ok, so this is my first fanfic 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧, so i might make a google doc that lets you guys put some ideas out there, since i am shit at writing interesting stuff. this story may give you a dream is a yandere feeling, and thats what im aiming for.
ill...
tw// swearing, gore, blood, cannibalism. kind of nsfw not really i guess.
» [george's pov] «
George remembered everything vividly.
Clay leaned closer.
He leaned closer, whispered two words in his ear.
"You're adorable."
He leaned back. "George, it looks like you need help. I'm sorry for knocking your stuff over." Clay bent over to pick George's stuff up, George helped him.
That was the day George came up with a name for Clay.
Dream.
George replayed the memory in his head over and over. It was like he was watching the best movie he'd ever seen in his life, over and over again. He loved it. He put his hands on his scrawny chest, and rolled over. He had countless questions.
Does Dream love me?
Was he gonna kiss me?
It's fine, it's okay.
You should ask him.
No, that's weird.
George didn't even care. He pulled out his phone, and texted Nick.
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i realized how weird it looked when u read it so i used an image of it guys im sorry i was proofreading and i was like wtf is this so heres an image fuck me im so sorry
George wondered if he should go to sleep, knowing he would never actually be able to sleep, thinking about Dream all night. He wished he could sleep, and be okay, not thinking about Dream all the time.
I'm sorry, I love you.
Don't think things like that, George.
George managed to fall asleep. The thought of Dream was soothing to him.
The dream he had, it was bothering him.
I woke up in a forest. I had cuts all over me, I was bleeding. The way my arms looked, it scared me. I could see the flesh, it grossed me out. I turned around, and threw up. I hated this. I tried to walk, but my legs were broken. I was starving, I'd kill for food. I'd even eat someone else, just to get the pangs of hunger away for a while. The pangs of hunger, the dry feeling in his mouth and tongue. Everything was wrong with me. When I tried to scream, all that came out were croaks. I couldn't talk, or move.
I was useless.
He thought of Dream, the thought of Dream was keeping him alive. He needed to survive for Dream.
