「 warnings 」 klaus spoiling you, just fluff and cute themes, general yandere themes such as stalking, manipulation, threats, forced marriage, etc.
「 eris' note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ this one's definitely on the lighter sides in terms of yandere!klaus at the start. i imagine the dynamic to be like him w/ caroline if she'd liked him in the first place.
Klaus was at an art exhibit. He himself had taken up painting long ago as somewhat of a hobby, though when he attended, he didn't expect to find anything particularly life-changing. Or, more specifically, anyone. He was simply there to catch a glance at his paintings which had been hung amongst the numerous others.
And there you were, staring, entranced by a painting when he first witnessed your perfect self. There was just something about your expression that drew Klaus in - made him want to know more. And you, being so enamoured with the artistry before you, didn't even notice the vampire slyly sneak up behind you.
It was not just any painting you were staring at. Quite ironically, you were staring at his. Though he couldn't tell for the life of him why you seemed so enraptured in the artwork. Of course, people had stopped by to admire his work, but you didn't move on to look at others. You just stood there, observing it, a slight furrow in your brow.
When Klaus approached you, you jumped. You didn't think someone would take it upon themselves to start a conversation with you - you didn't find anything about yourself particularly alluring. Most people left you alone at social events. And Klaus found it adorable.
So, with a thousand years of experience, he wittily begins a conversation with you, later asking what had caught your eye about the painting you were staring at.
You then quite shyly begin to, in some sense, verbally undress Klaus, explaining how you could see the painting as a sort of expression of loneliness and deeply ridden pain, much to Klaus's utter surprise.
He asks you if you paint, to which you reply a little. You do it when you're stressed as it makes you feel as though you're in control.
When the two of you exchange your names and make more conversation, you are quite flustered when you realize that no other than the man before you is the one who painted the artwork in front of the both of you. You frantically apologize, but Klaus just smiles, and you continue to discuss countless unimportant things with him. The chit-chat is pointless, however you find yourself utterly adoring your ability to speak so freely to the man you just met.
When the both of you begin spending time together, your friends (having noticed who you'd been going out with) warn you to stay away from Klaus, but when asked as to why, they fall short of a distinct reason. It is quite tragic indeed that your friends just so happen to be Klaus's enemies, and that he plans to kill one of them (if not all), but, alas, they aren't planning on telling you anything, and if things go his way, they never will.
Klaus is most certainly the type to leave love letters, poems, and other priceless pieces on your doorstep. Every morning, much to your delight, you have the opportunity of reading his neat, cursive writing that declares his unadulterated adoration of you. These declarations fill you with nothing if not warmth.
You begin to hide these gifts, however, when your friends start to become more anxious at the prospect of you growing closer to Klaus. The relationship becomes somewhat of a scandal from there, you promising your friends that you no longer see him in the days, and sweet, tender rendezvous every night.
Klaus loves to tease and mock you (of course, all in good fun). He adores the blush that creeps onto your cheeks when you demand for him to put an end to his incessant cheekiness, but he never truly does.
Klaus promises to you show you the entire world one day. He speaks of his travels and the wonders that he's marvelled at, of the people he's met and the experiences he's had. You can't quite fathom exactly how he's experienced so much in such a short life, but you don't bother asking him, always swept away in his numerous stories.
And what a wonder it is, spending time with Klaus. He's simply the perfect man - always understanding, always kind, always adventurous. Every moment you spent with him is ecstasy.
And Klaus loves you all the same. You were his muse, his one true love. His bedroom was filled to the brim with paintings and drawings of you. No longer was he the power-hungry, desperately lonely man that he once was - not with you. With you, he was everything he could hope to be and more.
But, of course, Klaus is nothing if not slightly obsessive. And, even though he'll never admit it to himself, mere nights spent with you are not enough. So he follows you, makes sure you're safe during the day, admires you from afar. And at night, once you've fallen asleep, he watches your peaceful body, the way you look as if you have no worries in the world. He even occasionally sees into one of your dreams, wherein he either approaches you or finds another version of himself doing that very thing.
Klaus also happens to be quite jealous, scolding you whenever you spend more than an appropriate amount of time conversing with a man. If any flirting were to happen, you'd best believe that you'd never see that man once again in your life.
As time passes, and Klaus grows somewhat unsatisfied with only having you at night, so he begins to spend time with you in the daytime, joining you for walks in the park or inviting you to elegant dinners.
Tired? He won't hesitate to call a taxi for the both of you in moments. Thirsty? The finest of wines will serve you well. Klaus simply cannot miss the chance to spoil you!
But, alas, all good things must come to an end, and it was only a matter of time before Elena eventually caught on to your secret rendezvous and made the executive decision to tell you everything about Klaus. And, by God, were you heartbroken. But it almost made sense. Klaus was so, so perfect. Too perfect. But you never suspected that his one true flaw would be such a deal breaker.
So, in spite of your aching heart, you sever your relationship with Klaus, brushing past major details and simply explaining that you "just weren't feeling it." It breaks you to see him so distraught, but you know what he's done, and you cannot be the person you are while and simultaneously stay with him.
