#Horror drabble

[solitaryearthperson]

God, I Love Her

Jennifer Check x Vampire!reader

Pulling away from the man’s neck, you saw that while he was barely hanging on to consciousness, his heart was still beating. Perfect. 

“Jen,” you called. “Got a snack for you.”

Smiling, the half-demoness walked over to you, her eyes held a look of hunger towards the man and you.

“You spoil me so good,” she said, pulling your body against hers.

You both quickly shared a bloody kiss, both of your fangs slightly grazing each other, before she pulled away and looked down at the man. Sighing, you watched, happily, as she bit into him. God, I love her.

[prettykittycastle]

Another One

DIRTY DRABBLE

(Reader is gender-neutral and AFAB.)

“Let Will have a taste, dear,” Hannibal whispered in your ear, holding you down as Will continued to suck on your clit, hungrily. “How do they taste?”

“Mmm. Perfect.”

Lowering his head, he ran the tip of his tongue around your entrance before inserting it in, licking up your juices.

Moaning, you felt tears come to your eyes as Will began fucking you with his tongue, and before you could make your hopeless plea to stop, you suddenly felt the psychiatrist’s fingers rubbing against your clit, pushing you to cum on the other man’s tongue.

“Good…Now give us another one.”

[snootlestheangel]

This idea I've had all day but haven't had the chance to sit down and really write out

Retired Military!Ghost x Cannibal!Soap

Ghost's last assignment led to a pretty rough mental breakdown, and the higher-ups pulled the plug on "Ghost" and benched Simon Riley permanently

Nothing Price or Laswell could do would fix this

But he can't sit still. He ends up traveling a lot, and it's how he ends up in some old bar in a small town in the Scottish Highlands.

It's how he meets a very attractive stranger, all deep voiced and smooth talking.

Normally, Simon isn't one for hook-ups, but it's his retirement and he figures he should enjoy himself while the opportunity presents itself. Besides, this man, apparently called "John" is very attractive, and Simon finds himself enjoying the way the man's hands feel on his waist, the way his stubble scratches his neck as the man whispers downright filthy things into his ear.

"Ahm gonna eat yah right up" shouldn't be as... enticing as it is to Ghost, as something about the way the man growled it should have been a red flag.

Another red flag should have been how quick the man was to offer they head back to his place. But Simon figured it didn't matter, and it was certainly cheaper than finding a motel at this time of night for a reasonable price just to get laid.

Another red flag was the fact the man was practically a recluse, living deep in the mountains in a quaint little place. But, again, Simon didn't mind. He figured, that despite how well built the man was and despite not having the upper hand here, he'd still be able to easily defend himself should the worst arise. He is Ghost after all, retirement be damned.

And the man is good in bed. He's got Simon on his back, practically whimpering, as he bites and kisses all over Ghost's body. He's pinching the fat along his stomach, nipping at the stretch marks along his hips, thighs, and pecs, sucking hickeys into the fat of his arms. Simon feels like he's being eaten alive, but by god is it addicting.

Soap, meanwhile, isn't a human only diet type of cannibal. It's more of a guilty pleasure, going to the nearby bar and picking off an unsuspecting tourist that fits the physique he knows makes for a good meal, and can last the course of several meals.

He hadn't even planned on bringing anyone home that night. Certainly not to eat, and certainly not for sex.

But when he saw the absolute unit that is Simon Riley walk in and take a seat at the bar, he knew he just had to sink his teeth into that man's biceps.

But he finds himself struggling to commit to the idea of killing and eating this man. He craves it, so desperately, as he bites and kisses along the man's stomach. He feels perfect, and Soap so desperately wants to taste him in the most literal sense.

But he just can't

The obscene noises he's making under Soap's tongue, teeth, and hands are noises he's finding himself addicted to.

Besides, he knows he's not winning that fight as long as the man is conscious.

Anyways I don't know where this would go but yeah. That's the idea. It's been rotting my brain all day and I needed to get it out :)

[i-heart-slashers]

Happy Birthday!!

For the Birthday requests how about a dark comedy Ghostface + blood + hugs + laughter (if it's a reader insert could it be a nongendered or male?)

Thank you for the birthday wishes!

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Ghostface

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: dark comedy

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: blood, hugs & laughter

You hear the phone ring, the shrill sound slicing through the silence. It's never good when the phone rings this late, but you pick it up anyway, your curiosity outweighing your common sense.

