“ Finally meeting the eyes of your soon-to-be murderer, you realized he was crying again. Fuck him, he deserves to cry, wail, scream, after what he’s done to you.
You can’t rip a flower out of the ground and expect it to grow in acid.
With a final reassuring squeeze, Hoodie let go.”
Yandere!Hoodie/Brian x Reader
* * *
A month later and things haven’t gotten any better than when you first arrived. Hoodie just keeps growing more violent and possessive my the minute. You really don’t know how much longer you’ll survive here from either dying from Hoodie’s leather-gloved hand or by your own.
Hoodie leaves on most nights, which would be delightful in planning a route of escape. But it’s hard to do so when you’re locked in the windowless bedroom.
All you’re left to do for the night is look at your picture of your previous life, contemplate your situation, plan his murder, and scan over a few books Hoodie found for you.
This could all change if you only said, “I love you.” To him.
Which you weren’t, but you were thankful to know that’s an option in case you were nearing death by his hand.
It was late night, and thunder rumbled over the depths of the cellar. It must be going to rain soon. Hoodie was still gone, he didn’t know when he’d be back. But you know he’ll get caught in the rain if he doesn’t get home before morning.
And you’ll be charged with the task of drying his hair.
You rolled your eyes, tossing the magazine down and pushing yourself off of the bed. Hoodie got you a more qualified mattress to sleep on, along with a bedspread and blankets that kept the damp air off of you. But sometimes you just needed an open window or a fan.
Neither of which Hoodie has provided. A window means a chance of escape, not that he could just give you one anyways, it was a brick-lined basement. And a fan deems a possible weapon to hit him over the head with.
Oh, how you longed to do that. Even if he killed you, it would be so satisfying to watch him stumble with a yelp, clutching the back of his dirty blonde locks.
You shuffled around your room, sifting through drawers and pulling out wrapped clothing. You’ve been working on making a shank out of a shard of tile you found in the kitchen, and literally anything else you could find. You’ve only got a rubber band and a few pieces of tape to hold the fabric around the ceramic. It’s not much, but it’s your only form of protection.
But your plan to craft was cut short by the cellar door rattling. You stuffed the tile inside a few socks before shoving the drawer closed.
“Hoodie?” You called out, pushing yourself off of the ground to stand in front of your door.
“What? You hungry? You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Footsteps gradually made their way towards the other side of the door, followed by a series of mechanical clicks.
“I’m not tired.” You looked up at the mask when the door open, which you cautiously took off. He was sweaty, and very gross in general. “Can’t you find a new mask that doesn’t suffocate your pores?”
“Yeah, but I like this one though.” He gently took it out of our grasp, using the same sense of caution as you used with him.
Hoodie couldn’t hold it in anymore. Everytime he left, he was never guaranteed in seeing your face when he returned. You were smart, too smart. You were bound to find the key he hidden in one of the loose bricks of your room. Just in case one day he doesn’t return. He wouldn’t want you to be left here and starved, even if the masked man did know about the situation.
He struggled to hold back to tears prickling his bottom lid, and he pulled you towards him into the colder hallway. But your skin was soothed by his warm chest.
“I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. You know I’d never want to hurt you.” His muscles twitched along your back when he squeezed tighter.
You couldn’t do anything but hug back, running your hand up and down the rough fabric of his hoodie. Even without the view of his face, his jerking chest was proof enough that he was holding back sobs and tears. “Prove it, then.” You weren’t even sure if he heard your voice through the muffle of his clothes.
“How can I prove my love to you?” He separates your bodies, but kept his large hands on your waist. Tear streaks were travelling down his dirty cheeks.
“Free me.” You stared up at him, clutching his forearms. “Please, Hoodie.”
He glanced back at the entrance, and for a moment, you had a spark of hope.
“Not now, darling. I’m sorry, really I am.” His tone sounded sincere enough, and his eyes were tilted with sadness.
Your face fell and your tense shoulders slumped, “Why?”
He shook his head, his fingers flexing into your skin, “There’s too much going on right now. Tim left Jay, and Jay’s on his own. And Alex is a good hunter, he’ll find you. He’s already come around here a few times, actually.”
All you heard was a pathetic attempt at an excuse. But in reality, it did make some sense.
“You pinky swear you’re not lying?” Your eyebrows twitched as you looked up at him.
He managed a smirk, leaving the cool air to nip at a warm spot on your hip as he held his hand up, “I’d never lie to you."
You linked your pinky with his and it caught you off guard as Hoodie sealed it with a soft kiss on your knuckle.
You craved for his lips sometimes, and it was often hard to remind yourself that this is a different person. Would it be cheating on Brian if it’s the same body?
What the hell were you talking about? This dude kidnapped you and you’re thinking about whether his lips would feel good against yours.
But you were satisfied as he kisses you on the cheek, "Get back to bed, now.” He started to coax you back into your room.
“Can’t I stay up with you for a bit?”
He squinted, and you could tell he was growing suspicious but nonetheless, he obliged with a, “Sure.” Taking you by the hand, he lead you to the kitchen. “I gotta take a shower first, I’m sure you can make something for yourself while I’m gone.”
The bathroom door was closed before you could even answer, “I literally just said that I wasn’t hungry earlier.” You mumbled, glancing around the cute kitchen.
Out of curiosity, you picked up one of the medicine bottles to see what he was taking and if that somehow made him more aggressive.
He had Tim’s pills. How and why? Did he steal them or did Tim give them to him? Was it the same way he got the picture?
You set the plastic down and walked over to the humming fridge. There wasn’t much in it, just a few packs of meat, two jugs of water, miscellaneous in the drawers, and a bag of chips. And that godforsaken tuna.
