thesandorclegane - Tumblr blog

thesandorclegane · 29 days ago

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tw - unreality, eldritch!yandere, prolonged captivity, implied nsfw, and voyeurism.

You might’ve been the only one left.

If there was another living person in town, they were either too assimilated or too well hidden to find. Everyone else – the unliving, the possessed, the altered – had that glassy sheen over their eyes, that thoughtless smile painted over their lips, that sense of connected omniscience that meant you could walk into a café you’d never visited before and the beaming barista would already know your name, your order, and your mother’s address. There were no strangers anymore, not really, no differentiation between your closest friend and your coldest acquaintance. Everyone knew everything, especially about you.

You still went to work, for some reason. There wasn’t really a point. What few responsibilities you had as a professional pencil pusher dried up months ago, leaving you in a state of white-collar limbo. Occasionally, you’d get an email, but the message was always disjointed and nonsensical, like filler text in a bad office simulator game. Sometimes, your phone would ring, but there’d only ever be heavy breathing and the muffled sound of wet flesh hitting stone on the other side. After a while, you stopped answering.

Your boss would stop by your cubicle, make small talk over lukewarm coffee. He was the attractive, older type – all grey-streaked hair and tailored suits. He used to hate you. You couldn’t remember when he change his mind.

“We’re grabbing a round of drinks on the company card tonight,” he explained. “To celebrate the end of another tough week.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’re such a hard worker, (Y/n).”

You glanced up from the sticky note you were currently folding into a paper crane. This would be your forty-seventh attempt. “I am?”

He laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and rested a hand on your arm, leaning in a little too close for comfort. “So, you’re coming?”

“I’d rather gauge my own eyes out.”

“Sounds like a date.” He squeezed your shoulder before drawing back. “We’ll be waiting.”

You didn’t go. You would stop coming in a few days later, but the phone calls followed you home.

Not that ‘home’ had ever meant safety. The infection had seeped into the architecture, gotten control of the roots. There were swaths of days where you didn’t – couldn’t – leave, every door disappearing and every window sealing itself shut, trapping you in. Others, it almost seemed to force you out – every wall suddenly glass and every door hanging open despite your best attempts to keep them closed. You’d find a fully stocked fridge suddenly empty, or every word of your favorite paperback abruptly replaced with encouraging messages to stretch your legs, get fresh air, go outside. Once, you even tried to leave town altogether. Your car broke down after the first mile, so you walked in an endlessly straight line, never turning, never looking back, never stopping. Somehow, you found yourself on your own doorstep, door open wide as if welcoming you back.

You spent that night on your lawn, sobbing into the grass while your neighbors formed a uniform circle around you, watching. Guarding. Smiling.

Things devolved quickly. You tried your hand at burning down a local bookstore, but the clerk stood beside you all the while, snuffing out every match you managed to light. You poured yourself drinks at up-town bars and slept in velvet-lined booths, never so much as attempting to pay your tab. You skinny-dipped in a mall fountain during peak hours, bathing under cheap plastic skylights and harsh fluorescents. No one paid you a second glance. There were no kids in town anymore, and everyone seemed to glow with a sort of unnatural, off-putting beauty. Like they were grooming themselves to your preferences. Like the town was preening itself to better capture your attention.

You sat in the corner of an old-fashioned diner, staring silently at the table while a handful of other customers pretend to talk amongst themselves around you - the inflections familiar but the words gibberish. Thirty minutes passed before a waitress wandered over, notebook in hand and smile wide enough to strain. “What can I get for you, darlin’?”

“I want to leave.”

“Afraid that’s not on the menu.”

“Then tell what you want. Why you’re keeping me here.”

“Coming right up, sugar.”

A silver platter too nice to be in a place like this was brought to your table. A golden wedding band stood solitary one side and, on the other, bridal lingerie, nearly folded and white as a dove.

Your stomach dropped. You considered getting up, going home, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. You were surrounded, cornered, imprisoned.

And eventually, you would have to reckon with the needs of your warden.

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thesandorclegane · 29 days ago

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masterlist

yap

school environments shaping the developing brain

Fiction

blood on the white sheets

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thesandorclegane · 29 days ago

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Paul Delaroche - La jeune martyre, 1885 (detail)

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thesandorclegane · 29 days ago

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Leon Wyczolkowki - Alina, 1880

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thesandorclegane · 1 month ago

