The worst part? You’ve stopped trying to fight it.
❤︎ Synopsis. You can feel him before you see him—a storm disguised as a man, relentless and consuming. No matter how far you run, he always finds you, his obsession tightening like a noose, promising that the worst is yet to come.
♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology
♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader
♡ Oneshot. Hunted by Him – Part 1
♡ Word Count. 1,157
♡ TW. dom + top yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances
♡ A/N. This is a prelude or sneak peak to the upcoming Novelette for Yandere! College! Bully. As of the moment, I’m 70% done with the first part (psychological). After, I will be working on the second part (explicit non con and sexual torture).
You feel him long before you see him. It’s a suffocating, primal awareness—an instinct screaming danger. There’s no mistaking it, that oppressive energy curling like smoke in the air, seeping into your lungs and setting your nerves alight. His presence is not a whisper or a breeze. It’s a storm on the horizon, a low, thrumming hum in your chest, vibrating with malice and inevitability. Even across the campus courtyard, even amidst the chaos of chattering students and blaring music, you know he’s found you again. He always does.
You’ve tried to escape. Of course, you have. You’ve taken alternate routes, skipped classes, holed up in bathroom stalls until your legs cramped and your breaths came shallow. It doesn’t matter. He’s a hunter—your scent is embedded in his mind, a bloodied trail leading straight to your trembling form. You can’t hide from him. You never could. The futility of it clings to you like damp clothes, cold and suffocating.
When he finally steps into view, your stomach knots. He’s unhurried, his stride easy and languid, as though he has all the time in the world to close the distance. And he does. You can’t run. You can barely breathe. The sheer arrogance in his movements is unbearable, his senior status cloaking him in a sheen of untouchable authority. He doesn’t just rule this place; he’s carved it into his image. Every whispered laugh, every stolen glance, every shadowed corner belongs to him.
The chatter dies down as he passes. People avert their eyes, conversations tapering into murmurs. The weight of his presence silences even the boldest of voices. The air crackles around him, thick with the magnetic pull of his dominance. And then he sees you. His lips curl, and you know, deep in the marrow of your bones, that you’re caught.
You’ve always been caught.
Your fingers clutch at the lukewarm hot choco cup in front of you, trembling as if the ceramic might shield you from the inevitable. It won’t. You know it won’t. He’s already decided, already made you his prey the moment you stepped into his orbit. His boots strike the floor with an unrelenting rhythm, each step a countdown to your unraveling. The air sharpens with his approach, every sound muffled except for the pounding of your heart.
When he reaches your table, he doesn’t speak right away. He looms. His shadow swallows you whole, his towering frame a monument to your insignificance. He’s close enough now that you can see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, smell the expensive cologne mingling with the faintest trace of cigarette smoke. His fingers, long and tapered, rest on the table with casual authority. The other hand reaches for you, tilting your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Skipping again, huh?” His voice is a low rumble, rich and dark like poisoned honey. “You’re making this too easy.”
You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw. There’s no warmth in the gesture, only control—a reminder of his strength, his dominance. His smirk widens as your breathing hitches, his amusement glittering in those sharp, predatory eyes.
“What?” he murmurs, his tone laced with mock concern. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you finally learning to behave?”
Your silence fuels him. He’s a sadist, a creature of chaos who thrives on your humiliation. Every flinch, every tremor of your lips is a victory for him, a notch in his belt. He’s turned your life into a spectacle, a circus act where you’re the hapless clown and he the ringmaster. A spilled drink, a whispered rumor, a strategically placed ‘accident’—he weaves his web with the precision of a master craftsman, ensuring there’s no escape. And the worst part? No one stops him. No one dares.
He’s the golden boy, the fourth-year idol with a jawline that could cut glass and a body carved from marble. His charisma is lethal, his reputation untouchable. To the world, he’s a hero—to you, he’s a nightmare.
But even nightmares have layers. There’s something darker beneath his cruelty, a gnawing obsession that makes his attention linger a moment too long, his touch press a fraction too hard. He’s not just tormenting you for sport. He’s claiming you, piece by trembling piece.
His hand slides from your chin to your throat, his fingers curling just enough to remind you of the power he wields. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot and taunting as he whispers, “You know, I’ve been thinking about you. Can’t seem to get you out of my head.”
The words are tender, almost loving, but there’s a venom in them that turns your stomach. His thumb strokes the hollow of your throat, a mockery of affection. “It’s cute how you try to avoid me,” he continues, his voice dropping lower. “Like a little kitten running from the big, bad wolf.”
He pulls back just enough to study your face, his expression inscrutable. There’s amusement there, yes, but also something far darker. Hunger.
“But you’re not very good at hiding, are you?” His thumb traces a slow, deliberate line along your jaw, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You always end up right where I want you.”
The cafeteria feels impossibly small, the walls closing in as his gaze pins you in place. His smirk deepens, a flash of teeth that sends a shiver down your spine. He’s enjoying this, the sight of you trembling beneath him, the knowledge that you’re powerless against him. And in that moment, you realize that he’s not just a bully. He’s a storm, a force of nature that will consume everything in his path, including you.
Your breath catches as his grip tightens, his fingers pressing just enough to send your pulse skittering. For a brief, horrifying moment, you think he might kiss you right there, his lips hovering inches from yours. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans closer, his voice a low, velvety whisper. “See you tonight, sweetheart.”
And then he’s gone. The tension breaks like a snapped wire, leaving you gasping for air, your heart pounding against your ribs. The coffee in front of you has gone cold, forgotten. But the worst part isn’t the fear or the humiliation. It’s the tiny, traitorous part of you that wonders what he’ll do when you’re alone tonight.
Because you already know.
And that knowledge is more terrifying than anything else.
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𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 