"Hello?" you say, your voice shakier than you'd like.

"Do you like scary movies?" The voice on the other end is cold, smooth, and too familiar for comfort.

Ghostface.

Your stomach twists. You've heard the rumors —of course, you have—but living it? That's different. You laugh, though it's more out of nerves than humor. "No, but I hear you're a big fan."

There's a pause, and then Ghostface chuckles. "I like a good laugh, don't you? Blood and guts aside, it's all in good fun."

Fun?

You glance at the door, considering your options for escaping. Too late. A knock echoes from the other side, and your heart skips a beat. You freeze.

"You know what's funny?" the voice continues. "People always run like that'll stop me. It's almost... cute."

You think you hear the sound of a blade being dragged against the door, slow and deliberate. There's no running from this. Not tonight.

"Tell me," Ghostface asks, voice dripping with mock affection, "how do you feel about hugs?"

You feel a cold sweat trickling down your spine at the weird change of topic from guts to hugs. "Not really my thing," you manage to choke out, inching toward the window.

"Too bad," Ghostface whispers. The door creaks open. "I give great hugs, especially tight ones around the neck..."

You make a break for it, stumbling over the window ledge. But then he's there, looming over you, laughter bubbling up from behind the mask.

Glancing up just in time, you see the glint of the knife as it slashes. You scream loudly, and the world spins, painted red.

And then.... silence—except for the sound of his laughter. "Told you. Good fun, right?"

[sp-growingpains]

Campfire Stories

Hey so real shit. I got an ask about my silly OC that turned into a quick short story! Ignore this if you want! I'm just getting the old writer brain working again.

TW: Blood, Horror, Body Horror, Mention of suicide. A horrible attempt at writing horror!

Tiny little chips of fire flicker off the roaring flame. That warmth translates into both temperature and color. Red and orange eating away at the smoking, dry firewood. How could one define a summer night quite like this?

A bunch of tipsy, high out-of-their-mind assholes sitting around a campfire. It was a good thing Stan lived so far away from town and that his dad was gone for the weekend at some farmers' market. The backyard of a farm was the perfect place to get away from it all. If you weren't Stan literally any other day of the year.

The lip of the cheaply bought gas station beer clicks against the twin black rings on her bottom lip. A familiar buzz runs down her spine, swirls to the front of her stomach, and settles there for the night. She tilts the bottle back until the liquid is all but a memory.

The flames light reflects off the bottle as it goes soaring through the air, shattering against the side of the trashcan. Jean quirks a brow at it, only a bit surprised she actually made it into the trashcan this time.

"That story was kinda lame, dude. How was that supposed to be scary? Jean-Bean! Tell them a real scary story!" Jean finally tunes back into the conversation going on around the fire. A slurred chores of murmurs followed by a light-hearted command to quiet down by Kenny.

"I was telling it fine!" Poor Clyde's face screams betrayal. He lets his hand fall down onto his leg in defeat.

"I know your 'and-then' headass isn't talking! Hush, chatty monkey!" Red is quick on the draw, shooting the brunette down before anyone else had a chance to. The rest of the group finds humor at his expense.

"What story am I telling?" She stretches out a hand, giving Clyde's shoulder a little squeeze as she sits up in the foldable chair. It creeks a bit under sudden shift, the four legs tip back to two, then back to four.

"That toy maker one!" Kenny grins that easy-going smile. His voice - just loud enough to create that tension that one could pluck out of the air.

Jean can feel her lips tug into a smile, mirroring her childhood friend. There's a glint of mischief in both their eyes, a silent conversation that comes from years of knowing one another.

"Ah... the toy maker. Yeah, I think I remember how that goes." There's a pause thrown in there so she can lean forward on her knees. Propping herself up on her elbows, she stares into the fire. The warmth helps her gather her thoughts, bringing her into the mindset.

"Every story starts with a rumor. Words on the wind - whispers in the ear of another. Over tea or coffee, little lunch dates with friends. This one is no different... well... aside from the fact there are no records of this tale. All of it is told by tongue." Jean clicks her tongue ring against the little metal rings on her lips. Her eyes dart from person to person in tempo with her tongue.

