#yandere jonathan ohnn
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Title: Extra-dimensional.
Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.
Pairing: Yandere!Spot x Reader (Spider-verse).
Word Count: 6.0k.
TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Semi-Public Sex, Tentacle-Adjacent Sex, Prolonged Stalking, Psychological Abuse, Themes of Grief, and Kidnapping.
You were starting to think that your apartment might’ve been haunted.
The science-focused part of your brain was forced to look at the evidence, to acknowledge how many well-accounted-for articles of clothing and minor keepsakes had gone missing over the past few weeks, to count how many times you’d caught shadowy figures flickering in the corner of your eye, to take stock of all possible causes and admit that, tragically, a temperamental spirit was the only remotely plausible explanation, even if you had to use the term ‘plausible’ more loosely than you’d like to. It made sense – or, it made as much sense as invoking supernatural entities could, anyway.
On the other hand, the part of your mind that paid rent every month and vacuumed twice a week really, really didn’t want your apartment to be haunted and vehemently denied that ghosts – unseen, untouchable, unsolvable ghosts – were something you’d have to deal with a down payment like yours.
Both parts of your brain could agree that leaving a fully in-tact, as-of-yet unopened bank vault would be a weird thing for a ghost to do, though.
Teeth grit, still dressed in the clothes you’d worn to the memorial, you stood with one foot planted on its overturned side and another lodged in your carpeting, the end of a crowbar you’d borrowed from your loudest downstairs neighbor lodged between the door and the wall where a badly beaten mechanism bound them together. You’d already called the cops, as little as you wanted to do with them or the quote-on-quote ‘heroes’ who’d failed to save him, but the operator had laughed you off of the line and despite the hours you’d spent buried in the deepest trenches of any search engine that would have you, the only report you could find of a bank robbery had taken place in London, on the other side of the world. You’d considered, briefly, that grief had driven you to hallucinations and this was just the first sign of an upcoming downward spiral, but that idea had been swiftly vetoed when you’d tripped over the damn thing and decided it was very much, very unfortunately real. The idea to pry it open had come a few minutes later, after deciding that you probably had a legal right to anything to investigate anything that spontaneously appeared in your living room – ghosts or no ghosts.
You heard something snap, felt the reverberation of a fracture underneath your palms, but the vault didn’t budge. The only thing that changed was your crowbar – the bent claw replaced with a jagged, broken-off tip when you managed to dislodge it from the vault. You winced, swallowing back in an agitated grown. Trial One: Crowbar vs. Spontaneously Generated Vault complete. So far, the vault reigned victorious.
You tried to take a deep breath, to count to ten and tell yourself that this was no different than a failed experiment, a half-baked test that just hadn’t gone your way, but you could still hear church bells ringing in the back of your mind, still picture two empty seats at the front of the chapel – one for Dr. Octavius and the other meant for the CEO of the Alchamax, neither brave enough to show their face. You weren’t even sure why you were so angry. It could’ve been the clipped speech delivered by a company representative who’d barely known him, the closed casket, the way your coworkers could barely bring themselves to meet your eyes despite your stunted attempts at making conversation through the knot lodged in your throat. It could’ve been everything. It could’ve been something else entirely. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. There were already tears streaming down your cheeks, dripping down your chin as you pulled the crowbar back and swung it into the vault’s door. The force of the collision rattled through your body, but you steeled yourself and did it again, then again, then again, until the smooth, black metal was dented beyond any hope of repair and your crowbar was warped and misshapen. Finally, when you were panting and breathless, when your hands threatened to cramp and your shoulders ached in their sockets, you drove the blunted crowbar into the vault’s door with what was left of your quickly draining strength. In the end, your aggression was rewarded with a metallic clang, the sound of something cracking open, and then, what was left of the vault door fell open – nearly taking out one of your feet before you stumbled out of the way.
You clenched your eyes shut, forcing out a ragged exhale and re-tallying your score. Trail II: Crowbar vs. Spontaneously Generated Vault complete. Although the vault put up a good fight, the crowbar’s endurance ultimately persevered. Interference from external factors and researcher’s bias will be considered later on with the assistance of a glass of wine and a mediocre romcom you’ll cry your eyes out to.
Once you’d managed to dampen the lingering heat of your grief-fueled anger, you turned your attention to the bank vault’s contents – the fruits of your labor, the results of your little experiment. You weren’t sure what you expected. Jewelry, maybe, artifacts or century-old paintings some underground dealer had to ditch in a stranger’s apartment for reasons you couldn’t begin to comprehend. Part of you, the part of you that remembered the number written across your last paycheck, couldn’t help but hope for something simple; a disorderly pile of unmarked bills that you’d count and stow away and pretend you weren’t dying to waste. That part of you wasn’t entirely wrong, either.
Neatly stacked in the overturned bank vault, only slightly disrupted by your attempts to pry it open, were stacks upon stacks of neatly organized dollar bills. Or, that wasn’t quite right, actually. They were bills, but they weren’t dollars.
You took one of the bundles in your hand. English pounds – sorted by color and bound together by paper bands toting a logo you didn’t recognize. Huh.
Maybe your next call should be an international one.
~
By the next month, you’d escalated from a vaguely haunted apartment to a full-blown spectral presence that you just couldn’t seem to shake.
Spectral presence. You still weren’t convinced it was a real term, but you’d picked it up after a conversation with one of your coworkers (former coworker, now, you had to remind yourself, one of your former coworkers) when you both stepped out of a quickly lulling group session and you’d off-handedly mentioned your little ghost problem. In the moment, you’d laughed and shrugged and promised to let them know if you ever called an exorcist, but the phrase had stuck, resurfaced the next time you couldn’t find the threadbare t-shirt you’d been wearing for the better part of a decade and cemented itself in the forefront of your consciousness when the aforementioned shirt reappeared on your balcony, a jagged tear running from the collar to the midriff and the hems eaten away to nothing. If that didn’t count as a presence, you weren’t sure what would.
That was the first time your little ghost problem had followed you out of the house, but it wouldn’t be the last. You could practically feel it, now; constantly looming over your shoulder, constantly watching, constantly leaving little trinkets in places it knew you would be. If you could even call them that. They were more like… oddities – rings made of a kind of metal you couldn’t recognize, puzzle boxes you couldn’t seem to figure out, things that should make sense but just didn’t when you looked into them. The only one you’d been able to make sense of so far was a pair of glasses, one of the lenses sporting a hair-line fracture. You’d spent the rest of that day huddled in your closet, the door shut and the lights off. You considered that you could have a stalker, someone or something who loved you enough or hated you enough to follow you around, leaving things you didn’t want to see in places it knows you’d find them, but you didn’t know how a stalker would even start to get their hands on something like that. You didn’t know how anything of his could’ve survived that explosion, but you weren’t in a place to ask those kinds of questions, anymore.
