bl00dyfaiiry - Tumblr blog

bl00dyfaiiry · 22 days ago

Text

Save me, doctor.

-Yandere fem doctor x fem!reader

Tags and warnings: non con, fingering, character death, suicide, squirting, mommy kink, forbidden desire, no escape, yandere doctor.

BEEP

The faint sound of the hospitals beeping grew louder as my eyes slowly opened.

The room was white and sterile, and the smell of antiseptic filled the air. My leg throbbed with a pain that was both familiar and terrifying. I tried to sit up, but the effort was futile. My body was heavy, weighing me down into the bed. A soft hand pressed against my shoulder, urging me to lie back down. "You need to rest," a calm, yet firm voice said. I turned my head to see Dr. Valerie, her brown eyes staring into mine with a mix of concern and something else.. something I couldn't quite place.

"How did this happen?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Dr. Valerie's grip tightened slightly on my shoulder before releasing. "It appears you had a fall, Y/N," she replied, her eyes never leaving mine. "You've fractured your leg. Nothing too serious, but you'll need to stay here for a while."

Her smile was reassuring, yet it didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a tension in her demeanor that made me feel uneasy. I had only met her briefly before this incident, but she seemed overly invested in my well-being. She would often visit my room, even outside her regular rounds, bringing me extra pain medication or adjusting my pillows with a tenderness that was almost too personal for a doctor-patient relationship.

"You're lucky it wasn't worse," she murmured, stroking my hair gently. "But I'll make sure you're well taken care of here."

Her visits grew more frequent, and her attentiveness grew more intense. She'd sit by my bedside, her eyes never straying from my face as she'd ask about my day, my family, my life before the accident. It was as if she was trying to fill in the gaps of what she didn't already know. I found myself telling her things I wouldn't normally share with someone I barely knew, but there was something about her that made me feel... safe. Or at least, that's what I convinced myself.

The nurses spoke in hushed whispers about her, saying she was one of the best in the hospital, but also one of the most dedicated. They said she was known for taking her patients' recovery personally, which made me feel special in a twisted way. But there was a glint in her eye that I couldn't ignore. A hunger that grew with each passing day. Her touch grew more lingering, her smiles more intimate. It was as if she was laying a trap, one that I was willingly walking into because of the pain medication that clouded my judgment.

One evening, as she was checking my cast, she paused mid-sentence, her eyes flickering down to my hand, which was resting on the bedside. "You know, I read somewhere that physical touch can help with pain relief," she said, her voice low and soothing. "Would you like me to hold your hand?"

I nodded, too tired to argue or even think about the implications of her offer. Her hand was warm and soft, her thumb gently brushing against the back of my hand. The pain in my leg seemed to lessen, if only a bit. She talked about her favorite books, her childhood pets, her aspirations to become a doctor. Her words painted a picture of a caring, dedicated individual, but there was a subtle shift in her tone, a hint of possessiveness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

As the days turned into weeks, Dr. Valerie's care grew more personal. She would gently massage my leg, her eyes never leaving mine, her touch lingering just a bit too long. She'd ask about the people who came to visit me, and whether I liked them, if they were important to me. Her questions grew more pointed, her curiosity bordering on obsession. One day, as she was adjusting my pillows, she slipped up. "You know, it's funny how fate works," she murmured, her eyes glazed over for a moment. "If it weren't for that... little accident, we might never have met."

My heart skipped a beat as the implication of her words sunk in. "What do you mean, Dr. Valerie?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Her eyes snapped back to focus on me, and she offered a small, almost apologetic smile. "Oh, just that sometimes the worst moments in our lives lead us to the people who are meant to take care of us," she said, a little too quickly. "But let's not dwell on the past. I need to check your vitals and make sure everything is okay."

The hospital had indeed grown quieter over the weeks, a fact that I had only just noticed. The nurses and other patients spoke in whispers, and the corridors echoed with a sense of emptiness that seemed to amplify Dr. Valerie's presence. It was eerie, almost as if the very walls of the building knew something that I didn't. The occasional footsteps of hospital staff outside my room were the only interruptions to the silence, and even they had become sparse.

One night, I overheard a nurse mentioning that the hospital was going to be shut down soon. Apparently, the building had been condemned due to structural issues that had been discovered. This revelation sent a chill down my spine. With each day that passed, the hospital felt more like a prison than a place of healing. The thought of being trapped here with Dr. Valerie and her increasingly erratic behavior was more than I could bear.

The quiet of the hospital was unsettling. The usual chatter of patients and beeping machines had been replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press in on me from all sides. The few patients that remained were all on the mend, eager to leave this place behind. It was as if I was the only one who hadn't realized that the walls were closing in, that the hospital was dying along with my sense of security.

I noticed that Dr. Valerie's visits had become less professional and more personal. She would sit for hours, not just talking about medicine but sharing stories of her own, her eyes never leaving me. Her questions grew more intrusive, delving into parts of my life that even my closest friends didn't know about. It was as if she was trying to fill the void that the dwindling hospital population had left. Or maybe she was just trying to fill the emptiness within herself.

The silence of the hospital grew deafening, the creaks and groans of the old building echoing through the deserted corridors. The few nurses and patients that remained seemed to tiptoe around us, as if afraid to disturb the bubble of intensity that surrounded Dr. Valerie and me. The lack of activity outside my room only served to amplify the whispers of doubt and fear that grew louder in my mind with each passing day. Was it just the pain meds, or was there something truly wrong here?

One evening, as Dr. Valerie was updating my chart, I couldn't help but notice the way she spoke to the nurse. Her voice was firm, almost demanding, as she instructed them not to let anyone else into my room without her consent. The nurse nodded obediently, not even glancing in my direction as she scurried away. It was a subtle shift in protocol, but it didn't go unnoticed. When I questioned her about it, she waved it off as a precaution to ensure my privacy and recovery. But her eyes, they held a secret that sent a shiver down my spine.

Over the next few days, the hospital grew even quieter, the staff more scarce. Dr. Valerie was always there, her eyes never leaving me for long. Her attentiveness grew suffocating, and I began to feel like a caged bird, my wings clipped by the cast on my leg. Then, one day, the realization dawned on me—my family hadn't called or visited in what felt like forever. I tried to brush it off as the medication playing tricks on me, but the gnawing feeling remained. Something was off.

"Dr. Valerie," I asked, my voice shaking, "when was the last time my family came to visit?"

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable before she replied, "They've been busy, Y/N. They don't want to risk your recovery by bringing in any unnecessary stress or germs."

But something in her voice didn't quite match the words. It was too forced, too practiced. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was lying to me, keeping me in the dark about something important. My mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Had she told them not to visit? Or worse, had something happened to them?

As the hospital grew quieter, so did my hope of seeing anyone else. The other patients had been discharged, and the staff had dwindled to a bare minimum. Dr. Valerie was always there, her dedication to my care unwavering. She'd bring me meals, read me books, and even help me to the bathroom, her hands never leaving my side unless absolutely necessary. It was a level of care that was both comforting and suffocating.

One day, as she was leaving my room, I caught a glimpse of something strange in her pocket—a small, folded piece of paper that she quickly tucked away when she saw me looking. Intrigued, I waited for my next opportunity to sneak a peek. When she stepped out for what she said was an important call, I reached over to her abandoned clipboard, my heart racing. The paper was there, sticking out just enough for me to pull it free.

It was a detailed schedule, not of hospital rounds, but of my life. Times of my meals, my medications, my physical therapy sessions, and the exact moments she'd come to sit with me. But what sent a chill down my spine was the note scribbled at the bottom: "Ensure no outside contact. Monitor Y/N's emotional state. No distractions." It was clear now. Dr. Valerie wasn't just a dedicated doctor. She's sick in the head.