"In a little town, off the coast of the shores of South Carolina, lived a toy maker and his family. He didn't start off a toy maker. No, that came later in life. At first, he was an artist, a business man, and a doctor. Quite the established fellow, having achieved so much in life." She pauses again. This time so she can fish around in the bag of marshmallows resting near her black boots. The sugary puff sits between her fingers, already beginning to melt from how close she's sitting next to the fire. It creates a stringy sticky film around her digit.

"As such, his family was well off. His children and wife never wanted for anything. Neither did the town. They rejoiced in the parties the toy maker threw. Every night was something different. Food, drink, song! What more could a town ask for?" She pops the marshmallow in her mouth, chewing it without a care in the world. The only other sound is the laughter of the fire and Red shifting in her seat.

"So, of course, the toy maker grew restless. At the request of his darling little girl, he learned to craft toys! It started off with little toy trains and wooden dolls. Puppets on a string that would laugh simply because he willed it too!" Her body snaps up as if she had strings attached to her elbows and shoulders. Clyde jumps back a bit, his body finding comfort next to Kenny. The sudden shout coming from the raven haired woman pulls the attention of the others. "Now, not only was the toy maker supplying the town with his medical expertise and money, but now it was entertainment! The chileren of the town loved the toy maker!" She tilts her head, still moving as if someone were pulling her strings.

Red bites her lip, tucking the ruby red paint in between her teeth. She swallows back any urges to interrupt with a swig of her alcohol. The shallow gulp catches Jean's attention. She waits until the drink is down her throat before she starts tapping her tongue ring against her teeth.

Click. Click. Click

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Goes the passage of time. See, I may have lied to you. Not everyone loved the toy maker. The mayor of the town was a stern man, a spiteful man, a jealous man." Jean tuts softly. "Always looking for a way to buy back the love and admiration of his people. He simply couldn't stand that the toy maker was soaking up the spotlight. So when the time came for another party, he attended this one. With one goal in mind. He would simply...snip the strings of the toy maker. One.at.a.time." She emphasizes each word by dropping her limbs limp. The story cuts the invisible strings, keeping her arms up.

With her head hung low, her knuckles brushing against the cold earth, her long black braids dangling by her her, she murmurs. "First is starts with a little poison in his wife's drink. A glass of wine that hides the taste of the deadly concoction. The poor, poor toy maker spends his days trying to nurse his wife back to health. All the while, his children are being taken care of by the staff. Then goes the youngest son, who played a little too close to the shores of the Atlantic. The dark blue tides gobbled him up and spit him back out. When he came home, his skin was dark blue, and his skin was cold to the touch."

Her body begins to move and twitch again. Twisting her taller frame up so that way she could peer up at her friends. She catches the eyes of Tolkien, the fires light making the brown of her eyes shine like pools of honey.

"Oh, how kind the mayor had been to return the boys body to his father. Oh, how kind the mayor had been when he told the toy maker that it was his fault; after all, it was due to his negligence that his son died. Oh, how kind the mayor had been indeed."

Jean sits up fully now, slowly rising to her feet. She gestures for Jimmy to take her seat, practically walking on air that she's captured his attention. Having someone like Jimmy stop and listen to your story was like winning a medal of honor. She begins the slow walk around the fire, casting a tall shadow over the group.

"What was a man to do? His youngest passed away, and his wife still wasn't getting better. What could he do? Well...he could...lock himself in his workshop and his office? Yes! He could...shut the doors to his estate, letting only the staff in and out of the house! Brilliant! Oh, and of course he could...put that medicals degree and toy making skills to work!" Her hands suddenly snap over towards Kenny's shoulder, grabbing the material the orange parka like a lifeline.

Kenny only chuckles and lets her use his arm for the dramatic effect. He lets his body go limp so she can lift up his arm.

"His dear sweet wife only needed a tune-up! Just a few new parts, and she'd be good as new! The toy maker was a brilliant man, but even he knew better than to attempt anything without a little practice first." Her voice drops to something more smooth. She lifts Kenny's arm up and inspects it for a moment, pretending as if she were the man in the story. "So it starts with a servant. The poor old nanny was on her last leg anyway~! He was doing her a favor."

Jean hums quietly, stuffing Kenny's arm back into his jacket. Which, thankfully, he obliged and slipped his arm into his coat. She drops his sleeve and moves towards the other arm. Gingerly, plucking the glass bottle out of his hand and setting it aside. "The toy maker lured the old woman down into their basement. There, he sedates the woman, rendering her helpless to his twisted experiment. Unfortunately for her and him, the old woman's body just didn't take to the doll nearly as well as he hoped. It moved and talked, but it lacked the soul. But do the first attempts ever really work?"