Unfortunately for you, though, Klaus had, over the many months, fallen for you - something he does not take very lightly. So, quite desperately, he bites Elena, promising that he'll give her his blood once you come back to him. And, in spite of your friend's protests, you do as he asks. You cannot risk losing someone so close to you.
When Klaus then proposes to you, and you, of course, accept, you hate to admit that you still find your heart swelling whenever he compliments you, or kisses you sweetly, or even just stares in your direction. As much as your mind was disgusted by the idea of loving Klaus, your heart could not so easily let him go.
As much as you loathe him for what he's done to your friends, as much as you hate him for forcing his love upon you, you love him, too. And perhaps that is what's worst of all - that despite all that he's done, you're still in love with him.
That, while he kisses you ever so fervently on the altar, you can forget all that he's done and imagine a bright future with him.
That, even as he turns you into a creature that feeds on others simply so he can remain with you forever, you find yourself adoring the idea of spending the rest of eternity with him, muttering the phrase "til' death do us apart" as you feed on the blood of an innocent human being.
⠀ warnings; general yandere themes such as stalking, toxic relationships, manipulation, murder, threatening of loved ones, vampirism (i mean, it's klaus guys), kidnapping, gaslighting, etc.
⠀ eris' note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ klaus mikaelson is the love of my life. i shall love him, always and forever. this was really fun to write, so if anyone else wants to, send in more requests for this guy! reader is a human at first - somewhat naive too.
⁰⁰¹ (masterlist.)
You're flattered by Klaus's interest in you, at first. You'd never had a very good track record in terms of relationships, so, when you quite suddenly catch the eye of a very attractive, alluring, and charming man, you are, to say the least, delightfully surprised.
Your relationship moves slow, but your heart rate when you're around him doesn't. Klaus is sweet and tender with you, too, not doing anything that you'd potentially oppose before consulting you. The perfect man, it seems. Dutiful, tactful, kind, he's everything you could ever want in a partner.
He's most certainly the type to shower you with all kinds of gifts - jewelry adorned with your favorite gemstones, the most luxurious of chocolates, gorgeous, expensive dresses - anything of the sort. If, however, this doesn't at first allure you, Klaus starts leaving intricate drawings of you and heartfelt poems on your doorstep - more personal and romantic that the first option.
With all of these gifts, of course, he always leaves a new love letter for you to read daily. They're always filled with romantic promises and burning desires, from smaller things such as "you looked exquisite today" to "I promise to show you all life has to offer" and "you are what gives me purpose, your light is the only thing able to outshine my darkness."
When the two of you become official, Klaus is elated. He never keeps his hands off of you when you're in public, always finding some way to touch you - whether it be subtly by placing his hands on the small of your back or intertwining your fingers together to move outward gestures such as squeezing your thigh underneath the dinner table when you're out eating with friends.
Whatever it is, you can never quite keep your face straight around him, the faintest blush and a smile always finding a way to creep up onto your face.
When the two of you are alone, matters are even more heated. Klaus, being the gentleman that he is, is perfect at complimenting you and bringing you to your knees, quite literally. Offering you gentle praises in bed and the softest of kisses, it's no wonder that you find yourself falling for the man.
And, with things going so perfectly between the two of you, you don't even think to notice Klaus's increasingly possessive and downright obsessive behavior.
It was right under your nose that Klaus would track you at all times with his hybrids or would ensure of your safety by following you himself. He even went so far as to slip in trace amounts of his blood into your morning tea and coffee to ensure that, should anything unexpected happen to you, you couldn't die on him.
About a year into your relationship, in an ever so coincidental occurrence, you lose your job the very day Klaus's mansion is ready to be lived in. You look everywhere and anywhere for another job to ensure you can at least pay the next month's rent, but when no such options arise and an eviction notice is bound to appear on your doorstep any day now, you ask Klaus if you can move in with him.
Klaus is excited that you turn to him so quickly, and already seems to have extra room in his bedroom for you to stay. Although you feel guilty taking up residency in such a beautiful home, Klaus reassures you that whatever is his is yours, and that, if anything, he is happy with the turnout, if it means he can spend more time with you.
Klaus only tells you of what he is when he's truly sure that you'd never leave him for such a thing, though leaving out crucial details such as his ability to compel people or the fact that vampires must drink human blood in order to turn. After all, he'd never do such an evil thing! All the blood that he drinks is exclusively from animals and other vermin!
If, however, you don't believe him in that instance, he'd simply compel you to think otherwise. Although he prefers having you being perfectly… you, he doesn't want to have to hurt you to ensure you won't tell anyone else or to not be afraid.
Things grow even worse when Klaus starts controlling where you are allowed to go. During the day, Klaus complains that you don't give him nearly enough attention, causing you to spend your afternoons spending time with him, while in the late evenings, Klaus provides you with pure ecstasy all night long. And while, yes, it is all quite enjoyable, you find yourself growing unhappy. You could hardly remember the last day you'd talked to your friends over call or had texted for more than a couple of minutes - or the last time you'd gone out, for that matter (as Klaus was so worried that you'd cheat on him).
It was also quite odd, you found, that every man you'd spoken to - other than Klaus's brothers, of course - mysteriously disappeared, and that your cars keys and credit card had been lost for a long time now, though you'd always been quite good with ensuring they were where they were supposed to be before.
