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speedystarshine · 2 years

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💋 Anon, so sorry but I accidentally posted instead of edited so Ur ask is gone, but luckily I took a screenshot jakwnfna-

Thank you so much for the ask! I'm in brainrot hours rn so this was a good outlet :D and I'm glad you liked the last one! I chose season one, to go down memory lane, hope that was okay! :)

Characters: Joey Graceffa, Eva Gutotowski, Oli White, Lele Pons, Timothy DeLaGhetto, Matt Haag, Sierra Furtado, GloZell Green, Justine Ezarik, Andrea Brooks, Shane Dawson

-So, I think for some reason the season one cast would be more protective of reader?

-They don’t know what happens or what is going to happen, since Joey too has no idea and can’t warn anybody.

-The minute Shane starts choking, everybody’s confused but catch on pretty quickly.

-Y'all start looking for clues, and split off into groups (scooby doo looking goofy ahh-)

-I'll leave which group reader is in to resder interpretation, but whichever you're is more likely to fall first.

-As the night progresses, you'll notice some of your time members becoming more protective of you, flanking you from each side

-You won't have a moment of peace the whole goddamn time. Someone will constantly be near you, watching you, etc.

-And then the deaths start coming :)

-Even though a lot of them are really competitive, and want to go home (with you ofc), a few of them realize that "Oh shit, I want to win but I also might actually die here" so work on protecting you instead.

-Joey would be on of the most protective ones, and nothing is too off with him other than a few offhand comments that might suggest you weaker and in need of protection. (Kinda like Amity and Willow in Labyrinth Runners tee hee)

He also won't stop following you around, never leaving your side once whereas the others sometimes go off to do something else.

-Eva would be noticeably different, acting fun and bouncy as ever but it seems strained, like kinda the way if you were to embarrass your mom in public and she can't kill you yet but like-

-Oli our beloved would be so freaking nice to you, although he can seem a bit more lost in thought and conflicted which is perfect if you wanna slip away for a second.

-Lele would.... Just kinda give you the chills ngl. Yk that scene were Eva and Lele were thirsting over one of the house owners? (I think his name was Colin or smth idek-) yeaahh that. But yandere.

-Timothy is a slimy little rat man who tries to get into your pants every second/j. But seriously, he would be one of the touchier yandere's and he definitely flirts a lot which can cause conflict in the group, so look out for that.

-Matt. Absolute simp, fool of a man. He may be the professor but Jesus Christ he forgets how to speak the second you come into his general vicinity. He'd sit in the simp pile with Eva and Lele.

-Shane is fucking dead lmao

-Sierra would be like.... A softer version of Lele. Definitely calculating and good at hiding how she feels, but a lot less sadistic and cold with reader. Probably gives a lil goofy smile every time she catches your eye.

-GloZell would be all over you, like Timothy, but whereas with Tim it was sly touches you better believe you are straight into her arms. Very touchy with you but in a more open way, so a few of the others are definitely planning against her.

-Justine (ily so much-) would be much like Matt, but actually goes up to more often instead of waiting for you to come to her. She just constantly has heart eyes around you and it shows

-Andrea would be like Timothy and GloZell, except it's always little hints instead of outright physical affection, and she's way smoother and pulling it off than those two. Probably pulls a blush out of reader once or twice (depending on how easy reader is to fluster) and the group is split between "she's next" and "teach me Ur ways" lol. It would be funny bc I imaging Matt going up to her most in a "teach me your ways" thing despite him never having the confidence to actually do it.

-All in all very chaotic. They split off into mini groups, everyone secretly plotting against the other, and a lot of squabbling. All the goddamn time. Joey and Eva are the only ones to have the sense of "THEY'RE RIGHT THERE SHUT THE FUCK UP" since the others are either too hotheaded or riled up to back down.

-lol just the mental image of Joey and Eva trying to calm people down, a whole ass bar fight happening in the middle of the room, reader, Oli, and the servants/maids of the house standing to the side like "for fucks sake-"

I'm sorry it took so long my dumbass pressed post instead of edit TWICE-

Taglist:

@112-writes

@shuble

@orangussy

#yandere escape the night #yandere escape the night x reader #escape the night #escape the night x reader #yandere harem #yandere joey graceffa x reader #yandere eva gutotowski x reader #yandere oli white x reader #yandere lele pons x reader #yandere timothy delaghetto x reader #yandere matt haag x reader #yandere sierra furtado x reader #yandere glozell green x reader #yandere justine ezarik x reader #yandere andrea brooks x reader #yandere shawn dawson x reader

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dearest-painter · 2 years

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Camera for the soul

TW/CW:Yandere behavior, unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship,abusive relationship,abusive behavior,Yandere escape the night,Y/N is a gender neutral but dresses masculine,Y/N is the photographer who can see ghost and other things with their camera,It’s mentioned Y/N has one eye but it doesn’t say who if they lost it or just cover it,It’s a new season and everyone from Season 2 is in there,Timothy isn’t a YouTube just some helper,Gabbie is replaced by Matt,a few ocs sprinkled in,Murder

Timothy,yes him he’s been all helpful hell your luck he’s even been putting up with you guys. “Alex,Timothy we trust him” “I understand he’s been helping us” You smiled happy your friend understands that you’ll trust the guide. Today is an odd day…a rest day,you see you have three weeks before you’ll be stuck there forever. It’s already half of the first week so you have three and a half weeks maybe. Going to Timothy you handed him a note saying you’ve chosen him to trust but not to tell anyone then you went and sat down.

Sitting beside Alex you decided to look at the camera on more time. Putting it to your eye you saw…Timothy,no not the guide the friend who died. “Tim…” “Sup man! Anyways keep an eye on Joey because once again he started this” “I am,each one of these parties start all because HE invites us but I keep going to them” “because in your instincts you wish to protect others how you couldn’t protect me and the others…gotta go be safe ya shit!” “Yeah yeah!” Smiling as you held the camera to your chest you knew you had a friend trust. Maybe you should go check the house for hiding spots for the future as some challenges will require hiding places. Where should you look first?

1-Medbay

2-Library

3-kitchen

4-the ball room

5-the garden

6-The record room/movie room

#yandere #please don’t do this #obession #unhealthy #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #romantic yandere #x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #yandere escape the night x reader #escape the night x reader #yandere escape the night #camera for the soul

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yanpotatowriter · 2 years

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Yan bretman rock with a male s/o hcs plz? Thanks in advance!

Bretman wasn’t really expecting to find someone who made him fall in love instantly the moment he got told the truth and where Nikita brought him, but now that he did fall in love, he is going to do everything to make sure his obsession is not getting into an elimination round. Bretman defends his obsessions actions to infinity and beyond, in his eyes they can do no wrong, and he wants to make it out alive with them

Bretman does consider the fact that he might have to lay down his own life to make sure that they live, but he of course does not want to die, so that is a last case scenario type of thing. If his obsession gets voted into elimination he will be pissed and the moment his obsession is gone with their rival, he will raise hell trying to figure out who the fuck voted for them, as he tried to not make it an option. He will have it out for the person who made it out alive if his obsession died during that challenge/elimination, not explaining why, but some might put the dots together. If his obsession makes it out alive, he will be so relieved and pretend like he knew that they would make it out alive. He will stick closer to them and will make sure that his obsession is out of the danger zone before he is. If his obsession makes it through the night, and they escape together, he will wait for the right moment to confess, however that plan goes out the window after he constantly has nightmares about his obsession dying during the events of that night and confesses during a late night call after making sure that they are still alive and well.

#Yandere Bretman Rock #Yandere escape the night #Bretman rock escape the night #yandere #escape the nightmare #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere male #bretman rock

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scratchandplaster · 4 months

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Stack The Deck - PART 13

CW: Carewhumper, non-con touching, referenced stalking/non-con bathing/nudity, gaslighting, panic attack

PART 12 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 14

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

All of this could be worse, Elliot had to constantly remind himself of this fact; so, so much worse.