My mind raced as I tucked the paper back into her pocket. I had to get out of here. I couldn't let her control me anymore. The pain in my leg was a constant reminder of her manipulation, her obsession. With newfound determination, I began to formulate a plan. I had to be careful; any misstep would only fuel her insanity. I needed to act normal, to not arouse her suspicion.

Each day, I pretended to get stronger, pushing through the physical therapy with a smile plastered on my face. Meanwhile, my thoughts were elsewhere, planning my escape. I studied the hospital layout, the timing of the nurse's checks, and the moments when Valerie was most preoccupied. I knew I couldn't do it alone; I had to convince someone to help me. The nurses were too scared of her, so I turned to the only person left: a janitor named Mark who had shown me kindness when no one else was around.

One night, when Valerie was unusually late for her visit, I called out to Mark. He looked surprised but quickly stepped into the room. "I need your help," I whispered urgently. "I think Dr. Valerie isn't what she seems." I showed him the schedule and the sinister note. His eyes widened in horror, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I'll help you," he murmured. "But we need to be careful."

We plotted my escape meticulously. Mark would disable the security cameras outside my room during his next shift, and I would use the crutches to make my way to the service exit. It had to be done at night when most of the staff had gone home. The plan was risky, but the alternative was too terrifying to consider.

The day of the escape arrived, and my heart pounded in anticipation. Each time the clock ticked closer to midnight, I grew more nervous. Finally, the moment came. I slipped the crumpled piece of paper into the pocket of my hospital gown, took a deep breath, and called for Mark. He entered the room, his eyes darting around nervously before he nodded to indicate the coast was clear. With trembling hands, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gripped the crutches, wincing as I put weight on my injured leg.

We moved swiftly through the shadowy hallways, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off the cold, empty walls. The hospital had never felt so vast and eerie. The silence was pierced only by the occasional distant hum of the air conditioning. My heart raced as we approached the service exit, and I glanced back at Mark, his face etched with determination. He had risked his job, perhaps even his life, for me, and I knew I couldn't let him down.

As we reached the door, I heard the faint sound of footsteps growing closer. Panic surged through me, and I clutched the crutches tighter. It was her—Dr. Valerie. Her eyes grew wide when she saw us, the mask of calmness slipping from her face, revealing the madness beneath. "Y/N," she called, her voice strained. "Where are you going?"

I didn't bother to answer, knowing that any words would only fuel her obsession. I pushed forward with Mark at my side, adrenaline masking the pain in my leg. We reached the exit, and he fumbled with the lock. The footsteps grew louder, and I knew she was almost upon us. "Hurry," I whispered, my voice tight with fear.

But it was too late. Dr. Valerie rounded the corner, her eyes wild and desperate. "You can't leave me," she said, her voice a mix of anger and despair. Mark stepped in front of me, his body tense. He tried to reason with her, but her eyes never left me. "Please, Dr. Valerie, just let her go," he pleaded.

Without warning, she lunged at us. The sound of her fist connecting with Mark's face was like a gunshot in the silence. He staggered back, and she pounced again, her hands clawing at his neck. His eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe, his grip on the crutches slipping away. I watched in horror as she squeezed tighter, her face a mask of rage. The crutches clattered to the floor, and the echo seemed to bounce through the corridor forever.

I tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in my throat. She was too strong, too determined. Mark's body went limp, and she dropped him to the ground, her eyes never leaving me. "You can't have her," she growled, her voice thick with malice. "You never deserved her."

Valerie's grip on my arm tightened as she dragged me back towards my room. The pain in my leg was forgotten as fear took over. I could feel her mental state unraveling, the warmth of her hand turning cold and vice-like. She was no longer the calm, caring doctor I had once trusted; she was a woman on the edge, her emotions a tumultuous storm that could sweep me away at any moment. The way she spoke, her voice rising and falling with the ferocity of a tornado, was chilling.

"You don't know how much I care for you," she whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my neck. "How much I need you to stay with me."

Her hand slid up my arm, her grip loosening slightly as she pulled me closer. I felt a shiver of revulsion, but also something else. A strange, dark thrill that I hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that I knew was wrong but couldn't help but acknowledge. She leaned in, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I saw the woman she had once been—kind, gentle, caring. But the madness had taken her, and there was no going back.

Her breath was sweet, tinged with the faint scent of antiseptic. She whispered, "I know you feel it too," her voice a seductive purr. "The connection between us." Her thumb traced a line along my jaw, and despite myself, I felt a flutter in my chest. "Let me take care of you," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "I'll make sure you never feel pain again."

Her hand slid down to my neck, her fingers tracing the pulse point that hammered in time with my racing heart. The heat from her body was suffocating, but I couldn't pull away. It was as if she had some sort of hold on me, a power that I didn't fully understand. "You need me, Y/N," she breathed, her eyes searching mine. "And I need you."

The air grew thick with an unspoken tension as she leaned closer, her lips brushing against my cheek. The line between comfort and fear blurred, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I felt a strange warmth spread through me, a reaction I didn't anticipate. Was this what she wanted? To control not just my body but my very thoughts and feelings? The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Her hand slid from my neck to the collar of my hospital gown, her eyes dark with an intensity that was difficult to resist. Her gaze searched mine, looking for any hint of permission, any glimmer of willingness. I could feel her breath against my skin, and for a moment, I was torn between the urge to push her away and the curiosity that whispered, "What if?" Her thumb grazed my collarbone, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. The pain in my leg was a distant memory, replaced by the heat of her touch.

"Don't fight it," she murmured, her voice a sweet seduction. "Let me heal you, inside and out."

Her hand traveled lower, tracing the line of my collarbone to the hollow of my throat. My breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of a blush spreading across my cheeks. The rational part of me screamed to resist, but the part that craved the pain to end was drawn to her touch. She leaned closer, her lips hovering just above mine. "You know you want this," she whispered, her eyes a dark pool that I was dangerously close to drowning in.

Her thumb caressed my bottom lip, and she leaned in to kiss me, her mouth pressing against mine with a desperation that sent a shockwave through my body. Her kiss was demanding, possessive, and I could feel her hunger for me in every stroke of her tongue. I tried to push her away, but my arms felt like lead, trapped by the crutches and the haze of the pain medication.

As our kiss deepened, Valerie's hand traveled down my body, her fingers dancing along my side, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. She pulled away briefly, her eyes searching mine for any sign of protest. When she found none, she took it as encouragement, her hand moving to the waistband of my hospital gown. She gently tugged it down, exposing my chest to the cool air of the room.

Her touch grew bolder as she cupped my breast, her thumb circling my nipple. I gasped, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through me. The shock of the intimacy washed away the last of my fear, and I found myself responding to her touch, my body betraying the screams of my mind. Her kiss grew more insistent, and she pushed me back onto the bed, her weight pressing down on me.

Her hand slid down to my thigh, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. She whispered sweet nothings into my ear, calling me her "good girl," her "perfect patient." It was as if she had become my mother, my lover, and my captor all rolled into one. The realization was jarring, but the warmth of her hand against my skin was undeniable. The pain in my leg was forgotten, replaced by the ache between my thighs that grew with every passing second.

Her hand moved further, brushing against the fabric of my underwear. I should have felt violated, but instead, a strange warmth spread through me. Her eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of resistance, but all she found was a mix of confusion and need. My body was responding to her touch despite the horror of the situation, and it was like watching a train wreck—I couldn't look away, even though I knew it was wrong.

Valerie's voice grew softer, more tender. "You're mine," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "Mine to heal, mine to love, mine to keep." It was like a twisted lullaby, and my body seemed to melt under the weight of her words. Her hand slid under the fabric, her fingers finding their way to the sensitive folds of my sex. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my mind racing with the wrongness of it all, but my body arching into her touch.