It was for all those reasons, then, that you tried to finally break up with Klaus, but he didn't seem to appreciate the gesture. So, Klaus did whatever he could to keep you from leaving - namely, locking you in his bedroom while he'd gone out for the day. The room, once full of warmth and familiarity, filled with the remnants of Klaus's cologne and your perfume mixing in a fit of passion, was now cold and foreign. It was more a prison than your bedroom, a place that you'd once found comfort in - though you supposed a similar thing could be said about Klaus.
When Klaus returns, he attempts to soothe you into falling asleep. You thrash and fight against him, not knowing what he was planning on doing with you and not wanting to know all the same, but your efforts are pointless as he eventually chooses to compel you into doing so.
Klaus relocates the two of you to a remote cottage, already prepared with new furniture, clothing, and other necessities. It makes you sick to your stomach, thinking that Klaus had potentially anticipated that something like this would have happened (he tells you that he was planning on bringing the two of you here as a surprise vacation or something of the sort, but you know better than to listen to him now).
In the beginning, Klaus is careful with you, offering a caring persona as he provides you with solace when you cry, knowing very well that the very reason that you are doing so is because of him. He doesn't seem to care, however, as he strokes your hair softly and whispers you words of encouragement and false promises you know he could never keep or fulfill in your ears. And yet, in spite of it all, you still find yourself unable to detach rationality from your emotions, and must constantly battle your conflicting thoughts that beg for you to simply let Klaus in and stop fighting.
Over time, Klaus manipulates you and tortures you with his mind games. In your isolation, it is easy to convince you that the ones closest to you have faults too large to ignore. And, with Klaus's skilled mind, he is able to make you believe the worst of your friends and family. He focuses on what they lack and spins them into monsters worse than even he. And you, slowly, believe him - though could anyone truly blame you? Your mind is not as it should be, and all you've seen and thought about is Klaus, Klaus, Klaus for who knows how long. It only makes sense that you'd at some point succumb to his persistent manipulation - after all, you were only human.
Klaus remains patient with you for the longest of time, knowing that it would soon pay off. And, although it's difficult to resist the temptation of returning to him and forgiving his past transgressions, if you manage to do so for an extended period of time, he takes it upon himself to speed up the process.
He throws enraged fits and grows increasingly angry with you as the days go by. He guilt trips you, too, convincing you that you're ungrateful for not accepting his undying affection. He's given everything to you - so why can't you just accept it and return his love?
If you still refuse to appease him, Klaus threatens your friends and family's lives. And, though at first you may just think he's bluffing, he's doing nothing of the sort. You know this the day he surprises you by turning up on the doorstep with your closest friend, dead, on the ground. And you crumble. Yes; it was true that he'd been able to make you think ill of her for so long, but seeing her in such a state? You cared for her immensely - you'd never wished for such a fate to fall upon her.
Although it is not explicitly at this moment, there comes a point where you decide to finally submit to Klaus's will - not because you want to, but simply because you're so mentally exhausted. Your mind is so tired of fighting him off, and all you truly want is to give in; so, you do, falling delicately into Klaus's carefully formulated trap.
It's only when you allow Klaus to share a more intimate experience with you once more that he knows that he's truly won you over, and what a pleasurable experience it is. Klaus rewards you in ways you could not describe with mere words, but his own desires are reciprocated, too, when he finally hears your gentle voice moaning his name and your fingers digging longingly into his skin.
Life after that is as good as you can be. You lie to yourself that this is what you want, and even though it isn't, you at times find yourself believing your own lie.
Klaus makes sure to make you know exactly who you belong to, ensuring your dependability on him with a myriad of pleasantries, kind compliments as well as promises that he truly plans to realize that he whispers into your ears when you're only half awake that he
There's a chance that, after Klaus knows that you're now absolutely dependent on him, he'll relocate the both of you. Maybe to the city, maybe to New Orleans, or maybe to somewhere else where his family is.
But where is is doesn't matter: you'll be by his side no matter what.
But just remember: wherever it is, one thing will always remain constant - try to escape him, even succeed - run, hide - but you both know that, in the end, one thing will never change:
You'd never be able to stay away for long, for you are completely and utterly his.
⠀ eris' note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ this one's a bit on the shorter side, but it was fun to write!
⁰⁰¹ (masterlist.)
"You killed her."
Those were the only words you could think to utter staring at your deranged ex-partner. "You fucking killed her, didn't you?"
In spite of your current rage and distress, all J. D. could seem to do was offer you a devilish grin and a smirk. "Well, I wouldn't say killed her, just... I put her out of her misery, is all. Charity work, really."
"You did it. You murdered my best friend. Do you think this is a joke?"
"Well, it is quite funny, if I do say so myself."
You weren't quite sure what you were feeling at the moment. Anger was one thing, but heartbroken, too, for you had lost the person that was closest to you.
And yet, your inner turmoil aside, you felt a terrible, terrible smile slither its way across your face - a not because you were happy by any stretch - the situation you found yourself in was by no means one that'd cause you any feelings of joy - but simply because you had no idea what else to do.
"She was right. I should have stayed away from you. You're not a rebel. You're fucking psychotic."