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Hide and Seek

{pairing: yandere!dabi x reader}

{yandere, death}

Sorry this one is shorter! I just wanted to get a small little thing out to establish Yandere Dabi as I plan to write for him some more!

~~~

Bright blue flames filled your vision as the once twilight sky turned ash gray from all the smoke. Your lungs burned as all you saw around you was the charred bodies of your once coworkers. You were all just talking during lunch break, you didn’t expect to see them all dead before you.

You were inside your workplace, the walls around you being mostly glass as it was on a high story. It seemed to be a normal day until flames consumed the lower parts of the building, shattered glass and hot fire all over the place.

Footsteps echoed as boots clicked on the tiled floors. Chills ran down your spine as you heard the footsteps get closer and closer until they boomed in your head.

“Come on, doll. Don’t make me have to burn more bodies.”

That deep voice made your head spin. The tone was a calm one, flirtatious if any. However, the words held more threats in them. Was he talking to you? You weren’t sure about that. You were sure on staying underneath the office desk and hide from the monster that caused all this.

“Oh, hide and seek? Is it your favorite game?”

It took everything in you not to let out a noise. You could see the toe of his boots from underneath the desk. He was right there, a foot at most from you.

“Well this seeker is getting bored. I know what I’ll do…”

He moved again and his dark voice chuckled.

“Three…”

He grew closer and started to round the corner of the desk.

“Two…”

He stopped right behind the desk, his feet being just inches away from your balled up form.

“One.”

His face popped under the desk, shocking you. Burns ran across the bottom part of his face and also his ears. Parts under his eyes also appeared to be burnt. Staples held the skin up. The sight scared you enough to where you started to scream until a hand covered your mouth, another grabbing the back of your head and pushing you closer to him.

“Found you.”

He smirked. You tried to scream. He stopped you.

“Oh? Does my little darling not want to see me…? Such a shame…”

He scooped you up from under the desk, carrying you like it was nothing.

“About time I took what was mine.”

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thesandorclegane · 1 month ago

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Hide and Seek

{pairing: yandere!dabi x reader}

{yandere, death}

Sorry this one is shorter! I just wanted to get a small little thing out to establish Yandere Dabi as I plan to write for him some more!

~~~

Footsteps echoed as boots clicked on the tiled floors. Chills ran down your spine as you heard the footsteps get closer and closer until they boomed in your head.

“Come on, doll. Don’t make me have to burn more bodies.”

“Oh, hide and seek? Is it your favorite game?”

It took everything in you not to let out a noise. You could see the toe of his boots from underneath the desk. He was right there, a foot at most from you.

“Well this seeker is getting bored. I know what I’ll do…”

He moved again and his dark voice chuckled.

“Three…”

He grew closer and started to round the corner of the desk.

“Two…”

He stopped right behind the desk, his feet being just inches away from your balled up form.

“One.”

“Found you.”

He smirked. You tried to scream. He stopped you.

“Oh? Does my little darling not want to see me…? Such a shame…”

He scooped you up from under the desk, carrying you like it was nothing.

“About time I took what was mine.”

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thesandorclegane · 2 months ago

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Hide-And-Seek (Yandere DabixReader)

it’s the return of my favorite little firebender

In and out, you told yourself, in and out. You could feel your fear pressed against your mouth and nose, leaving you with the instinctive urge to claw your terror off of you. But the part of you that was somehow still in command, the part concerned with your survival, forced your hands to stay pressed against the cold, dirty floor. Hiding behind a collection of dust-ridden crates, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to summon the focus that came paired with pain. You would need to move, and soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stir without seeing a path that you could follow. You needed your mind to test the waters for you, run through the possibilities and break up the abstract idea of escape into something tangible. No such strategy came to you though, making it seem that you were trapped, not just by your pursuer, but by your own dread.

From the other side of the warehouse’s thin walls, you could hear something moving outside. The footsteps were slow, deliberate, almost teasing in their casual tone. The sound of them echoed through your bones as you desperately tried to keep yourself calm. They could be anything, you reasoned, a cat, a passerby, anything. Constructing this shaky shelter brick by foolish brick, you felt it crumble in your hands at the sound of a sickeningly familiar voice.

“As much fun as this game is,” he called out, voice traveling through the cracks in the boarded up windows, “I think it’s about time we went home.” When you heard his voice, you quickly suffocated your breaths, convinced that the smallest noise or the even a too-loud thought would lead him to you. It was as if you were a little kid again, refusing to let yourself move for fear that if you did, the monsters in the shadows would be able to find you, take you.

Dimly, you could hear him moving along the alleyway that lay on the other side of your insubstantial barrier. It almost seemed as though you could feel the heat of his body as he proceeded to the back of the building, that if you simply put your hand to the wall, you would be able to trace his outline. His heat began to claw at you, leaving behind phantom scrapes all over your skin. Once he had moved further away from you, the animalistic instinct to run, to continue putting as much distance between you and your hunter as possible, started to hiss through your veins. But somewhere within you, you knew that that was what he was waiting for.

“Aren’t you getting tired of hide-and-seek, little mouse?” he asked, as though he had plucked the very thoughts from your head. “I know I am.” You closed your eyes tightly in response to his words, needing to block him out in any way that you could. As he continued to bait and taunt you, eventually circling all the way to the building’s front entrance, you tried to tuck yourself away where you wouldn’t be able to hear him, but his words demanded your attention. The sensation of being suffocated was rising again, this time the fear filling your throat until it overflowed. Beginning to grow faint, you opened your eyes.