Her eyes searched my face for any sign of protest, and when she found none, she grew bolder, her fingers moving with more purpose. She stroked me slowly, almost gently, whispering sweet nothings about how much she cared for me, how she'd always be there to protect me. It was a strange, twisted form of comfort, and I found myself responding, my hips moving in time with her touch. Her thumb brushed over my clit, and a bolt of pleasure shot through me, making me gasp.

Her hand grew more insistent, her strokes more confident as she played my body like a finely tuned instrument. "Good girl," she murmured, her eyes dark with a mix of lust and something that looked eerily like love. "You're doing so well for mommy." The words sent a shiver down my spine, but the sensation was too intense to push away. She leaned down to kiss me again, her tongue delving into my mouth as her hand worked its magic. It was wrong, so wrong, but the pleasure was too intense to deny.

Her other hand slid up my thigh, pushing the fabric of my underwear aside. The coolness of her fingers against my skin was a stark contrast to the heat that was building within me. She slid a finger inside, and I couldn't hold back the moan that escaped my lips. She smirked, knowing she had me in her thrall. "You like that, don't you?" she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. "You're going to come for mommy, aren't you?"

I tried to shake my head, to find the strength to push her away, but my body had other ideas. It was as if I was under a spell, unable to resist the dark allure of her touch. My hips bucked against her hand, and she chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Look at you, so eager," she murmured, her voice a sweet, twisted symphony of madness. "You need this, don't you?"

Her fingers worked me expertly, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I felt like I was drowning, but instead of fighting for air, I was fighting for release. The orgasm built within me, a crescendo of pleasure that was laced with fear. I couldn't help the whimpers that escaped my lips as she brought me closer and closer to the brink. "That's it," she cooed, her eyes gleaming. "Come for me, baby."

And just like that, I did. The world around us shattered into a million pieces as I climaxed under her touch, my body arching off the bed. She watched me with a hungry expression, her eyes never leaving mine as I rode out the waves of pleasure. When it was over, she pulled her hand away, her eyes never leaving mine. She leaned down and kissed me softly, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips. "Mine," she murmured, her voice a possessive growl that sent a thrill through me.

But then, just as quickly as it had come, the pleasure was replaced by horror. I saw the madness in her eyes, the reality of what was happening crashing down around me. "You can't have me," I whispered, pushing her away with all the strength I could muster. "Please, stop."

Valerie's expression twisted into something unrecognizable, a mix of anger and despair. "You don't understand," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You're mine. I can't lose you."

Her grip on my arm tightened as she leaned closer, her eyes searching mine. But instead of finding the love and devotion she craved, she saw only fear and horror. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and for a moment, I almost felt pity for her. But then she did something that would change everything.

With a sudden jerk, she pulled a scalpel from her pocket. The cold metal glinted under the harsh hospital lights, and I realized that she had been holding onto it the entire time. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice a desperate whisper. "Always mine."

Panic surged through me as I tried to scramble away, but my legs, weak from disuse, wouldn't cooperate. Her grip was like iron, keeping me in place. She brought the scalpel to her own neck, her eyes never leaving mine. "You don't understand," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "If I can't have you, no one can."

The world moved in slow motion as she pressed the blade to her skin. I could see the tremor in her hand, the doubt in her eyes. "Valerie, no," I whispered, my voice barely audible. But she didn't listen. She was lost in her own delusions, her mind consumed by the madness that had been festering for so long.

With one swift motion, she drew the scalpel across her neck, the sound of tearing flesh echoing through the room. I screamed, my eyes wide with horror as blood spurted from the gaping wound. Her eyes never left mine, a look of pained acceptance crossing her features as she crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stand still as the crimson pool grew around her, the smell of copper thick in the air.

The sound of pounding footsteps grew louder, and suddenly, the door burst open. Cops flooded the room, their eyes wide with shock at the sight before them. They rushed to Valerie, but it was too late. They looked to me, and I could see the questions in their eyes, but all I could do was shake my head, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't tell them the truth, not like this. Not now.

They secured the area, checking for any other threats, but there were none. It was just me, the lifeless body of Dr. Valerie, and the weight of what had just happened. The room spun as they helped me off the bed, the pain in my leg forgotten in the face of the horror. The crutches lay discarded on the floor, a symbol of the escape I had so desperately sought.

The cops led me through the hospital, their expressions a mix of shock and concern. The quietness was now pierced by the sirens outside, a stark reminder of the reality that was crashing down around me. Mark lay unconscious in the hallway, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for involving him. But he had chosen to stand up to Valerie, to help me. He was a hero, even if he didn't make it out unscathed.

As we reached the exit, the cool night air hit me like a slap in the face. The world outside was alive, oblivious to the horror that had unfolded within the hospital walls. The cops helped me into the back of an ambulance, their gentle touches a stark contrast to Valerie's possessive grip. I watched as they tried to revive Mark, their faces grim as they worked.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with every second that passed. The hospital had become a crime scene, a place of nightmares rather than healing. I could see the flashing lights through the window, a chaotic dance of blue and red that painted the night sky. My heart raced, not just from the adrenaline of the escape, but from the fear of what was to come. Would they believe me? Would they understand the depths of Valerie's obsession?

The cops ushered me into the ambulance, their faces a blur of concern and confusion. They asked me questions, but I could only murmur responses, my mind reeling from the events of the night. The doors slammed shut, and we sped away from the hospital, leaving the horror behind. The cold night air was a stark contrast to the stifling warmth of the hospital, and it brought with it a sense of relief and a newfound hope for freedom.

As the sirens grew faint in the distance, the reality of what had happened began to settle over me like a heavy blanket. Valerie was gone, but the memory of her touch lingered on my skin, a ghostly reminder of the twisted love she had claimed. I watched the hospital shrink in the rearview mirror, feeling a mix of grief and relief. She had taken her own life rather than let me go, a final act of desperation that cemented her madness in my mind.

As the ambulance pulled away, I watched the hospital grow smaller and smaller in the distance, the sirens a mournful wail that seemed to carry the weight of the world. I was safe, but the cost had been too high. Mark was still back there, fighting for his life because of me, and Valerie... Valerie was gone, lost to the madness she couldn't control. The thought of her lying in a pool of her own blood was almost too much to bear, but I knew it was what she had wanted. She had chosen this path, and there was no turning back.

The cops had asked me questions, but I had given them only the bare minimum. I couldn't bring myself to tell them everything, not yet. The words felt like bile in my throat, a confession that would only serve to tarnish her memory further. They had found the note, the one that had started it all, the one that had led to this twisted dance of obsession and fear. It was a confession of her love, a declaration of her madness, and now it was evidence of a crime. But what crime had she really committed? The act of loving too much? The desperation that had driven her to this?

The news reports were already rolling in, a constant barrage of speculation and half-truths. They talked of Dr. Valerie, the dedicated doctor who had taken her own life in the abandoned hospital. They spoke of her as a tragic figure, a woman who had been pushed to the brink by the weight of the world. They didn't mention me, the girl she had tried to keep, the girl who had ultimately been the catalyst for her downfall. It was a small mercy, but it didn't change the fact that she was gone.

Days passed in a blur of pain and medication as I lay in my own bed, surrounded by the warmth and safety of my family. The TV in the corner of the room was a constant reminder of the world outside, the news playing on a loop. Dr. Valerie's face, twisted in agony, haunted the screens. The reporters painted her as a tragic hero, a doctor who had lost her mind trying to save her patients. They talked of her dedication, her kindness, and her gentle touch. But they didn't know the truth, the darkness that had lurked behind her smile.

My mother held my hand, her eyes filled with worry and love as she watched me struggle to come to terms with what had happened. She didn't know the extent of Valerie's obsession, the lengths she had gone to keep me within her grasp. I couldn't bring myself to tell her, not yet. The words felt heavy, a burden I wasn't ready to share. Instead, I listened as they spoke of the hospital's closure and the subsequent investigation. The whispers of foul play had been silenced by the narrative of a doctor who had simply snapped under pressure.

