disclaimer : all graphics are made by me unless stated otherwise.
manga credit : the princess is impregnated by the obsessive prince (i aspire to draw like this one day omfg đđ)
prompt : rich yandere pays his neighbors into obedience to make sure you can never leave
character : sebastian pavlov
cw : horror, yandere tendencies, drugging, reader is being held captive, blackmailing, reader is gender neutral, older man
a/n : hand hurt, canât draw. had this idea for months. lore is basically the title, rich guy pays people IF they help bring the reader back
you slam the door shut hard enough to wake the dead.
you pull back because you realize youâre taking your anger out on a lock and you donât want to break it.
âŠbut youâre still upset.
you pace the guest bedroom like a caged animal.
how many days has it been?
how long have you been here?
your sense of time really shouldnât be in question.
though, you suppose being upset at your captor all the time.Â
the argument wasnât anything special.
just more of âyou canât keep me here. this isnât fair.â
he never yelled or snapped like you did.
thatâs what made it worse.
heâs not supposed to be patient with you.
heâs supposed to think this is too much work and itâs just not worth the trouble.
however, todayâheâd cut it short.
something about having a headache.
you hated when you felt that twinge of guilt that youâre still feeling now.Â
you hated how human it made you.
you press your ear to the door.
not even the sound of his footsteps.
and you arenât about to let that turn into hours.
you twist the lock and the door handle.
peeking out, you see⊠nothing.
the hallway outside is dim.
his bedroom door is closed.
the lights downstairs are all turned off beyond a small, dim lamp he usually keeps on.
you stare at it for a moment longer.
then you move slow, steady.
downstairs, the house feels even larger without him in it.Â
you never realized how eerie it is at night.
god forbid you start thinking of this house as anything but horrifying.
mentally preparing yourself to be as quiet asâ
âno, quieter than a mouseâ
keys? wallet? phone? anything?
your heart thuds in your ears.
if you panic, youâre never getting out of here.
maybe you missed something?
you resist the urge to slam your fist against the counter.Â
any hope you had just disintegrated into dust as you stare miserably at your reflection in one of the glasses on the counter.
the front door reflecting in the glass.
you really donât have any hope that this will work.
heâs much smarter than to just leave a door unlocked, let alone, the front door.
still⊠you have to try it.
you just need to test it.
to prove to yourself that this is still the same situation it was five days ago.
the golden handle shimmers in the low light.
like itâs encouraging you to open it.
you reach for the handle.
thereâs no way that the door isâ
it opens with a soft click.
thatâs the loudest sound in the world.
for a second, you donât move.Â
you think heâs going to come downstairs, laughing mockingly at you before gaining that patronizing lilt in his voiceâthe one that makes you feel idiotic.
instead, you just stare at the gap where night air slips inside.
itâs warm and alive, lapping at your skin seductively, urging you to come out and play.Â
the sounds nearly make you cry.
itâs the rhythmic chirp, chirp of crickets.
the gentle rustling of branches performing an entwined dance with the breeze.
you let the door open fully.
you feel a weightless sort of hope, like you could float away.
you finally arenât inside his walls.
you donât take another second to savor it. you donât bother closing the door as you break into a frantic sprint.
the sidewalk is cool at first, but under your bare soles, itâs like running across sandpaper.
pebbles feel like razor blades.
your legs feel like theyâre about to give out.
everything built with distance in mind, like even privacy here had to be expensive.
behind you, his house nearly disappears into the darkness of the night.
ahead of you, thereâs another home.
you donât see the home at first, the lights acting like your personal beacon.
once you see it, you donât think about anything except getting there.
you donât care whoâs there.
if itâs not him, then itâs okay.
when you finally reach it, youâre breathing hard enough that your words come out broken.
you knock again, more frantic.
when the door opens, a woman comes out.
she looks kind enough, a face etched with worry and eyes that seem to hold no malice.
âpleaseââŠâ you gasp, leaning on the doorframe as your breath comes in shallow, heaving pants. âi-i need help⊠iâve been taken, i need the police or a ride, anything!â
her brows raise in shock.
âi⊠i see. come in. is he still looking for you?â she opens the door wider, allowing you to come in.
you really donât want to spend any more time than necessary in this neighborhood, but you accept her offer.
itâs better than staying out in the open.
âno,â you pause, still panting. âwell, i donât know. he was asleep when i left. i donât know if heâs awake.â
she pours you a glass of water and holds it out expectantly.
you want to ask if your thirst is really something that important.
but, you also donât want to be rude, since you are begging her for help.
you take the glass and guzzle it down in just a few gulps, making sure not to spend extra time on something so menial.
âplease, all i need is a ride,â you continue to beg. âthereâs no police station within walking distance. you can drop me off, like, two miles away from one and i literally wonât care, i-i justââŠâ you trail off. âjustâŠâ
it doesnât take very long for you to realize that the room is spinning.
âyou were saying?â the woman prompts, taking a step towards you.
you take a clumsy step backwards, mumbling, âno, no, no.â
your legs feel like jelly.
like they canât support you.
and, soon, thatâs just what happens.
you crumple to the floor, your breathing shallow as you try and stay conscious.
your silent begs bring no mercy.
you see the womanâs flats step into your blurry vision.
she says something, but it sounds like itâs underwater.
you find yourself unable to worry about that once the edges of your vision darken before slowly tunneling.
the last thing you hear are her footsteps retreating.
when you wake, itâs dark.
itâs all too familiar to when you wake up in your own bed.
then, you remember everything.
you were so ready to leave, so ready to taste freedom, that you hadnât even considered the idea that she had bad intentions for you, too.
the sheets shift and it scares the absolute shit out of you.
your breath catches violently as you sit up too fast. instantly, a wave of dizziness hits you.
the air smells like himâclean, crisp, almost sweet.Â
itâs the kind of scent that you instantly recognize unmistakably as him.
before you can even form the hazy thought to run again, he sits up and turns on the lamp.
you squint against the dim, yellow light.
his expression is unreadable, though he takes a single, grounding breath.
âmy patience is wearing thin, darling,â he starts, his russian accent clinging to each syllable. âthough, that is probably because of my headache.â
he pauses, his gaze softening slightly.
âi understand that youâre scared, butâŠâ he searches your face for any sort of understanding, ââŠin time, i know youâll understand and youâll never want to leave. thankfully, i have such⊠obedient neighbors.â
not because you donât know what to say, but because youâre still too hazy to say it.
your brain is spinning so fastâ
what does he mean by that?
are the neighbors working for him?
âthat your mouth just canât keep up.
âthough, i will say. it is rather rude to give me so much trouble while knowing i am⊠impaired,â he pinches the bridge of his nose. âhowever, i am a kind man. you should be grateful. nobody would ever be this patient with someone as⊠difficult as you.â
a long, charged pause falls.
âyouâre sleeping in my bed tonight,â he tells you, like itâs already decided as he pulls you back down in the sheets. âbecause, frankly, iâm much too tired to have you giving me trouble again. and, from how far you walked, iâm sure youâre tired, too.â
you swallow hard and before you can even process everythingâ
he spoons youâbut not in the affectionate way.
his face buries into the crook of your neck like heâs trying to breathe your very essence in.
his arms, however, wrap around your waist and lock you there.
no matter how much you want to.
every ounce of hope you had before feels like itâs been personally plucked.
like a flower getting its petals tugged off one by one.
and, despite your urge to leave earlier, itâs dimmed down to an ache, slow and pulsing.
but, as your eyes flutter shut, you canât help but thinkâŠ
âŠmaybe itâs easier just to let him have you.