Instead of being greeted with the sight of the neglected warehouse though, you were met with a twisting storm of smoke and flame. Appearing as though a frustrated artist had come along and poured his paint onto a dark canvas, the building was now splattered with arching blue flames and unspooling black smoke. The actual fire had yet to reach you, but it was only a matter of time, and the smoke had already come for you. Tucking your mouth and nose under your shirt, you peered around for a possible escape route. But as you did so, you realized how artfully the flames had been placed. Your pursuer had started them at all of the back and side doors, leaving you with no viable exit other than the one that he guarded.

Refusing to accept defeat, you stood, and were hit by a wave of dizziness as your lungs took in the smoke. Finding a window, you ran towards it and tried to break apart the wood with the force of the impact. Your attempt was unsuccessful though, and you could feel yourself growing weaker as your body’s last stores of oxygen began to leave you. Subconsciously, you started to move towards the front entrance, stumbling with each step. Some distant part of you cried out against what you were doing, but your body’s much more primal urges had taken control. You were a ship without a crew, simply being pushed along by the current you had found yourself trapped in.

Finally reaching the last remaining door, you fell through the threshold into a pair of expectant arms. Choking down whatever fresh air you could find, you watched remotely as your captor smirked down at you. You found yourself unable to look away from his bright blue eyes, their shade a clear reflection of the flames they held.

“Poor little thing,” Dabi crooned mockingly. “You could have been hurt. It’s a good thing I was here.” You didn’t respond, mind still fogged by smoke, and only blinked dully as Dabi brushed his lips against your forehead. Then, almost gently, he picked you up and held you tightly against him, carrying you back home.

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thesandorclegane · 2 months ago

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Lizzaneia's Grimoire of Yandere Men

Here's a masterlist of my yanderes! It will be updated regularly whenever a prompt or fic will be posted.

RULES FOR REQUESTING: Here

YANDERE MEN SECOND SET : HERE

(I separated the second set since the photo got capped already ^^)

ALL YANDERE MEN SET 1

RANKING REQ: The yanderes as fathers

SCENARIO REQ: The Yanderes with their yandere children

RANKING REQ: The yanderes and your period

SCENARIO REQ: The yanderes and their dream date

SCENARIO REQ: The yanderes and their Choice of Outfit for You

SCENARIO REQ: The Yanderes and their Darling's lonely birthday

ALL YANDERE OC ASKS AND WRITER ASKS

Top 3 yandere men (my OCs) when it comes to jealousy

ask: How would I define yandere?

Which OCs inherited their yandere-ness/Has yandere-ness in their genes?

My top 3 yanderes

YANDERE VERSION OF FANDOM CHARACTERS

Yandere! Neuvillette (Genshin)

Yandere! Solomon (Obey Me)

yandere! Artist Arlen

main fic

yandere! artist and his muse

Yandere! Dragon Vincent

main fic

Req: Yandere tidbits: flying

Yandere! Theater Actor Ignatius

main fic

ask: Soooo does this mean Ignatius got roleplay k!nk??

What if: reader is an otaku?

Yandere! Butler Zero

main fic

Yandere! Sugar Daddy Rowan

main fic

ask: Rowan can spoil me anytime :)

ask: Just read yandere sugar daddy AND GOD!! Plz do part 2. I want to see them dating🫣

REQ: Yandere! Jock Damon

main fic (also had voice headcannons for the previous yan men)

Req: WHAT IF: Reader is a black belter in martial arts?

Ask: what if the reader doesn't like Damon's himbo personality?

Ask: What if Damon drops his facade?

Req: ask of a What if: Black belter reader met somebody else in the promotional test?

Req: Yandere tidbit: achievements

What if: darling posts a thirst trap?

Req: Yandere tidbit: Reward system

REQ: Yandere! Assassin Azrael

main fic

req:yandere! Assassin and his conglomerate girlfriend

ask: oh. hm.. so. Azrael right? So he gonna tear us down eh?-- What would happen next 🤡?

ask: I'm actually scared for yan!assassin mc.......

Yandere! Ex-boyfriend Lee

main fic

Req: WHAT IF: Reader is now a husk?

Req: WHAT IF: Reader knows how to protect themselves?

Yandere! Cowboy Knoxx

main fic

Req: WHAT IF: Darling goes back to the city?

Req: WHAT IF: The reader goes back to the city, but this time with Knoxx?

Req: What if of a WHAT IF: Reader becomes a broken husk after the baby trapping?

Yandere! Emo Ashton

main fic

req: Yandere! Emo and his beloved popular bitch

REQ: Yandere! Werewolf Lyall

main fic

Req: Yandere tidbit: Knitting

Yandere! Ex-husband Iñigo

main fic

Req: WHAT IF: You refused to marry him?

REQ: Yandere! hospital chairperson Xavier

main fic

Req: WHAT IF: Darling got sick?

REQ: Yandere! Villain Eros

main fic

ask: Darling avoids Eros turned Part 2

REQ: Yandere! Politician Maximus

main fic

REQ: Yandere! Mafia boss Hades

main fic

Req: WHAT IF: Reader is a rebel type?

Req: WHAT IF: Reader is "cheating"?

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thesandorclegane · 2 months ago

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The winner of this week's poll was... Yandere Murderer/Serial Killer!