At the very least he didn't find himself in the trunk of a Honda or a crack house bathroom, just the sparsely decorated home of Chris, being far more tidy than he'd like to give him credit for. Said man had disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Elliot to stew in bewilderment. The spots where skin had met skin started to itch.

Focus, come on. Neither the lonely houseplant next to the TV nor the properly aligned armchair could help him; behind the bed he was placed in stood a dresser with a full ashtray on it. The sun that had so rudely woken him up before already moved on, but the window it entered through didn't budge an inch, letting the muffled sound of cars driving up and down the road flow through the glass. They were at least on the third floor.

Jump, a harsh force pulled at his stomach, now. What else would he break in the process?

The smell of vanilla and sugar let him come to a bit more, a sour taste gathering at the thought of what's next to come. Even though Elliot had no idea why he was taken again, the animal part of his brain prepared for the worst regardless; knowing this time could be dangerous in a whole different sort of way.

"Do you like pancakes?" Morris called out, looking back from the kitchen to check if this was still real, if Elliot was really with him now, "Of course you do."

Did he? Elliot wasn't so sure about it anymore, he couldn't get his next steps on track: a rescue he couldn't remember, the warm welcome, the fact that Amber was just old news - where did this suddenly come from? What do you call a joke nobody's laughing about?

Wrapped up in the hysteric circle of repetitive thoughts, his hands started to knead hills and valleys into the blanket and rewarded his already tense arm with a short sting of fire. Elliot usually avoided to, but looking down at his palms, he noticed the rough red lines of dark scab across them.

"Did I fall?" he whispered to nobody in particular.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, you were bleeding; your knees too. Don't you feel that?" The well-meaning hint fell on deaf ears.

Though Elliot did feel that. An all-too familiar burn started spreading its stinging tendrils out to reach his elbow first and if not appeased quickly enough, it would only grow further. On some days, it crawled up behind his eyes.

But not yet, there was still time. Finally ready to act, Elliot threw the heavy covers off his legs, which were not tied together despite the uneasy memories. He could work with that.

The cooked batter already built up bubbles, he could see it from where he was standing now, the kitchen also being the entrance area and final room to separate them from the outside world. After flipping it over to reveal a perfectly browned crust, Morris at last noticed him: "I thought of you, moving north into the wilderness to ride moose and become a park ranger or whatever. She got me good; upstate, my ass!"

Jesus Christ, what is he going on about? Elliot had read an article about brain damage some odd months ago: poor Morris probably had an aneurysm during the time they didn't see each other, and hopefully would be blessed with another one soon. This had to be it. He, for one, didn't act like a guy who got invested in a spontaneous religious awakening.

Elliot swallowed hard, interrupting the senseless yapping and looking into Morris' steam-covert face that only underlined his unsettling glassy expression: "I can't do this again. Please, I give you everything."

They faced each-other while still keeping a good distance, with the door to the hallway practically only a jump away. Elliot could make it.

"The bathroom is on your right," Morris said through a patient smile, "Freshen up a bit."

--------

Coward. Even a splash of cold water on his puffy eyes didn't soothe the lingering frustration; if this were the Olympics, he'd be awarded the golden medal for backpedaling, especially when it came to his own survival. You dumb fucking coward.

Elliot even lacked the guts to lock the bathroom door. When push comes to shove, one could bet Morris would just kick the hinges in.

Where had the time gone; the time he should have used to prepare, to take action against Morris? Not boxing, naturally, but something... anything meaningful. All that followed was well deserved, it seemed, the punishment for wasting away in his childhood bedroom and staring motionless at a wall for eight months.

The bathroom mirror gave a flash of relief as Elliot pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Think!

For the first time in a long year, he looked at his reflection. A broken man glared back through empty eyes. Single beads of water ran down his chin to be soaked up into his shirt, already damp with the stench of fear and sweat.

The shirt he wore the whole night; a shirt he did not wear yesterday, one he did not even own, meaning that Morris had to- Oh god.

Maybe he should think less, before losing the last bit of sanity.

Not that it mattered, Elliot's only goal was clear: convince Chris to leave him alone, even when he had to bear his unorthodox signs of reparation. Smile and nod and play Crazy Eights until he opens the door: old habits and such. Nothing to lose this time, he could do it!

As Elliot awkwardly stalked back to the kitchen, the stinging had already engulfed his whole left hand and throbbed with every horrid expectation. One favor Morris could do him, if this went south too, was to cut the damn thing off already. Turning around into the kitchen fully now, he was greeted by the same stupid grin that send him away. At least one of us is having fun.

Elliot was gently led to the table and forced to sit tight until the chef was gracious enough to join him; dragging his chair to position it opposite to his guest. A stack of warm pancakes was placed carefully in front of both; they didn't look half bad.

So this was the apology breakfast then.

"Here you go, Ell!"

The cutlery slid right next to the plate and with Chris closer than ever before, Elliot could feel his body heat on his face. By reflex, his head curled down to make himself as small as possible, as if mesmerized by the pancakes he was blankly staring at.

"Say when." A thin stream of sticky maple started to coat them: the apology syrup, surely.

He would have appreciated all the effort in a different context, but with his sweaty right clenched around the butter knife, any sense of domestic bliss was lost.

Elliot felt his mouth go dry in anticipation; bile already collecting further.

None of them had noticed how heavy their breathing went, so Morris decided to be more brisk and let the hand he had positioned so innocently on the backrest slip down the small of Elliot's neck.

This is the apology- the-the apology...

The touch of rough fingers against his sensitive skin made Elliot shudder violently and writhe away from the contact. Even though that wasn't a "when", the steady drizzle of syrup stopped in its flow.

Letting his hand wander even further down to dip under his collar and between his shoulder blades, Chris too was mesmerized. His skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch; stroking back and forth, up and down to soothe his boy who was nearly losing it again. So tense.

He knew it only got worse the longer this medicine he demanded was held back, so why not enjoy the last calm moments for a while. Brushing the peach fuzz at the base of his hairline awarded Chris a low whine. So pretty.

His left arm was sore by now and already cooking up a storm, Elliot could feel it.

Morris felt glad his guest was deadly focused on the meal he made them, otherwise his bright red face would only prove how excited he was getting.

He hadn't missed how much longer Elliot's hair had grown, still happy that he managed to wash it last night. Speaking of which, was he always this pale and skinny? He did look kinda rough, Chris determined with a frown, they hadn't taken good care of him, wherever he'd been before.

Not for much longer, of course.

Elliot too had learned from his mistakes, though he never expected to use his newfound knowledge. Enjoying a bite to wake up god-knows-where; no, thank you! It made little sense to take his meds and just drug him still, but he had to anticipate senseless acts from a senseless man.

Elliot wouldn't look up, hell no, that face just helped to make him throw up faster.

"Sorry, but I'm not eating this," Elliot murmured, unsure if there was a gentle way of teaching him that.

Morris looked sheepish: "Oh, is it burned? The first ones always get a little bit more...crispy."

He neither took silence nor no for an answer, but two could play that game.

"So, what do you want to do after this?", Morris asked. He hoped to get the best use out of their intimacy before the inevitable temporary mood killer.

"You talk a lot." Sadly, not one coherent sentence. So Elliot refused to give in to the chit-chat.

"I'm just excited," Morris admitted quietly while desperate to hide the red blotches on his face.

Excited about what?

He had to sound like a broken record by now: "Did I do something wrong? I didn't tell anyone, I swear!"

Morris sighed.

"No, no, I'm not angry with you, is that so hard to believe?" He couldn't stop playing with full, dark strands of hair. "I just said these things to buy more time."