Currently, you weren’t in a place to do much of anything. You’d spent most of the night before sleepless and huddled into yourself, and now, you were glassy-eyes and exhausted, staring down an aisle’s worth of produce blankly as you tried to ignore the chill fanning over the nape of your neck. You kept your tongue caught in your teeth, counting out the micro-seconds between one breath and another with a precision refined by years of measuring the time between stimulus and reaction, holding yourself stiff enough to drown out the unsteadiness. It’d pass, soon enough. It had to pass, eventually. You just had to—
Something brushed against the small of your back and you straightened, snapping over your shoulder and finding, predictably, nothing. You tried to write it off as just another figment of your stress-induced paranoia, a symptom of so many late nights and so little external stimulation, but any hope of calming your racing heart was torn away with you by the feeling of something settling against the curve of your shoulder-blade, then dipping lower, following the curve of your spine before sliding to your hip. It was a phantom sensation – cold and weightless, hollow and so close to intangible – but you could feel it clearly enough to recognize that it was pressing against you directly, frozen tendrils sapping the warmth from your skin without clothes to buffer its awful touch. There was something else to it, too, a sort of buzzing that you couldn’t seem to compare to anything but static. It burnt. It didn’t feel like anything at all.
If you’d been braver, you might’ve glanced down, tried to see if the fabric of reality had opened to reveal some terrible, eldritch thing, but you weren’t and it was all you could do to clench your eyes shut, to cross your arms over your chest and pray that would be enough to protect you from the thin trail of frigid, searing static slowly creeping up your side, drifting to your navel, following the curve of your chest until it was resting just underneath the base of your throat. You weren’t sure what you were afraid of. That it would hurt you, maybe, that the thing that was haunting you for months would realize it could touch you and take the next logical step. You didn’t want to die in a grocery store. You didn’t want to die at all. You didn’t want to—
“Do you mind, dude?”
The static disappeared, dissolving into the open air, and your eyes shot open, immediately finding a strung-out teenager standing next to you, awkwardly attempting to reach for something you must’ve been standing in front of. More out of reflex than anything else, you stepped back, muttering an apology under your breath before retreating out of the store entirely. You decided, when you were a block away and just starting to catch your breath, that you’d never be going back. You decided you were never going to think about what’d just happened to you again.
And, later on, when you realized that you wouldn’t be any safer at home, you decided not to think about your little haunting at all.
~
It was creeping up your spine, again.
“You’ve got more than enough experience for the position we’re offering.”
Lingering at the nape of your neck, pausing, then circling to your chest to trace over your collarbones.
“And I saw your resume, too – very impressive stuff. We’d love to have someone with your qualifications on our staff.”
It usually waited until you were alone, locked in your apartment or curled up under your sheets. It hadn’t touched you again in public since your first physical encounter – something you were thankful for and horrified by in equal measures. You didn’t want to consider the possibility that it was a conscious entity. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean if it knew what it was doing to you.
“There’s just one question. You mentioned that you were formerly employed at,” A pause, a polite smile that meant ‘depending on your answer, you might not be in my office for much longer’, “Alchemax?”
You forced yourself to smile, too, shifting slightly in your uncomfortable leather seat and hoping that would be enough to dispel the trail of frost now gliding down your chest. “Unfortunately,” you started, and your specter dipped lower, past your stomach and into the space between your thighs. You clenched your legs shut, then thought better of it and crossed them, but that did little to stop the chill now washing over your lap, fanning over the inside of your thigh. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve called it groping. “I wasn’t in that department, if that’s what you’re wondering. Our work was supposed to be completely theoretical. None of us knew what was really going on until – well, until everything knew.”
Your total rejection of autonomy appeased the interviewer, who rewarded your sacrifice by nodding his head and shuffling the papers on his desk before launching into some lengthy monologue about benefits and turn-over rates that you couldn’t bring yourself to concentrate on. Your crossed legs offered little protection. The entity’s touch expanded, infecting everything it contacted with that awful static and turning your skin warm, hyper-sensitive. A strange, alien weight fell onto your clit, pressing down harshly enough to earn a sudden gasp, to make you jerk forward and wrap your arms around your stomach. The interview went silent, his expression turning to one of sympathy-tinged confusion. “Oh, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m just—” You tried to straighten your back, to brace yourself on the arm of your chair, but the entity dipped lower, two finger-like projections tracing down the length of your slit and you forced yourself to stand in spite of your unsteady legs. “It’s just been so humid, lately. I think I might need to step out and get something to drink—”
“Please, let me.” No, no, no. You needed to be somewhere else, to find a broom closet to hide in until this was over, but you couldn’t say that, couldn’t explain that all you wanted to do was get away from here and run farther than this entity would be able to follow you. You couldn’t say much of anything as you fell back into your seat, as your interview offered a curt apology and fled his own office before you could do the same. You might’ve thanked him, but you couldn’t be sure. It was impossible to hear anything over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.
As you feared, the entity seemed to know that you were alone. Its formerly ginger touch turned aggressive, dull fingertips (because they were fingers, you couldn’t deny it any longer, couldn’t claim this thing was as far from human as you hoped it would be) burrowing into the inside of your thigh harshly enough to bruise before pulling back and turning their attention back to your cunt, your clit. It was more than just the ghost of sensation, now – the pad of a thumb pressing into the sensitive bundle of nerves and drawing loose, quick circles into your clit. Your body, senses dialed up by paranoia and defenses thinned by exhaustion, reacted instantly, an unfamiliar warmth pooling in your core as you dug your nails into the leather seat and tried to hold yourself still, tried to stop your stupid, stupid body from doing anything that’d suggest you wanted to be molested by a ghost.
You grit your teeth, to clench your thighs together, but your resistance only seemed to make it more aggressive. You felt a hand curl around your ankle and jerk your leg to the side, forcing your legs apart. It was quick to fill the empty space, three fingers pressing into your entrance as the heel of a palm continued to torture your clit. Whatever chill it carried, you were burning hot enough to balance it out, now, to leave you struggling to ignore the slick starting to dampen the inside of your thighs, the wet sounds that echoed off the blank office walls as two fingers slid into your pussy – only vaguely muffled by fabric still between you and it. Suddenly, the material of your dress-pants felt thin, transparent, and against your better judgement, you forced yourself to look toward the door. The interviewer had closed it on his way out, but it wasn’t locked. You doubted it was soundproof, either. If you were lucky, they’d be short-staffed, and no one would have a reason to pass this specific office though this specific hallway. And, if you weren’t…
You choked back a ragged groan as the fingers inside of you started to move, started to do more than just grope and tease and haunt. Rather than numb, rather than paralyze, the static seemed to tote a much, much worse side-effect. There was a sort of… buzzing vibration, a resonating tremor that made you want to lean back, go slack, and let the sensation wash over you. You couldn’t, though. Even if you forfeited the job, gave up on the idea of ever working in this industry, you knew you’d never be able to show your face in public again if someone walked in and you had to explain what was happening to you right now. That was, if you even could explain what was happening to you right now.
You caught the inside of your cheek in your teeth, biting down until you tasted blood. The digits quirked upward, rubbing against your pulsing walls before scissoring apart, stretching you open. There was no pattern to it, no method you could track and prepare yourself for. If you didn’t know better, you’d call it experimental. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve called it clumsy.