"Well, you say tomato, I say 'to-mah-to'."
You grated your teeth together. "Just get out, J. D." You were much too tired to play any of J. D.'s mind games. You just wanted him gone. And for a moment - for one beautiful moment - he seemed to consider doing what you asked. But, alas, he was never one for folding so easily.
"No."
You drew in a sharp breath. "Excuse me?"
J. D. took a step closer to you. You held your ground, hoping to give off the impression that you weren't intimidated by what he might do; you knew he had a loaded gun on him, and his unpredictable nature didn't ease your racing heart.
"I'm not leaving, and you can't make me."
"J. D., this is my house."
"Well, technically it's your parent's home, and I doubt you want to get them involved, unless you'd like two more of your loved ones with their brains blown out."
You stiffened, your throat tightening up. Upon your lack of a response, J. D.'s mouth curled into a wicked smile. "That's what I thought. Now, how about we both go out to 7-11 and grab a couple of slushies?"
J. D. outstretched his arm in order to grasp your hand, but just as your fingers brushed, you jerked backwards. J. D.'s smile faded.
"Y/n - "
"I'll call the cops - I'll fucking call the cops on you, J. D.!"
J. D. raised an eyebrow and began nodding. "The cops?" He inquired. "Tell me, when they arrest me, do you think they're going to ignore the fact that you somehow knew for a fact that I killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram? What proof do you have that doesn't incriminate yourself? What will you say when they ask you how you know it's me? You wrote the letters."
"Yeah, well I didn't murder people!"
A strangely exuberant laughter escaped J. D.'s lips. "You didn't, did you? Then you didn't give Heather that mug of liquid drainer? And you also didn't shoot Kurt?"
You paused briefly, thinking of a quick defence. "Well I didn't know that was the wrong cup! And Kurt - I was just so shocked - "
J. D. took a step forward. You took a step back. J. D. grinned. He continued his approach until you inevitably collided with the wall, letting out a small gasp. "Admit it, Y/n!" He trapped you with his arms. "You say I'm evil, but look in the mirror! We're the same! We both do fucked up shit, and we like it! I saw that look on your face when Heather died. You were glad."
"We are not the same. I did not want them dead. Whatever you thought you saw in me when Heather died, it wasn't there. You're delusional, J. D. Now, I'm calling the cops, so don't even try to - "
"You can't call them. You know that. The moment you do your parents would be dead - and, besides, you know you couldn't pay to have a lawyer send me to jail. I know your parents wouldn't be able to afford it."
He was right. And you hated him for it. You didn't even ask how he knew your family wouldn't have sufficient funds - at this point, you'd be surprised if he didn't know something about you or your personal life.
"Well, I'm not coming with you, no matter what you'd do. I'd rather - "
J. D. didn't allow you to finish, forcefully swallowing your words with the press of his lips. The kiss was anything then what it should have been - it was greedy, feverish, demanding. You didn't have so much as a moment to breath as J. D. devoured you, leaving you terribly, terribly breathless. His icy fingers tug into your skin, surely leaving bruises, and you shuddered at the feeling of his wandering hands along your exposed skin.
J. D.'s kisses now were not what they once were. A million years ago, they sweet and tender, a warm interlocking of souls on a cold winter's day. They were beautiful and wonderful and tasted of nothing but kindness and thoughtfulness. But this one was nothing like the ones you'd experienced in the past. It was hungry, rough as J. D. pressed you plush against him, searing as opposed to warm, poisonous as opposed to tender.
It was after what could only be described as an eternity that J. D. pulled away, staring at your dizzy self with a satisfied expression upon his face.
Because, at last, here you were, like a bird with clipped wings, caught in J. D.'s trap, the one you'd unknowingly watched him craft bar by bar.
You froze as you felt two arms slither around your waist, firmly pulling you to J. D. He liked you like this - he could practically smell the fear radiating off of you, and it was intoxicating. Neither slushies nor cigars could compare to the high he felt from your presence.
"You're not leaving. You can't. And, besides, I'd kill you if you did." He let out a satisfied sigh. "I worship you - can't you see that?" You shivered as J. D.'s warm breath tickled your ear. "We were meant to be, darling. There was a reason we met... you were made for me."
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as J. D. slowly let you go, grasping your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You naturally diverted your gaze.
J. D. grabbed your arm and squeezed it tightly, causing you to let out a small yelp. "Look at me."
Hesitantly, you obliged, your stomach knotting when you caught the dark glimmer in J. D.'s eyes. It was then that you knew - knew that you'd never once be free again, knew you'd be forever bound to J. D.
"We're going to fix this fucked up world together, Y/n."
⠀ synopsis; being the new girl at a school can be difficult, especially when you start feeling as though you're being watched.
⠀ warnings; general themes from heathers the movie such as bullying, mentions of suicide, murder (c'mon, it's a heathers fic, what did u expect?), usage of guns, kissing, stalking, attempted rape (kurt n' ram), swearing , usage of drugs such as cigarettes, unconsensual kissing (doesn't get further than that in this), very slight insinuations to sex (spoken), the whole shebang.