Why the hell does he keep chips in the fridge?
You took the box of ham and started making two sandwiches with cheese, lettuce, and mayo. You glanced in the direction of the hissing water in the bathroom before chucking the tuna in the trash, tossing some paper towels on top of it to hide the glint of the metal.
The hiss of the shower stopped, and you listened as Hoodie rustled around with some towels.
Oh fuck, he’s gonna try and seduce you.
You turned away from the door, busing your self with slowly pouring juice into the glass. Wet footsteps pass the kitchen, and you couldn’t help but glance though the window as he made his way to his room.
A guilty part of you wishes that Brian had those type of muscles when you were dating. This dude was really strong just from the look of his back.
He paused at the padlocks glancing over them, and then quickly locked with your eyes. You turned away, spilling the half-full glass all over the counter with a hissed curse.
You tried to look again, but the door was already closed.
You soaked up the juice, piling all of the towels in the trash until the counter was grape-free. Hoodie walked in, hair still wet and in (thankfully) clean clothes.
You accepted his advancements as he wrapped a pair of strong arms around your waist, nuzzling into your hair.
“You smell better than I do, and I’ve just taken a shower.”
“I smell like damp basement and cheap Irish Sring soap, don’t lie to me.” You picked up a plate and held it out to your left, letting Hoodie take a hold of it as you grabbed your plate and the two drinks.
You could tell how exhausted Hoodie was by the way he flopped down on the couch, almost looing his dinner in the process.
You set your plate and drink on the coffee table, knowing he’s going to want half of your sandwich anyways.
The air was calm, and rain had started to tap on the floor above you in the broken building. Hoodie was just chilling, watching the late night news and eating the sandwich you made for him.
It felt nice.
It felt normal.
You leaned your head on his shoulder, hugging his elbow as you cuddled up to him. You were touched starved, you craved affection and contact, and Hoodie was the only one around capable of giving it to you.
He set the plate down on the armrest and wrapped an arm around you, allowing the warmth of his chest to engulf you.
You closed your eyes and even dozed off a little bit until you were stirred by Hoodie running his hands through your tangled hair. You whined, aggravated that you were disturbed from your slumber.
“I love you."
You rolled your closed eyes. You didn’t respond, it was obvious you’re faking sleep now, but there was really no other option that would end well.
"Hoodie, I don’t love you. Not now.”
He stood up, quite abruptly, actually, and you almost fell on the floor.
“Then why are you doing this to me?” His muscles flexed under the black t-shirt he was wearing as he scowled down at you. “Don’t you realize this is torture?!”
The man sounded desperate, and his elbows were tucked to his waist insecurely. His eyes…they were truly filled with the pain of the truth.
But as he turned to leave, you managed an apology. “Hoodie, I’m sorry.” You clasped your hands together, straightening up on the couch.
“You’re not sorry.” He hissed, twisting back towards you. “You know what you’re doing.” The blonde squinted at you, searching your body for something, anything, that looked like remorse.
In his blind state of betrayal, he didn’t see any.
“I am sorry!” You stood up defensively, clenching your fists by your side. “How dare you say what I don’t feel! I was sorry, but now I’m not! You’re just an asshole who expects me to fall in love at first sight of you!”
“You did fall in love with me at first sight o-!”
“No, I didn’t! I feel in love with Brian Thomas, your ass had to ruin a perfect fucking relationship for your own selfish needs!”
Hoodie stayed silent, he was holding back. His fists were clenched so tight, his knuckles were turning white, and his eyes were full of burning hatred.
“I’m never going to love you, Hoodie. Not truly. Not if you always act like an entitled brat.”
“Don’t fucking lead me on then.” His shoulders slumped and his fingers loosened. “Don’t give false hope.”
You blinked, watching as he calmed down into sadness, “Hoodie, I didn’t want to do that…I want to make you happy, I want you to feel comfortable instead of tense and awkward which gets you on edge. Maybe even a little dangerous..”
He looked up from the ground and into your sympathetic eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him.
“Then you will not get rid of me until you love me.”
“That wasn’t our deal you sai-”
“Said that I’d free you in due time, yes,” He finished for you, “I keep my promises. Just like how I promised to make your life a living hell if you didn’t learn to love me. It’s a shared deal, sweetheart.” His voice was eerily calm.
You didn’t reply, you couldn’t. You knew if you opened your mouth you would start sobbing for mercy, for freedom. But you knew that wouldn’t happen on his account.
“Now, go to your room.” He jerked his head into the direction behind him, staring through your eyes instead of into them.
“This will not make me love you.” You whispered, looking closer into his eyes. You wished he could see the hurt in your eyes, the hatred.
But he kept his eyes trained on the plate sitting on the coffee table.
You sniffed, shoving past him towards your damp and dark room.
As you jumped into bed, you heard the sound of a plate crashing. Then another one. Right into the television.
You didn’t care. You turned over and stared at the wall until sleep consumed your tense nerves.
The door to [Y/N]’s room clicked and creaked quietly open. Hoodie stared at them, hoping the metallic sound of the gun didn’t wake them.
You could only see the shadow on the wall, and the clicking disturbance of the gun being handled. You couldn’t quite see his position, but he might be aiming at you. You don’t where else he’d point the gun at.
You dared not to move. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. You were frozen in fear of the idea of being shot.
The rustling of fabric and shrinking shadow signaled that he put the gun away but was advancing towards you. What if he decided on a knife instead?
Instead, a rough hand brushed your hair out of your face, and placed a soft kiss on your temple.
You know he’s not going to let up. You have to plan an escape.