You could feel your face heating up, a knot of tension growing tighter in the pit of your stomach, but rather than sped up, push forward, force you further towards that inevitable ledge, the entity’s hand pulled back, rubbing one more careless pattern into your clit before falling away completely. You let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and disappointment, letting one last disgusted shudder run through you before straightening your back and—
And forcing a palm over your mouth just in time for a tongue, wet and thick and cold, to run over your cunt, hauling you back to the edge just as quickly as you’d pulled away from it. It was rough, the texture too savage to be human, and so wet, the slick you’d been trying to ignore was immediately replaced with thick, freezing saliva. Even the length seemed designed to torture you – long enough to lap over your entrance and your clit in the same slow, aching stroke; to thrust into you and fill the space its fingers had left empty. Memories of a course on specialized biology resurfaced in the fog of forced pleasure and helpless confusion, something about the evolution of a giraffe’s tongue and then, in another lecture, of the practice of masturbation among dolphins as a marker of their intelligence. You’d hated that fucking class. You hated that you were thinking about it now, instead of doing anything useful.
Its tongue was wider, more flexible than its fingers had been. It didn’t have to stretch you open, no, not when it was big enough to keep you full as its tapered end curled and probed against the walls of your cunt. Two fingers pressed into your clit, drawing loose patterns while its tongue split you open so gracelessly, so brutally, it almost circled back around to feeling good. You didn’t try to stop yourself from grinding into it, anymore, letting your legs twitch and your hips buck freely as it worked, as it tore you apart with all the care of a predator gnawing at slabs of raw meat. Every scrap of your limited energy was devoted to keeping yourself quiet, to stifling the needy whimpers and little whines that managed to escape despite your best efforts to silence them. That terrible buzzing seemed to grow stronger, now intense enough to send pulsing jolts of pure electricity from your pussy to your core, and you doubled over, blunt nails biting into your own skin as that thing finally shoved you over the side and brought your body to a trembling, blinding orgasm.
It nursed you through your climax, and as the euphoria faded and the aftershocks dulled into sharp, searing pangs, you managed to speak, your voice hushed and shaking for reasons that were entirely beyond your control. “Go away,” you forced out, praying that your interviewer had left the building, that there had never been a research center here at all and you were just sitting in a condemned building crying about nothing because grief had driven you insane weeks ago and you were just too lost in your own delusions to notice. “Please, go away.”
There was a second of hesitation, a lingering chill against the inside of your thigh, and the entity chose to show its first sign of mercy and finally, finally leave – its cold tongue lapping over your cunt one more time before disappearing completely. You had a second to pull yourself into a more dignified position, another to make sure you didn’t look like someone who’s just gotten finger-fucked by a ghost in the empty office of a higher-up who had to already think you were some mad-scientist reject before the door swung open, your interviewer stepping back in and smiling at you as if nothing in the world could’ve possibly been wrong.
His eyes flickered over your hollowed expression, your wide eyes, your unsteady posture as he handed you a lukewarm bottle of water. You could only wonder why it’d taken him so long to get. “Are you…” A pause, a slight wince. You tried to pretend you didn’t notice. “…feeling alright?”
“Just fine,” you said, your voice hoarse, barely audible. You managed to brace yourself on the arms of your chair, pulling yourself upward and leaving the bottle forgotten in your lap. You didn’t want to drink anything. Not until your hands stopped shaking, at least.
“I think we were talking about my qualifications?”
~
You got the job, despite everything. They asked you to start as soon as you could, but you’d made your excuses, cited a half-remembered clause that’d come with your suspension package and got whoever was in-change of that kind of thing to hold the position for another month. You couldn’t imagine willingly stepping back into that building again, not yet. You couldn’t imagine doing much of anything, not when he still hung over your life like the smoke of a funeral pyre.
It'd been a bad idea, looking back on it. You should’ve worked harder to get yourself out of your stifling apartment. You should’ve done more to keep up with the friends you’d pushed away after the incident, to make sure you didn’t leave yourself socially isolated and alone. You should’ve left town. You should’ve fled the country.
You should’ve done everything in your power to make sure you didn’t end up where you were now, facing down the thing that was currently standing in your bathroom doorway.
Your ghost, you figured – even if it’d been weeks since you genuinely thought you were only dealing with a run-of-the-mill haunting. It looked… blurry, for lack of a more creative descriptor; the white, chalky outline of a humanoid figure standing sharply out against the entirely black background. If it had a body, it was lost in the shadows of the hallway beyond, the shadows it’d created when it appeared out of nowhere and took every light bulb in your apartment out with a single pulse of extra-dimensional energy. Right now, the only source of light was the phone you were clutching in your right hand, your left similarly preoccupied, busy keeping your suddenly very, very thin towel wrapped around your torso. It probably didn’t matter. As far as you could tell, this thing didn’t have eyes, let alone genitalia.
That was what the rational, scientific part of your brain said, at least. The rest was replaying the memory of the way its hand had felt as groped at your thighs and couldn’t seem to comprehend much else.
You half-expected it to lunge at you, or rather, to creep at you, to disappear and reappear just outside of your peripheral, too far to see but close enough to sense. In the end, it only had to take a step forward, its movements slow and jerky, as if it wasn’t used to carrying its own weight just yet. Did it even weigh anything? Could you weigh something that clearly wasn’t supposed to exist? It didn’t really matter. You already knew it could touch you. You already knew it could kill you, if it wanted to.
Another step, then another. It closed the distance between you easily, coming to a stop less than arm’s length in front of you. You could see it more clearly, make out a smear of color in the void, like light catching on an oil spill. The white lines that bordered its form were moving in a way you hadn’t been able to make out from across the room, too; trembling and shaking, constantly shifting as if it was only ever a second away from falling apart entirely. If you weren’t so scared, you’d be tempted to reach out, see what happened when you made contact with it, rather than the other way around. If you weren’t so afraid, you might’ve been able to do anything.
It lifted a hand, reaching towards you with those same unnatural movements. Its fingertips brushed over your skin, painting a strip of frost across your cheek, and you felt your blood turn to ice. You couldn’t hear the buzzing, but then again, it might’ve just been a sign that you’d already gone deaf with fear.
You opened your mouth, but speech was hindered, your internal monologue limited to a never-ending mantra of ‘go away go away go away go away go away’. Eventually, you managed to spit something out, even if your voice was barely above a whisper by the time it reached your lips. “I don’t want you here.”
There was a second of stillness, of silence. You started to wonder if you’d made it angry, if it could be angry. You started to wonder if it could understand you at all.
Your makeshift flashlight wavered, sputtering a few times before giving out completely. You scrambled to turn it back on, to not be left alone in the dark with a monster, but your apartment flickered back to life and you found yourself standing alone, the entity having blinked out of reality in the time it took your eyes to adjust to the light. The only proof that it’d been there at all was your dead phone and how violently your hands were still shaking.
You considered leaving your apartment. You considered leaving the city – renting a car and driving as far as you were able to. You’d sleep in whatever shady, cheap motels would have you, start a new life across the country with only your meager savings and multiple PhDs to keep you afloat. You’d change your name. You’d get away from here, away from it. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, now that the infestation had spread to your sanctuary, too.
You took a shuddering breath, then set your phone down and let your towel fall away. You didn’t bother getting dressed before climbing into bed and curling up underneath your sheets, hoping in-vain that your comforter would be enough to hide you from any unseen voyeurs.
Some part of you must’ve already known that it wouldn’t.
~
You couldn’t remember waking up.
