eli looked different too.

Gone was the wiry boy who used to hide under oversized hoodies. His clothes now — a simple black t-shirt and jeans — still looked casual, but she could see it: the broad stretch of his chest, the way his sleeves strained slightly over his arms. His jaw looked sharper too, like someone had taken a chisel to his boyish face over the summer.

“So, uh—” she started, flipping through her notes, desperate to stay on task.

Something small — a pencil? A flash drive? — clattered from his hand and skittered under the couch.

“Ah, shit,” Eli muttered, leaning down. He made a show of reaching for it, grunting like it was just out of reach.

He sat back on his heels and looked at her, a sheepish smile on his face. “Hey, could you…?”

He gestured helplessly under the couch.

Y/N blinked. “Me?” she laughed, glancing at the narrow gap.

He shrugged, grinning wider now.

“You’re smaller. You might fit.”

Still chuckling awkwardly, she shuffled forward onto her knees, flattening her chest to the floor to get low enough. Her skirt hiked up, the rough denim barely covering her ass as she stretched her arms forward under the couch.

Behind her, Eli stood slowly.

Deliberately.

He peeled off his jeans, folding them neatly over the back of the couch.

Then his shirt.

And then his boxers.

Naked now, he ran a hand through his hair, his cock twitching at the sight of her—so sweet, so trusting—bent over for him like a fucking present.

“Almost got it!” she called, her voice muffled by the couch.

Her hips shifted innocently, the curve of her thighs and the flash of her panties making his mouth dry.

Finally, she let out a triumphant little squeal.

“Got it!”

She pushed herself up, sitting back on her heels with a huge grin, holding the small object in her hand like a prize.

The smile froze on her face.

Because staring her dead in the eyes — just a few feet in front of her — was Eli’s cock.

Thick, flushed, hard.

Her mouth fell open.

A small, startled sound slipped out of her throat.

Her hands trembled slightly, the object falling from her fingers back onto the floor.

“I missed you,” Eli said simply, his voice low and almost tender, like this was just the next natural step between them.

“I missed you so much, Y/N.”

The small object slipped from her shaking fingers, hitting the floor with a soft clink.

Y/N didn’t move to pick it up this time.

Her throat was tight, her body frozen, her wide eyes locked on the thing looming in front of her.

On him.

Eli.

But not the Eli she remembered —

This Eli was huge.

The dim living room light caught the thick ropes of muscle twisting along his thighs, his calves, his abdomen — all corded strength and heavy lines that no average college boy should have. His arms looked like they could snap her in two without trying, thick and veined, hanging loose at his sides.

Even the muscles of his chest, usually hidden behind slouched hoodies, were sharply defined — the hard slabs rising and falling with each slow, measured breath.

And he was tall now too, easily towering over her small, trembling frame.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Her hands fumbled behind her, blindly searching for the couch to push herself away, scooting backward like a cornered animal.

Her denim skirt bunched higher as she moved, baring her panties completely now — a soft pastel color she hadn’t thought twice about that morning, never imagining anyone would see them.

Eli’s gaze dropped for a brief, shuddering second, and his nostrils flared like he was trying not to devour her right there.

“Y/N,” he said her name again, tenderly, almost lovingly, his voice impossibly soft for a man who looked capable of tearing apart the room with his bare hands.

“You don’t have to be scared.”

She opened her mouth, a thin whimper slipping out instead of words.

Her back hit the base of the couch.

He took a slow step toward her.

His cock swayed heavily between his thighs, fully hard, aching.

But his hands stayed loose and open, non-threatening — or at least trying to seem that way.

“I missed you,” he said again, crouching slightly, lowering himself to her level. His muscles flexed with the motion, every part of him looking too big, too much.

“All summer, I… I thought about you. I worked hard for you. So I could be… better. For you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“E-Eli, I think I should—” her voice cracked horribly.

He smiled.

Gentle.

Patient.

Like a parent soothing a frightened child.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, his voice dipping even lower. “You’re safe here. You’re home now, okay? Just… relax.”

Another step closer.

She scrambled sideways, but the couch blocked her on one side, the coffee table on the other.

Trapped.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His eyes dropped again to her exposed panties, his breathing hitching. His hand twitched slightly, like he had to physically restrain himself from grabbing her.

“I just… I just wanna touch you,” he said, almost pleading now. “You’ll like it, I swear. I’ll be so gentle. I’ll treat you like a princess. My princess.”

She sobbed then, covering her mouth with her hand.

He tilted his head, his brows drawing together in soft, concerned confusion — like she was the one being unreasonable.

“Why are you crying, baby?” he asked, creeping closer still, voice thick with hurt. “Don’t you know how much I love you?”

