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slasherscream · 3 months ago

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crazy ass boys gang + reader who threatens to leave (part two: CAPTIVITY)

warnings: extreme yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. part one can be found here.

BILLY LOOMIS:

The days move at a snail’s pace. There’s little distraction available to you.

Billy has always thought you were clever. A survivor. It’s one of the reasons he fell in love. That sharpness to you. But it makes you completely untrustworthy, given the circumstances. And the circumstances are this: your life for the last few weeks has consisted of being chained to the bed.

Not all the time. Not when Billy is home, and can watch you. But when he goes to work, or goes off to kill, Billy takes out the cuffs, and meticulously locks your ankles and feet to the bed. The dark look on his face as he does it makes you watch the process in silence.

He’s been killing more often. You hope, absently, that he’s still being careful to not get caught. In the years since you two had been together he’d slowed down.

Now, it feels like every other night, you were watching him get ready to go out as Ghostface.

You can tell when he’ll go out next by how he treats you the day before. You two don’t talk anymore. You eat together in silence. Sit together in silence. He watches the dark silhouette of your body through the shower curtain, in silence. (You’re never alone, anymore, when you do anything. When you’re allowed to do anything. You don’t have even a sliver of his trust left.)

But how he watches you is the tell.

His expression has been a mask of neutrality, since the moment you first woke up, cuffed to the bed.

On the days before he goes out to kill, though? Those are the days where the mask keeps cracking. Small glimpses at the anger sitting in his chest like a second heart, beating steadily. The silence only makes it worse. Makes the anger red hot and blinding.

It’s the icy silence of a lover scorned, on his part. And yours is the fearful silence of the last survivor of a horror movie trying to evade the killer at the end.

The two of you used to laugh together. Laugh, and smile, and love each other. But you, apparently, don’t love Billy anymore.

But Billy still loves you. So he stares at you until he gets too angry to think straight. And he goes out and kills as many people as it will take to keep himself from ever hurting you.

JOSH WASHINGTON:

You’re getting sick of hearing how sorry he is.

He says it endlessly. Like a prayer. Like a compulsion. The words fall out his mouth as easily as breaths do.

It feels like you wake up to his apologies and fall asleep to them each night.

Josh only tied you up that one time, at the start. He apologizes about it often. “I panicked. I’ll never do it again. Not ever. I’m sorry.” You believe him, maybe you shouldn’t, but you do. He’d untied you as soon as you’d begun to rub your wrists raw from trying to get out of the cuffs.

Once upon a time, you used to use those cuffs on him, at the start of everything. Back when Josh felt he was more monster than Human. Back when he didn’t trust himself not to hurt you. You’d obliged him and would cuff him to the bed before you went to sleep each night, even as you whispered: you couldn’t hurt a fly, Washington.

You feel like a fly now, in a nasty spider’s web. But you don’t even bother struggling.

When you’d rescued him from the mountains, his parents had set you both up somewhere remote. Not on another mountain, of course, but in a comfortable cabin out in a forest. No neighbors for miles and miles. Everything you need gets delivered to you twice a month. You used to make the lists of the necessities and send it off to the Washingtons, who were only too happy to give you anything you asked for.

You’re still getting the deliveries, so you guess Josh has taken over that chore of communicating with his parents.

You could run away. You could. But you remember how hard it was to out run the monsters on the mountain. You remember watching your friends die, one by one. By claws and by teeth, as they tried to run away. You watched almost all of them die. Or found their bodies.

Josh wouldn’t kill you. Despite everything, you know he isn’t capable of that.

Sometimes he still reaches out and touches your wrist, where you’d made yourself bleed with the cuffs, and looks sick to his stomach. They hadn’t even left a mark. But Josh stares at your wrists like a kicked dog, like any day, all these months later, they’ll show up by magic.

No, Josh wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t even hurt you. But you know you wouldn’t get very far. The forest isn’t a mountain, but it’s close enough. Sometimes you sit on the porch and just look out at all the trees that border the property line, and try to think about how long it would take him to catch you.

Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? You always make yourself laugh, with that last one.

He’d never let you run for that long. He’d be terrified you’d get lost. Get hurt. He’d drag you back to the cabin, arms a tight-but-never-bruising cage around your waist, and you could claw him to shreds like a hellcat all the while, and you know the only thing he’d say would be: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

You don’t want to hear him say it anymore because it isn’t true. For every apology he gives you, every tearful glance, there’s something beneath it - utter relief, delight, that he’s even able to tell you he’s sorry. That he can reach out and put a hesitant hand on your arm. That he can look over and see you stewing in your anger.

If Josh let you leave he would have been alone. And Josh has been alone before. He can’t handle it. Not for one second longer. So all that’s left to say is sorry.

STU MACHER:

It’s terrifying how normal he acts.