The news reports painted Valerie as a martyr, a tragic hero who had given her all to her patients and lost herself in the process. They talked of her tireless work ethic, her dedication to her craft, and the lives she had saved. The public had latched onto the story, weaving it into a tapestry of sorrow and loss that didn't quite fit the reality of her madness. In their eyes, she was a saint who had made a terrible mistake, not the monster that had held me captive and tried to take my innocence.

83 notes · View notes

bl00dyfaiiry · 22 days ago

Note

what do you have against worms??? they're just little guys!!!/lighthearted /joke

Waaaa I can't help but find them gross maybe one day I'll wake up suddenly liking them and making a human worm fic */Jk 😭😭

1 note · View note

bl00dyfaiiry · 23 days ago

Note

I really liked your Yandere circus clown story! Would it be possible to get a part two!?

Omg omg now you mentioned it, yes it will get a part two WOOO! Alsoo TYSM it means a lot :3

I'm honestly thinking of how to continue it, I'll try my best.

Stay tuned ＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／

0 notes

bl00dyfaiiry · 23 days ago

Text

Step father x f!reader

"I was supposed to call you dad, not moan your name."

Tags and warnings: age gap, mature themes, incestuous, step-parent/step-child affair, infidelity/cheating, all characters are adults, unrequited love, reader discretion is advised.

A/N: made this while listening to celine dion 🙂‍↕️

I wasn't supposed to fall for you, those glances turned into staring into each other while we sunken into the pleasure of each other's intimacy. I want to give my best to be with you, to end up with you.

The house was quiet, almost eerily so, as I sat at the kitchen table, the soft glow of the pendant lights above casting a warm light on the polished countertops. My mom had gone out to grab some last-minute wedding supplies, leaving Sinclair and me alone for what felt like the first time in forever. We'd been playing this dance around our feelings for what felt like an eternity, but today was different. The air had anticipation, with the scent of freshly baked cookies lingering from my earlier attempt to distract myself.

Sinclair walked in, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway, and his presence immediately filled the room. He looked at me, his eyes darkening with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine. We both knew what was going to happen tonight, and the tension was palpable. The silence was deafening, yet it was filled with a million unspoken words, our hearts beating in sync with the rhythm of our shared secret. He approached me, his movements deliberate and predatory, like a cat stalking its prey. I held my breath, my heart racing in my chest, as he stopped just before me, placing a gentle hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with desire, "I know this isn't right, but I can't fight it anymore." His words were a confession, a declaration of war against the boundaries we'd set for ourselves. I looked up at him, my eyes searching his, trying to find any semblance of doubt, any reason to stop this madness before it started. But all I found was a mirror to my own longing, a reflection of the fiery passion that burned within me.

The silence grew heavier, our breaths mingling as we stared at each other, the space between us charged with an electric current. My body was a live wire, every inch of me craving his touch, begging for the release we both knew was coming. I felt a tear slip down my cheek, a silent protest to the inevitable. "We shouldn't," I whispered, but the words lacked conviction. We both knew the truth – we'd been dancing around this for too long, and the wedding tomorrow was the final nail in the coffin of our self-control.

Sinclair leaned closer, his warm breath ghosting against my skin. "I know," he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup my neck, his thumb tracing the pulse point that hammered in time with my racing thoughts. "But I need you, Y/N. I've never needed anyone as much as I need you right now." His voice was a soft growl, a desperate plea that resonated deep within me, and I knew that I was just as lost to this feeling as he was.

The air grew thick with unspoken words, the tension between us a tangible force that seemed to pulse and thrum with each passing moment. I felt my resolve crumbling, the walls I'd built around my heart cracking under the weight of his gaze. My eyes searched his, looking for any semblance of doubt, but all I found was raw, unbridled desire. "This will only complicate things," I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper. "We'll regret it."

Sinclair's eyes searched mine, a silent conversation passing between us that spoke of our shared pain and yearning. His hand slid down to my shoulder, his fingers tracing the fabric of my shirt. "We've already complicated things, haven't we?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "We can't change what we feel, Y/N."

I sighed heavily, the weight of our situation pressing down on my chest. "But what about tomorrow?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "What happens after you marry my mother?"

Sinclair's gaze grew intense, his hand tightening slightly on my shoulder. "Tomorrow is just a formality," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You're the one who truly owns me, Y/N. You always have."

I couldn't deny the truth in his words, the way my heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and anguish. The lines between right and wrong had blurred so much that I couldn't find my footing. "But what about her?" I choked out, the thought of my mother's happiness a stark contrast to the passion that burned between us.

Sinclair's expression softened, his thumb brushing away the tear that clung to my jaw. "Your mother... she deserves to be happy," he said, his voice filled with a pain that mirrored my own. "But so do we."

The guilt was a heavy weight in my chest, a burden that grew with each passing second. I knew he was right, but the thought of betraying her, of tearing apart the family we'd built, was too much to bear. "I can't," I whispered, my voice trembling. "We can't do this."

Sinclair's expression grew stormy, his hand dropping to his side as he stepped back, the intensity in his eyes flickering with anger. "Why?" he snarled, his voice tight with frustration. "Because of some misguided sense of loyalty? Because we're afraid of the consequences?"

"Yes," I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips. "Because this isn't just about us."

Sinclair's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation. "We're adults," he said, his voice strained. "We make our own choices. Why do we have to live our lives for everyone else?"

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor, my own frustration bubbling to the surface. "Because we're not just anyone, Sinclair! You're about to marry my mother!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. "What kind of people would we be if we just threw that away for a moment of selfishness?"

Sinclair's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don't you dare call this selfish," he hissed. "This isn't just about lust. This is about two people who love each other, who can't be together because of a twisted set of rules and societal norms!" His words were like a slap in the face, the truth stinging as much as the passion behind them.

I stepped back, the counter cold against my lower back, my breath coming in quick gasps. "Love?" I spat out, my eyes filling with tears. "Is that what you call this? Because to me, love is supposed to be about making people happy, not causing pain!"

Sinclair took a step towards me, his eyes flashing with a fiery intensity that I'd never seen before. "You think I'm happy marrying her?" he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. "You think I don't lie in bed every night, thinking about you?" His words hit me like a freight train, the pain in his voice a stark reminder of the tumultuous emotions we'd both been trying to bury.

My chest tightened, guilt wrapping around my heart like a vice. "Sinclair," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can't say things like that."

But he didn't stop, his words a tempest that I couldn't shield myself from. "Why not, Y/N?" he yelled, taking another step closer. "Because it's the truth? Because it hurts too much to admit what we've been feeling?" His eyes searched mine, and I could see the turmoil raging within him, the same tumultuous emotions that were tearing me apart.

"You don't love her," I said, my voice trembling with the weight of the words. "You love me."

Sinclair's eyes searched mine, the storm within him unabated. "You think that makes this any easier?" he roared. "You think that makes it right?"

"I didn't say it was right," I countered, my voice shaking. "But it's the truth, and we can't ignore it anymore." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the tumultuous emotions that had been brewing beneath the surface for so long.

Sinclair's expression grew fierce, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation. He slammed his hand on the counter, the sound echoing through the room. "Fuck the truth!" he snarled, his voice filled with a raw, primal need. "I want you, Y/N. I've wanted you since the day I first saw you."

My guilt grew into a monster, consuming me from the inside out. I knew I should push him away, but my body betrayed me. Instead of retreating, I found myself leaning into his touch, my eyes closing as he brushed his thumb against my cheek, the warmth of his skin searing into my soul. "We can't," I whispered, my voice a plea.

Sinclair's hand dropped to my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me closer. "We're already in too deep," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "We can't pretend anymore." His words were a siren's call, a temptation I didn't have the strength to resist. I felt the heat of his body, the unmistakable pressure of his erection against my stomach, and my resolve shattered like glass.