You must’ve, at some point. But, if you had, you would’ve remembered being brought here, would’ve been able to recognize the feeling of countless hands wrapping around your wrists, your ankles; countless mangled tendrils tangling around your fingers and dripping down your arms, snaking up your legs until you were entirely at its mercy. The numbers didn’t add up. There were too many hands, too many moving parts, too many things for your confusion-addled mind to keep track of. You couldn’t seem to figure out if you were suspended mid-air or if the gravity was different, if you were genuinely as weightless as you felt. That, more than anything, fueled the growing nausea twisting in the pit of your stomach, the growing sense of wrongness that threatened to tear away what little stability you had left. What little sanity you had left.
You tried to look past the awful things wrapped around you, to ground yourself with something beyond shifting colors and distorted limbs, but whatever pocket dimension you’d been dragged into didn’t offer much comfort. An expanse of white stretched on as far as you could see, only interrupted by free-floating pools of pure darkness; drops of ink spilled across an otherwise blank canvas. Occasionally, the landscape would waver, leaving you in a pure void broken up by streaks of colorless flesh that’d burn themselves into your sight and linger as phantom visions for seconds after the false reality corrected itself. Even the feeling of its skin against yours was off-putting, unsettling, lacking the warmth that would’ve accompanied the touch of anything human. Where there should’ve been comfort, there was nothing, a total absence of life and familiarity to a degree you’d never experienced before. Where there should’ve been intimacy, there was strangeness, and you’d never taken well to strangeness.
A pang of pure ache ran from your cunt to your core, a sort of numbing electricity that made your legs twitch and your body seize. Right, you’d managed to forget. It was touching you, beyond just the hands shackled around your wrists and ankles and the amorphous tendrils laving over any part of you they could reach. Two fingers kept your pussy spread open and vulnerable while a thick, tapered tendril thrust into you at the kind of idle, languid pace that was simultaneously infinitely merciful and too agonizing to put words to. That was one of the only things you could feel – the agonizing stretch, the tight knot of tension sitting in the pit of your stomach. If you’d been able to move anything beyond your eyes, you might’ve gagged. If your body had been something tangible, something real, you might’ve felt sick.
The tendril curled inside of you, and every fiber of your being seemed to wither. Struggling was pointless, but you still had to try, thrashing against your restraints, digging your nails into that obsidian flesh and praying to whichever deity would listen that it wouldn’t think to fight back. Fortunately, your blunt nails and weak thrashing didn’t seem to faze it. You weren’t sure if it knew you were there beyond some unconscious tactile sense, like a freshly triggered venus flytrap closing around its victim. You weren’t sure which was more horrific – the idea that there was some sentient, self-aware being knowingly and decisively doing this to you, or the passing thought that you’d just been caught in the mouth of some mindless creature that happened to like the way you tasted.
You decided not to think about it. You decided not to think about anything. You decided that, if you kept your mind totally blank, if you refused to count how many times you’d caught a lingering shadow in the corner of your eye or felt a stray hand brush against the small of your back, if you refused to feel its disembodied tendril filling your cunt, then none of this was happening, then you weren’t trapped in an plane of endless nothingness and you weren’t being fucked by the monster that’d been haunting you for months, now. You clenched your eyes shut and promised yourself that you couldn’t feel its dulled tip rubbing against that sensitive, softened spot inside of you, that your hips didn’t buck as another hand appeared from a puddle of kaleidoscopic ink and pressed three fingers into your abused clit, that it didn’t matter if warmth was starting to pool in your core because it couldn’t matter.
Ignoring it wasn’t an option, though. It wouldn’t let you ignore it – its pace changing, speeding up, getting rougher as you failed to stifle your reactions, failed to swallow down the little gasps and moans that slipped past your parted lips. It was almost brutal in its unyieldingness, fucking into you with enough force to bruise as you writhed and scratched and screamed. There was no remorse, no care, just its forceful affection and your body’s response. Another tendril wrapped around your midriff, another hand falling to your chest, and you let out a long, wordless cry. The entity reacted immediately, the blunt head of a tendril forcing its way past your lips and lodging itself in your throat, forcing you to gag around its bulk. It smelled like ozone – fresh and thrilling and terrible all at once. It tasted organic.
This one, mercifully, didn’t seem to want to hurt you. It seemed content to explore you, to twist around your tongue and prod at every corner of your mouth. Still, tears formed in the corners of your eyes, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chest as you attempted not to choke, as you tried not to let the deformed mass fucking into your cunt tear you apart. Your vision was distorted, blurred and darkened around the edges, but you forced yourself to open your eyes, to stare blankly at the new well of ink forming some indescribable distance above you. It was bigger than the others, soon interrupted by a border of white appearing in the darkness, the shape wavering, sketchy, like chalk line drawn with an unsteady hand. Eventually, you made out a shape not unlike the one you’d seen in your apartment all those weeks ago, the ghostly entity that’d barely had to lift a finger to terrify you. This one was different, though – harsher, flitting and flashing in and out of existence faster than you could comprehend. If it’d been a breath away from falling apart the last time you saw it, reality was struggling to hold itself together around it, now.
A head emerged from the darkness, then a neck, then the entity’s broad shoulders. A hand materialized, extending from the pull of darkness and reaching towards you, towards the mess of dark matter and appendages that now all-but entirely encompassed your form. Its fingertips brushed against your jaw, then cupped your cheek, it’s touch careful, ginger, cautious. As if it was trying to be gentle with you. As if it was trying to be loving.
You’re not sure what part of your exhausted mind made the connection, which piece slid into place first. You let your head lull to the side, your jaw fall limp around the tendril in your mouth. You grunted, a premature attempt to speak that it could separate from all the other meaningless, ragged sounds that’d been forced out of you by its invasive touch, and the tendril pulled back, wrapping loosely around your neck. It still took you a moment to find your voice, but you managed to spit out something nearly coherent.
“…Jonathan?”
For a moment, the hands wrapped around your limbs loosened, the tendril attempting to split you in two faltering and before going still.
Then, there was a resounding, resonating purr that seemed to emanate from every corner of the micro-dimension. When the tendril started to move again, it thrusted into you with twice the force, twice the mania. This time, you didn’t have to pretend. You were floating on air, your thoughts blank and your mind empty – your body numb and unfeeling. This time, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get away.
This time, you didn’t even bother to try.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#yandere spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderverse imagines#spiderverse#yandere spot#spot x reader#jonathan ohnn x reader#yandere jonathan ohnn#yanderecore#yancore
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hhrhrhrhr do you think you could write something with Johnathon and the reader being roommates in college and he’s creepy around them but the reader is lowkey into it and ends up fucking him or something GAH I fucking love the way you write him 😭
TW: dub//n 😈 VERY MUCH NS//FW
LOVE U ❤️ SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT❤️
Word count: 2855
Jonathan is a creep. He’s the reason why all dorms should be divided by gender, but for some reason yours isn’t. You can’t stand him. He always has to talk to you for some reason and he is beyond annoying. You can’t bring anyone over because of him, he will talk up a storm until you guys excuse yourselves. That’s not even the worst part…
The worst part? The way he stares at you. The way you can’t even change a jacket without him gazing pervertedly at your exposed flesh. The way your underwear and sock drawer seem more unkempt than the way you left it before class, but you can’t prove anything.