Love had blinded you before. You’re not sure how, but now you can see Stu for exactly what he is. You don’t ever let yourself forget now. You’d made that mistake once, you can’t make it again.

You’re not sure how no one else sees it.

You watch him endlessly. It’s all you can do. Always on edge. Always waiting for him to snap. You watch him at parties while he effortlessly holds the attention of the room. You watch him during dates, while he talks to the waiter like they’re long lost pals. You watch him charm all your friends, all your family. You watch how everyone laughs off all the little creepy things he says. He slips up so often. But he smiles just as often, and his laugh is contagious. The whole world has written him off as an eternally playful man-child. Peter Pan, born again.

You flinch whenever he comes up behind you, draping himself onto your body in that playful way he always has.

You’d never focused on how much stronger he was before. Now, it’s all you ever think about. You close your eyes, and feel the strength in his arms, and plaster a smile on your face, thinking: Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

He seems to have moved on so completely from it all. You wake up in the middle of the night in tears, remembering how much blood had covered your apartment on the worst night of your life. Stu marked the date on your calendar as your new anniversary.

The heart he made had been comically large, eclipsing the tiny box of the day in red marker. You’d forced yourself to laugh at the enthusiasm and give him a kiss on the cheek. His eyes had been glued to your face. For just a beat too long. You watching him. Him watching you. He’s always watching you now. You feel the burn of his gaze on the back of your neck like a second sun.

You’d felt your smile shaking at the edges. Your eyes starting to sting. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You begged yourself as those sharp blue eyes scrutinized you. Waiting for you to slip. But you didn’t, so he grabbed you around the waist, dipped you low, and kissed you like you were a lead in a rom-com at the end of the movie.

“We’re almost at our happily ever after, you know.” He’d slyly said at a party with all your friends and family, his arm thrown casually over your shoulder.

He playfully tells your best friend they’re gonna have to help him pick out a ring soon. Everyone laughs and congratulates you. Tells you how lucky you are.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and make yourself laugh too, “Don’t I know it!”

JASON DEAN/JD:

You have to say I love you a lot more.

He doesn’t ask for the words. He never would, beyond saying them first and giving you an expectant look. Green eyes boring into yours, begging you to say it back. You could so easily interpret that expectant look as a demand. But you know it isn’t. It’s desperation.

You say it more because there’s a pit in your stomach. And it twists every time you see how much worse the tangled weeds of that desperation for your love has gotten within JD.

He’s your shadow, more often than not. Like if he takes his eyes off you for just a second too long you’ll disappear. It wouldn’t be an unfounded fear, with the life he’s lived. All that he’s lost.

You don’t know why you said something so cruel to him. So thoughtless. JD pushes because he likes the passion you two share. Because he needs to know you care. Not because he wants to push you away. And now he looks at you like a kicked dog every time he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you’re always paying attention.

You wish you could take the words back. Pluck them from the air and swallow them down, bury them somewhere deep inside you.

I didn’t mean them. I swear I didn’t mean them. I was just stressed. You just push me so much. But you keep those words inside too. It’s bad enough you said them once. You don’t want to remind JD of them. Bring them up again. It’s clear from how he’s acting they’ve been bouncing around his head already.

He’s been more quiet than usual. Trapped in his head. He doesn’t even look up when you walk into the room. The look on his face makes you ache.

You curl up into his side, wrapping your arms around him, and squeeze as tight as you can. So he can feel you by his side, solid and permanent. “I love you, JD.”

He turns to look at you. Those sharp eyes searching for any hint you don’t mean it. That these pretty words are the lie, and the wanting to leave him was the nasty truth.

You meet his gaze head on. You would tell him how sorry you are, but you don’t want to think about how cruel you can be, when you get mad. “I love you.” You repeat, instead.

Finally he smiles at you, “Yeah, I know you do, darlin’.”

KEVIN KHATCHADOURIAN:

You don’t have to pretend you’re happy. In fact, when you try, it makes Kevin very angry.

He never tells you to stop. But whenever you try to fake a little enthusiasm. Put on a little smile you don’t mean… the look on his face is enough to make you feel sick. His expression hardly moves. It’s the look in his eyes. Like he wants to hurt you. Badly.

So you stop pretending.

He demands your presence. Your attention. He doesn’t want your disingenuous attempts to placate him.

You sit in silence more often than not.

You used to try and fill the air between you. The more he would stare at you, the more you would talk. He’d hardly blink. Just watching as you’d wind yourself up under the force of your own anxiety. He rarely told you to be quiet. You think Kevin must’ve liked watching you squirm. Watching you uhm and ah, only pausing for breaths, because otherwise the silence would be deafening. And all that would be left would be the suffocating weight of his gaze.

You don’t bother talking now. What could you say?

