The only thing I will not write is smut for non adult characters. I would like to write for commission one day, but not now. Recs are closed for the time being ❤️ closing asks because people keep requesting stories and my inbox is full
(If it has a * it's NSFW - Assume all to be dead dove fics)
I need more male yanderes who are unapologetically, over-the-top, ridiculous. In both fiction and fanfiction fem yanderes are (somehow) allowed to be more creepy and weird than a lot of yan men are. Yandere men stories often quickly devolve into possessive smut, which I clearly don't mind, but like the lack of body diversity, it gets boring.
He's only been here for, like, one book so far, but I love this little sociopath.
So many fanfictions have them stealing our panties and boxers to masturbate into them, but not enough of these writers are brave enough to have our stalkers wear them afterwords! It's an outrage! A tragedy!
I want my missing socks to be slightly crusty, on the feet of some lunatic fantasizing about what I'll do when I find out.
(BTW, this is Snake from Nighthawk Returns. If you are okay with body shaming, it's a somewhat relatable manga -minus the assassin thing.)
Seriously, in anime and manga we'll see fem yanderes doing shit like, masturbating with their beloved's pencil, show the whole process of how someone often physically smaller would have to break in and abduct a heavier person, their shrine rooms, a bunch of stuff before the sex, if there even IS any. But dudes often are like, "I'm hot, you belong to me, time for dubcon." MAYBE they get a picture shrine!
And not enough ridiculous faces. We get hot guy smirks with shadows over the eyes. I CRAVE DERANGEMENT!!!
Whining, whimpering, rambling, babbling, maniacal laughter, face pulling, sobbing, pulling out their hair and tearing at their clothes, I NEED OBSSESSIVE LONGING AND LOVE, NOT LUST. I need men and monsters who are incapable of seeing that what they are doing is wrong, I need men and monsters grappling with the morality of their devotion.
The washer is a washer/dryer combo, that can hold a little over one outfit. The freezer can't hold all my usual groceries. The oven is so small that my cookie sheets don't fit.
I think I used too much soap in the washer, all I see are bubbles.
The drain wasn't unclogged from the previous tenants, so I had to do that.
The elevator hasn't worked for two days, so I can't get into the basement where the dumpster is.
I was being so strong, then last night I dreamt that he had moved on and found someone literally two days after we parted.
I'm so tired.
I wish he would call me. Apologize. Promise to get better.
I feel pathetic.
If my friend was in the same position as me I would encourage them to move on. But he was my best friend. And now I'm alone.
I just realized I have no friends. Moving the last of my stuff across town, only have one trip left and that's my cat, and opened my phone to call someone to talk to about this while walking.
I think I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I am in a toxic relationship. We've been together for nearly seven years, and for most of that I would say he has been my best friend.
He's the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with, the only one who understands me, and the only one who seems to be capable of looking past my mental "differences".
But he hurt me.
He keeps choosing his addiction over me.
I've spent thousands trying to get him help. I've cleaned up after him over and over again.
And I stayed with him after he cornered me in the bathroom and kicked me in the stomach.
I kept telling myself that it wasn't him, it was the alcohol, and the meth. That when he's sober he's my best friend.
But we got an eviction threat from him screaming at me. And he treated it like no big deal.
I've been trying to figure out how to get out.
I can't break my lease, and he's the one who adopted our cat. So I've been slowly over the past month trying to figure everything out. I don't know.
I'm full of a lot.
I had the idea before, that my relationship wasn't good, when he hit me on accident a year or so earlier. But I convinced myself it was no big deal. Because he started to go to AA.
Last week he went on another bender, and it hit me that I can't forgive him again.
CW: mentions of torture, death, suicide, possessive love, abuse, not proofread, second to last chapter
"Well, you're here early." The smile on his face was wide, but it didn't reach his irritated eyes. A young man with black hair and bright blue eyes leaned against a desk as (Reader) entered the attic, his back facing a wall of monitors showing the mansion and underground facility.
"I got tired of the 'festivities'." (Reader) replied dryly, throwing the mini computer at his feet. At their words his left brow twitched.
Taking a step forward, (Reader) suddenly became aware of the other person in the room. In the office chair by the young man there was a body, breathing. When he saw that (Reader) had taken notice he grinned and swiveled the chair around to face them; revealing (Reader).
The original (Reader).