Includes: murder (not darling), nsfw (not with darling), stalking, a little fluff, cameras

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer that had planned to kill you as his next victim.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stalks you to figure out your routine to find when you're most vulnerable, but he ends up finding you cute.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't kill you right away just for his entertainment, he wants to figure out what makes you tick and use it against you. you're so cute when you're angry!

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to see you as an actual person and not just someone for him to kill, which is a first.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to really like you, who waits until you're not at home before installing discreet cameras in your house.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who watches you in his free time, every second of it.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who touches himself when you do, zooming in on your hand on your genitals.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to leave you little gifts. your favorite candy bar? you suddenly have one. you like a certain animal? you have a new plushie. you wanna watch a movie? you suddenly have the DVD. he loves seeing your face light up every time you get a gift.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels enraged when someone picks on you. how fucking dare they! they should be hung on a meat hook like the animal they are!

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels his heart sink when he sees the look on your face when you find the body of the person, he wanted to comfort you. he would be more careful hiding the bodies now. there's also an onslaught of gifts the next day.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who finally, finally decides to take you. he makes sure he's gentle with you, he doesn't dare inject you with anything, he uses a simple cloth dipped in chloroform. he doesn't want to restrain you, but he's scared you'll run off.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who holds you until you wake up, rocking you gently.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who's genuinely so happy to have you now, even if you're scared or don't like him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who showers you in gifts and love, who cuddles you while still respecting your personal space. he doesn't dare to force you into anything with him, he loves you too much.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't stop trying, who waits patiently for your love even if it hurts him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stops killing people for you, he knows you don't like it and he doesn't like how scared it makes you.

If you end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he immediately starts breaking down in happy tears. he's clinging to you, burying his head in your neck or chest, desperately kissing anything he can. he's so goddamn happy, he's waited so long for this.

If you don't end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he'll just wait, he needs you to love him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How was this for my first fic? Feel free to ask for expansions of this idea, like darlings that act in a certain way. Mean, willing, scared, etc..

~🐈‍⬛

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thesandorclegane · 2 months ago

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Yandere Serial Killer(s)

Your mother always warned you to never give rides to strangers, but the hitchhiker you run into seems harmless. What's the worst that can happen? Tags: implied noncon

Things originally start well. You and your buddies piled into your roommate's Jeep, roof down, pop music blasting. You're the driver - always the responsible one - hair tied back and sunglasses on the edge of your nose. You're all dressed for summer. Bikini tops and board shorts, smeared with sunscreen - the picture of college fun.

It starts well and keeps going even better. You're all in high spirits. Flushed and happy and young. Picking up the hitchhiker seems like a good idea. You see that he's handsome and around your age, that he's got an easy smile and a guitar on his back. You see that and nothing else. Not the too quick eyes, not the surprisingly light backback. Nothing.

He ends up riding shotgun, talking to you about classes and shitty professors. Smiling just a little every time you shift gears and your hand brushes his thigh.

You like him. You're the only single in the car so it's natural that he spends the most time talking to you. Lord knows it's hard to keep a conversation going with a couple when they look like they'd rather be tonsil deep in each other's throats.

You like him and you get the feeling he likes you too. When you stop at a sleazy motel for the night, he invites you to eat dinner with him outside his room. All your friends are off doing what couples do best - getting cosy in the hot tub, testing the speeds on the vibrating bed, finding new and interesting ways to use the ice machine. So you're glad for the company.

Mostly.

You're almost done eating when he pops the question.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

You look away from him. Take in the greasy boxes of takeout on the concrete, the neon red wash of the vacancy sign spelling across the parking lot. It's not an easy question. It brings up ugly memories.

"I used to have one. Things ended...badly. He's in Cook County Corrections now. Serving fifty to life."

He gives a low whistle.

"That bad huh? You ever go to see him?"

"No. Never."

He stretches out, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the dull scattering of stars.

"You should. It gets lonely in there. A guy could use the pick me up, especially if the visitor is a pretty thing like you."

You shiver despite the balmy summer air.

"I'd rather not. I'll be happy to never see his face again."

Thankfully, he drops the subject. You go back to talking about awful first dates and the best dishes to order at a Chinese restaurant. He's a complete gentleman but you can't help the slight relief you feel when he stands to leave.

" 'Night gorgeous."

"Good night, stranger."

In the morning you walk out to see him reading the early paper. He crumples and tosses it before you can catch the headline.

" 'Morning. How did you sleep?"

You shrug. "Not the best. I swear these kinds of places all get their beds from the same supplier. Lumpy Mattresses Inc."

He grins. "Don't forget their trusty partner Damp and Musty Carpets LTD."

Your friends are slow to wake up and groggy when they do. Most of them nursing nasty hangovers. You and the hitchhiker have most of the morning to eat breakfast and shoot the breeze together. When it's time to leave, he takes his place in the passenger seat like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I couldn't find any newspapers," one of your friends complains when you're back on the road.

"I wanted to see the football results."

"Eagles beats the Rams in the final playoff," the hitchhiker says.