The air around them seemed to thicken, suffocating.

He was so close now she could smell the clean scent of his skin — soap and something musky underneath, something purely male — as the shadow of his body stretched over her smaller, fragile form.

And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Y/N hiccupped behind her hand, her heart hammering so hard it made her ribs ache.

Eli crouched there, towering even when bent low, his muscles tensing and rippling under his bare skin as he watched her — like a predator watching prey too beautiful to destroy.

He reached out slowly, and before she could scramble further, his large hand cupped her ankle.

Gently.

Almost reverently.

She squeaked, trying to jerk away.

His fingers tightened — not enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

Enough to tell her she wasn’t getting away.

“Shh, baby…”

He crawled closer, dragging her small body forward by that one thin ankle, her skirt riding impossibly high, panties flashing fully now under the harsh overhead light.

She whimpered, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the hardwood floor, nails scraping uselessly.

“I worked so hard,” he breathed, voice thick with lust and something dangerously close to grief.

“Every rep… every mile… every fucking second without you… all for this. All so you’d see.”

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, frantic.

“Please, Eli… please, don’t—”

He surged forward, caging her easily beneath him.

One massive hand pressed to the floor by her hip; the other braced above her head. His whole body hovered, crackling with tension, his cock hanging heavy and flushed just inches from her trembling thighs.

“You’re crying,” he whispered, his forehead dropping to rest against hers.

“You’re scared.”

A trembling sigh broke from him, almost shattering.

“I hate that you’re scared. But… but it’ll pass. You’ll see. You’ll feel so good, baby. I’ll make you feel so good.”

She sobbed, trying to wriggle out from under him, but it was useless — he was too strong. His thighs pinned hers down effortlessly, his hips lowering just enough that she felt the hot, rigid press of him against her panties.

A broken cry ripped from her throat at the contact.

Eli groaned low in his chest, his whole body shuddering.

“You don’t understand yet, but you will,” he murmured, nuzzling against her wet cheek.

His lips brushed the salt off her skin, the tender kiss mocking the violence in his touch.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You always have been. You just… needed a little help seeing it.”

His hand slid down her side — slow, deliberate — bunching the thin fabric of her skirt around her hips.

She fought, slapping weakly at his chest, but he only smiled softly, like she was a kitten batting at a lion.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, pressing her hands gently but firmly above her head, trapping them in one of his large palms.

“You’re just overwhelmed. It’s a lot, I know. But trust me, baby… it’s better if you don’t fight.”

His free hand brushed down, fingers curling into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her thighs.

She kicked, screamed into the empty room — but no one answered.

No one could hear her.

And Eli just cooed softly, threading his fingers through her hair, praising her like she was being good for him.

“There we go,” he whispered, voice trembling with the depth of his obsession.

“My good girl. My perfect, scared little angel.”

The head of his cock nudged against her trembling entrance.

She bucked hard beneath him, sobbing openly now, but he just rocked his hips gently, sliding along her slick folds.

“You’ll forgive me,” he whispered against her mouth, tasting her tears.

“You’ll forgive me when you feel how good I can make you feel.”

And with one slow, claiming thrust, he began to take what he had decided was always his.

Y/N screamed into the hollow of his shoulder, her body arching wildly as he forced himself inside, tearing through her fragile resistance with terrifying slowness.

Eli groaned — deep, broken — as he sheathed himself fully.

Every trembling inch of her wrapped around him, tight and unwilling, and it drove him nearly insane.

“You’re perfect,” he gasped into her hair.

“So fucking perfect, Y/N… just like I dreamed.”

She kicked at him weakly, fists pounding against his hard chest — but it was like hitting a wall.

He barely flinched.

His body dwarfed hers, completely eclipsing her, every muscle tensed and caging her in.

“Shh, baby…” he murmured, voice sticky sweet, almost cruel in its tenderness.

“You’re just scared. That’s normal. Your body knows me even if your mind’s still catching up.”

He rocked his hips, slow and grinding, forcing her to feel every thick inch dragging against her walls.

Y/N sobbed harder, writhing, but he caught her wrists easily, pinning them high above her head with one giant hand again.

His free hand stroked her trembling thigh, her hip, spreading her legs wider like she was a doll made for him.

“It’s not supposed to hurt this much,” she sobbed, gasping against him.

Eli’s face twisted — pain flashing across it — but he didn’t stop.

He just kissed her forehead, her wet cheeks, her parted lips as if to soothe away the agony.

“I know, angel. I know,” he whispered brokenly. “But that’s because you fought me. If you’d just stayed still, just trusted me, it would’ve been better. I told you not to fight.”

He shifted, adjusting her under him, spreading her even wider, sinking deeper until he bottomed out — pressing his full weight against her, burying her under him.