Collecting what remained of his shaky words, Elliot failed to bite his tongue any longer. Sweet-talk me all you want.

"Y-you said, you'd kill my mother."

Morris would never, scout's honor! That woman was huge.

"Yeah, I didn't mean that, obviously!" came the annoyed huff.

Obviously, like Morris wasn't a dangerous man to be around. Obviously, like it was Elliot's fault for believing threats against their lives.

"Wouldn't make a difference if you had told them, either."

A difference for Elliot nonetheless, one could suppose, seeing how drenched in tears he suddenly was. In another life, one where he got to be less of a disappointment, he told his parents and doctors the truth to make peace with himself.

At worse, new accusations only fast-tracked Morris tardy rendezvous with justice. Dragging an unconscious stranger through the streets perhaps did raise some eyebrows... Do you even know about the warrant? Maybe you like a spark of danger.

Unable to protest, free-flowing tears got thumbed away by a caring hand and unbeknownst to Elliot, Morris simply loved that he let himself cry freely.

In the open space behind them, a phone started humming anew. The unhappy musician was finally lucid enough to recognize the melody this time: Für Elise.

In case he had been smart enough to spend the last months growing a backbone, he would have spat Morris straight in the face. The sheer audacity made all tears ebb in an instant.

After what had been more than enough time with strange hair between his fingers, Morris took a seat and let his head drop into his hands: "I hope that doesn't bother you, I'm just gonna let it ring."

Actually, it did bother Elliot, but in a whole different way.

"Where's my phone?", he asked instead, because surly, whatever scenario he was dragged into, Morris considered him sympathetic enough to gift him one call. Like in the movies.

Bet he isn't dumb enough to let it lie around.

The response he got was a worthless shrug: "You didn't have one on you."

How well did that freak search me?

The only other explanation was him losing it during the fall, where and when this supposedly happened was a whole different mystery to him. Taking a hesitant forkful of batter into his mouth, Elliot hoped his good manners would earn him a blink of silence: time he needed to think about his next steps. For now, it only brought a satisfied grin onto himself.

After a few more minutes, the ringing died down.

--------

It became extremely clear that Elliot's plan would go up in flames. A chat with Chris, to smile and look pretty, forcing half a pancake down his tightening throat - he really put all into it. It wasn't enough.

His face burned brightly now too, from fear or rising nerval misery was unclear, all he knew was that it hurt. Pearls of sweat slipped along his fingertips into his lap while Morris was too busy cleaning up the table: "I guess you're full for now, huh?"

The low coo only made him twitch in his seat. Elliot had to stop losing himself.

"How's your...the-the rabbit. You had one of those, right?" Chris asked, turning towards the sink to put the dishes in.

"Good," Elliot tried to say, but any effort to speak was cut off by a choking flare that shot up his neck. The ache hit him without warning throughout every muscle fiber and surged right back into its birthplace, over and over, until nothing but a hollow wheeze shook his body.

It hadn't been this bad in a long time; his skull threatened to split into pieces and if nobody was here to help, then Elliot was glad to take the job.

Fuck Chris and his absolution, if he didn't want to finish what he started, so be it.

This wasn't an abandoned crack house, he didn't need to leave the building, but just had to find someone who lived here too.

Move, the force demanded again, now; and this time Elliot listened.

Without second thought, he slid from the chair and leaped for the door, even closer to it than ever before.

One -two- three steps now and with the door latch just in reach, he-

A thick arm quickly wrapped around his waist to throw him unceremoniously against the nearest wall. His left hand was on fire.

"Let go!" Elliot gasped loudly; too close to screaming for Chris' liking, so a skilled grip around the neck made him shut it quite nicely.

"Calm down, it's alright. Just don't be loud." At least right now. Nobody minded him being noisy elsewhere...soon, he couldn't expect this right off the bat. "Look, I'll let go, but the door is locked anyway, so don't freak out again."

What Elliot tried didn't came as a surprise, but hurt him nonetheless. Morris was more disappointed than upset.

"I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just trying to help!"

Still pressed against the wood-chip wallpaper, one fist grabbing his left arm and one flat on his chest, Elliot could do nothing but take ragged breaths. He was going insane, without question.

"Then help me," he wailed, "nothing of this is alright, I want to leave!"

"You want your next fix, but I won't let that happen, sweetie," he replied sullenly, noticing how Elliot cringed at the pet name. There was enough time to find one that fit.

"I'm not a fucking junkie!" he tried now, his breaking voice didn't make this any more convincing, much less his mood.

"Then why so antsy, huh?"

"It hurts," Elliot mewled, trying to pull his hand free, "just stop!"

"Why? I'm not even holding on tight..."

What was this man going on about? Elliot wondered if he was that dumb; or maybe found it funny.

"You know why," he whispered baffled.

Morris' disappointment spread. He knew what that meant, an imminent truth he tried to sugarcoat for a while: the answer to the question of why Elliot didn't show up for the Oratorio, or any other show after that.

Loosening his grip on the arm, but still pressing Elliot closer against the wall, he took his time to inspect the damned hand in question, to really look at his past fuck-up.

It was clearly thinner and paler, even compared to the rest of Elliot, except for the gnarly red scar line that ran from his wrist all the way to the back of his pinky. Fresh new wounds aside, the weakly curled up pair of fingers, four and five respectively, refused to spread out, not held by force but lack of it.

Morris could feel the rigid metal wires under the dewy, paper-like skin. A few pins in there, or a plate at least. The noise when knife met bone played on loop in his ears: the moment once sharp crunch turned into soft smacks.

This wasn't supposed to happen, all of it was simply wrong.

"Why does it look like that, Ell?"

"You tell me, asshole!"

The tension between them rose high again, and with their faces just inches apart, Elliot prayed that he overheard his insult. Any more pressure and his fingers would just snap on impact.

Despite it all, the confused man didn't pay him any mind, too focused on the fruit of his labor: "That doesn't make sense, it should be back to normal by now."

Through the smoke of pain and leftover narcotics, Elliot wondered if he could be braver this time around, as he pulled the hand back to his side.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I want - I need to go home. I don't understand why you're doing this at all. You're so-"

Different, yes. His Elliot was on the best way to finally understand. Chris didn't want to confess yet, it would be too much at once.

"I missed you." The soothing tone was put on in good faith.

"Missed?" It was practically spat at him. Missed what? Beating me? "Didn't you do enough already?"

Craving revelation, though refusing to back down, both men clenched their jaw tight.

"You need to stop, Morris," Elliot had one last desperate offer to give in case Chris really was insane, not in the pop psychology sort of way, but by being a seriously sick man: "I-I can visit you, okay?!"

Why visit when you can just stay?

"Elliot, quit being so formal."

A buzz ripped them apart. Go to hell, Elise!

Gladly, Morris let go of his chest to stomp over to the kitchen counter.

"Fucking Belanger, I swear to god." With a swift motion, the call was ended. It was obvious that dear Chris tried to keep his facade alive, even with all nerves on edge.

"That's my - uh, that's not really my boss, he only annoys me sometimes."

Elliot nodded wordlessly, as if he could give a rat's ass about Morris and his little pusher friends running around town, playing UNO all night long and ruining other people's relationships.

"Just ignore that, he's from Quebec so," he rolled his eyes excessively, "y'know?!"

No, Elliot didn't know. Respectively, he knew nothing, even after spending all morning with him. The oh-so obvious reason for his stay was still a blank hole of ignorance for him.

He couldn't believe a single word coming from that bastard's mouth, he was a liar back then, and he would be one on every single day to come.

Elliot didn't even register how badly he was shivering.

"We just take it slowly," Morris offered, but struggled to cleanse the atmosphere, "only talk and spend some time together. Do you know Azul? The game with the little tiles?"