They could tell it was the original doctor because of the age; the older (Reader) had wrinkles and signs of stress that the clones did not possess. But more startlingly was the fact that this (Reader) had been tortured. Their arms and legs were gone, and their eyes were being pried open by stitches.
'He's torturing the original Dr. (Reader) by making them watch what's happening to their clones. Most likely because of Proect December. ' (Reader) hypothesized, shuddering at the thought of what could have happened to make the OG doctor deserve such a fate.
"What is Project December?" They asked, tearing their eyes away from the mangled older version of themselves.
The man smiled again, hate seeping through his joyful gaze. He motioned to a glass case on the desk, controlled by an electronic keypad. Inside was a severed head. Almost two-thirds were missing, including one of the eyes and most of the face. (Reader) approached it, shivering involuntarily when they realized it's one blue eye was following their movements.
"I am Project December." The man stated. His voice was spiteful, spitting out of an angelic smile. "Well, he is. I'm just his clone."
(Reader) swallowed. "Did I, they, do this..?"
"No. No no no no.. We don't know how long he was like that for, or how he came to be. See, memories can't be transferred. They're formed via chemicals, so clones won't have memories of the people, or things, they were made from."
They looked down at the computer they threw at his feet. "I see.."
"That wasn't my brain child." He told (Reader) whilst tapping the back of his own neck. "Everything I did to you, I learned from you first. I'm not a scientist!"
The man childishly collapsed into the older (Reader's) lap, causing them to cry out in pain.
"You aren't a scientist.. you didn't make the clones very well.." (Reader) glared at him. "The hallucinations."
"Not intentional." He smirked. "Misfiring, crossed wires, but hey, I did my best!"
"So the project.." (Reader) thought about the signs they saw on the floor. Genetics. "It was probably to see how you were still alive after all this time. And how to replicate it."
"Even as a clone you're smart.." His smile turned sour again. He tightened a grip on the older (Reader), just to make them cry again. "I am not the first clone, only the most prefect."
(Reader) smiled back, gripping their axe in anticipation. "I'm sure it's difficult to clone a living human from a zombie head."
'That's where most, if not all, of the monsters came from.' They thought angrily.
His eyes furrowed, and his smile fell. "I really thought you cared about me."
"Hah!" (Reader) scoffed. "Why would you think that?!"
Closing his blue eyes, he leaned against the doctor, and for a moment he almost looked like a child trying to receive comfort from a parent. "They used to speak to the head and me. When no one was around. They said I was the most amazing thing in the world."
A stunned silence filled the room. (Reader) looked at the doctor, begging them with their eyes that it wasn't true. That they wouldn't treat a test subject like a human. But the doctor was warped with regret, and rage, tears spilling over their scabbed up cheeks.
"Then they invented the computer that connects all of our memories." His fingers began tightening around the doctor again. "And I watched through the eyes of others as Dr. (Reader) said the same thing, and felt their pain as the doctor ordered their bodies to be disposed of."
The attic air was thick.
"Once they sold the secret to my immortality, I'm sure I would have been disposed of next as well." He stood up, kicking the doctor in their thigh's bandaged stump.
After a tick or two (Reader) sighed, and dropped their weapon.
The loud noise genuinely startled the man, who looked at the younger version of his enemy in shock.
"Do you feel better?"
His eyes were wide, and the fake smile he had been wearing was nowhere to be seen.
"What?"
"After all of this, I was expecting something.. different." (Reader) smiled sadly. "Apologizing to you will do nothing, because even though I'm their clone, I didn't do those things to you. I thought after all of that, there would be some big, bad evil behind everything."
They sighed, then looked around, noting that aside from the desk and monitors it was a regular attic, packed with boxes and cobwebs.
There was also what looked to be a small fuel canister by an old fashioned lamp.
"So I'm just a pawn, in a revenge plot, against a scientist. You did awful, horrible things against me. Like I wasn't human. Like none of the me's were human. Because we looked like your enemy. But like you said, we don't have their memory."
(Reader) sauntered over towards the fuel whilst maintaining eye contact with the man, watching him sweat.
"But unlike you, I'm not going to hold that against you."
They picked up the red canister, and bent down, poiting at the man to keep his attention while they searched for a lighter.
"What does that mean?"
'Found it.'
They came back towards the desk, and saw the man flinch, again looking very childlike.