Our argument grew heated, our words a whirlwind of accusations and denials, each one cutting deeper than the last. His hands moved to my wrists, pinning them against the counter as he leaned into me, his mouth mere inches from mine. "Tell me you don't want this," he challenged, his voice a low growl. "Tell me you don't want me."

But I couldn't. The truth was a knot in my throat, choking me with its intensity. My body was a traitor, responding to his touch with a need so fierce it scared me. The guilt was a living, breathing entity in the room with us, a third party to our forbidden dance, but it was no match for the hunger that consumed me. "I do," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I want you so much it hurts."

Sinclair's eyes searched mine, the storm in his gaze swirling with passion and something darker, something that made my stomach flip-flop. Without another word, he crushed his lips to mine, his kiss a declaration of war against the world and everything that stood in our way. It was violent, it was passionate, it was everything I never knew I needed. Our teeth clashed, tongues dueling as we both gave in to the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. My hands found their way to his hair, pulling him closer as I moaned into his mouth, the sweet taste of him flooding my senses.

The guilt was a living, breathing entity in the room, watching us with accusatory eyes, but it was no match for the hunger that had taken over. Sinclair's hand slid down to my ass, cupping me firmly as he picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carried me to the living room, our kiss never breaking, the soft thud of my back hitting the plush couch cushions barely registering as his hands roamed my body, setting every inch of me on fire. His mouth traveled down my neck, nipping and sucking as I arched my back, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Sinclair," I moaned, the sound torn from my chest as he ground his hips against me. "We can't do this." But even as I said the words, my body was already responding, my hips moving in a silent plea for more. His mouth found my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "We already are," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down my spine. His hands were everywhere, unbuttoning my shirt, unhooking my bra, as if he couldn't get enough of me.

The guilt was a living, breathing monster, clawing at me with every touch, every kiss. I tried to push him away, but my own desire was too strong. "No," I whispered, the word a weak protest that he ignored. "We have to stop."

Sinclair's eyes searched mine, a mix of anger and lust that sent a shiver down my spine. "Why?" he demanded, his voice thick with need. "Why do we have to stop when we both know this is what we need?" His hand slid up my thigh, his fingers finding the hem of my skirt and pushing it higher, revealing the soft flesh beneath.

"Because it's wrong," I choked out, trying to fight the desire that was slowly drowning me. But my words were weak, my body betraying me as I arched into his touch. "What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow can go to hell," Sinclair murmured, his voice a dark promise as he kissed down my neck, his hands sliding my skirt up to my hips. "We have tonight." His words were a seductive caress, and I found myself nodding, my body begging for his touch. The guilt was a heavy burden, but the need for release was stronger.

He kissed me again, his tongue claiming my mouth as his hands moved to my panties, his fingers deftly sliding them down my legs. I moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by his hungry kisses. He stepped back, breaking the connection only long enough to pull his own shirt over his head, revealing the muscled chest I'd admired from afar for so long. My hands reached for him, my fingers tracing the lines of his abs as he lowered himself onto me, our bodies aligning perfectly.

The guilt was a living, breathing presence, whispering in my ear that this was wrong, that we'd regret it. But the desire was too strong, a siren's call that I couldn't resist. Sinclair's eyes bore into mine as he slid into me, filling me up in a way that made me cry out with pleasure. The sound was guttural, primal, and it sent shockwaves through my body. Our movements grew more frantic, the couch creaking beneath us as we gave in to the passion that had been building between us. Each thrust was a silent admission of our love, each kiss a declaration of our need for one another.

The argument had turned into something else entirely, our anger and frustration morphing into a passionate, almost violent love-making session. We were two star-crossed lovers, our hearts torn between duty and desire. Sinclair's grip on my hips tightened, his movements becoming more erratic as I dug my nails into his back, urging him deeper. The guilt was still there, a sour taste in the back of my throat, but the pleasure was too intense to ignore. Our bodies moved in perfect harmony, as if we'd been made for each other, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

He whispered sweet nothings in my ear, words of love and longing that sent shivers down my spine. Each syllable was a lie we both knew we'd have to live with tomorrow, but in the heat of the moment, they felt like truth. His teeth grazed my neck, and I couldn't help but arch into his touch, the pleasure building like a crescendo in my core. My breathing grew ragged, the room spinning as I felt the orgasm approaching.

But the guilt remained, a heavy weight on my chest that I couldn't ignore. "Sinclair," I choked out, my voice thick with passion and despair. "We can't do this."

He paused, his eyes searching mine, the hunger slowly fading into something softer. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice gentle. "We can't keep fighting this." His thumb brushed over my cheek, catching the stray tear that had escaped. "We have tonight."

I nodded, the guilt momentarily silenced by the desperation in his voice. We had tonight, a stolen moment of pleasure before the world came crashing down on us tomorrow. Sinclair's kiss grew gentler, his touch more tender as he made love to me with a passion that seemed to defy logic and reason. Our bodies moved in a dance we'd both secretly craved for so long, the rhythm of our hearts beating in sync as we gave in to our forbidden desires. His hands explored every inch of me, his kisses leaving a trail of fire across my skin, as if trying to brand me as his own.

Our movements grew slower, more deliberate, each touch a silent promise of a future we could never have. We were two souls adrift in a sea of passion, clinging to each other for a brief moment before the storm of reality swallowed us whole. My nails dug into his back, my legs tight around his waist as he pushed into me, each stroke a sweet agony that I never wanted to end. The room was a blur, the only thing in focus the love in his eyes as he whispered sweet, heartbreaking lies about a life together, a life where tomorrow didn't exist.

Sinclair's kisses grew softer, his touch more reverent as we both clung to the illusion of us. We'd always had tonight, but the weight of tomorrow's wedding was a constant reminder of the truth we'd been trying to ignore. His thumb traced my cheek, his eyes searching my own as if looking for answers to questions he didn't dare speak. The guilt was a living, breathing presence, but the pleasure was too intense to push away. I felt myself climbing, the peak just out of reach, my breaths coming in gasps as I chased the sweet oblivion of orgasm.

And then, with a final whispered word, the world around us fast-forwarded. The sun had set, and the room was bathed in a soft, warm light from the candles flickering on the mantel. Our clothes were discarded in a haphazard pile on the floor, a silent testament to the passion that had consumed us. We were both lost in our own thoughts, our bodies still entwined but our hearts already feeling the distance that tomorrow would bring.

The wedding was a blur of white and gold, a sea of smiling faces that I couldn't bring myself to focus on. My mother looked radiant in her gown, her eyes shining with happiness as she recited her vows to Sinclair. I sat in the front row, my hands trembling in my lap, feeling like a specter at my own mother's wedding. Each word they exchanged was a dagger to my heart, a painful reminder of the night we'd shared and the lie we'd both agreed to live.

Sinclair's eyes never left the bride, but I knew he felt my presence, the silent accusation in my gaze a constant weight on his shoulders. His jaw was clenched tight, his hand shaking slightly as he slid the ring onto my mother's finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. The room erupted into applause, but all I heard was the deafening silence of our secret, the guilt a living, breathing entity that had taken up residence in my chest.

My mother beamed up at him, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that swirled just beneath the surface. The love in her eyes was genuine, pure, and it was a stark contrast to the tangled web that bound Sinclair and me. I felt the bile rise in my throat as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, a kiss that should have been reserved for the man who truly owned her heart.

#stepdad x reader #forbidden love #tw.dark content #tw.incest #darkfic #dark romance #stepfather #taboo #dark fantasy #tw stepcest #stepcest #cheating trope #daddy's good girl #daddy’s babygirl #daddy k!nk #daddy’s wh0re #older man younger woman #older men do it better #older men are hot

6 notes · View notes

bl00dyfaiiry · 23 days ago

Text

Request Open

... Loading.