Jonathan isn’t always so bad. He’s better now. It took months for you to get comfortable with him, and a lot of aggression from you to force him to act right. Well, not exactly comfortable, but you can tolerate him.
It’s not like you had a choice. You’ve been waiting forever to change dorms but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen any time soon. It’s either force comfort, or go through hell.
At least he hasn’t touched you at any time, not that you know of. You two are civil.
Tonight you’re going out with your girls, getting wasted, and having the time of your life. You study most of the time and have rarely gotten the chance to go out this semester, or even dressed in something other than casual clothes.
You leave the dorm to shower and get ready. You look almost like a different person and for once people can actually see what your body looks like. You take a deep breath before entering. You know damn well Jonathan’s weird ass is going to do or say something strange.
You carefully open the door before walking in and grabbing the hem of your tiny dress before shimmying to pull it down as much as you can.
Jonathan is sitting down at his desk, on his computer, as usual. As soon as you step foot in the door his eyes are glued to you, almost star-struck. You roll your eyes in annoyance. His reaction is expected.
"O-oh!" His eyes are open wide excitedly and turns his gaming chair towards you. "You look great!" He gives you a sheepish grin, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. He rubs the back of his neck almost nervously. "Are- are you going out tonight?" His eyes dart down to your thighs, his smile falters, a bit unusual from him.
"Am I going out?" You raise an eyebrow, put your hands on your hips and bend down to get at his eye level. "What do you think, Jonathan?"
You can hear him audibly gulp. He looks away from you, he almost looks sweaty. "Um... Y-you... you're not dressed very... um... you shouldn't be out like that... it's dangerous," he stammered, his eyes flickering nervously.
This pisses you off beyond words. You poke him hard in the chest with your finger. "Don't ever tell me what to wear again..." You back away from him then walk over to your desk to get your purse. You can feel his eyes burning into the back of your thighs.
As you hook your purse over your shoulder you glance back at him with narrow eyes. “I’ll be back late, if I even come back.”
You turn your head away and head for the door, refusing to look back at him. In your peripheral vision you can see that Jonathan’s face has a different expression than usual, could he be frowning? You’ve seen him upset before of course, but not like this. The vibe felt different as you were leaving, you feel your shoulders getting heavy. It feels like… he’s jealous?
“Have fun! Be… be safe!” Jonathan blurts out just seconds before the door shuts completely.
You swallow, hard. You feel bad leaving him there. It doesn’t seem like he gets out much and your relationship with him has improved greatly over the last few months. Should you have invited him? A wave of guilt hits you until your friend calls, thankfully.
You answer and she wants you there ASAP. You scurry off to the party and shake off any bad thoughts you have. Hours pass by, you are wasted beyond comprehension and are practically dragging your feet across the hall. You didn’t even get to kiss anyone tonight but you had a great time with your friends and are so fucked up you don’t even think you can wash your face.
You even struggle to get your keys out of your purse and drop them on the floor. You have to slide down the door in order to avoid falling flat on the ground. As you pick up your keys you press yourself against the door to use it once again as an aid for standing. You hear various sounds, like music, talking, shuffling of feet. Hopefully it’s just remnants of the loud booming music from the party. It’s almost 4AM for crying out loud. He always sleeps late, but not this late.
You pray to god he’s knocked out cold. You press your keys inside slowly and twist the door knob anxiously. You feel a slight bit of anger as you push the door open realizing that-
“No. Fucking. Way.” You think.
He's still up in the dark glaring at his computer screen, worst timing ever.
“Oh! Hey!” Jonathan waves to you excitedly. “I didn’t think you’d be coming home!”
You sigh and walk inside. You toss your purse to the floor and slam the door shut behind you. He doesn’t even jump. You step out of your shoes and leave them by the door before walking to your bed and diving face first into it.
“You know I was just!-“ He still keeps rambling to you, not getting the hint that you want him to shut the fuck up. You try tuning him out as much as you can but he’s about to give you a headache.
"You know what Jonathan?" You interrupt. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you rub your temples in annoyance. You can’t take another word from him right now. Sleeping was a top priority. "I was really counting on you being asleep right now."
“Huh? O-oh!” He sheepishly smiles and rubs the back of his neck again. “I just… I just didn’t think you’d come back tonight! I was just up thinking… and I wanted to play some games to distract myself!”
You sit up from the bed and tilt your head to the side. "I wanted to sleep... to have peace and quiet for once… and maybe even get rid of some stress!" You grin, the alcohol still hitting. A thought crosses your mind. It would be funny to play with this pathetic man's feelings for once. He always makes you uncomfortable, why not make him? "Maybe I wanted to play with myself for once..." You smile at him and look him up and down.
“W-what!?” He stammers. Jonathan’s face is beet red, you can see his embarrassed expression from the computer’s light reflecting on his face. He’s speechless.
“What do you mean what?” You put your hands on your knees and lean forward towards him. “Maybe I wanted to touch myself Jonathan. You know I didn’t even get to kiss anyone tonight?” You can see his hands trembling in his lap, his thighs are pressed tightly together. He’s very rigid, almost like when you two first met.
“That’s- that’s… too bad! Haha…” He lets out a small awkward laugh and moves his chair slightly to the side.
“Yeah… I really need to relieve my stress.” You lie back down onto your side, still facing him. You bring your knees closer to your chest and put a hand in between your thighs teasingly. “I could just do it here while you’re awake though.” You cover your smile with one of your hands.
Jonathan has no words. He just stares at your body. His eyes resting on your lower half. Your dress is riding up your body sloppily and he can’t help but look. He licks his lips feeling desire surging through his body as his mind races.
“Look at me Jonathan…” You begin to rub your folds teasingly through your panties while glancing at him to see his reaction. You rock your hips against your hand and fake a small moan to see what he’ll do. To your disappointment it seems like he has no reaction, he’s still in place biting his lips together.
That’s embarrassing… A blush spreads across your cheeks. Immediately you regret your actions. You slowly remove your hand from in between your legs and turn your back towards him then scoot towards the wall, making room on the bed. You keep your mouth shut in shame.
You close your eyes shut in an attempt to go to sleep and hope that he’ll forget everything you did in the morning, or even better, that you’d forget. You can hear the sound of him getting up from his chair and bite your lips anxiously waiting for him to go to his bed.
“You… You’re so beautiful.” He whispers out to you. He sounds close. You can feel his body weight shifting onto your bed. You’re too anxious to turn your head towards him. His hand lingers in the air above your thighs, hesitantly, before deciding to give into his impulses and gently touch your thigh. He brings his body close to yours, his chest pressed tightly against your back and his hardness pressed into your backside.
Your heart has never beat this fast for him. It’s about to pound out of your chest. The liquor combined with his hard manhood pressing against you turns you on like crazy. You tremble against his body. He’s much taller than you thought, he feels huge next to you. He grinds his hardness against you and trails his fingers along your soft skin to lift your dress up above your hips.
You grab his wrist. “I-I don’t know John-“
“Please.” He interrupts. “Please let me show you how much I want you.” His lips graze against your neck. His fingers begin to trail upwards and in between your thighs, his touch becoming more insistent as you squirm against his body. He brushes two fingers against your warmth and presses lightly, rubbing up and down softly.