⠀ word count; 4.5k
⠀ eris' note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ (slight spoilers) i wanted to make the reader decently perceptive and sarcastic this one, but nearing the end i definitely made her rationality kinda disappear since that's what fear can do to a person. jd is more based off movie jd, and so is veronica.
⁰⁰¹ (masterlist.)
Joining a new school midway through the school year was, to say the least, unideal.
You and your parents had just gotten the wonderful opportunity to move to the quaint town of Sherwood, Ohio, somewhere you all were essentially forced to go since your father had been promoted by his job and your family was strapped for cash. And, sure, your house was bigger and nicer than your last, but you'd had to leave all your friends you'd been with since your childhood, which was difficult.
To add to all of that, the people were unfriendly and rude, and the weather was tolerable at best. Though your old home wasn't perfect by any means, it was most certainly better than where you were living now.
And now, here you were, standing before your new high school, knowing perfectly nothing about it or what to expect yet still expecting it to be one of the worst schools you've gone to. The odd stares your fellow students were shooting you seemed to be indicative of that.
Oh, good grief.
You sighed as you entered, only to immediately crinkle your nose in disgust as you were hit with the pleasant aroma of sweaty jocks and what you could only guess were something akin to rotting bodies. Speak of the devil, you thought to yourself as you were almost hit by what you guessed were two football players dashing down the hallways.
This was going to be a long rest of the year.
You were quick to shove past the students to get to the front office, keen on getting your class schedule and getting to your class as early as you could. You'd only just gotten here and yet already you wanted to go home, though you supposed that that was how high school normally operated. It was never something anyone particularly enjoyed. Most people just managed to tolerate it enough to attend the next day.
"Hello, I'm looking to get my schedule?" You said once you'd reached your destination, crossing your arms as you stared at the woman at the front desk. Focused upon her own work, she offered you no response. You pursed your lips.
"Excuse me?" You spoke, louder this time, a hint of annoyance in your voice.
Apparently you weren't the only one unhappy to be at Westerburg high today, as the woman, seemingly irked, slowly craned her head to face you. "Yes?"
She seemed an unpleasant sort of woman, a frown etched permanently upon her wrinkled face. You wondered what the other teachers must look like, and if they resembled her by any means.
"This is my first day here. I need my class schedule."
"Name?"
"Y/n L/n."
The woman nodded and typed something into her computer. She then pointed to the printer. "Wait over there. Your class schedule is printing right now. Once it's finished, just go to your first class. The class numbers are listed on the right side."
"Well, is anyone going the help me find my way around?"
Your question was only met with silence. "Fine, I'll find it on my own. After all, why would I ever need the help of a teacher, anyway? It's not like I'm new to this school or anything." You grumbled before grabbing your schedule and exiting.
Luckily, navigating the school was a relatively simple task. The numbers on every door and the maps plastered on the walls definitely helped, and you were able to find your history class before the bell rang.
"Here's your textbook, Ms. L/n." The teacher said to you the moment you told her your name. Silently, you nodded, deciding to take a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom as you waited for class to begin.
Something seemed off, though, as the lecture began and you jotted down nearly everything you heard. You could sense eyes boring into the back of your skull, like daggers piercing through your mind, and it inhibited your focus. You could hardly pay any attention to the teacher as she went on and on about some war you didn't even know the name of. And so, discreetly enough, you 'grabbed' something from you bag, staring over your shoulder briefly in an attempt to see if anyone really was watching you.
And, as it seemed, someone was. You managed to spot them - or him, to be more specific. Uncannily dark eyes stared back at you, blank and hollow. It made your stomach sink. Quickly, then, you retrieved an object from your school bag and continued with your notes to the best of your abilities. Unfortunately, though, you couldn't get that kid's sharp gaze out of your mind. Something about it - something about him - was off, though you couldn't quite place what it was. And, sure, from what you could see he dressed somewhat oddly - a dark trench coat adorning his shoulders, covering his already black pants and shirt - but it was more than just the way he was dressed. You knew it.
You gave up on the matter minutes after you were done with US History. As much as you were curious at the time, you could care less if some creep was watching you. It wasn't like you didn't have your fair share of those back at your old school - you just supposed that they didn't seem so outward about it. After all, you'd stared at that kid - caught him right in the act, but he didn't look away, didn't flinch, just kept staring. Looking back on it, you were convinced that you'd caught the glimpse of some sort of smile. But, as you'd mentioned, what was done was done. You'd only have to deal with him for 45 minutes every day for the rest for the year, at worst.
Sighing, you dropped your bag beside you as you sat down on one of the sticky cafeteria benches, secluded from everyone else. Although you knew you could've tried to make friends during your classes, you were aware of the truth about social politics in high school: halfway through the year, friendships were already sealed airtight and people were much less open to saying 'hi' to a new face, so you didn't even bother. And, sure, the seating was horrible, but you weren't about to make a fool of yourself, especially on your first day.
The food at Westerburg High was - albeit surprisingly - quite alright, and you found yourself somewhat enjoying it. Disregarding the horrible smell and the violently loud chatter, you supposed the cafeteria and lunch as a whole was okay.
That was, at least, until you caught sight of that kid who'd been staring at you in history. You hadn't even noticed he was there at first, but there he was, halfway across the cafeteria, staring blatantly right at you. This time, though, he was just smiling - smirking, even, and it unnerved you.