"You loved them." (Reader) didn't ask if, they already knew it to be so. They could feel it in the way reach and every monster killed them.
(Reader) sat on their own lap, and poured the fuel over the both of them.
The held up the lighter so the man could see it.
"I'm sorry, but this needs to end."
Dr. (Reader) struggled beneath them, attempting to say something. Their mouth was opened wide, revealing a lack of tongue.
The last thing (Reader) saw before the flames consumed them, was the look on the young man's face. It wasn't anger, or joy, or even confusion.
(Reader's) mind was filled with pain, unable to think rationally when a word popped into their head.
CW: Suicide, very brief mentions of sex, shorter chapter
Only wearing a hoodie, exhausted and afraid, (Reader) was ready to die.
They stood before the elevator shaft, the doors already pried open.
They knew what they had to do, but they also feared the pain that was going to accompany their choice. It was the easiest way to get to the man in the attic.
Hours later, their eyes opened again, submerged in fluid.
Quickly and methodically, just like they practiced in their imagination, (Reader) pulled the tube out of their throat, and swam to the top. It was a struggle, but after feeling around they found the door, releasing the liquid onto the floor.
Amongst the sounds of (Reader's) labored breathing was the chorus of zombies moaning bouncing around the walls of the basement.
'Move.' The newborn adult commanded their slimy limbs. 'MOVE.'
First they pulled themselves; then they shakily crawled.
It was painful, and they wondered how long they slept in the floral room after being pulled out of the tubes typically.
Their joints burned, but they got onto their feet, hobbling.
The back of their neck hurt more than usual, worrying (Reader) that this body wasn't fully cooked.
In the middle of the room, right by the elevator, was a pile of bodies, covered in black blood and cum. From the entanglement, and the missing limbs, (Reader) couldn't tell where one body ended and another began.
It was disgusting, and they snuck by easily, but as they got into the elevator and pushed the button to go up, what disgusted them most was making eye contact with themselves. A zombified (Reader) sat up amongst the crowd, skin tearing, scalp torn. Their eyes were dead and glazed, but their face was twisted in pleasure; mouth dropped open in the middle of an earth shattering orgasm as blood dripped from their lips.
The doors closed along with (Reader's) eyes.
They were so tired.
In the empty box, they made themselves a promise; "I'm going to end this."
A dead (Reader) lied under a dead giant, their ass still connected to his cock, the axe in his head presented to the alive (Reader) like Excalibur.
It hurt their shoulders to rip out of his skull, but they proved their worth, and got themselves a weapon once more. As they did so the pain in their neck spiked.
And they had a morbid idea.
(Reader) bent down, and using the axe they sliced open the back of the dead (Reader's) neck.
A small incision.
Something shiny glowed beneath the skin.
With their fingers, they pulled out a metal box, attached to wires that didn't want to release from their spine. 'A computer?'
They held it against the handle of the axe as they jumped back up, and continued their journey. What they wanted to do was sit, sit and think about the discovery, but they knew they didn't have time. (Reader) had to move.
'There's a pain in my neck with every life. There's something electrical in my neck. I am a clone. I cannot recall any memories from the original (Reader), only memories from the clone lives. It probably has to do with the wires in our necks. That's how we're all connected, I bet.'
Bugs bit (Reader's) nerves; their legs were turning into pudding. They had been counting to try to pass the time, but after a few hours, it depressed them into giving up.
Perhaps it was already night time.
Their stomach hurt like it was night time.
They had even relieved themselves on one of the floors.
They stood before an ornate door. It was the last and final door, the highest one they could find. (Reader) scrunched up their face, unsure of how to feel. Scared? Angry? Before anything could attack them from behind, (Reader) pushed open the door.
It feels like alot of writers dont actually like writing
Haha I love creating stories. It's very rewarding writing, but for most of us on the internet, we work, and after working we have to come home and clean, and even though we have all these awesome ideas that keep playing out like movies on our heads, when we go to type them out or write them down, our brains just go
It reminds me of a post from an comic I saw years ago, lamenting that they couldn't just slam their face down onto the page and the art would transfer from their imagination onto the page.
Creating is incredibly fulfilling, but some people have the motivation of Stephen King, who says to write five pages a day no matter what, and some people have the (unfortunate) pace of George R.R. Martin..