“I want you… I need you…” He plants passionate kisses along your neck. His fingers continue stroking you, pressing harder, more forcefully. “Do you like this?” His breath hot against your ear as he continues to kiss you. He rubs circles sweetly around your clit and you can’t help but moan. It fuels his desire to take you even more. It isn’t long before your panties are dampened with your wetness.
Without permission Jonathan’s hand makes its way underneath your panties and allows his fingers to explore your wetness with unapologetic force. He plunges one of his fingers inside of you, as deep as he can.
“Ah!” You yelp out. You didn’t expect him to force his finger inside without asking. “Wait Jonathan!” You grab his wrist in an attempt to pull it out of you but your desperate tone and panting only heighten his own pleasure.
“No. Let me do this for you…” He forces another finger in and begins to pump them in and out quickly. “You’re so wet…” He begins to grind his hardness against your ass again. “It’s because of me… because of how I’m touching you…” He begins to suck on your neck, ready to leave hickeys on you and mark you for the next few days.
“Mmph!” You try to hold in your moans. You’re ashamed that you’re so wet from this pervert assaulting your pussy, but it feels unbelievably good. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you wrap your thighs around his hand and grind against it.
Jonathan backs his crotch away from you for a moment. Using his free hand to reach into his sweats and pull his cock out. He presses his body against yours again even tighter, sandwiching you in between his own arousal and his fingers relentlessly plunging into your wetness. Your panties are slipping off from all of the friction rubbing against you.
Once again with his free hand he reaches down to yank your panties down to your knees. Your glistening sex and ass fully exposed to him. “Feel how much I want you.” He slips his cock in between your thighs and begins to fuck them. You whimper pathetically as he continues his assault, your juices dripping onto your thighs.
“I can’t hold back any more…” He withdraws his fingers from inside you abruptly and sits up on the bed to grabs your thighs, spreading them apart and lifting you up higher. He keeps your legs spread with one arm and grabs his cock to position it with your entrance. You look down at it with furrowed brows and a pathetic look on your face.
“Jonathan please-“ You cry out before being interrupted by his palm covering your mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you.” He breathes out, his voice low and hungry. “No more holding back. You’re mine.” He grips your thigh tightly before driving his raw hard cock into your wetness without warning, filing you completely.
You cry out in pain for a moment. He pounds into you with a rough intensity not caring about the pain you’re currently in, only about the pleasure that he’s going to give you. “You’re mine…” He revels in the sound of your moans and the sight of your desperate expression. You reach up to grab his shoulders for comfort as he fucks you into the mattress.
He can feel the tightness and the wetness enveloping him, enticing him to thrust harder, faster. He continues to pound into you with a relentless intensity, his hips meeting yours with a primal rhythm. The power he holds over you consumes him.
You place a hand onto the bed and try backing your hips away from him. You can barely take his poundings. The lewd sounds of your wet slick pussy and skin slapping against skin fill the room.
"No!” He raises a hand and gives you a light slap on the cheek as a reprimand. “You're my little fucktoy," he growls, his words laced with both possessiveness and desire. "And I'm going to use you however I please." He grips onto your hips, bringing you back down even harder onto his cock to accommodate his deep, forceful thrusts.
“Ugh!” You moan out. “Please! Slow down!” Your legs begin to shake as you struggle to keep them straight, your hands desperately clinging onto his shoulders again for support.
Ignoring your request, he continues to fuck you with an unyielding intensity, his grip on your hips growing tighter, leaving marks in his wake. He pounds into you mercilessly, his cock hitting all the right spots within you. Your sensitive pussy contracts around his length, the pleasure and intensity building once again. “You can take it…”
You lean your head down in shame. Your core begins to shake. You bring your arms down to hold onto your stomach. No, no no! You can’t hold it in. You’re about to cum all over his cock. Your face reddens and Jonathan can feel your impending release. He revels in the shame that washes over you, and the sound of your desperate cries.
The orgasm tears through your body, overpowering you completely. Despite your best efforts, you can't hold it in any longer, and you squirt all over his cock. Your warm juices cascade down your thighs and his. Leaking all over the bed.
"That's it. Take it!” He continues his forceful thrusts, pushing you to your limits and beyond. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, echoing with the intensity of your encounter. With a low growl, Jonathan releases his load deep within your core, his hot seed flooding your insides.
“You’re mine forever…” He remains inside of you before pressing his lips against yours and forcing his tongue into your mouth. You don’t fight him back. You let him explore your mouth and even suck on his tongue encouraging him to go further. He pants into your mouth like an animal, continuing the kiss before withdrawing his cock from inside of you. His seed leaks out of you. Jonathan hasn’t released himself in a long time and you were the perfect outlet to use.
He picks your tired body up from your bed and brings you over to his, tucking you into the sheets and pressing himself against you into a warm embrace. “You were made to be mine…” He breathes out before planting a loving kiss onto your head as you fall asleep. As you drift off into slumber he plugs a finger inside of you, making sure some of his cum stays inside of you the entire night.
You two are both so worn out that you sleep together all throughout the night until the afternoon without moving an inch away from each other.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED IT❤️
LOVE YOU ALL❤️
#johnathan ohnn x reader#jonathan ohnn#the spot x reader#yandere the spot#johnathan ohnn#tw dubcon#my post#yandere jonathan ohnn#if this made you nut let me know#jonathan ohnn x reader
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Yandere Johnathon Ohnn Headcanons
an: I am quite bored and I'm very desperate for content of pre-collider spot/Johnathon, so I must deliver!! it may be a bit ooc and have a lot of my own interpretation, but it's a fun concept to imagine what he'd be like as a yandere! I might do regular headcanons and a draft of what I think he was like before the collider incident. also yay! experimenting with a new format!!
in comparison to his post-collider self, Jonathan is a bit more of a tame yandere, but due to one of his only friends being liv, he's still not a normal romantic guy. Sometimes he can think realistically and know that you and him aren't meant to be, but other times he really believes it.
he uses his intelligence to his advantage. He is fairly calculated in his decisions. He knows what he can get away with and exactly how to do it.
He knows he should steal your dull dirty clothes rather than your brightly colored ones because they blend in easier and are more likely to go unnoticed when missing.
he will also occasionally take a gamble and steal your comfort shirts or your pillows. you'll always find a new pillow in it's place.
it comes to a point where he can't sleep without the presence of your scent somewhere. he gets distressed whenever the scent of you fades from the stolen items he has, and he can't swap out the items.
He knows your usual pattern in the day, and what circumstances could possibly change the outcome. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a whole bulletin board hidden in his closet. Maybe even a whole shrine of stuff he has stolen and was able to keep.
he's still very capable of being a sweet and sappy romantic though.
He'll angrily and anxiously chew on his pens thinking about how to kill a man trying to get close to you,
But he will also use his lunch break to go and buy you a gift if he notices you're sad.