Jean goes on to tell the group about how the toy maker slowly picks off servants and how it isn't until he attacks the head chef that it finally works. All the while, she's hiding pieces of Kenny's body in his coat. Each limb is another victim. When she gets to the chef, she's holding the sides of Kenny's head.

"Finally, he had done it! The chefs soul took to the robotic husk! He moved and talked like the beloved family chef, ever loyal and kind! Just in time, too, the bodies in the basement were beginning to pile up too high. The townsfolk were beginning to complain about the pungent smell. A meeting was held, where they begged the mayor to do something."

She grins down at Kenny, who was only pouting because she was tossing his head back and forth. Her fingers gently dig into his cheeks as she guides his face around. "The mayor was so happy to have his people back. They needed him. They loved him. Him, not that silly toy maker. Of course, he'd answer their calls!"

Her hands stop their playful movements. She moves her fingers down towards Kenny's chin, tilting his head up so he's looking at the people surrounded by the campfire. More of the people they grew up with have stopped to listen to the silly tale. She wasn't sure if it was really scaring anyone, but it was nice to be so entertaining. Kenny didn't seem to mind the attention either. He was trying, so hard not to grin. The next part of the story required him to focus.

"So, the mayor rounds up some brave folk, and they march straight up to the manor. They bang on the doors of the once beloved home. Their voices ring out into the night, demanding the toy maker meet them! Tick. Tick. Tick. They can hear the sound of a clock ticking... but it's not a clock. It's the maid. She opens the door."

Another pause.

"Where there should be flesh is porcelain. Where there should be a steady heartbeat is a ticking of a clock. Glassy eyes greet them, then the broken voice of a woman long gone." Jean mimics a bow, gesturing for some invisible town folk to walk inside a manor that is not there. "Oh won't you come inside. The master is busy at the moment, but the least I can do is get you refreshments."

It would be comical the way her voice pitches up an octave. It doesn't fit right on her tongue, she made a mental note to work on that later.

"The townsfolk reel back in horror. What was the abomination that just opened the door?! How did it move so fluidly. Immediately, they knew they had reached the doors to hell. The smell of decay and rot assaulted their scenses. It churns their stomachs and sets off that part of their mind that tells them to run. Unfortunately, they don't get the chance to."

Jean smirks, her lips twist across her face showing off those sharp canines. "So it starts with the men in the back. The sound of a buzzing, fleshing being torn apart. Screams of agony and panic."

At that exact moment, the rev of a chainsaw comes out from the fields that surround the Marsh farm. The engine sputtering to life with a thick growl.

"Through the mist of blood, the townsfolk could see the failed experiments coming from the unkempt yard. Their twisted limbs and toy parts clawing and ripping through their loved ones! With no place to go but in the manor, they push their way in! The mayor scrambles inside, screaming, begging, pleading to whoever will hear his prayer until he's down to his last four men. Just him and these poor souls, trapped in the deep dark corners of this once great home."

The sounds grow louder, as if the chainsaw was getting closer. If it wasn't for the grin on her face, maybe someone in the group would suggest they leave. Clyde, who was trying to enjoy the night, looked as if he was about to pass out. He clung to the expensive material of Tolkien's shirt for dear life. Red had Bebe tightly secured in her arms, a relaxed look on her face through the whole thing. Butters was on the edge of his seat, watching with those soft baby blues.

"Hands of all shapes and sizes reach out from the darkness. They grab onto the men's legs, pulling them away. Their finger nails scrape and leave marks into the wooden floor boards. The buzzing sound hasn't stopped. It's just the mayor now. All alone in this hellscape, he helped create. Just as he thinks he's going to get pulled in, his mind racing with all the horrible things the toy maker would do to him, the lights flicker on. He's sitting in the corner of the ballroom. In a room with people dressed so neatly and perfectly. Music kicks on, and a heavy waltz begins. The stone cold faces of people - no...dolls begin to move past him."

Jean starts to hum the gentle tune of what the waltz might have been. It's a little difficult over the sound of the chainsaw, but somehow, they make due. Just as she reaches the crescendo, a blur of another human moves out from the shadows.