Now you stare back. He’d almost looked surprised, the first time. When you turned to look at him, while he looked at you. You didn’t stop until it was time for you to head home.

That’s how you spend all your time with each other now. You arrive at his home. You take off your shoes. You make your way to his bedroom. Sit on his bed. You take a deep breath, and then you stare at him, and he stares back.

You hate him. A very big part of you hates him. An even bigger part of you is terrified of him.

You carry on like this for months. Passing the time. Feeling isolated. Like a trapped mouse, or bird in a cage, even as you live every aspect of your life completely identical to the way you did before you knew what Kevin was capable of. There’s no chain around your wrist or ankle. No guillotine blade on your neck. But the threat is still there, and life feels paper thin now. Like some veil has been pulled back. It all feels meaningless.

You hate him. But there’s no one you can talk to. No one to turn to. You don’t dare turn to anyone else.

So one day, while you’re staring each other down you reach into the space between you on the bed with your hand, and lay it down palm up. Kevin’s eyes flicker down, sizing up your hand, sizing up you. After a long moment he puts his hand in yours.

You go back to staring at each other.

NATHAN PRESCOTT:

Nathan hates the way you flinch when he gets too close.

He tries to be understanding. He doesn’t have a right to be hurt, after what he’s done. It hurts anyway. He just tries not to let it show. He’s sure that would make you angry. Him walking around like a little victim when he fucking kidnapped you. He makes himself angry. He makes himself sick.

But at least he has you. You hate his guts, but you’re with him.

Nathan tries to tell himself that’s all that matters. But he misses the way things used to be like he’d miss a leg that got cut off. Phantom aches all day long. Every time he looks at you, and finds you already looking at him, hatefully. You used to look at him like you’d never get tired of him.

He still wants to know what finally made you tired of him. But he doesn’t have the right to ask. So he doesn’t ask.

He reinforced the cabin so you can’t get out. If you try you’ll have to make so much noise there’s not a hope in hell he won’t hear. He can’t bear to tie you up, or chain you. You’re a fighter, and he’s not much of one, so he probably should. But he can’t. He’d tried and it made him sick. He’d actually thrown up over it.

He keeps you lightly drugged instead.

He’d thrown up over that too. But he had to do something.

He’s always careful about the dosage. Careful about every step of the process. He’ll never mess it up. Not ever. He loves you. He’d hurt you once, and he’ll never do it again. He doesn’t want to fight you. Doesn’t want you to fight each other.

You love each other. It might take a while, but one day you’ll remember that. Until you do, you’ll both stay here, far away from anyone else. Nathan hopes you’ll remember soon.

SEBASTIAN VALMONT:

He’s going to make you fall in love with him again.

If he was stronger he’d let you go. Hell, he wouldn’t have paid someone to kidnap you in the first place. But Sebastian has always gotten everything he wanted. And he’s never wanted anything as much as he wants you. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you. Maybe, before you, he never loved anyone at all.

You split his chest open and carved out a space inside him where only you can fit. You’re the single occupant of his heart. Forever. You can’t expect him to just turn it off. Can’t expect him to forget you. He tried, and he failed.

So now he’s going to try something else. He’s going to win you back. Obviously, this isn’t the best starting point. But there have been worse starting points for rekindling a romance.

He hires only one chef and one maid for your new penthouse. He pays them very well to never ask any questions. And to never, ever help you escape. The money is too good to turn down. Life-changing, really. So they never help.

It’s just you and him. The way it was always meant to be.

You do candlelit dinners every night. You wake up, every morning, to flowers outside your door. Sebastian fulfills your every desire. Hangs on to your every word. You can have anything you want. Do anything you want. You just can’t leave. Not yet. Not until you’re in love with him again. Then life can go back to normal.

He’d laughed when you asked him if he was going to keep you in the penthouse with him forever. He laughed until he had to wipe a tear from his eye. Then he leaned forward and kissed you softly. “No, sweetheart, I’m not crazy. Just crazy about you.”

There are a lot of locks on the front door. You’ve never even seen the keys for them. The windows don’t open. Even if they did… the penthouse is twenty stories up, you wouldn’t survive the fall.

Sebastian opens your bedroom door, giving you a smile that’s both cocky and charming. Hiding something behind his back. Another gift. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

You smile. Reflex, and don’t know if it’s because you’re too scared not to, or because looking at him makes you want to smile. Sebastian gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek, the way he does when he’s happy.

Nothing makes Sebastian more happy than getting what he wants.

A/N: we all know it took me forever to do this part two. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo

#billy loomis x reader #josh washington x reader #stu macher x reader #jd x reader #sebastian valmont x reader #nathan prescott x reader #kevin khatchadourian x reader #jason dean x reader #crazy ass boys gang #i cannot stress enough everyone clap for this or ill blow up the building adjkl

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