He'll comfort you or offer support when you're freaked out over someone trying to break into your home, all while being that person. Either it was an accident for you to come home when he's intruding and he was able to get away, or it was carefully planned out so that he can use that stress to comfort you.
he definitely gives off a nervous kind of demeanor when you engage with him— hands trembling, excessive sweating, stuttering, and such a goofy grin plastered on his face.
you might think he's nervous— and that could be part of the reason he's acting that way— truth be told he's excited. overjoyed that you're talking to him.
he'd hang out with you every second of the day if he could.
as for how he'd get rid of someone that he thinks will damage the relationship (either non-existent or genuine) can vary.
the thought of murder crosses his mind many times a day.
whenever you exchange greetings with a coworker, laugh at someone's jokes— he always thinks something bad is happening.
but it takes a lot for him to actually act upon it.
if it's a coworker of his he has many opportunities to stage work accidents. and sometimes the opportunity is so great it would be foolish not to act upon it. so he does.
nsfw continued below!
He also knows that towels go in the wash at the end of the day, but they have enough of your scent on them to help him "get off".
I think used towels are one of his favorite things of yours to steal and smell. They're clean but they also have your scent clinging onto them...and the implication that your nude body was all over it. huffing the scent as he fondles himself—the humidity coats his throat, it's almost like he can taste you.
and those pillows of yours? there's a multitude of reasons as to why he doesn't return them— the main one being what he does with it.
the cuddling isn't an issue. but sometimes he just cant help himself and he grinds against the pillow— sometimes clothed, sometimes nude. and it just wouldn't be right to return it afterwards!
if you're coworkers, sometimes after a conversation, even just an email reply, he has to excuse himself for a quick break in the bathroom to regulate him— and by that I mean stroking himself.
#tw murder#tw stalking#tw yandere#nsft#near the end#johnathon ohnn#johnathan ohnn#spiderverse#yandere johnathon ohnn#yandere x reader#yandere#johnathon ohnn x reader#johnathan ohnn x reader#the spot#atsv the spot#atsv#the spot x reader
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SPIDER-VERSE MASTERLIST
COD account: @jimmy-j-james
I’m James or DJ. This is my separate account for spiderverse writing, which will likely be overrun by Miguel (bbg).
REQUEST RULES:
REQUESTS ARE: OPEN
- female/feminine presenting DNI, this includes: she/her and she/they
- I will not write female!readers (she/her/she/they), nor purposefully write gender neutral!readers (they/them).
- I’m open to NSFW so long as the plot intrigues me or the kinks involved are something I’m comfortable with.
- I prefer non-NSFW over NSFW
- NSFW will have MDNI notice, but it’s more read at your own risk than anything.
- I will write angst (character death, fights, injuries > breakups, cheating)
- I will write gore, provided with the appropriate warnings.
- I will, obviously, write for Yandere/obsessive. (I’d prefer to write for Miguel and Lyla for these topics, but requesting anyone from my list is fine.)
- I will write polyamory, though my max will be three characters in a relationship.
ARAÑITO
- The SERIES ; Miguel O’Hara & Child!reader
MIGUEL O’HARA (SPIDER-MAN 2099)
- DOTING DADDY SPIDERS ; M!reader (NSFW)
- I ONLY NEED YOU NEAR ; M!reader (Yandere)
PETER B. PARKER (SPIDER-MAN 616)
- YOU DESERVE A BREAK ; M!reader (fluff/comfort)
-
PATRICK O’HARA (WEBSLINGER)
-
SPIDER NOIR (SPIDER-MAN 90214)
-
BEN REILLY (SCARLET-SPIDER)
- THE BETTER BROTHER ; Teen!reader (fluff + angst w/ comfort)
-
JONATHAN OHNN (THE SPOT)
-
LYLA (LYrate Lifeform Approximation)
- Lyla W/ M!reader Headcanons
#spiderverse masterlist#spiderman masterlist#x male reader#atsv#spiderverse imagine#miguel o'hara x male reader#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#peter b parker x male reader#peter b parker#webslinger x male reader#webslinger#spider noir x male reader#spider noir#ben reilly x male reader#scarlet spider x male reader#scarlet spider#lyla x male reader#lyla spiderverse#the spot x male reader#johnathan ohnn x male reader
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So far I'm seeing a resounding yes to me writing for Into/Across the Spiderverse, so I'm officially adding it to my fandoms list. My requests are currently open, so if you'd like to send something in, go on ahead!
These are the characters I've added:
Miles Morales
Gwen Stacy
Miguel O'Hara
Pavitr Prabhakar
The Spot (Dr. Jonathan Ohnn)
(I'm on the fence about Hobie. I do love him, but I'm having trouble seeing him as a yandere. I am more than happy to discuss why or why not you guys would view him otherwise, though. With enough points, I can be convinced.)
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☆~ ASKS ~☆
currently interested in writing for these characters:
the spot / jonathan ohnn (ATSV)
spider noir (ATSV)
hobie brown (ATSV)
webslinger (ATSV)
*if you have prompts/ideas for these characters you want to be written, please submit an idea into the inbox!
note: you may chat/msg in the inbox, don't hesitate to chat ♡ (you can also dm me if you'd like!) i may delete requests if they make me uncomfortable.
[YES] encouraged requests:
~ fluff/sweet shit; angst; dom/sub; queer relationships!! (mlm, wlw, nblnb, etc. - can be sfw or nsfw); thigh riding; boob/nipple play; fingering; edging/teasing; oral
[NO] do not request:
~ mommy/daddy kink; spanking; dark/intense yandere, stalking, perv, etc.; ass eating; age play; foot fetish; some kinks (ask first!)
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Yandere Jonathan Ohnn work crush headcanons
Pre collider Jonathan having a crush on you at work is a nightmare
Tw: not exactly noncon but definitely he’s definitely creepy and a bit of a pervert
He is inexperienced but he’s definitely NOT innocent. He’s literally a grown man.
He is definitely the type to get obsessed with you quick. You’ll give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.
You went on a pity date with him once and pecked him on the cheek after and he will not leave you alone. In his mind you’re his girlfriend already even though he never even asked you out.
He will definitely beg just to touch you, and he’s relentless. He will not leave you alone until you give into his desires.
He’s definitely the type to back you into a corner when no one else is around and beg you for a kiss. He’s so nervous and pathetic looking that you just give him a quick peck on the lips and scurry off after.
You can feel him looking at you from his desk. He will literally stare at you for what seems like forever. It makes you uncomfortable and it doesn’t stop until you physically get up and go to another room out of his sight.
He’ll try to butter you up just to cop a feel at work. Saying things like "You... You're so beautiful." Or "I... I can't help but be drawn to you. Please, let me... show you how much I want you."
He LOVES thighs. One day at work you wore a skirt only a couple of inches above the knee and he would not leave you alone. He was acting like a starved Victorian child.
He also hunted for your address at work and found it. You have no idea of this.
#the spot x reader#yandere the spot#yandere spot x reader#jonathan ohnn x reader#jonathan ohnn#tw yandere#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere Jonathan ohnn#my post
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AAA YOUR YANDERE JOHN HCS-??? CAN — can you ple a se do some with him in the afterglow of sex that the reader thought had no strings attached after a office party and him wanting to make breakfast for reader, then also the aftermath with his behaviour at work for the next week or so? Like hcs and bullet points of ur ideas plspslsp I love the way you write him he comes off exactly as he should in it
TW: slight noncon, unwanted groping, stalking, s*xual harassment. NS//FW
You’re hot for requesting this
You drunkenly hit on Jonathan at the office party when no one was looking. Your beer goggles made you notice him. You noticed yourself being attracted to his height and face. You initiated everything and preferred going to your place.