I love the feeling I get when I complete a story. And most days I genuinely enjoy writing. But my brain doesn't want to let me enjoy my hobbies, so I have to make myself do them, because I know that even when I'm not enjoying the process, I always enjoy the outcome. And when I get too bad mentally to enjoy the outcome also, I go radio silent for a month or two.
I don't know how people get though Kinktober and other monthly challenges (I spares suppose that's why they're called "challenges" haha)..
as someone who is used to doing writing challenges, (12 days of christmas, kinktober, genuary, monster march) it gets incredibly repetitive after some time, which is why it's so hard to finish.
honestly, it's totally okay to not finish the entire month, week, or whatever span it may be. i might skip a day or few, then come back to doing it.
just don't burn or sicken yourself out. a challenge is fun to do, but when it stops getting fun, it's an easy way to lose the motivation to *want* to finish it.
you could write a bunch of them, queue up the chapters, and just.. take a break, whatever your version of that may be. i usually do that, and while it does feel like cheating, it's much easier.
unsure if this may have helped, but i figured i'd share my own thoughts.
My ability to concentrate is actually really bad. Unless I get hyper focused. But I never get hyperfocused on something I want to. Like writing multi chapter stories or making doctor's appointments. But Vampire Survivors is 100 percent completed on my Xbox, so I feel like I deserve some kind of pat on the head.
Next time I promise I'll be more ready, but I had a story in mind, and it's like I forgot how long December was
(Reader) shoved handfuls of crushed chips into their mouth, pissed, sitting on the floor of the lab next to the corpse of the headless monster.
'How much longer do I have to go through this?' They thought, bitterly, while shaking salty dust into their mouth. It was tiring trying to survive, and they were ready for the nightmare to be over. It was hell.
Hell.
They wondered how they knew what that word was, or what any words were. (Reader) knew that they were one of many, somehow all linked together, and that their memories only began with December.
"Hey, listen." (Reader) addressed the room, standing, "I know you have some deep reason for doing this to me, but your question is stupid. The reason why people used to tell scary stories in the winter was probably because they had nothing else better to do."
Winter is cold.
The snow stung their skin as the pig man drug them outside. It was dark.
Summer
Another word they knew. It was sunny. More to do.
Television
The world is advanced in a way it wasn't back then.
'They were probably just bored.'
Static popped angrily. "You aren't playing the games correctly." The man stated. His voice was sharp, but not raised. Like someone on the verge of snapping; barely keeping themselves from losing their patience.
"What floor are you on?"
Hands began to grow from the ceiling, lazily stretching down towards (Reader).
"I knew you wouldn't play fair, but you still made it too far too quickly.." The man grumbled. (Reader) couldn't tell if he was impressed or irritated. "You killed the one taking care of the clones."
"Yup. So we might as well finish this before I starve to death."
They left the room as it filled with limbs. The still hungry adult looked about the new floor, and saw actual signs.
Research Facility
The Magnus Corporation
Genetic Researching
"But there's only one problem.." (Reader) had a chill run down their spine as they could practically feel him smiling. "I'm still in the mansion."
"That's impossible!!" (Reader) screamed. "I checked that entire fucking building!"
"You didn't check the attic."
(Reader) dropped their arms, nearly losing their knife.
"Enjoy the festivities, (Reader). Happy Holidays."
All hope had left their body like liquid dripping out of their pores.
They numbly wandered the halls.
'How do I even get back up there?'
(Reader) was too drained to even cry. Their body shuffled as an empty husk, incapable of processing anything as a way of protecting itself.
They didn't, couldn't, focus on anything as they moved, until a nameplate lit up. Attention grabbing, it was identical to every plate they had passed before, but the name had caught their eye.
[READER L/N]
Muscle memory pushed the door open, finding a tiny office, packed with stacks of boxes full of barely organized papers. Pictures of (Reader) hung on the wall, along with certificates and degrees.
A computer was open on the desk.
(Reader) gently touched the mouse, and it turned on, revealing that it wasn't password locked. There was a folder open. It looked like someone had been in the middle of working on something when the facility got shut down.
[Project December]
But almost everything looked like it had been deleted.
(Reader) flopped into the office chair.
There was no way this computer would have been left unlocked, and on that folder, even if the majority of it's contents had been nuked. The man watching them wanted them to find it.
They sighed, and laid their head down on the desk.