What is wrong with this guy?
The rest of the week went by like this. On your way to class, you'd always see him in the halls, eyes locking with yours as you passed him. Or getting your books from your locker - he'd always be there, eyes glued to your form. He wasn't even doing anything, was simply fixated on you. It made you shiver, the looks he gave you at first.
Now, however, it was almost expected. You'd anticipate dark eyes boring into your skull and the fumes of cigars to follow you in class, or truly just anywhere around school, just as you would expect your shadow to follow you in the sunlight. And, as annoying as it was the every first day, now it was eerie. You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know you were being watched, but when you did, you'd surely freeze out of both paranoia and fear. While, yes, you'd expected this year of high school to be your worst yet, never had you expected for it to be to such an extent.
Your fear later festered when he pulled a blank on two jocks in the cafeteria. Although you knew blanks couldn't truly hurt them, you shuddered to think what he'd do if he really wanted to cause some damage.
Things got worse still when the kid started dating the infamous Veronica Sawyer, not quite a Heather but not quite anything else either. Gossip around the school grew mad about the unconventional couple, and you soon learned the name of the kid who never did seem to leave you alone: Jason Dean, or 'J. D.' as everyone knew him.
Now, whenever you'd see J. D., he'd always be accompanied by his girlfriend, Veronica. He never did stop staring, though, resulting in numerous glares coming from Veronica's way.
So much for being tolerated by the popular crowd.
School had then became a living hell for you, because if one Heather didn't like you, none of them did, making life going unnoticed near impossible. Now, no matter where you were, someone was either glaring or gazing at you, their intentions vague and unclear.
Things then got particularly bad when Heather Chandler became a sort of enemy of yours. You weren't sure what you did to irk specifically her, but, whatever it was that you did, she most certainly hated you, more so than Veronica, even. Not a day went by without a rude confrontation by her, and you could name several instances when she'd embarrassed you in front of the school.
But then, one day, she was gone.
Suicide. At least, that's what they said it was, but you knew too many people hated that bitch for it to be so. All it would take was a teenager driven insane enough by her to be driven to such a point, and considering the state of Westerburg high, you didn't doubt for a moment that the queen bee of the school essentially prompted her own death.
So, yeah. You knew her suicide was faked. Not that you were going to report it to the cops - you weren't planning on stirring up more drama - but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by such a thing. And, besides, though you'd never admit it aloud, you were glad she was dead, in an odd way. Now you had at least one less person to make your life at this sorry school miserable.
So, life was okay for a while. People got too busy about mourning Heather's death to notice a nobody like you. Other than that creep J. D. and his jealous girlfriend stalking the halls, life was tolerable.
But when you're at the top, the only way you can go is down. And that's where you went. Down. All the way to rock bottom.
You didn't know how to put it in lighter terms, so here it was: You were almost raped. By Kurt and Ram, to be more exact.
Apparently, J. D. wasn't the only one who had an eye on you, and with all your attention focused on him (since you were so damn paranoid) you'd failed to notice the two jocks that also seemed to have been interested by you.
It was late at night. You were walking home from some house you'd babysat at as a favor, and two guys started following you. You didn't think much of it at first - just tried to forget about it and cool your nerves, but then they started to get faster, and faster, and you did too, until suddenly you were running, and then, almost abruptly, the two jocks had grabbed your arms and startled forcing you elsewhere. You screamed and fought, but no one was around to hear you.
You could only imagine the other 'nobodies' they must have done this to.
You remembered vividly your horror as the two piled themselves on top of you, eager to rip your clothes off. But, just as they were about to do so, a gun shot rang out, and then another. Frozen in terror, you didn't even move as you felt the boys' bodies go limp over you. You were only able to move when you felt a hand grab onto your own and force you up and get you back on your feet.
"Thank you," you barely managed to sputter out once the initial shock wore off.
"Go," is all the figure replied. A man, you presumed. You couldn't see his face, though, covered by the dark lighting. And so, dazed and confused, you obliged, not thinking twice about the words spoken to you.
The next day, though, was when things truly got out of hand.
Kurt and Ram, supposedly, had died in some gay love pact, wherein they killed each other. Hearing the news over the TV your parents played, you felt sick to your stomach. But, there they lied on the screen, a bag of supposed 'homosexual artifacts' and a suicide note to tie it all together.
And the whole town ate the story up.
You didn't go to school for about the next week or so. You told your parents that you were sick, and even though they knew you weren't, they still called in sick for you, able to detect that you weren't exactly feeling well mentally.
The week of repose was good, too. You were able to gather yourself up, not to the point where you didn't fear what could have happen had your savior not came to the rescue, but to the point where you could suppose that you were grateful that you wouldn't have to answer any questions from the police.
But now, at least for now, you knew you'd be safe.
* * *
You let out a soft sigh as you landed on your bed, curling into your warm sheets as a way of seeking comfort. At least you were safe and secure at home, you supposed, your parents only a relatively quiet yell away and your windows locked for good measure. If school was your hell, then you would consider home your heaven, away from the Heathers, away from the J. D., away from everyone.