Elliot sensed how this would go, the bile in his mouth started having the horrible aftertaste of moonshine and ichor.

Oh god, I can't do this again.

Dizziness hit him from nowhere and took all leftover strength from his already drained body. Panting heavily, Elliot didn't remember how he ended up on the cold floor, just how he kept on shaking whilst staring at Morris through blurry eyes.

As if underwater, no words reached him.

He'd laugh at himself, how the thought of another game night made his already wild panic spike, if his lungs didn't trick him into believing he was drowning on land.

I can't do this again, I can't do this again.

"Hey!"

A weight was placed on his chest, wrapping around his ribs and holding him close - so, so close as if to press all the fear out of him. His mind was racing, partly happy the oncoming lightheadedness alleviated the pain being pumped into him with every fluttering heartbeat.

Inhaling was needles in his lungs, exhaling pointless. The air refused to leave against the source of the comforting pressure.

"-need my pills," was the last thing he could force out, before the rest of Chris' heavy body buried him in a tight embrace. Next to Elliot's ear, he shook his head and shushed him gently.

"You're good for me" he murmured, fighting to keep the clutch, "I'm sorry, we'll make this work."

Unable to help himself, Elliot gave in to the dark walls that were closing in around them, praying for unconsciousness to take him away quickly.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

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yanderenightmare · 2 months

Text

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking

gn reader

There’s something very off about your roommate… something eerie that makes you keep your distance.

You can’t describe exactly what it was about the boy except that you felt it from the second you shook his hand. The way he introduced himself… you don’t know… you had this unshakable feeling as though he already knew you from somewhere.

It’s a weird thought to have of someone you’d only just met. You knew you were probably just being paranoid. It was your first time sharing your space with someone other than family, so it might very well just have been you being apprehensive.

Not that you’d ever let it show, though. You didn’t want things between the two of you to be awkward when you’d be living together for the next three years of getting your degree.

You just needed to get used to him, is what you told yourself.

So you laughed at his jokes and listened to his brags with a polite smile as though nothing was wrong, even when he continued being strange.

For starters, he had almost nothing to unpack – as though he only planned to stay about a month or two. Everything seemed newly bought as well – unused and sterile, like a movie set.

You don’t know… maybe he was a minimalist even though he didn’t seem the type.

It shouldn't really have made your skin crawl the way it did. But whether it made sense or not, you couldn’t shake the discomfort – walking around in a constant wariness of him.

Everything about him seemed like a half-assed theatre act.

You’d see him in the lecture hall, walking from here to there, buying strawberry milk from the vending machines. His textbooks remained piled on his desk in your shared dorm room – but you’d never seen any one of them open. And when curiosity and suspicion made you flip up one of his notebooks, you found it was all blank except for a few shitty doodles on the first page. You never see him cram for exams or writing any papers. You don’t think you’ve ever even seen him pull a laptop out of his bag.

It’s like he isn't a student at all…

And something about the rest of his performance just rubs you the wrong way.

It’s as though he’s practiced all his facial expressions in the mirror – as though he’s studied social cues and body language in a human behavior manual instead of having learned them naturally. It makes you uneasy – how his smile is always a bit too wide and a bit too stiff to be genuine and how all his words are like dialogue off a script.

Somehow, it feels as though he’s wearing a second skin – hiding something… something that’s not quite right on the inside.

It grosses you out when he tries flirting with you. But you do your best to hide it. Brushing him off by changing the topic, inviting other friends when he asks to eat lunch together, laughing off his attempts as though he’s making jokes – always excusing yourself when you end up alone with him for too long.

You try to avoid him as much as you can. Pretending to study when you’re in the dorm together – and otherwise going to bed early.

He tells you he’ll see you at the party later when you leave to pregame with some friends. You can only muster a smile and a curt “Sure.” before leaving.

As for seeing each other later – you hope you don’t.

But of course you do. You can’t seem to escape him. Everywhere you go, he follows.

It doesn’t help that all your friends think he’s so hot, immediately calling him over, gushing over him as though he’s some type of celebrity. They don’t understand your reservation – if they were you, they’d have fucked him the first night of moving in together.

It’s not like you don’t find him attractive as well. You admit he is ridiculously handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you’d say you lucked out being assigned the same dorm room as him.

But as it were – he gives you the same feeling as spotting a spider.

He’s got his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk back together.

He had a little bit too much to drink… And despite your thoughts about him, even you didn’t have the heart to say no when he was practically hanging off of you – cheeks dusted pink with his mothlike lashes droopy, drunkenly mumbling while blinking up at you with those awfully bright eyes, asking you to take him home and tuck him in.

“Ugh...” You sigh.

It’s a struggle carrying the nearly two-meter-tall boy, almost having to drag him down the hallway before stopping short at your door. He’s drooling on your shoulder with murmurs of sleep as you search for the key – not exactly sober yourself.

When inside, his bigger body presses you against the closed door – his face buried in the grove of your neck with slurred words.

“Dude.” You state with a grimace – as if saying his name was too much of a burden – sighing as you haul him off with the same exasperation of a parent putting an unruly child to bed.

Ducking beneath his arm, you leave him kissing the door – thinking to yourself how you really should put him to bed before he can embarrass himself any further.

You open your mouth to tell him when his temper finally makes him grab your arm a little harder than intended.

“This isn't how this is supposed to go.”

You flinch instinctively, and his grip tightens in return. “Hey?”

You can’t see his face with the way he’s got his head bowed. But you don’t like the snuff growl that passes under his breath as he utters the next words.

“Why are you so difficult?”

You do more than flinch this time, yanking yourself out of his harsh grip before he can apologize for it – taking on a deliberate offensive stance.

With your feet squared and your hands up to keep him at a distance, you look ready to try fending him off.

Something about it seems premeditated – something in the wary way you eye him. You don’t even look all that surprised – as if you had suspected this side of him existed all along and had only been waiting for it to surface.

Oddly, t feels like something you’ve kept secret from him – as though you’ve acted comfortable all this time when, in reality, you’ve been clutching your mental pearls.

He realizes then why you haven’t returned his affection – why all you’ve ever given him is cold-hearted rejection…

Of course. It’s obvious now – so obvious it’s funny. Even though he’s been the one parading around like someone else, it feels as though you’ve been doing the exact same thing around him – hiding your discomfort behind a sweet smile – hiding it so well that not even his keen eyes have picked up on it…

But it’s clear now….

You’ve both been playing a game of pretend – just a pair of perfect strangers – who've now shared their hand. Leaving you both feeling naked – raw out in the cold – just waiting for the next move.

“I guess the gig is up, huh?” He rasps, fingers twitching at his sides – looking ready to pounce.

You couldn’t defend why you'd kept the pepper spray in the drawer of your nightstand – but you were glad you had. Rushing for it, hands shaking as you pulled the handle and grabbed the bottle – twisting around and spraying it right in the face of your roommate.

He cries out from the attack, clutching his face with both hands – staggering back with a series of gruff curse words.

Still, he guards the door – preventing your escape.

The groaning turns to croaks instead, and you think he might be crying. It’s tough to see through the hands covering his eyes – but when he looks back up again, despite the red burns left by your pepper spray on his puffy teary cheeks, he’s got a smile on his face.

He’s not crying – he’s laughing – as the hand covering his face slowly drags down the crazed expression – over crazed eyes, bloodshot and wet, staring at you through the gaps between his fingers.

The look alone is enough to give you goosebumps.

But when you try to make a run for it, he grabs you again – and this time, you’re not able to shake him off. It feels as though the tight grip splinters your skin as he pulls you back – shoving you down against your bed.

“Can’t say it hasn’t been fun, roomie. But I’m not completely satisfied yet.”