... Processing.

... Done, thanks for waiting.

Rules

✅Yandere male x f!reader or gender neutral reader are allowed

✅Yandere fem x f! Reader are also allowed

✅step cest, noncon, dubcon, bdsm, abduction, age gap, power dynamic, cheating, character death, character suicide and violence.

✅age gap 18+

❌fluff

❌underage reader/yandere/love interest

❌ STRICTLY no anonymous request or it'll be rejected (anonymous questions are okay though)

❌mafia trope, fuck buddy trope.

------

Read

Hi, I would like to inform you guys if some of you are wondering. No, I don't apply any of my works in real life, what stays in fiction will stay where it is and shouldn't be taken personally. If you're ever uncomfortable with my works, block me. I have no right how to tell anyone to live their life so it's up to you if you're gonna read my works or not, I put warnings and that's all I can do. Thanks for understanding :3

I also want to inform that I will not tolerate spam or rushing me, it's rude dont ya think?

And also if I didn't make your requests either I'm too busy or I'm not comfortable doing it :3

------------

... Saving.

.. saved!

#yandere #yandere gore #yandere noncon #yandere x reader #yanderecore #tw.yandere #tw.noncon #tw. dark content #tw.dubcon #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #wlw ns/fw #yandere requests #yancore

2 notes · View notes

bl00dyfaiiry · 23 days ago

Text

Yandere Circus clown x F!reader

Tags: HEAVY non con, abduction, obsession, Reader is 18+, begging, fingering, isolating, clowns, violence, toxic behavior, hide n seek.

People have fears. Heights, spiders, worms—you name it, sometimes I'm wondering if I'm really that childish to be scared at literally a person with costume and makeup, but whenever I hear those giggling, honking and those clowny noise, I can't help but feel shiver in my spine and that paranoia eating me like a quick sand.

It's a sunny day outside, my family decided to go to the new circus that just opened in our town. My family knows it—that ever since I'm a child I have that constant fear of clowns yet they ignored my protest about not wanting to go, too eager to help me fight my fears.

The tent is a bright red color, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafting through the air, mixing with the distant sounds of carnival music and the occasional roar of a wild animal. My heart is racing as we walk through the crowd, the anticipation of the horrors that may await me behind every corner is almost unbearable.

The moment we enter the circus, a clown named Sphere approaches us with a smile so wide and eyes so bright that it seems like a mask painted on his face. His hair is a wild mess of colors, and his outfit is a patchwork of patterns that make me feel dizzy just looking at it. He extends a hand with a balloon in it, "Welcome to the show!" he says, his voice a forced cheerfulness that makes my skin crawl.

My family exchanges glances, but then my little brother, Timmy, runs over to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can I have a balloon?" he asks, and Sphere laughs, a sound that is both jovial and eerie. He ties the balloon around Timmy's wrist, the plastic stretching and creaking. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I watch them interact.

As we walk deeper into the circus, the lights dim and the music gets louder, the smells becoming a cacophony of animal scents, grease, and the faint metallic tang of fear. The clowns perform their acts with a disturbing level of precision, their smiles never wavering as they juggle, tumble, and ride bicycles. I keep my eyes on the ground, trying to avoid any accidental contact with their piercing gazes.

But no matter where I look, Sphere seems to be there. His eyes are always on me, tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my palms sweat. He laughs a little too loudly at his own jokes, his teeth sharp and unnaturally white against the stark red of his mouth. I feel his stare like a physical weight, and I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me, studying me.

During the intermission, I manage to slip away from my family to the bathroom, desperately needing a moment of solace. As I wash my hands, the water cold against my skin, I hear the telltale sound of a balloon squeaking against the floor. I turn to see Sphere leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his smile still plastered on his face. "You seem to be enjoying the show," he says, his voice a whisper that sends chills down my spine.

I force a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's... interesting," I reply, hoping he doesn't notice the tremble in my voice. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a second, the cheerful mask slips, revealing something darker beneath.

"Just interesting?" he asks, taking a step closer. The way he says it is almost a challenge, and I can see the glimmer of something sinister in his gaze. I take a step back, my hand reaching for the bathroom door handle. "I would have thought you'd enjoy it more, Y/N."

My heart skips a beat at the sound of my name on his lips. "How do you know my name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He laughs, a sound that's more of a chilling cackle than a cheerful giggle. "Oh, I know all about you," he says, leaning in so close that I can feel his hot breath on my face. "Every little detail that makes you who you are."

Suddenly, his hand snatches mine, pulling me towards a hidden corner behind the bathroom stalls. The plastic of the balloon still tied to my wrist scrapes against the wall, leaving a trail of paint on the metal. Panic sets in as I realize I'm trapped, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sphere, let go!" I try to sound firm, but fear laces every syllable. He just smiles wider, his grip tightening. "You're so much more fun when you're scared, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a chilling caress against my ear.

He starts to pull me through the twisting back corridors of the circus tent, the fabric walls billowing around us with every step. The music and laughter from the main show seem distant now, replaced by the thud of my racing heart and the scraping of my shoes against the floor. I try to resist, to pull away, but his strength is surprising, like a coiled spring beneath the floppy exterior.

As we weave through the shadows, the clowns' dressing room comes into view. The neon lights flicker, casting jagged shadows across the garish makeup and costumes hanging from hooks. The smell of greasepaint and sweat fills the air, thick and suffocating. "Where are you taking me?" I demand, but Sphere just giggles in response, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

He stops abruptly, spinning me around to face him. His smile widens, the makeup around his mouth cracking as he leans in close, his breath hot and sweet with a hint of something rotten. "Just a little game, Y/N," he whispers, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. "You see, I've noticed how much you've been avoiding me today. It's making me feel a bit... neglected."

My stomach turns as I realize the full extent of his obsession. "Look, I'm sorry," I stammer, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I just don't like clowns, that's all."

But Sphere seems unfazed by my protests. "Oh, but I like you," he says, his grip on my hand tightening to the point of pain. "A lot." His smile twists into something that's more of a snarl than a smile. "And when I like something, I don't let it go so easily."

Before I can react, he yanks me into the dressing room and locks the door behind us with a final, echoing click. The room is a cluttered mess of oversized shoes, colorful wigs, and garish outfits. The walls are plastered with newspaper clippings and photos of past performances, all with Sphere's face at the center, his grin growing wider and more disturbing in each one.

He releases my hand and starts to circle me, his eyes never leaving mine. The floorboards creak under his weight as he steps closer, his movements deliberate and predatory. "You know, Y/N," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "I think you're playing hard to get."

I swallow hard, my eyes darting around the room for any escape route. The walls seem to close in around me, the clown paraphernalia watching with a silent, malevolent glee. "I'm not playing games," I reply, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in my voice.

Sphere stops his pacing, tilting his head to the side as if considering my words. "No?" He asks, his smile never faltering. "Well, then, let's make it interesting." In a flash, he snatches a rubber chicken from a nearby chair and tosses it into the air, catching it with ease. His eyes gleam with a sick excitement that sends a bolt of terror through my veins.

With a swift pivot on his oversized shoe, he lunges at me, the chicken held out like a weapon. I scream and stumble backward, tripping over a pile of oversized shoes. As I fall, my hand knocks over a rack of props, sending a cascade of plastic horns and confetti into the air. The sudden burst of noise and color only seems to fuel his manic energy. He starts to chase me around the small, cramped space, the rubber chicken slapping against his palm with a wet, meaty sound.

My heart thunders in my chest, the walls closing in with every step he takes. The room is a maze of clothing racks and trunks, each corner a potential dead end. I can feel his eyes on me, the unblinking stare of a predator. I dodge behind a rack of sequined outfits, hoping the fabric will shield me from his view, but his laughter echoes through the room, telling me he's closer than I think.