Flashes of red curly hair illuminating from the fire, a chainsaw raised above his head. Kyle revs it once more over the chorus of screams and laughter. It wasn't often Broflovski joined in on things like this, but the chance to scare a few of his classmates was one he couldn't pass up on. Especially if it meant getting to bust out the old chainsaw he used on Halloween that one year.

Once everything has calmed down, Jean continues the story. "They say that if you go to that small town, on nights that are calm and warm...you can hear the whole town gathering at the manor. Their immortal doll husks danced the night away. All except the toy maker, of course. Poor man never succeeded in keeping his family together. The wife, his children, the servants, even the mayor. They all live an eternity with each other... but he had to live with what he had done. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore...and just -"

Jean turns Kenny's head with a quick push of her hands. The blonde goes limp and falls forward with a heavy thud. He lands next to Bebe, who lets out a blood curdling scream.

"Oh my god!"

"Jean what the fuck?!"

"Dude!"

Again, it isn't until both Kyle and Jean fall into a fit of laughter that the group stops. Under their laughter, they could hear Kenny's raspy laugh under it. He slowly sits up and pops his neck back into place, creating a moment of silence.

"Oh, the things we do to make ourselves look like assholes~." Kenny coos, sitting up with the help of Butters. The sweet man is quietly praising Kenny.

For the rest of the night, Jean has a smile on her face that's a mile wide. She could handle the name calling and people half-assed bullying her. It was all worth it for this, Clyde was crying and Bebe was scolding her.

She'd pay her dues later that night when Jimmy took his turn. Curled up in her seat, holding onto Bebe and Red both as if they were nothing more than a stuffed animal, letting Clyde hide his face into her back.

Summer nights never felt so warm.

[the-sand-guardian]

Whumptober Day 6: Healed Wrong

Two weeks ago, Mariana died. Charlie had held him in his hands and wept as he squeezed out his last words. Charlie held his cold hand at the funeral and comforted Flippa as she’d watched them lower him into the ground. He could still feel his tie seemingly tightening around his throat and the way he almost choked on his breaths saying goodbye. His eyes still burned at night when he remembered fondly how their arguments would lull him to sleep. 

That was until he came back. 

You see, two days ago, Mariana had limped his way home, still covered in dirt and pale. He’d raised a greyed fist and knocked on the door pathetically. Charlie had almost screamed when he saw him. His beloved bitch wife looked exactly as corpse-like as the day they’d buried her. But at least he was back. 

Mariana’s hands were still cold. So, so cold. Charlie would watch him carefully in the few moments they weren’t together, but he never caught so much as a cold chill. Mariana had seemingly also lost any desire for bickering that he’d had before undeath. Their halls were emptier and quiet without their constant arguing. Instead, Mariana had begun to actually be sweet to him. Normally, Charlie would have to fake being asleep to receive affection, but now he could hardly shower on his own. 

Even Flippa was a little put off by it. She gave Charlie odd looks behind her Apa’s back, but all he could do was shrug. Mariana would tangle all of her limbs amongst Charlie’s, effectively pinning him to whatever surface they were cuddling on, and just hold him there. Ordinarily, Charlie might not have minded this too much, but without their usual routines of bickering and making up, being married and then divorced, he just began to find it boring. He hated thinking of his wife that way, but he’d just changed. His bitch wife had devolved into just his wife. 

He’d stuck with this Mariana for a week before he’d noticed another oddity. In the middle of the night, always around one or two am, Mariana would silently detach herself from him and creep out into their kitchen. On one such night, he climbed out of bed and tried to follow him, hoping his own escape would be as silent as his husband’s had been. He thought he’d succeeded but he’d only barely stepped foot into the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Mariana staring into a bubbling pot on the stove when she’d turned his head so quickly towards him that he was almost convinced she’d broken her neck. 

He’d then turned his body to match his head. Even in the dark, Charlie could make out Mariana’s wide and nearly delirious eyes. She took a step towards him, and Charlie took one step back. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his blood ran cold. Mariana took two steps towards him now, still at that tediously slow pace. Charlie’s stomach flipped. Mariana took three steps this time, though on the third she tottered just slightly before her foot hit the ground silently. Charlie had subconsciously given up on making any sort of escape as Mariana finished her tediously long walk towards him. She carefully raised a frigid hand to his face and caressed it, soft as a Spring breeze. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Charlie’s trembling lips before standing back up. 