He’s on top of you before you get a kick in – pinning your wrists above your head as he leans over you – bright eyes gleaming with that sickness you’d almost convinced yourself you’d been imagining. You opt to shout, but he’s soon got his other hand clasped tight over the bottom half of your face before you get a sound out.

“You were supposed to fall in love with me, you know?” His voice is airy as though he’s confessing – but also on the brink of laughter as though he’s telling a joke in class. “That’s how it goes in the movies.”

You swallow beneath his hand – eyes peeled, heart beating so hard it hurts.

His eyes wander – roaming your neck and chest. It’s awfully quiet before he speaks again. “But I suppose we can act out a different plot line...”

You whimper at his suggestive tone – already feeling the weight of his intentions bearing down on you, crushing you free of air.

“I like romcoms, but horror stories have their charm, too...”

You shudder beneath the warmth of his breath, screaming into his palm once his warm lips mouth your throat, sucking on the tender skin with tongue and teeth in between words.

“An unfortunate college student finds themself moving into the same dorm as their unhinged stalker…”

There’s a thrill in his tone – something crazed and terrifying as he goes on.

“The two play a psychological game of endurance, trying to balance college and privacy while sharing the same space...”

Something hard and gross steadily ruts against your thigh. His voice gets thicker – breath hotter on your neck. The kisses turn sloppy. Tears burn your cheeks.

“Everything seems to lead up to a party held before Spring break, a fateful night on which their endurance finally runs out.”

He groans, and you sob.

“A rejected kiss, a can of pepper spray, a shared bed. What happens next?”

JJK – Gojo, Yuta

BNHA – Hawks, Denki, Kirishima

HQ – Miya twins

CSM – Yoshida

BLLK - Nagi

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obsessivevoidkitten · 5 months

Text

Wrongful Imprisonment

Male Alpha Yandere Prisoner x Omega Male Reader CW: Noncon, imprisonment, prison setting, knotting, mating cycles, a/b/o, rut/heat, knotting, size difference, ass eaten like it's groceries, general yandere behavior Word Count: 2k (Sorry this took so long.)

You never thought you would find yourself in prison. But there you were. Locked away in a minimum security facility.

You were innocent. When your home was raided you had no idea there were drugs there. Your boyfriend at the time had put all the blame on you to escape punishment.

What's worse was that you were an omega sentenced to a mixed facility full of alphas. Since male omegas were so rare no one bothered to make separate facilities for them.

They forcefully drugged away your heats to the best of their ability but the meds had side effects on your mood and gave you dizzy spells. And they weren't perfect. Even without a heat a faint scent of omega peaked through. During heats it was a bit more pronounced.

To some of the alphas who had been there for years it was enough to get their interest. And they were not men whose interest you wanted.

It was terrifying. The cells had no doors so you were in constant fear that you'd wake up with a rapist over you.

The guards were no help. You did your best to avoid all of the alphas of ill intent for as long as you could manage it, but one time you were cornered.

They had followed you in from the yard and crept up behind you. You flailed, scratched, and bit but they didn't take your struggles well and beat you until you stopped fighting.

You could hear them snickering as one slammed his knee into your gut before giving you two brutal punches to the face. You doubled over in pain, your nose bloody and tears cascading down your swollen face.

"Just be a good cock sleeve and stay still"

You felt your pants being yanked down to your knees.

"Look at how tight it's pussy is!"

You prepared for the worst, unable to eek out any pleas over your ragged sobs of hurt and fear.

But the worst never happened. Instead you heard growling followed by hisses and cries of pain.

Your pants were pulled up and you were helped onto your shaky feet.

In front of you stood a sweaty mountain of a man. He was about your age. Tan skin and red hair. All muscle. Probably spent every free moment lifting weights.

Which wasn't really true. Lately he also spent a lot of time watching you from a distance. Trying to get to know the one who's scent called to him so strongly despite the suppressants.

"Th-tha-th-" You tried to mutter a thanks, but your assault and near rate had sent you into a full panic attack.

"Shhh, don't try to talk. It's okay."

His green eyes stared into yours as he inspected your facial injuries. Nothing was broken.

He gently led you back to his doorless cell. The cells had a lot of traffic. You were a bit nervous but you were more scared to be alone and if he had wanted to hurt you he could have.

At least, that's what you had thought. Though you were completely unaware of how badly he wanted to bend you over and fill your body full of his seed. Unlike the brutes from before though he at least wanted you to moan and cling to him while he did it.

He introduced himself and you managed to return the courtesy once your sobs had lessened.

His name was Lance.

And over the months you spent in prison the two of you had become very close.

He kept you within his sight at all times and made sure you were safe. The two of you even managed to have it arranged where you could share the same cell so he could protect you at night and prevent you from getting a bad roommate.

Lance also rubbed all your clothes every morning on him so they had his scent to keep you safe.

The alpha even had the idea to give you a claiming bite just to make sure no one would try anything.

You allowed him to do so, you didn't think it meant anything. In fact, he had reassured you that it hadn't. It was just another measure to protect you.

Of course that wasn't how the alpha saw it at all. Even though he hadn't bed you he considered you his mate. And really, if anything, the fact you were so naïve about it only proved that he was taking the correct course of action.

You were too trusting and soft. That's how you had ended up there in the first place. That's why those vermin tried to get their unworthy hands on you.

You were his mate. Even if you didn't know it yet. You needed him.

And he needed you too. Your scent and personality drove him to keep you safe. So kind. A perfect mate for him. You were the only light in his otherwise miserable existence. To say that you were as essential as oxygen to him would be an understatement.

And after he saved you from those lesser alphas his instincts screamed that he owned you. He had won you in a physical contest.

The alpha just had to calm himself down and be patient. He would get you gradually. He was confident he was almost there.

Until you got the news that you were being released early because new evidence had come to light.

Lance feigned joy at the news.

"I am glad... a place like this really isn't for a person like you..."

"Yeah! And now I won't have to be such a burden to you anymore either! Thanks for helping me so much Lance, you're a great friend. I'll miss you."

Inwardly Lance wanted to go on a rampage. His mate was being taken away from him! He wouldn't be able to protect you. Someone might try to hurt you and touch you with hands unworthy of your skin.

The mere thought filled him with unbridled anger.

Lance knew what he had to do.

/////////

It had been just a couple months since your release and you were adjusting about as well as could be expected for someone in your situation.

You had been money from a settlement for being falsely imprisoned so finances weren't an issue. But you had no friends on the outside anymore. You had nothing to do.

And the ptsd from over a year of living like an animal was immense.

The hardest thing to adjust to, at least physically, was no longer being on industrial strength suppressants. And the very strong heats that accompanied that change.

It was during one such extreme heat that Lance broke out of prison and was making his way up the hill right towards your secluded home. He could smell you from far off.

He was in rut. He had not seen his omega in months. And he could smell your heat.

The alpha was coming for you... and very soon... he would be cumming in you.

When he came upon your home he noticed the window was open. You were so careless! Just letting your damn heat scent drift out and attract any piece of shit alpha right to your open window!! You were really fucking lucky you had such a dedicated mate like him though. So loyal that he broke through prison to take care of you.

He watched you for a minute through your open window. Poor little omega. Writhing in your empty nest. No alpha scent to soothe you. Your nude form hot and sweaty, jerking your cock and bucking your hips fervently, a puddle of slick staining your blankets. And the smell was insane, practically screaming for someone to slide in you.

But fate had provided you with a strong lover that was going to fuck all your frustrations right away.

As he stepped through your window your eyes snapped to him immediately, his musky smell grabbing your attention. “L-lance? B-but…”

“I got out for you. Now I can help you and we can be together.” His voice was low and raspy. Almost animalistic.

You recoiled in fear of him and fell out of your bed.