'What I know so far is:
I'm a clone of a doctor,
There were many clones,
There is a recurring pain in my neck across clones,
I sometimes see hands or figures, these seem to be hallucinations,
Every humanoid monster is male, has black hair and blue eyes; and if they speak, they sound like the man on the intercom,
I am being watched by someone hiding in the attic,
This all has something to do with Project December.'
They shrugged the backpack off their back, and pulled the rest of their bounty out. Feasting on bags of chips and cookies while looking through the computer to see if there was anything else useful.
A plan had formed in (Reader's) mind, but they didn't like it.
Unfortunately, it was the only plan they could think of.
They turned off the computer, and crawled under the desk, curling up into their hoodie and using the backpack as a pillow. For now, they sleep.
[Emergency Power On] a robotic voice woke (Reader), startling them into smacking their head into the metal cupboard. Their body ached, and their legs had gone numb because of the position.
'How long was I sleep?!' They thought panickedly whilst crawling out into the dark kitchen. Although, they supposed it didn't really matter how long they were out for; the only thing that mattered was that they were still alive.
And starving.
(Reader) ransacked the room, finding plenty of packaged snacks, but no preparable foods or ready to eat meals. So breakfast consisted of multiple packets of chips and a sleeve of cookies. They also found a backpack with a hoodie and five dollars.
The hoodie was nice, it covered them more than the torn lab coat; and the backpack held the rest of the snacks from the kitchen.
Outside the kitchen was equally dark. The only light source was a flashing red light.
(Reader) held a makeshift weapon, a kitchen knife duct taped to a broom handle, with another knife in their hoodie pocket.
Of all the lives they lived, this one felt the most dangerous, not only because it felt like the last one available to them, but also because they had to worry about their body in ways they hadn't before. Like in that moment, they needed to search for a 'toilet'.
Something screeched from a few halls down. (Reader) gripped their spear and turned a different direction.
They felt as though they had explored the entire floor, but couldn't find a staircase.
'If I can't find a way down, maybe I'll make a way..' (Reader) didn't want to risk climbing down the elevator shaft. They could only imagine the man watching them restarting the elevator while they were climbing down, and getting torn to bits. Glancing around the strange office the exhausted survivor saw a vent, a little too high for them to reach, but it's gate was abnormally large.
Using a desk they dragged over to stand on as a ladder, (Reader) screwed off the cover with their pocket knife.
Gently, they slid the spear into the vent, which loudly clanked, before pulling themselves up and into it with some difficulty. It made a groaning sound under the weight, but it felt as though it would hold.
Army crawling through metal vents with a long wooden weapon is difficult as is, but attempting to accomplish it stealthily was basically impossible. The vents were not designed to hold human bodies, and creaked with (Reader's) every movement, echoing it for miles.
But they nervously continued regardless, and the first drop they came across, they went down.
It was steep and the moment they dropped in, (Reader) regretted it.
At the bottom, loud as hell, a giant fan whirled.
(Reader) caught themselves on the corners, barely surviving, but trapped. They didn't allow themselves enough time to think through the plan that instantly popped into their brain, because they knew if they did it would fill them with doubt and deter them from going forth with it.
The spear thrust forward, lodging into the giant blades, catching them for just long enough for (Reader) to jump in again, hearing the blades eat their spear almost as soon as they passed the fan.
Bam!
Their body hit metal hard, busting it open. (Reader) fell through the vents, and into the next floor.
(Reader's) first thought was that they had almost lost control of their bowels with the harsh fall, holding their stomach painfully; their second thought was that their snacks were probably destroyed.
Annoyed, they rolled up onto their knees.
"Hey, mister." They called out to the man. "Can you at just tell me what floor you're on?"
The room they fell into looked like a laboratory, with equipment and medicine behind glass cabinets. Unlike the last floor, it didn't seem to be on emergency power yet.
"I know you said I as here for 'festivities', or whatever, but I need a goal, man. I need, I dunno. An end." They picked up a glass cup before angriy putting in back down. "A finish line. A reason to care. An explanation. Something!"
Something behind (Reader) shattered.
"You never told me why we used to tell ghost stories during the winter time." The voice condescendingly chastised.
(Reader) whipped around to find another black haired, blue eyed zombie. They pulled out their knife, ready to defend themselves, when his face opened up like a flower blooming, and a long tentacle like tongue shot out at them before they could react. It wrapped around their head, and pulled them in, yanking them from across the room. The petal like pieces of flesh wrapped around (Reader's) face as the tentacle released them, only removing itself from around their head to shove itself into their head.
