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imayfeel · 6 months

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Of the same fabric (were we crafted).

;; Yandere! Murderer. Light NSFW (?)(Masturbation/Vulgar Language). Paranoia. Stalker Behaviour.

You would rush past the corners of every street, every building and every small store so forcefully towering— collapsing on top of you, lungs heaving as you block out the faces of passerby, hoping for something to rescue you at last—

But it will not come. Your haven will not arrive to someone undeserving of it; what sinner deserves a suited seat in heaven, having therefore stolen it from someone of piety and thrust them into Hell? None, you will not make the exception, though the constant pounding of your chest may deem you different.

The faces blur together, and the simple strained unwanted and subconscious decision of knowing blares throbbingly in your mind. Each desperate promise of reward plastered on the side posts does not go unnoticed— so many you may drown yourself in them, so many you feel yourself further wanting to be either separated from your body or finding somewhere you will be freed of this burden of creation.

In your peripherals, it is all you see— nor do you escape it in your dreams, the little of those you even are blessed to have when you succumb to the tire of your mind and being. Slumber is both your biggest weapon and vulnerability, will it leave you open to the predator or will the prey find solace in the emptiness of their thoughts? More so— which party beholds which title?

Your home is no longer your home. The small apartment of the rough looking building, cheap and creaky— but was your attempt of another life, one which was now taken away from you. You have dragged yourself up the stairs with haste, too aware of the blood rushing to your head, pumping and pumping and your heart too heavy for your chest to handle, it is all too much, all of a sudden feeling too many veins beneath your skin and too many teeth in your mouth—

And it all smells like him.

The apartment, the objects within (what little of them there were), the scent now sticking to your clothes, to you, to your so priceless flesh in his eyes, just when you thought it was finally leaving. Times were not advancing so fast for forensic evidence, and nothing plain to the eye had been left.

But this all felt much too familiar.

He blamed you. So beloved and so constantly paranoid, but you created him. You breathed life into him, so lovely you were, so lovely you are— with your small words and hidden meanings from so long ago, but not long enough for him to forget the undertone to your words and how although they were so little, they weighed so much. He could not. He would not. How you do play the distressed and anxious part, but he knows you more than that. He knows you far past how they all see you, worried and concerned for the inconveniences occurring. Cruel and vindictive you were, you are, and he does not fail to still see you now as so pretty in the way you tremble like a rat, in the way your eyes grow wide at the slightest hint of his night activities, though he is aware it is all ephemeral. He enjoys it nonetheless.

People did not see you the way he does, and he was aware you were written off by the little friends or family you had contact with as simply afraid due to these little outbursts caught by the newspaper. It ran much deeper than that— you played a part. Not willingly perhaps, but all the same, your existence made it so. More than a scared civilian, less than an accomplice.

It took a lot for him to find you, to pinpoint your exact locations and daily routines. You settled into a quiet town, one where you would be allowed a second chance of living, but not one where he would be unable to find you. That was not an option he had ever allowed. In a small building, a dreary town, with a job which did not seem to appreciate your efforts at all— he would give you so much more if you so allowed him the pleasure of it, you could use your carefully crafted words and wring out his deepest emotions as much as you would like, so long as it was only you and him and it stayed as such.

In the nights he misses you most (near to all) it is your name on his lips, your picture engraved in his mind. He tires of watching you from afar, but it would be dangerous having you in front of him. He is unsure of his capability of control if the time ever arose, the careful sense of holding back he had tried to develop would come down crashing in mere moments of your eyes locking. He would drown in those eyes, he would tear them out and keep them for him to stare at on dark evenings. The idea of doing so has been in his mind before, but each part of you was held in such regard by him that adding or taking away a feature or characteristic from you would seem to be an insult to your carefully crafted perfection.

In this world, he and you believe it is only the two of you in existence. It seems right for him to believe as he was a useless body without a soul before fate brought you close, for you in turn are forced with the realisation he is the only thing constantly surrounding you without him physically being present.

He is filled with nothing but warmth at the thought of you. At the thought of what he would do, what he could do, once he finally became able to set his plans in place to make you and him one. The so-called pleasures of flesh disgust him, as does humanity in its whole, but those feelings are different once they elude to you and him. His hand crawls down, and he imagines it to be you. For it to be your hand instead of his rougher, tainted one. His cock is already weeping when his thumb brushes over the sensitive slit, his hips bucking into the slight touch. How would you do it? He wonders. Would you be shy and unsure of your actions, or would you know what to do and how to do it?