Lance was hurt that his precious lover was scared of him, but he understood. Past lovrs had hurt you and other alphas had tried to rape you very violently. But that’s not what he would do. He was going to keep you safe. Take care of your needs.

“You n-need to leave Lance.”

It was so hard to think clearly. Your body was on fire and his smell was so comforting even though you didn’t want his knot in you. He was still an attractive alpha who you had been close to and your body wanted to be closer. And he could smell it.

“No. I need to breed my husband.”

“Lance, y-you’re not my-”

He stood over you and picked you up easily, putting you back into your nest. He knelt beside it so that his head was right by your ass that was hanging off. He positioned your legs on his shoulders and inhaled deeply.

The scent you were giving off was too captivating, especially there, he could no longer even process your words. He tenderly nuzzled his nose beneath your balls, drinking in the scent and kissing each of your nuts gently before focusing his attention on your needy, slick-leaking hole.

He stared at it in awe for a moment, like a dragon appraising his most precious treasure.

Lance slid his tongue right in and began wriggling it to get at every inch he could reach, reveling in the needy sounds you made between your flustered protests. He kissed it and removed his lips, a small string of drool and slick briefly connecting your hole with his lips.

The alpha then flipped you on to your belly and climbed into the nest with you after discarding his pants and underwear, he took off his sweaty shirt and laid it under your head so you could enjoy his scent while he bred you. He put your head down and kept your ass up. You would have protested, but you couldn’t stay in your right mind any longer.

Not after the tongue fucking he had given you, not with his scent so concentrated with your face pressed into it.

You gripped his shirt and pressed it closer to you, trying to inhale the musk as much as you possibly could. His heart leapt at the sight of it all. His little omega was presenting so nicely for him all while drowning so willingly in his smell.

He gripped your hips firmly, but still careful not to hurt you as he sank his cock into you deeply.

Lance gasped as the wet heat engulfed his entire length. You fit over him so well. There was not a fraction of a doubt in his mind, you were made just for him.

You moaned and drooled into the shirt your loving mate had provided as his flesh smacked against yours. Faster and faster he slammed into you with your slutty noises driving him on until his knot swelled and his cum was pumped into you.

The alpha renewed that claiming bite he had given you as the two of you became tied together and while licking your fresh wound he lightly humped into you until you came hard as well. He caged your body with his and held you tightly to him as you both panted and waited for the knot to go down.

As your mind temporarily cleared you were aware that this was not something you wanted.

But it wasn’t something that you could fight either.

After everything you had been through you were still just a prisoner.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere boyfriend #male reader #x male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere a/b/o #yandere alpha #yandere omegaverse #My OCs #My OC Lance

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gotham-daydreams · 8 months

Text

Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd part here.

๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑

How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

------

Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

--------

Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

#this was all written in one go #so that's fun #more angst than anything honestly #not really any yan but it is supposed to be for yan stuff #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader #sibling reader #reader tries too hard and does their best but finds out it isn't enough #some things just aren't meant to be #but that doesn't mean they get to run around scott free either

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 month

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Okay but a darling who tries their hardest to "fix" and train their yandere. They put up with every bloody, obsessive shenanigan in the hopes that they can have a semi-regular relationship with the person they thought they were dating. You see, everything was fine the first month of the honeymoon phase-- regular cute dates and normal presents like bouquets and nicknacks-- even if they were overly frequent. It didn't take long for Yandere's true colors to show, possessiveness chaining Darling to their home and rushes in relationship milestones that normally take years to achieve.

By the third month, Darling has moved into their Yandere's home. Sure, it's fast, but how else are they going to alter a bloodthirsty stalkers' bad habits? But Darling didn't realize how much of a chore it would be to handle their Yan 24/7. Other than the constant reassurances of love and physical affection, they have to talk them down from murdering any coworkers or adding a military-grade security system to the home in an event of Darling trying to escape break up with them.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

" I love you, there's no one else, how could you accuse me of that!"

Even with Darling complying continuously, wearing the ankle bracelet their Yan begs them to keep on, not leaving (or atleast, not telling Yan when they do) the house without their loving spouse-- Yandere still has paranoid visions, imagining footsteps at night, clothes that belong to them that they think are from another. But Darling is persistent, denying any sort of sneaking around and consoling their Yan in the process. I mean, who could sneak around when all they do is think of and take care of someone else continuously? And even when Yandere gets threatening, drugging takeout that was supposed to be a fun surprise and keeping Darling in the basement for a week, Darling always waits patiently for them to come back to their senses, to negotiate and bribe their way back out when Yan brings meals and requests cuddle time.

Maybe once or twice they've worried about being murdered, but they know their Yandere just loves too much, has too much affection for them to rationally contain. So they see the beast as tameable, talking them down off ledge after ledge, never bolting even with open doors and free feet. But will that be enough to convince their Yandere, to satiate their fear of abandonement and desire to trap before their prey can even think of escaping?

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lonleywriters-blog · 1 year

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Could I get an Arthur imagine? Any scenario I'm just going through a lot and need something to comfort me :p

OMG yes I love him so much 😍

Darling help yan. Arthur after learning he is evil

You stared at the handsome man with a smirk. Your friends had already ran away but you stayed. You had suspected him for awhile and you thought it was a little hot. "What are you doing, run." Arthur states in a demanding tone. "I want to help you Arthur." You say with a smile. Arthur was shocked he was planning on kidnapping you to get his way but now you had come willing and wanting to HELP? Oh darling you do not know what you are doing to this man. "I don't want you hurt follow me." Arthur leads you to a room you hadn't noticed before it was decorated classic with oak wood floors. "Lay on the bed and wait for me to get back." You smirked and nodded towards him. You waited for a long while until he came back with blood all over him. You but your lip finding this view rather hot. "Arthur kiss me." "What?" He asked confused he had just killed all of your friends. "Come kiss me right now!" He didn't waist a second crashing his lips onto yours hard. He fought your tongue for dominance and won. The kiss lasted until you had to break away for air. "Mm darling" he continued to kiss you taking off your shirt. You unbuttoned his shirt and riped it off him. "fuck" you groan as you feel his leg between yours rubbing you through your pants.

Tonight was going to be very long.

#etn x reader #yandere escape the night #yandere ent #escape the night x reader #yandere arthur escape the night #Arthur escape the night x reader

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ctrlhope · 25 days

Text

Butterfly (m)

synopsis: he’s been watching you. waiting, stalking his prey. waiting for you to tangle your pretty little wings into his web. chasing you. hunting you. making you play his games until you realise the truth that lies behind your eyes.

j.jungkook x f.reader

୧ ‧₊˚┊: wc: 3.6k

୧ ‧₊˚┊: genre: yandere, serial killer au, college au, dark content

୧ ‧₊˚┊: content: yandere!killer!jk, dubcon, predator / prey, manipulation, fear play, mask kink, slight sub space, slight knife play, strangers to lovers, “public” sex, drug use (alcohol), mentions of blood / injury, threats, allusions to kidnapping, dom!jk, fingering, rough sex, he’s mean but still sweet, obsessed!soft!jk at the end <33

୧ ‧₊˚┊: notes: found this in my drafts back from halloween and i never posted it! so here you go, to hold you over until my long fics are done <33 halloween fic in april lmaooo

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Bum. Bum. Bum.

Your heartbeat is in your ears, pulse racing. It was too loud. Everything is too loud. It’s all you can hear. It’s all you can think about as your heels dig into the harsh forest floor. Your shoes long since been abandoned, mud caking your feet as you try to run. Tries to escape from the demon that had set his sights on you.

Him.

Fuck. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It really wasn’t. It was just supposed to be a fun halloween party! You didn’t really even know if you wanted to go to it or not. But your friends convinced you with the promise of free drinks and guys that were ‘cute enough’ for some random frat.