Jonathan definitely wakes up long before you do. He watches your sleeping form and cuddles with your unconscious body. He definitely kisses and smells your body, even the strange places like your neck and armpits.
He definitely takes pictures of you in your sleep with his phone and poses with your body. A lot of the pictures came out shaken or blurry, mostly because he was scared to wake you up and didn’t want you getting mad at him, but also because he was so excited something like this was happening to him for the first time.
You wake up to him practically snorting your hair with his arms wrapped tightly around him.
This makes your heart race rapidly. He seriously creeps you out right now, more than usual.
He sits up, still naked, and asks if you can make breakfast together.
You politely decline and lie, saying you have nothing in your house. You want him out as soon as possible.
He’s very persistent and you compromise by going out with him to get a quick bite at the corner store.
He takes this as another date and is convinced you’re interested in him.
Over the next week he goes insane blowing up your phone. You can’t block him because of the work group chat and you guys are working together closely on something. What luck right?
He sends you anything, memes, random pictures, lots of “how are you doing :)” and “I had a great time that night 👍🏻. We should meet outside of work again :)” he definitely uses emojis and emoticons.
He calls you at least 10 times a day AND leaves voicemails.
At work you avoid him as much as you can but he always makes his way towards you.
When you two are alone he will always get uncomfortably close to you and always touches you, mostly your: thighs, upper arms, he will even put his hands up your skirt, dress, or blouse.
You will angrily demand for him to stop but he’ll always say the same thing "I... I can't help it” or “But I thought you liked this?” And keep going.
When you two are in the same room with people around he tries to stay sitting down at a desk with something covering his lap. The slightest thing you do will get him hard.
He quickly realizes you will do what he wants if he holds your position over your head. He’s more important than you at this job and he knows it.
He becomes extremely manipulative and possessive over you and hates when you talk to any male colleagues. He will hug you tightly as soon as you two are alone and bury his face in your neck. “You’re mine…” He doesn’t scare you. His mannerisms actually remind you of a jealous little kid.
His power over you gives him confidence and he quickly becomes comfortable and less awkward with you around.
#jonathan ohnn#johnathan ohnn#the spot x reader#yandere the spot#jonathan ohnn x reader#johnathan ohnn x reader#tw yandere#the spot#my post
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What if the reader made jonathon jealous on purpose, like they were being affectionate with someone else how would he react to that? also I really like your writing <3
I definitely picture y/n being affectionate to someone else in front of him purposely to get him off their back but it only makes things worse
TW: slight non//con
It drives him insane when he sees you two together but he’ll never confront you guys upfront, he wants to keep his job and not seem even weirder at work.
He will get that guy out of the picture. Guaranteed. He will get them fired and force you two to get out of contact.
He will definitely freak out on you and it will scare you. Lots of yelling from him. “Who is that guy!?” He will yell at you if it seems like you two are alone even if it’s in a public area, like work or he corners you outside. I mean he will be unhinged, wide eyed yelling and gripping your shoulders. He will make you feel tiny under his gaze.
“What about us!?” Especially if there was no “us”.
He will beg for forgiveness afterwards. “I’m- I’m so sorry babe! … I was just angry with you! Please forgive me…” he will hug you against your will until you pat him on the back and tell him you forgive him.
He will mark you in subtle ways. Like he will hold you down and give you hickeys right at collar level just so that it’s peeking out slightly.
He can’t trust you anymore, once he finds out you’re going out somewhere (he always will) he will be there. It’s awkward 90% of the time because he will always he hovering over you making sure no other guys talk to you.
Going somewhere noisy isn’t really his thing so he’s also overstimulated and looks clearly uncomfortable and definitely clinging onto you harder because of it.
He’s gone from feeling you up your limbs to straight up groping you in public to show you the power he has over you, but it’s weird like he’s honking your boob or ass really quick.
He will “misplace” things with his name clearly on it on your desk so people will see. He will also take things that clearly belong to you and display them on his.
If people ask him if you guys are dating he always says yes, even if they ask in front of you. If you protest he will make sure that you can’t get a word in.
Any male colleagues at your job refuse to work with you because inconveniences always happen with you there and you’re “bad luck”.
Now when he kisses you it’s not just a peck on the lips. He always has to stick his tongue in your mouth and make out with you. He’s really bad at making out at first and you have to teach him how to.
You will never be able to be with anyone with him around.
#the spot x reader#yandere the spot#jonathan ohnn x reader#tw yandere#jonathan ohnn#johnathan ohnn#my post
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Dude..... seriously I need more headcanon yanderes from Jonathan.
I really need to see his pathetic and needy side, he is definitely a perverted weirdo.
Maybe even masochistic(?) idk I imagine a scenario where we push him so hard that we knock him to the ground while calling him disgusting or some other demeaning insult, and he gets a boner for it.
"He will definitely beg just to touch you"
"He's definitely the guy to back you into a corner when no one else is around and beg you for a kiss.
" He's so nervous and pathetic" "He was acting like a starved Victorian child."
"He doesn't scare you. His mannerisms actually remind you of a jealous little kid"
Damn...those dialgos were the ones that got me.
I could see him being a tiny bit masochistic but I see him mostly being sadistic and using you as an outlet for release.
TW: slight non//c*n. Groping s**ual harassment
In human form Jonathan is like 6’2” so it would be too hard to push him to the ground, but it would definitely turn him on when you pull his hair to get him off of you.
Once when he stuck his tongue in your mouth you hit him so hard his glasses flew off. His dick got so hard he had to pull you into a different room and continue forcing sloppy kisses on you until you bit him.
Every time you say something like “you disgust me!” “I hate you” or “get away from me!” It makes him long for you more.
He will say please a lot and beg you for attention. “Please, please, please! Let me touch you, for just a second!” Meanwhile he’s already feeling up and down your ass and pressed up against you.
#johnathan ohnn#the spot x reader#jonathan ohnn#yandere the spot#jonathan ohnn x reader#tw yandere#my post
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Do you think your version of Johnny is misogynistic like an incel where it’s like he’s mad women don’t wanna fuck him bc they eat hot chip and lie
He’s not an incel because both men and women hate him, men actually treat him much worse. Generally women do think he’s weird but they pity him. He’s only a pervert to you because he’s loyal.
He just has autism.
#the spot x reader#yandere the spot#jonathan ohnn x reader#jonathan ohnn#johnathan ohnn#my post#the spot
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creepy and pathetic john trying to cop a feel is something I live for omfg thank you so much for putting that out there in the world 😩😩😩
And he definitely has long icy cold fingers that make you jump every time he touches you, he loves to hear the sounds you make when he touches you unexpectedly
#the spot x reader#yandere spot x reader#jonathan ohnn x reader#yandere the spot#jonathan ohnn#the spot#tw yandere#my post
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Hello are you taking more Spot/Yandere Spot reqs...? 👉👈
Yes! I’m so sorry I just got a new job and am currently working on 3, but please keep sending more ❤️
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