“You’re so tiny,” he moaned, worshipping the way her soft body strained under his.

“So fucking small… so perfect for me. Made for me.”

She whimpered, the pressure too much, the burning stretch never easing — but he just kissed her harder, swallowing every sound she tried to make.

“I love you,” he breathed against her lips. “I love you so much it hurts. I waited for you. I worked for you. Everything I did — every fucking day — was for this.”

He thrust again, harder now, the couch jolting under them.

Her body rocked helplessly with each movement, her wrists trapped, her legs pinned open, her cries nothing but broken gasps against his mouth.

“You’re mine,” he growled low in his chest.

“You were always mine. You just didn’t see it. But that’s okay. I’ll show you. I’ll show you until you understand.”

She shook her head weakly, tears soaking her hairline, her body shivering under the brutal, unstoppable rhythm of his.

But he just smiled through his own broken gasps — a smile so tender it made her stomach twist in horror.

“You’ll forgive me,” he whispered again.

“You’ll thank me one day.”

He wrapped his arms fully around her then, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world — all while his hips slammed into her, claiming her over and over again, branding her from the inside out.

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Take it, baby. Take all of me. Let me fill you up. Make you mine forever.”

And she realized, dimly, horribly —

he wasn’t just taking her now.

He was never going to let her go.

Eli’s breath hitched —

His thrusts grew frantic, sloppy —

And then, with a low, guttural growl pressed against her throat, he shoved himself as deep as he could, grinding hard into her soft, broken body.

Y/N screamed, her back arching as the sudden heat of him flooded inside her.

Thick, hot spurts filled her, his cock twitching violently within her battered walls.

She could feel it — every pump, every violent pulse — claiming her, marking her, breeding her.

It was done.

A broken sob tore from her chest, her body going limp beneath him as she realized she couldn’t fight it anymore — she hadn’t stopped him — he’d taken everything he wanted.

And Eli, panting heavily, didn’t move off of her.

Instead, he kissed her — not her lips, but her throat — trailing soft, wet kisses up the column of her neck.

When he reached the spot just under her jaw, he opened his mouth wider and bit down — not enough to pierce skin, but enough to make her cry out in shock and fresh pain.

He sucked hard, bruising her — stamping his mark deep into her flesh.

"There," he rasped, pulling back to admire the dark, blooming mark he'd left.

"Now everyone will know you're mine."

She sobbed helplessly, her arms pinned uselessly against his solid chest.

Eli's face softened — horrifyingly tender.

He brushed her damp hair back from her tear-streaked face, looking at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

"You remember the first time we met?" he whispered against her skin, his voice a warm, loving poison.

"You probably don’t. You were too busy being... you. Bright. Kind. Untouchable."

He shifted slightly, still buried deep inside her, cradling her against his massive chest like a doll.

"But I remember," he murmured.

"I remember everything."

Flashback:

It happened on an ordinary Tuesday.

The leaves were just starting to turn, the air crisp enough to make students huddle into their jackets as they rushed across campus.

Nobody noticed the quiet boy lingering at the edges of the crowd — tall, skinny, hoodie pulled low over his brow.

Nobody ever did.

His name was Eli.

Just another shadow among a sea of faces.

And he liked it that way — unseen, untouched, safe.

Until her.

She came out of nowhere, her laugh cutting through the chilly afternoon like sunlight.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder, bursting open as papers and notebooks scattered across the cracked pavement.

A few students stepped around her, annoyed. Others didn’t even glance her way.

But Eli... he stopped.

He hovered awkwardly, heart hammering, unsure if he should help — terrified she would see him, that she would speak to him.

And then she did.

"Hey," she called, looking straight at him with a smile so warm it made his throat close up.

"Could you grab that for me?"

The world narrowed to a pinpoint.

Her voice.

Her eyes.

Him.

Eli stumbled forward, stooping to collect a stray notebook near his feet. His fingers trembled as he picked it up, heart thundering so loudly he could barely hear.

When he straightened, she was already gathering the last of her things, flashing him another brilliant smile.

She reached out, brushing his hand lightly as she took the notebook.

"Thanks," she said simply, like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was everything.

That touch — brief, casual, meaningless to her — lit a fire in Eli’s veins that would never go out.

He watched her walk away, the sway of her skirt, the bounce of her hair, the sound of her laughter lingering long after she disappeared around the corner.

From that day on, he was hooked.

He watched her from the shadows — at the library, in the cafeteria, across crowded lecture halls.

He memorized her schedule.

He learned what colors she liked to wear.

He found her social media, tracing every digital footprint she left like a sacred trail.

Eli fell in love the way drowning men fell into the ocean — desperate, hopeless, all-consuming.