What they failed to mention? The simple fact that house was in the middle of nowhere. On one side a lake, the other a massive forest.

Like a pretty little trap meant to catch girls like you. Web tangled in the trees just watching for the prettiest butterfly to find its way into. To be caught in the den of monsters that lined every wall of the ancient house.

You were already disturbed when your friend's pretty jeep turned off the main roads, trailing through the woods. Realising just how distant from the rest of society you would be. How every bump of the car sent your little heart into a deeper flutter of anxiety.

Still, you kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to ruin the night— for yourself or your friends. You trust them. They promised it would be fun. Plus! Their boyfriends were going to be there! So nothing would go wrong!

Yeah. It really wasn't their fault that a lunatic set his sights on you. Wasn’t their fault you started dancing with a man in a mask. Let him lead you to the backyard for a smoke, dumbly followed him deeper into the woods to see his favourite spot. Let him stuff his fingers into your little hole without even seeing his face, knowing his name.

Nah, you did all that on your own. Just a little kitten being led to the slaughter house.

“Okay babydoll…” He breathes into your ear, pumping two fingers deep inside of your cunt. Skirt that was barely covering anything pushed too far up your hips, showing the whole forest just how tight your walls cling to his fingers. How wet you are. How desperate you are for more.

“We’re gonna play a game, yeah?” You’re hardly able to respond, consciousness laced with toxins from earlier that night. Flush to your cheeks evidence enough of just how much you drank— the series of events that led you to this exact moment.

One he had been planning for awhile.

He smiles, throat letting out a low, almost nonexistent laugh. Slowly circling your clit with his thumb, almost mocking the way your back arches. Finding amusement in the way your fingers cling to his arm as his thrusts continue all to slow.

You’re needy, too needy. He knows that well enough. Can tell with the way your hips start to rock, start to squirm. The way your body starts to get bratty on him while your mind is too far in the clouds to realise the position you’ve found yourself in.

You’re cute. Too cute for him to take another second of this. Too cute for him to hold back anymore.

Wouldn’t want you getting too bratty on him anyway, would he? Then his personal treat, the slice of cake he's been waiting weeks to cut into will have to turn into a punishment. Ruin all the fun he’s worked so hard to prepare.

“‘Gonna need you to run into the woods. Fast and as far as you can…” He groans under his breath, the mere thought sending blood straight to his cock, filling his mind with nothing but pictures of you dirty on the forest floor, “And you gotta do your best to stay away from me yeah? Cause if I catch you… I gotta kill you and I wouldn't wanna have to do that… You’re too pretty to kill, you know?”

Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with him? What is he even talking about?

You try to process– try to understand the words that run off his tongue. But it's unfair, everything is stacked against you as he slides the mask off his face. Gives you a first look at his deep brown eyes. Lets you see how gorgeous he is for the very first time.

He didn’t even give you a chance to recover before he started counting down from 30. Doesn’t even move his hand away from your dripping cunt until 20– the expression on your face just pathetic. So close yet so far from the finish line.

Your race was nowhere close to its end. He’d make sure of it.

It wasn’t until his hand found your hip, gently tapping against the skin that your brain even had the chance to attempt processing his words. Figure out the exact meaning behind them while his lips continued to count down with each syllable.

Such pretty pink lips. Maybe he would let you kiss them if you tried hard enough. If you lean up just right maybe he would–

Wait. Wait. What’s happening? What did he say to you?

Your eyes glance down to your thighs, vision dazed as you try to figure out the object that suddenly pokes at your flesh. The sharp tip grazing your soft skin as you take in the metal; polished to perfection. The deep black handle resting securely in his palm, holding himself back.

Your eyes widen, familiarity cresting your features.

Shit. Shit!

You don’t even think about grabbing your own knife until 15, hand quickly reaching for your hip where you keep it tucked away. Too bad he had already taken it, knew the tool you always carried with you well.

Shit, his own personal little Nancy, huh? Perfect for him.

Survival instincts had to take over for you, forcing your feet to the ground. Urging your skirt down as low as it could possibly go as your legs take off in a direction you hope is the house.

Everything is all too much, it’s not enough. Every little sound is getting to you, making you feel like you’re going crazy. Making you feel like none of your senses can be trusted. Like nothing can be trusted except for the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The woods– everything looks the same. You can't distinguish one thing from the next but you know you hear something getting closer. Too close.

If his words meant anything you need to keep fighting, keep trying to live. Even as pain stabs into your toes, sticks break under your feet. Even as you’re stabbed by bushes.

It was like the forest itself was out to get you. Like whatever beast behind it is your real enemy in all of this.

Maybe you can pretend it, maybe in your alcohol-addled brain that’s a little easier to manage than the man running behind you. The one with hunger in his heart that only your soul can satiate.

You try, you really do. But your legs can only move so fast. Can only take so much abuse before they start to slow. Lungs can only inhale so much air before they want to collapse.

Too bad he’s done this before. He can run.

And just as you start to be able to see the lights from the tree line, just as hope starts to fill your little heart, you’re forced into the dirt. Two arms wrap around you from behind, tackling your frame to the ground.

Your back presses against his chest as he keeps you there, his face right next to your ear as he pants. Breathe heavy in your ear, hearing the way it cracks every once and awhile as he tries to catch his breath. Lips almost on your ear while he keeps you there. Keeps you trapped under him.

Everything is starting to conflict in your pretty little head, body telling you to get away. Try to get him off. Wriggle your hand— anything out to try and fight back. Try and get away before he keeps his promise from before.

Yet, with every movement, every slight twist of your spine or kick of your legs under his heavy frame he only presses tighter, deeper against you. Presses his cock against your barely covered cunt. Makes you feel every inch of him that he plans to stuff inside. Make you unable to breathe while the rocks dig into your skin.

You put up a good fight, you really do. Better than anyone else. It’s too bad everything is going just a little bit haywire behind your eyes. The world starting to feel like a burden as you try to push away the arousal rushing to your gut.

Shit, you should be scared. Should be petrified of the psycho that took you into the woods, the psycho that threatened to kill you no more than ten minutes before. One that had a knife pressed to your skin and a scythe around your heart. But the chemicals in your brain are mixing into something that you can’t comprehend, can’t describe.

Everything feels like too much, he feels like too much and you have no clue what to do. Head completely gone to mush.

It’s almost easier that way.

“Almost got away, doll. But don’t worry. I’ve got you now.” His voice is rough, harsh as he tries to catch his breath. Teeth clamping against the crest of your ear, hips rolling against your cunt without a care in the world. Especially not for the state of your head. Not for the little world you find yourself slipping away into.

Too many extreme emotions happening will do that to you, won't they? Make you so confused that you’ll just take whatever you can manage. Even if that means plunging his blade into your pretty little heart or fucking you until your pussy wouldn’t even consider another filling it.

He prefers the latter. Too pretty for the former, huh?

He can feel the shift in your frame– one of extreme discomfort, entirely tense to one of a docile little pet put on display. The shift behind your eyes as everything becomes too much, little too difficult to understand. As you slip away just enough to make any feelings of pleasure elevate to new extremes. Let fear spur you on.

The only thoughts in your head are ones filled with him. The way it should be. Exactly should be.

Your hips move again, their last attempt to break free from his spell. Their last attempt to try and get away from the maniac. Yet it does nothing more than press his cock harder against your ass, the mock of a grind against the surface that leaves a pretty little mewl spilling from your lips. A grunt catching in his own.

Wow, you actually surprised him.

“Shit, not patient at all huh?” He smiles, lip quirking as he removes his body from you. Removes the only warmth provided in this hell.

You won't run. Not if you know what's good for you.

He doubts you do– led you right into his arms tonight. But that's okay. He can take over for you. Take over everything.