"Aww man. Where'd you get a paper from?"

"I must have gotten lucky. Staff is 'sposed to leave the local paper at reception. Guess they must not have the budget anymore."

You stay quiet but something doesn't feel quite right about that statement.

The day passes fast. Your playlist is a lot more mellow, on account of the many lingering headaches. Still, you think there's nothing quite as fine as the open road. It's only near evening when the trouble starts.

"Shit. I can't find our reservations."

You look at your friends in the rear view mirror. They've already pulled apart two backpacks trying to find the papers. You can't help feeling irritated. The one thing you asked them to take care of...

You pull over and search the Jeep from top to bottom. Unpack almost everything. Check and then recheck your pockets. Nothing.

"I'm really sorry y/n. On the phone they said we needed the copies to check in. Maybe we can still stop by and get it sorted with the front desk but..."

You can here the unspoken thought in their words. You're all thinking the same thing - that hotels can get so uptight when their potential guests are rowdy students with still bloodshot eyes. You worry at your nail, thinking. You paid the fees in advance so maybe if you showed them your credit card...

"My friend has a cabin not far from here," the hitchhiker says. "Pretty big place. He'd be happy to let us crash there for the night."

You bite your lip. It's a two hour drive to the hotel. And if they turn you away you'll be off the beaten path with almost no cash, on a near empty petrol tank.

"You think he'd mind letting us sleep on his couch?" you ask. "We'll be well-behaved and I can pay."

He smiles at you, totally easy going about the whole thing.

"Sure we'll just have to call ahead."

You manage to track down a payphone and you wait with the rest of your crew while he calls. You can't make out what he's saying but every once in a while his eyes drift to you. No one else. Just you.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was talking about you.

When he puts the receiver down, he's all smiles.

"Got it all sorted. It's out of the way though, so I reckon we grab some chow first."

Your friends are quick to agree. What self respecting kid on spring break is going to say no to fast food and cold beer? It's only you that lingers, brow furrowed. It all feels too convenient. Your reservations go missing and the stranger you picked up just happens to have a place nearby? No way. The more you think about, it the stranger it seems.

You're still lost in thought when the hitchhiker swings an arm around your shoulders and half drags you along behind your friends.

"What's you got you so worried gorgeous?"

It's hard to be suspicious of him when he smile so easy, his shaggy brown hair dancing across his forehead.

"Nothing. I just hate to intrude on your friend."

He laughs, squeezing your shoulders before letting go.

"Trust me he'll be very glad for the company. He doesn't get out much."

He pulls the diner door open for you. Your friends have already claimed a booth and a single harried waitress is struggling to jot down their long list of requests. The hitchhiker grabs your hand before you can join them.

"My friend is a great guy. I think you'll like him."

He smiles, crooked and amused, like he's laughing at a joke only he understands.

"Hell, I know for a fact that he'll like you. You're just his type."

Your smile is tight. The last guy who said you were just his type... well, you and the district attorney both know how that ended.

You take a seat and smile at the waitress. She looks beyond overwhelmed and you silently promise to tip her as well as your half drained credit card can manage.

"I'll take a steak. Rare. Bloody as you can make it," the hitchhiker says.

You raise your brows. Not exactly the typical order for an out of the way little diner. He sees your look and grins.

"Been a while without good meat. You have no idea the craving I've had this past few days."

The booth is packed tight and his thigh is flush against yours. Warm, even though his jeans.

"We all get cravings now and again. I get it."

He tilts his head at you and it must be a trick of the light, because his pupils are blown out wide. It looks like you're staring into oil. Just... emptier somehow. You wouldn't go so far as to say he feels soulless, but if it's not in the same street it sure as hell is in the same neighbourhood. Like oil, it leaves you feeling dirty in a way that doesn't easily scrub off.

"Do you?" he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of I'm only human and of course I do but his eyes stop you. He isn't talking about food or meat. No. It feels like he's asking about flesh.

One of your friends cracks a joke and you turn away from him in a hurry, pretending to laugh at something you only half heard. You don't talk to him for the rest of the meal. Try to avoid looking him even. But you can't avoid the feel of his leg against yours. Warm and solid. Can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he reaches for his wallet and his fingers accidentally scrape you inner thigh.

You're the last one out of the diner. You throw away the dirty napkins and, true to your word, tip the waitress as well as you can manage. You're half afraid that he might wait for you, but when the door clicks shut behind you, you see him with the rest of your friends. Joking around with some of the boys.

The second you start towards them, his eyes fix on yours. You aren't sure how he does it - always narrowing in on you like you have your own gravitational pull. Like he's aware of your every move.

"Ready to go?"

Are you? You aren't sure. Some dull instinct is making you want to turn tail and run. You try and talk yourself out of it. What concrete evidence do you have? What has he done wrong, besides be a little intense? Folk do that all the time and it doesn't bother you. And it's not like you'll be alone. Your whole pack of friends will be right next to you.

"Yeah, let's go. Time doesn't wait for anyone."