And somewhere, deep inside the lonely, starving parts of him, a single thought bloomed like a sickness:

She was his.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Back to Present:

Eli nuzzled against her sweat-soaked skin, arms tightening possessively around her trembling body.

"You saved me," he whispered again, a broken prayer against her neck.

"And now you're mine. Forever."

He shifted his hips with a slow, final roll, grinding his still-thick cock against her bruised, used entrance, like he couldn’t bear to separate from her — like he needed to feel every inch of her until she understood.

Eli stayed buried inside her, his arms coiled around her trembling frame like iron bands.

His cock twitched, still half-hard, stubbornly refusing to soften even after claiming her so completely.

He kissed her hairline, breathing her in — the salt of her tears, the faint sweetness of her shampoo, the sharp, animal scent of sex heavy in the air.

"You’ll see," he whispered, voice thick with unshakable certainty.

"You’ll see how perfect it’s going to be, baby."

He shifted his grip, sliding his hands under her limp thighs, lifting her against his chest with terrifying ease.

She whimpered, her abused body sagging into his hold as he carried her through the house — past the gleaming kitchen with its untouched marble counters, the immaculate living room that looked like a model home.

She hadn't realized before, too flustered to notice —

But everything about this house was designed.

Prepared.

For her.

He nudged open a door with his foot, revealing a bedroom that made her heart plummet.

The walls were painted a soft, warm cream.

A king-sized bed sat perfectly made with plush, inviting pillows.

A vanity sat in the corner, already stocked with makeup she recognized — her brands, her shades.

A closet door stood open, revealing rows of delicate clothes — skirts, dresses, soft blouses — everything sweet, modest... everything he thought she should wear.

Eli set her down carefully on the bed, covering her like a blanket with his heavy body.

Still inside her.

Still twitching, hardening again.

"You don’t have to worry about school anymore," he murmured against her cheek, petting her hair soothingly.

"You’re so stressed all the time, running around, studying for tests you don’t even care about. It's not good for you, baby."

She whimpered, shivering under him.

Her mind screamed to move, to run — but her body was trapped, caged by his monstrous strength.

"I’m graduating top of my class," he continued, smiling against her skin.

"Already have a job lined up. More money than we’ll ever need. I’ll take care of everything — the house, the bills, you."

He rocked his hips — a slow, shallow thrust that made her cry out softly — helpless.

"You’ll stay here," he whispered, voice dripping with tender, poisonous sweetness.

"Take care of our home. Take care of me."

He cupped her stomach with one big, warm hand, pressing possessively against the flat plane of it.

"And soon," he breathed, his voice thick with reverence, "you’ll be full with my baby. Round and glowing. So beautiful."

His cock throbbed inside her, thickening as his mind spiraled deeper into the fantasy.

Y/N whimpered again, turning her face away, sobbing brokenly into the pillows.

"You’ll look so pretty waddling around the house," he murmured dreamily, thrusting slowly, lazily now — grinding into her.

"Dressed up in little dresses I pick for you... making me dinner... waiting for me at the door when I get home from work."

Another slow, heavy thrust.

Another choked, helpless sob from her throat.

"And after we get married," he continued, nipping at her ear, "you’ll take my name. You’ll be Mrs. Y/N Adams. My perfect little wife."

His hips snapped forward, deeper, harder — a low growl rumbling from his chest as he lost himself in the vision.

"You’ll never have to lift a finger," he promised, voice hoarse with need.

"Just stay here. Look pretty. Carry our babies."

He slid his hand lower, between her trembling thighs, feeling the mess he’d made of her.

His fingers toyed cruelly with her sensitive, swollen folds, smearing his own cum across her abused entrance as he thrust shallowly, working it deeper inside her.

"You’ll be such a good mommy," he moaned, the word making his cock jerk violently inside her.

"I’ll fill you up again and again... until you can’t even remember who you used to be. Only mine. Only for me."

Y/N cried harder, broken sobs shaking her small body — but he just kissed her through it, licking the tears off her cheeks like they were precious.

"Shh," he whispered, rocking harder now, chasing his next release deep inside her.

"You’ll learn to love it, baby. You’ll love being mine."

And with a final, brutal thrust, Eli buried himself to the hilt, grinding against her as he spilled inside her again, filling her womb with more heat, more ownership, more of him.

He moaned her name like a prayer, clutching her tighter, as if he could mold her into the perfect wife with just his body, his love, his obsession.

And all Y/N could do was cry — trapped, helpless — as the future he had crafted for her swallowed her whole.

#yandere #dark fantasy #fantasy #x reader #tw noncon #sfw noncom #dark romance #power dynamics #age g4p #breeding k1nk #twistedheartsclub

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