Hands grip your hips, pull you back against him. Let you imagine how sweet he could fuck you if you just behave. The soft rocking of hips against your own, the gentle way he moves compared to the way he holds you heavy on your mind.

You can’t help the moan that spills past your lips. The way your back arches to meet him better. No one could blame poor little you. No one could blame your mind turning off for just a little bit. Not when he has you. Not with the rough texture of his pants pushing against your cunt. Not with the ruined orgasm of before.

Arousal makes your panties stick uncomfortable to your skin. A disturbing wet patch forming against his own pants where you meet. A flutter erupting in your gut at the way he groans. Way he moves you with such ease.

He really could kill you if he wanted to.

You’re not sure if the realisation scares you or spurs you on.

It scares you more to know that it's the latter.

“I’m not either.” He huffs, air thick with fog, “Been too patient for you. Too fucking patient.”

He grunts, pushing your hips back. Back arching even farther against the forest floor. It almost hurts, it’s almost painful. Not that that really matters. Nothing matters when he grips the flesh of your ass, pulls the cheeks apart. Gets a good look at the mess he’s made of you. Can see clearly how wrecked his little girl is.

Pretty panties sticking against your cunt, thighs wobbly from all the effort of tonight. Shit, if he just hooks his finger under them, pulls them to the side he’ll get to see you all. Get to see your puffy lips, fluttering little hole. Get to fuck himself inside while you just lie there and take it. Get so drunk on his cock you might just fall in love.

Shit, maybe you already have, huh?

Good.

He forces your underwear to the side, stares in awe at the way your slick sticks to them. Imagines how pretty they’d look stuffed with his cum. How you’d tumble around the house, not letting a drop spill just for him.

Because you would know it’s what he wants.

“All of this for me?” He smiles, rubbing his thumb through your folds. Collecting your essence, spreading it around all messy just how he likes. How he knows you’ll like soon enough.

You can only whimper, clutch the ground as your head spins. Tries to catch up with every little minstration he makes. Tries to figure out what exactly is happening. What words he’s saying. How to get him to stop, if you want him to stop.

A shiver runs down your spine. You don’t think you do.

You’re not sure of anything anymore. Only the sound of a zipper running down, the shuffle of pants forced off hips. The hard head of a cock running against your folds like it owns them. Like it was made for them.

The stretch as he forces himself inside. The way it burns, stings with effort. The short, forceful movements as he fucks himself inside. Makes home in your cunt for no one else but him. Makes you unable to think of a soul other than him. Ruin you for all other men that come after.

God he must be big– how fucking big? You have no clue. You wish you could see. Look into those pretty, crazed eyes. Focus on the little mole under his lip as the pain turns into pleasure. Morphs something dark in your brain to like it, to take it just like a good girl. Make you crave him more than anything else.

But instead you stare at the dirt. Hands clutching at the surface as he fucks himself inside. Deeper and deeper with each slow calculating thrust. Fucks you full of whatever twisted definition of love he possess. Makes you see the light, the exact shimmer in his eyes. See that this is the only way to truly live.

“Shit, baby,” His voice is low, deeper than before as his hips finally meet your own. Finally fills you with nothing else other than him. “Been waiting too fucking long for this. Had to make me wait, huh? Fuck.”

His voice harsh, grip bruising as he tries to hold himself back. One last measly reprise he’ll allow you. One last second he’ll give you before he makes you completely dumb. Makes you see what he knows you need to.

“I-I don’t~” You whimper, though the words fall on deaf ears. Not that it mattered anyway, you didn’t even know what you were trying to say. Didn’t know anything except for the way your walls clamp around his cock. Body begging for him, urging him to start and never stop.

He sighs, dramatic, “Little slut, huh baby?”

A harsh thrust punctuates his words, jolting your body forward as you cry. Impatience, ecstasy? He isn’t sure which. Only can notice the way your fingers clench and unclench in the dirt. The way your pussy flutters around him.

“Aww…” He soothes, hips dragging out of your cunt before slowly thrusting back in. The pace slow, antagonising, “Poor thing is having a hard time…” His hips quicken a hair, pretty sounds falling from your lips at the movement.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby. I can make it all happen then.” A low kiss is placed against your shoulder, the world crumbling around you.

You break.

“Please…” Your voice is soft, too soft, but he hears it. Feels himself cracking as you beg, feels himself lose his mind entirely.

Beg for him. Want him.

His hips suddenly snap, fucking himself into your cunt with force you never thought a human could possibly manage. Fast, hard. Pumping his cock into you to search for his own pleasure. His own release. Forcing you to take it, take all of him while you try to keep up. Try to find your own pleasure in the tangle of limbs.

You hate how easily you do. Or maybe you love it.

“God, fuck.” He can’t suppress his own moans, the feeling of your pussy wrapping so tight around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth is too much. Fills his head with even more nonsense about love. About destiny.

His hips would never even consider stopping. You feel too good. Feel too tight around his cock, feel like he should never stop fucking you. Keep you there forever.

“So perfect. So perfect for me,” His breath is harsh, his heart racing as your little sounds only spur him on. Let him know just how good you feel. Just how far you’ve fallen. Just how much farther you’re willing to drown in all things Jungkook.

“P-Please!” You whine, hips arching further. Moving him into the perfect position to scrape against your g-spot with every rough pound of his hips. No clue what you’re pleading for. No clue what you want other than him.

Don’t even know his name. Nothing other than how incessantly you crave him.

“Fucking brat.” He cusses, eyes pinching into a glare as you somehow clamp down tighter. Walls pulling him back in on every thrust. Milking him for everything he’s worth. Making sure you both know your place in this. Know your place after it, too.

“God, been waiting for this haven’t you?” He groans, hips stuttering. He’s too close, “Been waiting for me to fuck you like the pretty doll you are? Make me take everything from you?”

You can only manage a whine in response, cunt fluttering around him. Obsessing in his praise.

Maybe his words are true. Maybe he’s known the exact type of person you are since the moment he first saw you. Maybe he’s right. This is where you’re meant to be. Meant to be with him.

“Shit, yeah. I fucking knew it.” His voice cracks, “Call you a minx but we both know that isn’t true. Just don’t know how to think until you’re stuck on the end of a cock.”

His thrusts somehow pick up speed. Fuck you harder, deeper. He’s sure he could place his hand over your tummy, feel himself fucking you. Shit.

“My cock.” He growls, voice heavy in your ears.

You can't take it anymore. Can’t take another second of it. Nerves tied tight into knots explode, white dotting the corner of your vision as you moan for no one else other than him. Pleasure courses through your veins, pussy pulling him as he falls apart alongside you. A tsunami pulling you under, making it hard to breathe. Making you feel dead and alive at the same time.

Maybe the forest gods were the ones tormenting you. Making you feel better than you had ever thought possible before. Allowing you to see the light of the stars dancing in the sky, so far above the clouds with his cock still pressed so deep inside. Floating through the air as your orgasm runs through you.

He’s no better. A shell of a man as he slowly fucks him cum deeper into your cunt. As deep as you’ll allow. Marking you. Claiming you. Making sure you know your place, even as you finally collapse onto the floor. Finally come back to reality. Poor body too spent to focus on anything else.

It’s okay though, you don’t have to worry. Not about a thing.

He’ll take care of you. Fix you up nice and pretty for your next lesson. Take you away to his apartment, make you fall in love for real. Keep you there, with him, just like you’re meant to be.

Make all of the sick sides you try to hide come out to play. Make you realise you’re just like him.

He wouldn’t kill you. Ever. Even if he had killed the others, none of them matter. He’s been waiting for someone like you for so long. Itching to bring you home. And finally, finally you had fallen into his trap. His perfect little butterfly, caught in the web. Ready to be corrupted by the vicious spider. Ready for your wings to be clipped.

“Mine.”

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