He mimicks the actions he would imagine for you to do, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed together. His fingers trail down his shaft, over each vein when it finally grasps firmly at the base. Emerging into such a debaucherous act of lust was not something he would have ever expected of himself, but soon, it would be you instead of his hand. He would fuck you in the most primal way, raw and cruel. He would not grant you any mercy in the act, to reward himself for his perseverance in catching you so smooth and thoroughly. It would be your body he would run his hands over, trace and bite hard enough to make you bleed so his tongue could dutifully slide over the dots of crimson— not some placeholder from a whorehouse he would have to pretend was you. He would not fuck them though; his first would be with you and so would his others be.

With tensed muscles and a vigorous hand, these thoughts pile up and so does his pleasure— his essence stains the palm of his hand. He stares at the evidence of his dirty pleasures, but even so, all his mind held was you. He would soon get his grasp onto you, but patience brings the sweetest rewards— he could not wait for it to rippen.

You remember how you had created this game of cat and mouse initially, you often wonder how you would be living now if you had never spoken the words you did, or perhaps simply never spared him a glance. More often than not, the memories blur together due to you having not wanted to face them for such a long duration of time, but he would not forget. He was a lone and troubled child, with a rarely present set of parents. A whorish and vain mother paired with a egotistical and cold father, he spent a majority of his childhood in the large premises of his home— which always felt as anything else but. He had nothing else to compare it with.

Intelligent and silent, though prone to violent outbursts of rage towards other children, was how he continued through schooling until he eventually reached seventeen. Another "outburst" had occurred, and he was placed in a selection of students with such issues. He never paid much attention to the others among them, having never cared even since childhood to make friends with his peers— false friendlihoods was not a blessing he would be granted, nor would he grant. You were among the selection, for reasons he had not known until after the first time the two of you had spoken. Messy incidents had occurred all over the school grounds, and names spill out— and had seemed to have reached you.

"An act done slowly and with precision will not turn its back on its creator, especially not when made blind to others." His breath hitched, the words were like honey from your tongue—

They now haunt you, having him used the sly advice against you.

Said with a smile, a playful glint in your eyes, but the knowingness was something he could decipher that put you past the other irrelevant faces in his mind. Him being capable of deciphering put him past them in yours. He craved after you, the one thing he could not have now that he had truly hungered for something. Despite the first encounter— seared into his mind— he found much interest and pleasure in your quiet and overthinking nature. Enamoured and facinated was what he was, never had he wanted to split open and pick apart someone in so much detail ever before. It only lead to one singular explaination; you are him and he is you.

He at last found something worthy of making his own.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #murderer oc #stalker oc #murderer x reader #yandere boy #yandere male #yandere boy x reader #obsession #yandere oc

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taktycznyslonecznik · 1 month

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My man Sacha 🙏

#stalker oc #metro 2033 #post apocalypse #metro 2033 oc #postapo #originalcharacter #s.t.a.l.k.e.r.

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hexedhurt · 10 months

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Love sick puppy

#male yandere #murder oc #stalker oc #my ocs #Ezra #Libra #Signs of love #this is an old ass drawing but still one of my faves for them #theyre so normal :)

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hunterssm00n · 4 months

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Sleepwalking

Yandere! Sheriff OC / part 3 /

Try to lock you out / I feel you in my dreams / You're everywhere, you won't go easily...

*cw include stalking, yandere behavior, abuse of authority, obsession, and dark themes* MDNI - 18+

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

It’s just past ten when she hears the crunching of tires on the ice and gravel coming up her driveway.

She’s laying in her bed, lights off, looking at her phone, when she feels the hair on the back of her neck raise. He’s earlier tonight than usual; normally it’s after eleven or even after midnight before she hears those familiar noises. She’s also in bed earlier than normal tonight, but that’s because she’s super exhausted after a long, grueling week. Tomorrow is Friday, and by the time that fifth day of work rolls around she’s lucky to get up to the sound of her alarm the next morning.

It makes her wonder if he came here earlier than normal tonight with the hopes of catching her while she was awake.

That thought gives her shivers.

And what would happen if he did? If he saw the lights on in her home, would he take that as an invitation to come and knock on the door? Would he try to call her, like he has been? Leave her another very loving sounding, emotionally charged voicemail?