Unable to turn their face, the tentacle slid down their throat quickly, making (Reader) gag. They hit his shoulders and tried to pry his fingers away from their hips, but it did nothing.
The tentacle had thick, mucus-y bumps that (Reader's) throat couldn't adjust to; they tickled their gag reflex and made them feel like they were choking with every thrust.
Whatever the substance was that was oozing off as well was incredibly revolting. It was like they could smell it's taste. Every time a bump rubbed across their tongue it would leak the viscos goo, and they wished he could see the disgust on their face.
Fishing through their pockets, they finally grabbed the knife, and stabbed him in the gut.
But he kept fucking their face.
It was completely dark inside of his face folds, so they couldn't see what was going on. They stabbed him again. And again. The tentacle sped up. They stuck the knife in and twisted it as harshly as they could.
Zombie
Pop culture
More words they didn't understand!
Scary stories
Remove the head
Destroy the brain
(Reader) blindly reached with one hand, waving around until they slapped the man's neck; then they began rapidly stabbing and slashing it.
The tentacle didn't stop, like it was an autopilot.
It went deeper into (Reader's) throat, cumming straight into their stomach.
(Reader) heard the man' body falling to the floor as they finally decapitated him. Carefully, they peeled his face off of their's, and slowly pulled the tentacle out of their neck.
As the last of the long, slightly grey, pink, pimpled dick skin tendril was removed from their body, (Reader) wretched, vomiting whitish bile all over the dead corpse in from of them. The force of their stomach contracting as they barfed up their modest lunch caused (Reader) to have another first, a first that made them happy for the first time in days that they didn't have pants.
Recoiling from the everything in front of them, (Reader) stumbled back, contemplating whether or not they even wanted to continue exploring, or just go back to sleep.
An elevator in the examination room took (Reader) to a part of the building they couldn't conceive of before; down further below the basement. They felt they weren't even in the original mansion anymore.
In order to work the elevator they had needed a name tag, which they had pulled off of the pants pantsless doctor who's throat they had slit open. But the picture on the keycard didn't match his face. It belonged to some other scientist with plain looks and light brown hair.
On the ride down, (Reader) stared at the name tag in wonder. All the creatures and men they had met thus far (that had hair at all) had had black, slightly wavy hair, and (when possessing visible eyes) very blue eyes. But the man in the picture was tired, with stubble, dark hazel eyes that were grey with age, and white streaks in light brown, shortly cropped hair.
He was just a man.
(Reader) placed the lanyard around their neck. It gave them more comfort and security than the lab coat they wore.
The elevator rocked, opening shakily, as if it was being remotely controlled. Only thirteen floors down of what seemed to be fifty.
A spacious, futuristic metal, round room branching off into hallways greeted (Reader)
However, the blinking red light in the corner revealed the camera.
"You weren't supposed to kill him." The intercom voice chastised. He sounded genuinely frustrated. "Do you know what you've done?"
(Reader) shrugged nonchalantly, hoping he hadn't seen them slip the multiple scalpels into the coat's pockets. "Yeah, I do. He was the one bringing my bodies up to the starter room."
"And you-"
"But I hated that wallpaper." (Reader) cut him off while entering a hall, looking for rooms and clues and danger. "Guess I just can't die now."
The floor wasn't empty like the mansion upstairs was. It seemed to be a security wing, with computers meant to monitor the (apparent) facility, but everything looked to be damaged; wires were torn up and monitors were smashed. Files were filtered through, and there was a lot of paperwork that looked like it was burned in a trash bin fire.
"You still there?"
"You asked me once, why we once told scary stories during this time of year. Why?"
Unlike in the house part, the walls were too wide and the speakers were of a better quality down below, so (Reader) couldn't tell if he was still poised at the microphone or not.
Unfortunately, (Reader) had the feeling that the man watching them had something to do with the elevator ceasing it's function; so they would have to find another way down.
Their stomach growled, and for the first time in a long time they remembered that there were other things to worry about other than monsters. Eating. Sleeping. They hadn't lived long enough for their first bowel movement, but they instinctively knew about them.
Fridge.
'What is a fridge?' The word had popped into their head, yet again, just like they knew all the words they knew. 'It was in the kitchen. I saw a big fridge. It keeps food cold. There are-'
Mini fridge.