Turning off your light, you sank into your pillow in a desperate sort of way, clinging to it as if it were your lifeline. You'd hardly been getting sufficient sleep within the past weeks, so it didn't take long for you to fall into oblivion, the abyss of sleep consuming you whole in minutes.
So deeply unaware of your surrounding now, you didn't even hear quiet footsteps entering your bedroom.
J. D. was, to say the least, unsure what made him drawn to you in the first place. Maybe it was your calm and uncaring demeanor, or maybe it was the way you seemed to pick up on things through simple observation so easily, similarly to him. Whatever it was, he most certainly found you interesting. And, somehow, he could simply tell that there was something different about you - something like him that he saw in you, and it intrigued him to no end.
No matter how paranoid you were, you were never completely aware of J. D.'s reach in your life. When he'd watch you when you were at home, he'd remain particularly clever, knowing that if he was caught there was a high chance that he'd get into some really deep shit. Staring at a girl in school every day was one thing, but following her home? That was much more serious, and required a much less conspicuous plan.
But, alas, his plan paid off, and J. D. smiled knowingly as he stared at your vulnerable figure, taken over by a much needed sleep. You simply looked so perfectly innocent like that, something he couldn't wait to ruin once he had the chance.
J. D. laughed euphorically as he continued to just stare at you, unsure if he still had his wits about him but uncaring at the very same time. Perhaps all the cigars he had been smoking really were getting to him. But he knew what he needed to do before he brought you with him. So, quietly, resisting the urge to kiss your pristine lips, J. D. raced out of your bedroom, your door that was previously shut left open behind him.
Unfortunately for him, however, he'd forgotten that you were often a light sleeper that woke up at different intervals in the night, so when a particularly cool gust of wind came in through your open window, you were startled awake.
"What the fuck?" You muttered under your breath as you drowsily peeled your eyes open, squinting them as you stood up to close the window, before pausing and wondering how on earth your window had opened. After all, your parents never came into your room late at night as far as you were concerned, and you had locked your window when you'd fallen asleep, so how could it have opened?
It was at that very moment, too, that the faint smell of smoke wafted through the room, and you froze.
Sure, you knew you were paranoid, and that maybe fear had gotten the better of you, but you also knew that a potentially dangerous kid had been staring at you ever since you got to school and that it would be idiotic for you to assume that he had no malicious intentions.
Your stomach then tightened up once you noticed your open bedroom door. So, yes. It was possible that maybe your assumptions were idiotic, but you'd be a fool to not go with your gut when the most it'd cost you was some short-lived embarrassment, especially considering what could have happened with Kurt and Ram. So, quietly, you exited your bedroom, looking down the hallways of the upstairs floor as to reassure that the coast was clear.
It was.
More silently than you've ever done so before, then, you tip-toed to your parents bedroom, hoping to either alert them of an intruder or ask them what the were doing. But, just as you were about to open their door, footsteps were heard on the other side - not your mother's quiet, considerate ones, nor your father's loud, heavy ones, but a different kind.
Fuck.
As fast as you could, you dashed into the nearest room, leaving the door only just barely open as to not allow it to make any sound. From your parent's room exited a dark silhouette, wearing what you guessed was a trench coat and with only the burning edge of a cigarette as a light source plucked between two fingers.
You were right. You were fucking right. No other than Jason Dean was in your house, and right now, he was heading right for your bedroom, most likely intending to kill.
You needed to think fast.
My parents - right, my parents. They keep a gun in their bedroom.
You were shaking. Yes, your parents showed you were they kept the gun in the case of an emergency, but you'd never been taught how to use it.
As quietly as you could, you dashed over to your parents bedroom, closing the door behind you. And, even though you knew you didn't have the time, you took a moment to catch your breath. God, you couldn't breathe. And neither could your parents, as it seemed, when you looked over at their limp corpses sprawled in the bed. Slowly, you retracted the covers from their bodies, only to find a wet pool of blood that lay beneath them and their slit throats.
They were dead. J. D. had fucking killed your parents. You felt your knees buckle underneath you as you caressed your mother's lifeless face, her eyes never to once again open.
"Mom..." You whimpered, not caring if her blood stained your fingers. But then, you paused, realizing that, if you didn't speed up, you could be next.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! I really need to find a weapon or a way out of here. I only have so much time before he finds me.
You suppressed a scream as you then scoured their bedroom in search of the gun safe, not keen on wasting any more time, but to your dismay, you couldn't find it.
They must have moved it from last year - fuck! - what else could they have?
Your eyes then landed on your father's esteemed baseball bat. You'd remember him talking about it, the pride radiating from him as he explained how it was the first bat he used to hit a home run with in high school.
Well, sorry dad.
Picking up what was now a weapon and placing it in such a way that would allow you to swing at a moment's notice, you slowly sauntered out of your parent's bedroom and into the hallway.
Your blood ran colder and colder as you approached your bedroom door, until, finally, you did, and raised the baseball bat even higher as to deliver the hardest blow on the boy that stood before you.
"You know, it would have probably been better if you'd stayed hiding," you then heard J. D. speak, turning around and raising an eyebrow at the bat in you hands. "You know, that isn't going to do much against a gun."