Kelli has played the last few over and over again. She has them all saved in her phone- for multiple reasons. One being that if this situation ever turned deadly, she would have plenty of evidence to build a case against him. The other reason being that she enjoys listening to his voice as he says such soft, loving things to her, and about her.

So what does that make her? As crazy as him? Surely not.

Ray is a handsome man. Maybe not handsome in the traditional sense, but in the way that he’s exactly her type. Well over six feet tall, big and burly, rugged and intimidating looking, a scar on his cheek; physically he’s very appealing to her. And behind the rough exterior, he’s got sky blue eyes that just seem so deep; so knowing.

Am I attracted to my stalker? Maybe. Hard maybe. But does that make what he’s doing in any way right? No. Absolutely not.

He’s abusing his authority as sheriff to look up Kelli’s address (as she definitely did not give it to him), come to her house, and stake out every night. When he calls, he’s begged her to call him back; he wants to hear her voice, he says. He wants to reassure her that he means no harm.

But can she trust him?

He hasn't done anything to make Kelli think that he intends to do her any harm... yet. In fact, it's been quite the opposite; he's done everything possible to make sure she’s safe. Or... to make sure she’s not going to run. He parks outside of her house every night- god only knows if he ever even sleeps. And every hour on the hour he gets out of his suburban, and walks the perimeter of the house, shining his flashlight and, seemingly, looking for any signs of trouble.

And here she thought she was paranoid. Her paranoia apparently doesn't hold a candle to this man's.

But in a way, this overprotectiveness makes her feel... something. She can't quite put her finger on the thought, or the emotion exactly. But it's surprising. And, of course, he doesn't need to know this.

And despite the fact that what he’s doing is wrong, it doesn’t make him any less appealing to her twisted brain. Quite the opposite. She should be scared; she should want to move states, go into WitSec, something that would get her away from him. But there’s no denying (to herself, at least) that she purposefully is not doing any of that for a reason. Plus, he would find her wherever she went. He’d track her down, just like he’d tracked her to her house.

Kelli can’t help but think about what he would do if he were inside right now- she imagined the scenario; how he would look standing in her doorway, how his big body would take up so much space it would make her house look tiny. The thought makes her shiver unintentionally, but not for bad reasons.

He would stare straight into her soul as she sat up in bed, surprised at his entry into her bedroom, and into her house in general. Wondering how he got inside, but also wondering what was going to happen now that he was.

“Ray?” she would ask, her voice coming out breathless and nervous- as she wouldn’t be expecting him to actually be inside the house, here, with her. At night, in her bedroom.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” He would sound breathless, like he’d been running. Or, doing something else. “I couldn’t- I had to come see you. I had to make sure…”

Her other questions would be forgotten momentarily as he would advance towards the bed, and she wouldn’t even realize she’d shrank backwards until she hit the headboard, and it thumped against the wall.

“It’s okay,” He’d pause in his movements, hands outstretched to show that he’s okay, she’s okay, everything is okay. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m so sorry for scaring you, and- and for breaking in here.” He would look down at the floor after he says this, and she would be able to practically sense the shame coming from him. Practically be able to feel it. “I know it’s not right, what I'm doing- I know I shouldn't be here... But I can’t help it. I want you- I need you.”

The thought of this scenario makes her pussy pulse between her thighs, and it’s then that she realizes how wet she is. And not for the first time when thinking about him, either.

She hears his footsteps outside, gentle in the freshly fallen snow, and before she can think better of it Kelli slides her right hand down her stomach, and into the waistband of her pajama pants. Her fingers slide down the front of her underwear, down, down, until they get to the soft, warm area right above her clit. They pause there for the barest moment before continuing their journey, passing over her clit and to her wet panties, soaked by her pussy lips. A choked moan catches in her throat- surprised by how wet she already is and by how good that simple touch feels.

Working her hand back and forth slowly, she listens to the sound of him walking around her house, his footsteps almost adding to her steadily increasing heartbeat. It feels good- too good. It should not feel this good touching herself to the thought of her stalker breaking into her house; to the sound of him walking around outside. Knowing he’s there, feeling his presence, it’s too much.

Before long she's cumming by merely touching herself through her panties, her other hand covering her mouth so she doesn't make any discernable sounds as the pleasure crashes through her. All the while thinking This is wrong, this is so wrong.

Coming down from her high, she relaxes back against the bed, breathing hard against the comfort of her soft mattress. Still hearing him outside of the house, she decides to chalk this one up to having not been in a relationship for a while; being untouched for so long. Because the fact that she just touched herself to the thought of her stalker is a little too much to come to terms with, at the moment.