'yes. The mini fridge, for snacks. Maybe in offices, in-'
Break rooms.
(Reader) began looking under desks for mini refrigerators. But when they couldn't find anything, they began searching the floor for a break room.
There weren't any signs up, like whoever designed the floor preferred the futuristic metal spaceship look so much they couldn't hang up any maps or it would ruin the ambiance.
Door after door, (Reader) was being flashbacks to exploring the mansion at the beginning of the month and getting nothing. But this time, they've already been alive for a day, going into their second. They were feeling weird.
"Growl!"
(Reader's) belly protested existing, just as they threw open a door, discovering what looked like a cafeteria.
They ran past the overturned chairs and messy tables, straight towards the kitchen area, where a winged creature was startled awake.
The giant mothman like thing rose, spraying (Reader) with silk.
"Ah, come on!" They screamed, fed up with the monsters. They grabbed a scalpel from their pocket, but couldn't pull themselves away from the spot they had landed in to charge the being: the silk was gluing them to the floor.
The creature pounced, pushing (Reader's) knees up into their chest, which rode the jacket up, exposing themselves to it. Rubbing its more bug like abdomen against (Reader), they felt it push a softer, wetter version of it's silk towards their ass.
(Reader) desperately pulled against the silk, but it wouldn't budge; and because of the position the two were in, despite waving their arm, they couldn't reach it with their little surgical blade.
Something poked out of the moth and pressed against (Reader's) hole.
They craned their neck down as hard as possible to see what it was, before screeching in terror.
The moth was pushing an egg slowly into (Reader's) asshole.
"Fuck no! Not again!" They cried out, flailing harder.
Because of the softer silk it slid in despite (Reader) clenching as tightly as they could.
Anther egg pressed against them.
(Reader) felt the buttons pop off their coat, and they lept from it, throwing themselves at the mothman. Their scalpel pierced it right between it's eyes.
It threw (Reader) against the wall, but before it could retaliate, they had fished another scalpel out of the coat in the floor, and was on top of the creature, stabbing it.
They didn't stop stabbing until it stopped twitching.
(Reader) kicked it out of anger.
"FUCK!"
They squat, scared of waiting too long, remembering what happened the last time eggs were involved. Their fingers quickly went up to touch their backside, pressing inwards, but it was too deep.
Taking a deep breath, they closed their eyes in embarrassment. Then, they pushed.
Pushing as hard as they could, they could feel the rather large ball move inside of them, rolling downwards. They imagined the intercom man watching them on the security camera, and felt a burning shame ignite across their back and face, making them lose focus, and feel the egg roll back up.
Sweat formed under their arms as they pushed again, collapsing from their squat onto their knees. Their held their ass open with their hands, nails digging into their cheeks as they struggled to force out the unwanted item.
Pain ripped at them as it touched their entrance, and they wanted to grab it with their fingers and just pull it out, but it was so wet from the silk that touching it accidently pushed it back in a little.
Every time it went back in, (Reader) groaned, almost on the verge of crying. Their head hurt from pushing so hard; a vein in their temple was pulsating and their body was shaking like they had been doing sit ups.
They nearly wanted to give up, look for a pair of tongs or try to stab it with a fork and pull it out, when suddenly a wave a relief washed over them, and something wet rolled into their leg.
(Reader) grabbed a large frying pan, and smashed the egg to pieces.
No longer hungry, they crawled into an empty cupboard to fall asleep, thankful to be alive.
Failed a quiz required for a job I wanted 🥲 so I've been reading your kirtch fics for comfort. Thought I should say thank you lol. They're super good. 💜
I'm glad my stories can help out during harder times ♡ I feel you on the job ＿|￣|● I genuinely hope that better opportunities come your way!!
They were lying on something very cold, in an unfamiliar place. But they didn't feel like they were a zombie anymore, which meant that it was their next life.
The light was blocked by a head, but because the light had been so bright it created a shadow so dark (Reader) couldn't make out any features on the person inches from their face.
"Oh dear, you aren't supposed to be awake yet."
At the recognition of the voice, (Reader) tried to sit up quickly, but their body was stiff and heavy. They also realized that breathing was fairly difficult, just like their first day.
(Reader) remembered all of the vats of them. The tubes down their throats.