The rubber chicken hits the floor with a wet smack, bouncing away as he reaches for me. His fingers graze my arm, leaving trails of cold greasepaint. The chuckling turns to a full-blown cackle as he pulls me out into the open. "Why so shy?" he coos, his grin now a twisted, malicious thing. "Don't you want to play with me?"

I stumble backward, my feet entangled in a mess of fabric and props. His eyes gleam with a madness that sends ice down my spine. The cheerful exterior has crumbled away to reveal a creature of obsession and darkness. His pupils are dilated, and the makeup around his eyes has started to run, creating a grotesque contrast against the stark white of his face.

He removed his wig, revealing a mop of wavy short white hair, and his true face emerged from beneath the layers of makeup. Despite the madness dancing in his eyes, there was something eerily attractive about him. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his smile made him look like a fallen angel. But the way his eyes burned into me, the hunger in his gaze, was anything but heavenly.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're wondering why I'm doing this." He stepped closer, his breath hot and sour. "It's simple, really. You see, I noticed you talking to that acrobat earlier." His smile grew colder, his eyes darker. "I don't like it when people I care about talk to other people."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What? I don't even know you," I protested weakly, trying to scuttle away from him.

But Sphere was already lost in his own delusion. "You think I didn't see?" he spat, his eyes wild with rage. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and yanked me closer, his grip like a vice. "You think you can just flirt with him while I'm here, watching you?" His knuckles turned white with the effort of holding back his anger, and the room grew colder with his fury.

"I wasn't flirting!" I insisted, the panic rising in my voice. The clown's smile grew more twisted, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Liar," he hissed, and then, without warning, he slapped me hard across the face. The shock of the impact sent stars dancing in my vision, and I tasted blood on my tongue.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stared at him, trying to understand what had happened. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of my situation. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's grip on my shirt loosened, his expression flickering with confusion. He took a step back, his smile fading into something more human. "What did you say?" His voice was softer now, less menacing.

I swallowed the metallic taste of fear and repeated, "I said I'm sorry." The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I knew I had to play along if I wanted to survive. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's eyes searched mine, the rage slowly draining from his expression, replaced by a flicker of doubt. He let go of my shirt, his hand hovering in the air as if he wasn't quite sure where to put it. "You... you're not lying?" he asked, his voice unsure.

I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his, my voice steady despite the tremble in my chest. "I swear. I wasn't flirting. I was just asking for directions to the concession stand."

Sphere's expression softened slightly, his grip on the rubber chicken loosening. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Directions?" he repeated, his voice a whisper.

I nodded, taking a cautious step towards him. "Yes," I said, my voice shaking. "I just wanted to get some popcorn for Timmy. That's all."

Sphere's gaze searched my face, looking for any sign of deceit. His eyes narrowed, but the doubt remained. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt. "Why would you ignore me?"

I took another step closer, placing my trembling hand on his arm. "I didn't ignore you," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "I just didn't know you liked me that way." His expression softened, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could get through to him.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. "But I do like you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with longing. "I've liked you since the first time I saw you." His hand slid from my arm to my waist, his touch sending a shiver through my body. "I want to make you happy."

I knew I had to tread carefully. "I know," I said, trying to keep my voice soft and soothing. "And I appreciate it, Sphere. But I don't think this is the right way."

He looked at me, his eyes searching, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. His hand on my waist tightened, but his gaze remained on my face, as if trying to read my thoughts. "What's the right way?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. "Maybe we could talk," I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm and even. "Get to know each other without the... the games." His eyes searched mine, his smile slipping away as he considered my words.

Sphere nodded slowly, his hand moving from my waist to the small of my back, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You're right," he murmured. "Let's talk." He guided me over to a chair in the corner of the room, the plush velvet upholstery a stark contrast to the cold steel frame.

He sat down, pulling me onto his lap, his arms wrapping around me like a vice. "Why are you so scared of me, Y/N?" His voice was a mix of innocence and something darker, a hint of the madness still lurking beneath the surface. "I just want to make you smile."

My heart raced as his hand began to trace circles on my back, the fabric of my shirt growing damp with my sweat. His breath was warm against my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. "I know you're scared," he whispered, "but you don't have to be. I'll take care of you." His words were a seductive promise, a dangerous lure that I knew I couldn't trust.

Sphere leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my ear as his hand slid up my side, the fabric of his costume brushing against my bare skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a sweet, deadly caress. "Don't you want to be with someone who sees that?" I could feel his breath hitch as his hand moved up to cup my face, tilting it so that I was forced to look into his eyes.

My heart hammered in my chest as his thumb traced the line of my jaw, his eyes searching mine for any sign of consent. His touch was both terrifying and oddly comforting, the warmth of his skin grounding me in the chaos of the moment. But the fear remained, a cold knot in my stomach that grew tighter with every beat of my heart. "Please," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Let's just talk."

Sphere's smile grew a little wider, his eyes never leaving mine as his hand slid down to my waist, his fingers digging in slightly. "We are talking," he murmured, his breath warm and tickling against my neck. His other hand reached up to tug gently on a lock of my hair. "Don't you want to feel what it's like to be truly alive?"

I could feel the heat of his body against me, the firmness of his thighs beneath my legs. His fingers began to trace patterns on my skin, moving higher, closer to my chest. "You're so tense," he said, his voice a purr. "Let me help you relax." His hand moved up to my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my neck.

My breath hitched as his other hand slid down to my thigh, his fingertips skimming over the fabric of my shorts. "Sphere," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Please don't." But his grip only tightened, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in closer, his breath warm and sweet, a stark contrast to the cold fear coiling in my stomach.

"You're so soft," he murmured, his hand moving higher, dangerously close to the hem of my shorts. His thumb traced the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but lean into his touch, even as the voice in the back of my mind screamed for me to run.

"Relax," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck. "Let me show you how much fun we can have together." His hand slid further up my thigh, the fabric of his costume brushing against my skin, making me shiver. I tried to push away the feeling of revulsion, focusing instead on the warmth of his touch, the gentle way he was speaking to me.

"Sphere, I-" I began, but his mouth was suddenly on mine, cutting off my protests with a kiss that was surprisingly gentle. His tongue slid against my lips, coaxing them open. I couldn't help but respond, my body betraying me as I leaned into the kiss, his flavor a mix of candy and something darker, something that made my stomach twist.

His hands moved with a possessive hunger, one sliding up to cup the back of my head, the other continuing its slow, torturous journey up my thigh. I moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his mouth. He took this as an invitation, his hand moving higher, his touch growing bolder, more demanding.

The fabric of my shorts was no barrier to his seeking fingers, and before I could fully process what was happening, he had slid them underneath, his palm cupping my intimate flesh. I gasped, my body responding despite my mind's frantic protests. His grip tightened, his thumb beginning to stroke in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made my vision swim.

Sphere's other hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. He kissed along the sensitive skin, his teeth nipping gently, sending waves of pleasure and fear crashing through me. His touch was a storm of sensations, a mix of pain and pleasure that made me feel alive and terrified all at once.

His hand continued to move under my shorts, his fingers teasing and exploring with a possessive hunger that made me whimper. I tried to push his hand away, my body responding despite my mind's screaming protests. But he was too strong, too determined.

With a sudden jerk, he yanked the fabric aside, exposing me completely to his gaze. His eyes widened with excitement, and his touch grew rougher, more insistent. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Do you like it when I do this?"

I whimpered, torn between the horror of the situation and the unwanted arousal his touch elicited. I tried to push his hand away, but his grip was unyielding. "Sphere, stop," I managed to say, my voice shaking. But he was beyond listening, beyond reason.

His thumb pressed harder against my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through me that I despised feeling. "You like it," he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and triumph. "You can't hide from me, Y/N." His free hand reached up to grab a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back even further. He kissed me again, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip, drawing a gasp from me that he took full advantage of, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth.

