𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Yandere! Volleyball Captain

Word Count: 777 words

You didn’t hear the gym door lock.

Not at first.

The air was thick with the sharp tang of sweat and the hollow echoes of balls slamming into the floor. The volleyball captain—him—stalked the court like a predator in his natural habitat, his voice sharp and commanding as he barked orders to his underlings. Those too weak to meet his expectations received only scorn, his disdain slicing deeper than the aching muscles in their failing bodies.

But when his gaze slid to you, the intensity shifted. A dark hunger, all-consuming and endless, pooled in his deep eyes. You thought you were hidden behind the rows of bleachers, barely noticed. You were wrong.

He had seen you before you even stepped into the building.

“You shouldn’t be here, babe.” His voice was silk dipped in venom, every syllable carrying the unspoken threat that tightened your throat. His words were for you alone, though the gym’s acoustics carried them like gunfire.

You froze. Maybe it was the weight of his words. Maybe it was the calculated slowness with which he walked toward you, each step measured, deliberate, as if to savor the inevitability of your submission. The floor creaked under his weight—no, not creaked, moaned—like it too feared the power behind his towering, muscular frame.

Your pulse stuttered when he reached you, his body radiating a heat that pressed against your skin, suffocating. His broad shoulders blocked out the fluorescent light, his shadow swallowing you whole.

“Why are you shaking?” he asked, a cruel grin splitting his face. He tilted his head, feigning curiosity, though his sharp, calculating gaze left no room for innocence. “Scared of me?”

Your denial was a whisper, barely audible, but his sharp ears caught it. He chuckled, the sound so low and menacing it seemed to reverberate in your bones. He reached out, his fingers trailing along the curve of your jaw, down the line of your neck—an act so intimate it felt more like possession than touch.

“Lying to me now, are you?” His voice dropped, a growl that promised punishment. “That’s cute. Real cute. But I don’t like liars.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip ironclad, and yanked you forward. Your feet skidded on the polished floor, and you collided with his chest. His heartbeat thundered against your cheek, steady and unrelenting—a contrast to the frantic rhythm of your own.

“You think you can walk in here, flutter those innocent eyes at me, and then just leave?” His breath was hot against your ear, each word enunciated with a calculated malice. “No, no, no. You’re in my world now. And in my world, little girls don’t get to play pretend.”

When you tried to pull away, his hand tightened, the pressure just shy of breaking bones. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Run. If you want to make this fun, I’ll even give you a head start. But know this—once I catch you, you’re mine. Forever.”

The way he said it—”mine“—wasn’t a promise. It was a death sentence.

You didn’t run. Your legs wouldn’t listen, paralyzed by the suffocating dread that filled the room. He laughed again, low and condescending, as if amused by your futile defiance.

“Smart girl,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It’s better this way. Saves me the trouble of breaking those pretty little legs of yours.”

He dragged you backward, his strength so overwhelming it left no room for resistance. The gleaming, sweat-streaked gym blurred around you, the world narrowing to the sound of his ragged breaths and the suffocating grip of his calloused hands.

“You should have stayed home,” he mused, his tone almost conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But then again, what kind of man would I be if I let my girl wander off? You belong to me now. I’ll make you understand that.”

The gym door creaked as he pushed it open, the dim light spilling into the hallway. No one was there. No witnesses. No escape.

His hand slid down your arm, past your wrist, to lace his fingers through yours. The act was jarring in its mockery of tenderness. His grip was so tight it felt like shackles, unyielding and final.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he said as he pulled you into the shadows. His grin was a blade, sharp and merciless. “For saving you from this filthy world. For making you mine.”

And then the door slammed shut, leaving nothing but darkness and the echo of his laughter.