It's a long drive. The highway splitting off into a main road and then splintering into a half-dozen country tracks. By the time you arrive, you're beyond grateful for choosing the Jeep. Heaven alone knows how much more jostling and bouncing your teeth could take.

It's a nice place. A big cabin out in a clearing, the trees thick for miles around. Much nicer than the crummy hotel you'd otherwise have to settle for. You can't even hear the traffic.

Your friends grab their bags and the hitchhiker holds the front door open as you all file in. The entryway is clean and bright, and besides the lingering tang of bleach, there's nothing to set your suspicions racing. Honestly, you feel a little silly for being so paranoid. Must be the bad memories. They make you jumpy regardless of actual circumstances.

"Where's your friend?"

You turn just in time to see the hitchhiker slipping something small and metallic into his pocket.

"Is that the key for the -"

"My friend will be here soon," he talks over you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "I'll show you guys your rooms and once you get settled, we can grab some beers and hit the hot tub."

He brushes past you and ignores your half-hearted grab for his arm. Your friends are already pounding up the stairs, too hyped to notice your expression. He pauses on the landing and looks back at you - the only one still standing by the door. His eyes are bright and almost hard.

"You coming?"

Nothing to be scared of, right? It's a common habit to lock the front door, especially out in the woods.

"Yep. Right behind you."

But no matter what you tell yourself, your feet still drag along when you follow him deeper into the cabin. Further and further from escape.

You're the only one who gets a room of their own. Everyone else is piled two and three deep in the guest rooms, half your buddies on couches more than beds.

You're also the last to get a room, so by the time he shows you your bed, it's only you and him. You wonder if he planned it on purpose.

"Quiet out here."

He hums in agreement, standing at your window and watching the woods. He stays silent while you unpack. Whatever he's watching for takes all his attention.

It's only when you hear your friends start splashing around in the hot tub that he speaks.

"You should probably take a shower before anyone else. The water is unreliable out here."

You silently agree. It's s been a long day, and while a quick dip in the jacuzzi sounds good, a hot shower and a cool bed sound even better. He pauses at your bedroom door to say good night. You're already heading to the bathroom and you only half hear the rest of his sentence.

"Sleep tight. And don't worry too much about any noises you hear. There's mountain lions around and the sound carries funny sometimes."

He closes your door softly behind him. Your en-suite is echoey, and when you turn on the water, you don't hear the quiet click of him locking you in.

After your shower, you're totally exhausted. You don't even bother leaving your room to check on your friends. You just curl up under your borrowed duvet and drift off. When you half wake at three in the morning to the dying echo of a scream, you mutter something about mountain lions and fall right back to sleep.

You don't see it but the figure in the corner of your room smiles. Moonlight catching for a split second on the butcher's knife in his hand.

"You always were a deep sleeper, baby. Can never remember your dreams."

Morning comes fast after that. When you wake, the only evidence of your midnight visitor is a slightly misplaced pair of sneakers that you're too drowsy to notice.

Your room door opens easily and you're half way down the stairs before you even start to wonder where your friends are.

Still sleeping probably. Had a late night.

The only sign that someone else is awake is a half empty pot of coffee and a dirty mug in the sink. You don't really feel comfortable rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but the hitchhiker did say to help yourself... You end up snatching a small Greek yogurt from the fridge and taking it out to the porch.

The forest is alive with bird song, dew still melting in the grass. It's peaceful. Tranquil. For the first time, you're entirely happy that you accepted the hitchhiker's offer.

The only thing that disrupts the picture perfect scene is a single discarded sneaker, thick with mud and left right in the middle of the yard.

You sigh. Did one of your friends really lose a whole shoe and not notice? You pick it up and knock the worst of the mud off.

So much for being well-behaved. You'll have to check over the whole place before you leave, make sure they haven't somehow tanked to the property value. The edges of the laces are stained a rusty red but you chalk it up to spilled wine or something.

You drop the shoe at the door and make your way back into the kitchen. It takes some searching but you finally find the dustbin, half hidden in a cupboard. Ugh, why do rich people always have to hide the trash away in the most obscure places?

Yesterday's paper is shoved under some tea bags, the edges of the front page barely visible.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY

You frown, you gut suddenly nauseous and rolling. You dig the newspaper out of the trash. Slowly. Hesitantly. Amost afraid that the reality will be twice as bad as your suspicions. There's a massive stain on the front but you can still read the print clearly.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY CORRECTIONS. MANHUNT UNDERWAY.

You don't bother to read the article. The pictures alone tell you everything. You feel sick enough to faint.

You didn't think you'd ever see his face again, but here it is. Mugshot slightly blurry and the ink starting to run. Scowling at the camera like he's more pissed at being caught than anything else.

Your ex boyfriend.

You might have been fine if it was just him. Might have called the DA and the lead homicide detective, begged for witness protection. But trouble never visits without company. There's another mugshot under his, this one captioned Serial Arsonist & Convicted Killer.

The hitchhiker wasn't smiling when the cops lined him up for his red carpet shoot. His eyes are as black and empty in his mugshot as they were last night. When he looked at you and said he was craving meat. Meat.