The sound of his clown shoes squeaking against the floor filled the room, a twisted soundtrack to the horror playing out before me. His hand worked faster now, his fingers sliding inside me with an ease that made me feel sick. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my hair tightened, keeping me in place.

"You're mine," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "Mine to do with as I please." His words were a cold slap in the face, bringing the reality of my situation crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.

I struggled against him, my fear turning to anger and desperation. "No," I gritted out, pushing against his chest. "Let go of me."

But Sphere was lost in his own twisted fantasy. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, panting bursts against my neck. "You're so tight," he whispered, his voice a dark caress. "So warm, so wet."

I squirmed in his lap, trying to break free of his iron grip. His fingers moved in a relentless rhythm, each stroke sending a bolt of unwanted pleasure through my body. "Please," I whimpered, the word barely escaping the vice of his mouth.

Sphere's eyes searched mine, his smile never wavering. He leaned back, his gaze raking over me with a possessive hunger that made me feel like a toy in his hands. "Say it," he murmured, his thumb still stroking my sensitive flesh. "Tell me you want this."

I bit my lip, the fear and arousal warring within me. His touch was wrong, but my body responded regardless, betraying me with every shiver and gasp. "I-I don't know," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

Sphere's smile grew a little softer, his eyes searching mine for any sign of willingness. "Shh," he murmured, his thumb circling my clit with a gentle pressure that made my eyes roll back in my head. "Just tell me you want this, Y/N. Just say it." His voice was a seductive whisper, his eyes filled with a desperate need for my validation.

I swallowed hard, the fear giving way to a strange mix of emotions. His touch was wrong, but the pleasure was undeniable, a siren's song that I didn't want to resist. His hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm, coaxing a response from my body that I couldn't suppress. "I... I don't know," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

Sphere leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Say it," he urged, his voice a soft growl. "Say you want me." His thumb pressed down harder, and I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips. My body tensed, my breathing shallow and fast.

I stared into his eyes, the madness in them now a frenzied need for my acceptance. His hand moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, each stroke sending waves of conflicting emotions crashing through me. I didn't know if I wanted this, but I knew I didn't want to fight anymore. His grip on my hair loosened, his hand moving to cup my cheek instead, his thumb stroking my skin with a gentle tenderness that was at odds with the harshness of his earlier touch.

"Say it," he murmured, his breath hot and sweet, his eyes searching my face for any sign of submission. "Tell me you want me." His voice was a whisper of hope, a plea wrapped in the guise of a demand. The room spun around me, the clown's twisted world becoming my own, the line between fear and desire blurring into a haze of confusion.

My breath hitched as his thumb continued its torturous dance, the pleasure building in a crescendo that I couldn't ignore. "I..." I began, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what I want." Sphere's smile grew a fraction wider, his eyes lighting up with a dark triumph.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my cheek as his hand slid down to cup my chin. "Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice a seductive purr. "Let me make you happy." His hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, his grip firm but not painful. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, a silent request for entrance.

And with a tremble of defeat, I parted my lips, giving him the response he craved. "I... I want you," I whispered, the words barely more than a breath. His smile grew wider, his eyes alight with a dark victory. Without a moment's hesitation, he claimed my mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra.

The cool air of the dressing room hit my bare skin as he yanked the garment away, leaving me exposed to his hungry gaze. He pulled back, his eyes roaming over my breasts with a greed that sent a shiver down my spine. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. His hand slid up to cup one, his thumb flicking over the sensitive nipple.

Before I could process the sensation, Sphere was standing, lifting me with him, his hands never leaving my body. He laid me down on the chair, his eyes never leaving mine, the madness in them now mixed with something primal, something untamed. His costume was a mess of colors and fabric around us, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

He knelt between my legs, pushing them apart with a force that was surprisingly gentle, given his earlier aggression. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, cupping my breast in a firm grip that sent a jolt of pleasure through me despite the situation. His thumb circled my nipple, teasing it to a hard peak, while his other hand slid back down to my thigh, his fingers tracing the wetness that coated my skin.

Sphere's eyes never left mine, his smile a twisted mockery of the cheerful facade he had worn earlier. He leaned down, his mouth closing around my nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive flesh. I couldn't help the moan that escaped me, my body responding to his touch despite the fear that still held me captive. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, a hint of pain that only served to heighten the pleasure.

His hand slid down to my center, his fingers pushing aside the fabric of my shorts and underwear. I felt his thumb slide over my clit, the pressure building, the anticipation of what was to come making me squirm. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with need, his smile a twisted mockery of the gentle lover he had once pretended to be. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice a mix of triumph and insanity.

And then he was over me, his clown costume a blur of colors and the smell of greasepaint and sweat. He shoved my shorts and underwear down to my ankles, leaving me bare and vulnerable. His own costume was pushed aside, revealing his arousal, long and thick, standing at attention as he positioned himself between my legs. The room spun around me, the clown's laughter echoing in my ears as I stared up at him, my heart racing with a mix of fear and a twisted excitement that I didn't want to acknowledge.

With a single, brutal thrust, he filled me, his cock stretching me in a way that brought tears to my eyes. I bit back a scream, my nails digging into the chair's velvet armrests. His eyes never left mine, his smile never wavering as he began to move, his hips a blur as he fucked me with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of the situation, but the pleasure that followed was like nothing I had ever felt before.

Sphere's movements grew more erratic, his breathing ragged as he claimed my body with an intensity that was almost animalistic. I could feel every inch of him, his girth stretching me to the point of pain, his length hitting deep within me in a way that had me crying out with each thrust. His eyes searched mine, the madness in them now a wild, primal hunger that seemed to devour everything in its path.

The pain grew with every stroke, each thrust hitting a spot that had me seeing stars. My cries grew louder, my body shaking with the effort of holding on to my sanity. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, my nails digging deep into the chair's armrests. And yet, amidst the pain, there was a twisted pleasure that grew with every beat of my racing heart.

Sphere's rhythm grew erratic, his movements more frenzied as he approached his peak. His eyes remained locked on mine, the madness in them swirling like a vortex, threatening to pull me under. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came inside me, his eyes rolling back in his head as he released a guttural growl. The sensation sent me over the edge as well, my body spasming around his, my own climax ripping through me like a tornado, leaving me gasping for air.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, the pain grew more pronounced, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. I tried to push him off, my voice a hoarse whisper of protest, but he was too heavy, his weight pinning me to the chair.

Sphere's eyes rolled back in his head, a low moan escaping his lips as he collapsed against me, his chest heaving with the effort of his climax. For a brief moment, the madness receded, and I saw a glimpse of something almost human, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that sent a shiver down my spine.

He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering just above mine. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Mine to do with as I please." His hand slid up to my neck, his thumb pressing against my pulse, a silent reminder of his power over me. I tried to push him away, my strength drained from the intensity of what had just transpired, but his grip was unyielding.

With a sudden, brutal force, he pushed his hand over my mouth, stifling my screams as he climbed off the chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, a sinister grin playing at his lips as he moved to tie it around my eyes. The fabric was cold and rough against my skin, the darkness enveloping me like a second layer of fear.

"Sleep, Y/N"

My vision turns black, the handkerchief tight around my eyes, the fabric scratchy against my skin. I can feel Sphere's breath against my neck, his grip on my wrists tightening as he secures them behind my back. My heart races, the reality of what's happening setting in, my fear turning into a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

He stands me up, his hand guiding me to the center of the room. The floor feels cold and unforgiving beneath my bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the chair. His voice is a low murmur in my ear, the words lost in the cacophony of my panic-filled thoughts.

Sphere's hand moves from my waist to the back of my neck, his grip firm and unyielding. I feel his other hand lift, the air around me charged with the anticipation of impact. And then, with a swift, brutal motion, he slams the palm of his hand against the side of my head, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

------------

A/N: part two? ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ

87 notes · View notes