That first day, the voice had told the it was a "pregame". With how difficult it was just to function, that first body wasn't meant to survive at all, just allow (Reader) to learn the "controls", in a way.
But how did the memory get passed on between all the different bodies?
(Reader) tried to force their fingers to bend. They understood the movement, but their body didn't. Like a freshly awoken coma patient relearning to live. Their eyes began to focus, the fuzzy shapes around them taking shape. Metal tables, of all sizes; little tools, big tools, all medical looking; lots of surgical steel and white. Looking up they noticed that the entire ceiling was one large mirror.
A man with black hair wearing a white lab coat walked around upside down around the room.
(Reader) couldn't turn their head yet, only their eyes, so they watched the man they had seen in the basement before as he wandered around cleaning things and writing down notes.
They were in a chair, but a few feet away they could see the rolling metal table that he had been pushing earlier, wet.
'I think my body was on that.' (Reader) decided, realizing how their new life's got from the basement to the starting room.
Choking on nothing, they forced out "Wh- who are you?"
In the mirror, they watched him walk back over towards them, standing near their head, just out of view of their peripherals.
He breathed heavily for a few seconds, just staring.
"I wish I could tell you."
A tear slid down (Reader's) cheek. "The game is to survive, right? Can't I at least get some clues? Hints? I- I keep dying.."
"Yes, however.." He leaned over (Reader), and they witnessed his disturbingly bright blue eyes staring at them with dilated pupils, "you have a whole month to play, so you don't need help just yet."
To the dismay of the man, (Reader) wouldn't fall back asleep.
As they fought the drugs being pumped into their arm via IV drip, (Reader) felt the same, now familiar, pain in the back of their neck. They waited for the arms to appear, but no hands jumped out at them. Instead, as their eyes turned up towards the mirror, they saw themselves, smiling down/up at them.
Fear crashed into their stomach.
Their reflection stood up.
Slowly reaching towards the glass, they pushed through it, and it shattered around their fingers in slow motion. Like water, it rippled around the naked reflection, clinging to their body as they continued descending down towards the real (Reader).
The spider-like being wearing a dress of mirror shards stopped within kissing distance of (Reader), smiling.
Then, it dropped.
Lowering it's lower half, glass fell to the floor around the medical chair (Reader) was lying on, scaring them into squeezing their eyes shut. But when they opened them again, they gasped in horror.
The reflection (Reader) sunk into (Reader's) midsection, merging their bodies together.
When the reflection was pelvis deep, it stopped melting. Gripping (Reader's) ribs, it thrust forward.
"Fuck!"
(Reader) cried out, unable to contain the sudden feeling they experienced. It felt like-
The other (Reader) bucked inside of them again, making (Reader) twitch in the chair and earning another gasp of pleasure.
Moving deep inside of them in a way they hadn't experienced before, it was immediate pleasure without the pain. Heat filled their body and (Reader) could feel themselves shake with arousal. They wanted to touch themselves. They wanted it more. Wanted it harder.
They barely heard the doctor approach them.
"Are you trying to seduce me right now?"
His question sounded ridiculous.
Their midsection was fucked by their doppelganger right in front of him, hitting (Reader) deeper than any man ever could. They bit their lip, ignoring the doctor.
Reality had become too absurd for the adult to care.
The doctor moved behind the reflection, out of (Reader's) view, but over their own moaning they could hear him unbuckle his belt.
And like many of the monsters in that house, he didn't bother with lubricating (Reader's) newly virginal anus. They felt him stick two fingers in, and roughly pull them open to try and widen their hole as much as possible, before he pushed himself in dry in rhythm with the other (Reader) fucking their guts.
The sudden pain was like a chain that ripped (Reader) out from heaven and back into hell.
It didn't matter how good they felt, or allowed themselves to feel. Because at any moment, a monster would hurt them.
He jackhammered quickly into them, and they could feel the sharp sting of his zipper smacking their ass. The gentle hand of their doppelganger caressed their cheek, and they realized the other (Reader) wasn't looking at them.
It was looking at a tray next to them.
At a scalpel.
(Reader) didn't know how they were able to move, but the reached over, and grabbed the scalpel, swinging in front of them as quickly as they could.
The doctor grabbed his slit throat, gurgling, before collapsing to the ground, choking on his own blood.
(Reader) stood, shaky as they were the first day they lived, the pain in their neck finally subsiding, and took note of the fact that the mirror was still in tact.