You might have laughed if you didn't think you were about to vomit. Yeah, he was probably craving meat alright. The roasted and still screaming kind.

You drop the newspaper, hands shaking so bad you can't hold onto it even if you wanted to.

"I told him to take out the trash. But does he listen?"

You whirl around. The hitchhiker is blocking the back door and holding your friend's lost sneaker, rolling the stained laces between his fingers.

"Thanks for grabbing this, gorgeous. If we missed it, the pigs would be back on our asses in no time."

You run.

You don't bother hearing him out or rationalising. You turn away from him and bolt straight for the front door.

You almost make it.

Your fingers just brush the metal of the doorknob before someone grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you towards them, hard enough that you end up on your back. Winded. Your scalp burning.

"Gonna leave without even saying hello? C'mon baby, is that how you greet your man?"

Your boyfriend is standing above you, smirking like this is all a game. He's still in his prison jumpsuit, the sleeves knotted around his waist. He's wearing a white tank and one glance is enough to tell you that prison has been great for his gym journey. His muscles - always toned to begin with - are positively huge.

He's always been strong, but the sight of him like this has your heart racing. How much harder can he hit, with all that extra bulk to back him up?

He slams you back onto the floor when you move to get up, his boot pressing into your sternum so hard you can almost hear your bones creaking.

"Aww, don't get up baby. Let's just talk. We've got so much to catch up on."

He presses his heel into you. Hard enough that you can't breathe out it hurting.

"Where to start... Oh, I know! Have you fucked anyone else while I've been gone? Gotten yourself a new man? Who's been between your legs while I've. Been. Rotting. Away?"

He punctuates his sentence with sharp jabs of his boot.

"No one," you managed to choke out. "Didn't have anybody."

He takes his boot off your chest and you suck in a painful breath, your lungs and ribs on fire. You roll onto you hands and knees, coughing.

Shit. Fuck.

He squats down so he's level with you, voice a sickly sweet drawl.

"You promise?"

"I-" Another painful coughing fit. "I swear. No one else."

"I don't know if I can believe you, baby. You said you loved me, and then you ratted on me to the cops. Not the best record."

He grabs your hair and hauls you to your feet, totally unbothered that you still can't breathe right.

You shriek and try to pull away, only for him to wrap a hand around your throat and pin you against his chest.

He squeezes hard enough that your larynx feels like it's going to collapse.

"What do you think I should do?"

You think he's asking you, but it's the hitchhiker that answers. He's leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed like he's watching two kittens at play rather than seeing your boyfriend almost choke the life out of you.

"I reckon we should check. Her cunt should be all tight and wet after months without cock. And if it isn't...well, there's your answer."

"You hear that baby? We're gonna make sure you've been well behaved."

We?

You start fighting all the harder. One murderer is enough. You don't want both their hands on you. You'll never be able to scrub yourself clean again.

The hitchhiker smirks and pushes himself away from the wall. His pupils are all wide again, twin blackholes hungry enough to swallow you, your friends, the whole damn world.

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing but you're up against two convicted killers who've had nothing but time to get stronger. Who've had the world's hardest lessons in cruelty.

Your boyfriend lets go of your hair and grabs one flailing wrist. He bends your arm up your back until you heads tucked under his chin and you're standing on your tiptoes to alleviate the pressure.

The hitchhiker twists one ankle behind yours so you can't kick out of him. It feels like a move cops and wardens might use. He must have had it done to him plenty, if he can so easily put you in the same position.

"I'll scream."

That makes them laugh.

"Go on then gorgeous. Scream. No one heard your friends last night. What makes you think they'll hear you?"

Your friends... You were panicking so bad you hadn't even considered them. The hitchhiker sees your eyes go wide and grins that easy, friendly grin of his. The one that made you trust him enough to give him a ride.

"Oh, we took good care of them. I'll spare you the grisly details but there's no one left out here but us."

It's too awful to consider. Too visceral. Too unreal. Your mind blocks it out and changes your whole train of thought to focus on escaping.

You focus on your boyfriend. He isn't acting like himself. The same man who put his hand on the bible and swore before the court that he killed all those people because of you - that man - was suddenly willing to share? Was inviting someone else to enjoy your body?

"You're going to let him touch me? You killed my lab partner because you said he would jerk off to pictures of me. What the hell changed?"

Your boyfriend hums.

"A whole lot. He's my cellmate."

Like that explains anything!

The hitchhiker slips his fingers under the hem of your top, nails running along your waistband.

"He wouldn't shut up about you. Had your pictures pinned up above his bed and everything. It was so fucking annoying at first. My girl this, my baby that. But after a few months..."

He pops open the button of your jeans with a flick of his thumb. You jerk away but your boyfriend twists your arm even harder and you're forced to hold still.

"After a few months, I started to understand the appeal. Could see why he was so into you. And hell, I wanted a taste myself. Wanted to see if you lived up to the hype."

Your boyfriend is smiling. You can tell from his voice.

"And is she worth all the hard work we put in?"