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

This is an original work of mine, as are the characters.

I do not own the song 'Sleepwalking' by Diamante. The above picture is from pinterest, and there's a link attached to the original post.

#soft yandere #my drabbles #my work #my writing #mine**#yandere sheriff #yandere cop #hunterssm00n #yande.re #yandere oc #stalker oc #stalker aesthetic #stalker cop #stalker sheriff #obsessive love

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ayliaan · 3 months

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sitting in spot nearest to the teachers ends with getting pats along the way

Scar as Charon is one of my favourite theories. He was a protagonist he can’t just die?

#s.t.a.l.k.e.r.#stalker #scar #my art #s.t.a.l.k.e.r art #stalker oc #goofy monolithians?#no more controlled still holding up #acting like crazy kinda dysfunctional family

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milli-string · 1 month

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Aiight there we go. My drawing app kept crashing so I'll leave the doodle like this for now 🤣

And one without her mask:

With Omp disguising herself as a Stalker, she would have her own weapon. I haven't decided what kind of weapon she would go for yet, but I'm hoping to find her a technique-related weapon. She's incredibly flexible and fast, sometimes even with heavier weapons (though, at a cost of attack speed).

She doesn't really require a weapon, but in this case, it would be to avoid eyes from Geppetto and Simon. In certain situations, especially bad ones, she would use her "powers."

A lot of ideas are still being organized, but I'm also tying some of my original ideas to match with the lore without going off side tracked.

#oc #original character #original characters #lies of p #lies of p pinocchio #pinocchio #lies of p fanart #spinspinspinspinspinspinspin #p lies of p #doodle #stalker oc #lies of p oc #hehehehee

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timpetum · 4 months

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Vsevolod returns, but not alone. To his right is Seva’s brother, Bartholomew Zavyalov. Seva disguises himself under someone else's last name so that no one in the Zone will guess that he is Folomey's brother.

I’ll tell you about Vsevolod’s older brother later, and I’ll draw a separate character. But after I finish drawing Agapius.

We still need to answer the reader's question. I'm still thinking about silly facts about Vsevolod .. 🤔

#s.t.a.l.k.e.r.#art #сталкер #s.t.a.l.k.e.r art #stalker #stalker oc #s.t.a.l.k.e.r. oc

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ikarasu · 5 months

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Finally, Lies of P oc

🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・

Greta

A.K.A. White Duck

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Organization: Sweepers/Rogue

🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・

Greta and her brother, Hans, are wandering Stalkers in search of a group of alchemists. This mysterious group of alchemists are responsible for the great famine that wiped their hometown. The last survivors of that town were captured and used as ergo farms. These alchemists believed that the more well-fed a person is before their ergo is collected their ergo could be used as a source of food. Consumption of this ergo could extend a person’s lifespan.

These alchemist’s would send any children born at the ergo farm to a separate orphanage. Where they’ll receive similar treatment as the adults, but being fed sweets instead.

Greta was born with celiac disease and was put to work in the kitchen. She spent a few years doing nothing but baking for other children. Late at night she would sneak to meet her brother and comfort him. Later she would find out that her brother was selected by the head Duchess of the orphanage as her next meal. Greta decides to lure the head duchess to the kitchen with lies of the oven not working. The head duchess looks inside the oven and Greta pushes her in. In the process, she burns her hands badly trying to keep the oven door closed.

The thrill of her first kill would lead to her burning down the orphanage. News of the loss of the orphanage made the group of alchemists believe the Stalkers were after them. They would scatter and hide across the lands feasting on ergo to continue to extend their lifespan.

Greta and the surviving children were later taken in by a group of Stalkers. Greta would dedicate her life to be an elite Stalker to chase down the alchemists. Her brother would come join her as her brawn feeling indebted to her after she saved him.

At the age of 19 she decided to leave the group of stalkers to pursue the alchemists. Her and her brother would become famous for their deeds of eliminating alchemists wherever they go. Greta would occasionally bake sweets and give it to children they would pass by before taking them back to their previous Stalker group.

🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・🦆・🥧・

Notes: I’ll add more over time

Also I chose her to be a white duck because in one of the variations of Hansel and Gretel the two are saved from drowning in a lake by a white duck. She likes to guide children to safety like the duck does in the story.

Hans

#lies of p #lies of p oc #stalker oc #neowiz #lies of p stalkers #original character

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