Time seemed to stop, and all you could stare at was the gun that sat loosely in J. D.'s hand. He was going to fucking kill you.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to use it on you," he then reassured coyly, as if reading your mind. "It's just a necessary... precaution. Now, why don't place the bat down so we can talk."
"I could scream."
J. D. seemed to smile at this and clicked his tongue, as if scolding you. "Now, would you really like to have someone else's blood on your hands like that? Just because I'm not going to shoot you doesn't mean I won't shoot anyone else. It'd be a shame if anyone had to die because of you."
Silence.
"Good, now... place the bat down."
Nodding, you complied, slowly placing your only means of defence of the ground.
"Okay, okay," you mumbled, trying to calm your racing heart down. Though you doubted it, you supposed that there was a chance that, if you could calm down enough, you could convince J. D. to leave you alive.
J. D. grinned. "Now, darling, why don't you come right here."
If you could've moved, you most certainly would've. After all, you'd seen that gun in J. D.'s hand. You knew what it could do. But you were frozen by fear, and no amount of rationality was going to move you.
"Now, this would all be, uh, a lot easier if you'd just come with me, because I'd hate to have to man-handle - " J. D.'s words cut short as he watched you, nearly stunned, as you bolted past him and towards the window. But he was quick to recoup his bearings, cocking the gun (for good measure) and grab onto your leg, successfully dragging you towards the ground. You grunted in pain upon your head slamming against the hardwood floor, the beginnings of a bruise already starting to appear.
Now only partially unconscious, it took you a long while to notice the tongue now prying apart your mouth and the chapped lips pressed against your own. You'd only really noticed when you realized that you couldn't breathe, and you let out a strangled groan as you tried to detach yourself from the figure above you, but to no avail. J. D. merely slid his tongue deeper down your throat, inhibiting you from screaming or making any other noise as he kissed you roughly.
You thrashed and flailed under his touch, but nothing was enough to free yourself from him. He was faster, stronger, and had the firearm in this situation. You stood no chance. So, with a heavy heart, you moved pliantly underneath J. D.'s touch, hoping he'd at least go a little easier on you at the very least.
And then, with bated breath, you observed as he stopped, and, hovering above you, took something out of his pocket. At first, fearing it was a gun, you began to once again fight against him, but then paused upon not recognizing the silhouette of the object in his hand.
"You know, as much as I'd like to continue this, I did come here for a reason." J. D. stared at you, no ounce of sympathy as he spoke his next words. "You know, it'd have been a hell of a lot easier if you'd just fucking stayed asleep."
Without so much as a moment to respond, a wet rag was forced upon your face. Confused at first, you lied still, before realizing what it must have been drenched it. You were now even more urgent in your fighting of J. D. (if that was even possible), punching and kicking him wherever you could. But he didn't budge, simply kept a firm grip on the rag.
"Shhh, it's fine, I won't hurt ya," he reassured, "Not unless I need to, of course."
But you didn't hear him, your consciousness already slipping as you'd only been half conscious before. You were trying to kick free, but already you were so exhausted, your adrenaline already beginning to ware off. Worse still, J. D.'s words of reassurance that you'd be fine and that everything will be alright were starting to mess with you.
You could hear him talking, but the words were muffled and blurred, and your body seemed to take everything in as if it were truth, because it was already relaxing under his cool touch. And it seemed that, the more fearful your mind grew, the more numb your body became, until, finally, you gave up your thrashing and your fighting, and sunk into J. D. harsh embrace willingly.
Upon your figure going limp, a devilish grin spread across J. D.'s face. Though he knew this was not how things were meant to occur, he was simply so happy - for he finally had you in his arms, where you belonged. And then, unable to help himself, he pressed a hungry kiss on your mouth, pleased to hear a muffled moan escape it as your tongue moved submissively under his own.
This was it! Finally - finally, after waiting for so long, you belonged to him. No more were the days when he'd have to watch you through your bedroom window, or the days where all he'd see of you were your paranoid eyes in the halways, because, finally, here you were, in his arms, where you belonged!
the last character saved in your photos is who you have to kiss under the mistletoe. Who is it?
I’ll go first.
Tagging @blizzspeaks @meisterdani @ysmmsy @beefybuckrrito @radiantheartbeat @navybrat817 @everything-burns-down @dreamerglassesgirl @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm and anyone else who wants to play :)
@feverkitten @foreverdolly @loving-elvis @lynettethemadscientist @star-shard @crash-and-cure @whatstruthgottodowithit + anyone else who wants to do this!
tagging : @aconflagrationofmyown, @powerofelvis, @blainesebastian, @venus-haze, @infatuatedharleys, and whoever else wants to (no pressure, of course <3)
“WRITE IT BADLY. Write it badly, write it badly, write it badly, write it badly. Stop what you’re doing, open a Word document, put a pencil on some paper, just get the idea out of your head. Let it be good later. Write it down now. Otherwise it will die in there.”
— Brandon Sanderson on overcoming writer’s block to create a first draft as a professional author (via almost-always-eventually-right)
Hey y’all. Just an update almost 6 years later, one of my teeth broke off and had to be removed this week. The doctors weren’t sure why but I fucking know.