The hitchhiker's hands are cold. You flinch when he slips his fingers past your panties. He rubs his thumb against your slit, savouring every inch.

"For her? I'd kill twice as many as we did last night."

He sighs as he feels your slick starting to collect around his knuckles. Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you. Cold, uncomfortably cold.

He has a guitarist's hands and you can feel the callouses on his fingertips scraping against your walls. Too rough. Too much.

"Just like I thought. Tight and wet. Your girls loyal to a fault."

Your boyfriend practically purrs.

"Been so good while I was gone, baby. You deserve a reward, dontcha?"

He leans down and nips your cheek. You feel sick. His teeth so close...

"Don't worry. We'll fill you up so good that you'll never try running again."

Your spring break road trip starts well and gets better. But the end? Well, it ends with a cock down your throat in and another in your cunt. It ends with a hand around your neck and teeth marks on your thighs. It ends with a reminder to always trust your instincts and to never, ever give rides to strangers.

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thesandorclegane · 2 months ago

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Liesl Kinzel (Austrian, 1886–1961) - Rose garden in bloom

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thesandorclegane · 2 months ago

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tw - modern!au, kidnapping, stalking, semi-public masturbation, and toxic relationship dynamics.

Thinking about Crime-Lord!Sukuna, who's literally never jerked off. Not before he meets you, at least.

He just doesn't have a reason to. He's never had much of a sex drive, and even in a world without cursed energy, he still finds that he'd rather fight than fuck the grand majority of people he meets. He's not a virgin or anything - a handful of drunken nights with Uraume made sure he wouldn't be carrying around that title for the rest of his life. That doesn't mean he's some loser who needs to have his dick in his hand every five seconds, though. He's got more self-control than that, more dignity.

Or, he's trying to have more dignity. You're so fucking loud - barely bothering to try and hide the fact that you're still crying twenty minutes after he gruffly admitted that you wouldn't be going home, tonight. You've got yourself huddled against the car door, trying to take up as little room on the bench seat you currently share with him as possible. There aren't interior handles, he's got a driver for that kind of shit, but your hand darts out to look for one every couple of minutes, every time the car dips to a speed that might let you jump out relatively unscathed. Like you think he wouldn't be prepared for that. Like you think you're just some unlucky random he decided to haul out of his own goddamn club on a whim.

It's loud. It's annoying. Honestly, it's a little insulting. It's not like you couldn't feel him staring you down every time you stepped into his fucking front-of-a-business, like you hadn't noticed he's only ever in the building when he knows you're already there. It's your own damn fault. If he could trust you not to shake your ass for anyone willing to watch, he wouldn't have had to do this. If he thought you were ever going to pull your head out of the clouds long enough to so much as glance in his direction, he wouldn't have had to force you to.

Like he said - it's annoying. Annoying, and really fucking hot.

He can feel the strain against his slacks, the damp heat crawling down his spine. There's another thirty minutes 'till you get back to his apartment, and every fractured whimper that makes it past your lips is another bolt of agony straight to his cock. You're not going to shut up, so he grits his teeth and bites the bullet - tearing open his fly and freeing his cock. The damn thing was already stiff enough to press into his stomach, to drool over the back of his hand as he clumsily wraps a fist around his shaft. There has to be something wrong with him, with you. He's too sensitive, barely able to flex his hand without feeling the ache in his stomach. Pre-cum drips down his wrist, spilling onto the leather of his seats. Great. Now he has to find time to get the car detailed, too.

He forces his hand to move, pumping robotically from head to base. His attentions moves involuntarily to you, still huddled as far from him as possible, still trying to bite back the little sobs and whines that got him into this, in the first place. The only difference is that, now, your eyes are glued to his lap, your lips parted and your expression horrified. That doesn't help. He pictures you making the same face as he carries you into your new bedroom, all deep velvets and barred windows, as he explains that you're his, now. It's enough to have his cock twitching his hold, demanding friction his awkward, faltering pace can't provide. He curses under his breath, throwing your name into the blend of foul words. It couldn't be enough for you to ruin his fucking life, to force him to spend the last few months on the wrong side of a leash you didn't even know you were holding. No, no, you had to make him humiliate himself while you-

"You're doing it wrong."

When he snaps out of his thoughts, he finds you - now uncurling, brows furrowed in concern and lips pursed. You rest a hand on his bicep, and when he doesn't shove you away, you slide into the seat next to him, wrapping your hand gingerly around his own.

"It's supposed to be, uh, more delicate. With more of an angle." Your voice is light, soft, just a little raspy. There's still a hiccup every now and then, but you seem distracted - a crying child lured out of their tantrum with the introduction of a new, more interesting game. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Shut the fuck up," he mutters, and you hum, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his tip in slow, deep circles. When you move his hand, it's with intention - slower towards the head, faster towards the base, the heel of your palm grinding into the underside every so often. Sukuna throws his head back, shutting his eyes. You don't seem to notice, thoroughly captivated by your shiny new toy.

He always knew you were going to be the death of him.

He just hadn't thought you'd get around to it so fucking fast.

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