“Go on back to bed, Slime. It’s too late for you here,” 

And all Charlie could do was nod and listen to him.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Thank you for reading! I've also posted this to Ao3, where I'll be cataloguing all of my works for this month! I also have 3 other WIP fics, so if you enjoy my works please go show some love over there or feel free to shoot me an ask!

[residentfromnowhere]

| PERFECT SACRIFICE |

TW: Sacrificing Ritual, Kidnapping & Death

Yandere!KyojuroRengokuXReader

Choosing the perfect dress for ones wedding should be one of the most precious and happiest moment in any brides life. From the fit of the dress down to the intricate details in ones veil, the moment in itself marks a milestone that many will and have never reached. To know that soon, you will be starting a new journey with someone whom you and themselves have deemed as their person should be one of celebration and excitement. Two consenting adults agreeing to spending the rest of their lives being by each others side. Who wouldn’t want such a privilege, right?

Well, what if I told you that for you it was a reality? That you’re beloved boyfriend whom you’ve grown to adore and respect has given you such a privilege? That you have finally found the missing piece to yourself and you have been searching and yearning for? You would be happy, right? You would gladly take on the world and accept everything that comes with being with him, right? You would scream and shout for joy repeating “yes” over and over again until your voice cracked, correct? Of course you would. Who wouldn’t? Who would pass up the opportunity to become someone who they loves wife and show excitement?

Well, it’s hard to show excitement when the bride is in a state where she can not move a single finger let alone make a facial expression. And it’s especially hard to scream for joy let alone scream in general when ones tongue has been cut out. Though, he doesn’t think you mind. You did say yes and you most definitely agreed at the alter to be with him till death do us part so there’s no backing out of this now. Even though you didn’t have a clue, he will think that You knew what were getting yourself into and that you practically BEGGED to be his perfect bride, his perfect SACRIFICE. With each swift motion of the needle, he hums a wedding hymn and smiles down at you. He looks up at the clock and smacks his lips together in disapproval.

“I took entirely too long to prepare you but how can I not? I mean look at you, you’re PERFECT” He says while sewing the last part of your lips together. “HE will be pleased and you will make such the perfect bride” he says while lacing another piece of thread through the needle. Even though you knew it was useless, you try to wiggle away from him but nothing moves. He just smiles and says “Now, we must hurry. We are late” He then slowly lower his hand towards your left eye. “HE hates waiting…”

[sykosomatic]

Tee hee hee can you write adam surviving the bathroom but hes really messed up and shit. Also I would not mind some hurt/comfort

(heavily heavily inspired by this post, so thank you op!!!)

‘adam survives the bathroom and is fucked up’ au for all my angst fans out there <3

i was gently flirting with the idea of a part 2, let me know if that’s something you’d want lol

⚠️ content warning!!!!! depression, anxiety, ptsd symptoms ⚠️

and if you were curious, this is the song i was listening to while i was writing lol:

blinds shuttered in a quick whoosh, plastic clacking against itself as adam’s heavy eyes fought to stay open just a few minutes longer. the sun had set; it was dark out, the sky turning a dark, heavy purple. he stared at the blinds for a second, blinking slow and heavy. his little flip phone buzzed on his bed, another phone call missed. they’d leave another voicemail.

adam checked, double checked, triple checked his locks; his closet, his bathtub, under his bed. he sank slowly onto his bed, arms folded so his hands white-knuckled his biceps. he shivered a bit, but it wasn’t cold in his apartment.

“i wanna live! i wanna live!”

and he had. somehow he had clung to life long enough to get out of that damn bathroom, and what had it helped? what, did he think everything was just gonna go back to normal, now? now that he’d been through that?

adam couldn’t sleep. he hadn’t slept much since he’d gotten.. well, if you wanted to call it rescued. in truth he was on the fence about whether he should’ve died in that bathroom. the people who’d found him called it a miracle and adam had to say he agreed. cosmic injustice; a gift straight from god himself, whoever that was.

he sighed softly as he stood, rubbed his hands on his arms to keep himself from shivering. the doctor told him he had circulation issues now. because amanda — he’d learned that was her name after her and her weirdo ‘boss’ tried to recruit him.. after he ‘won’ — had strangled him with a plastic bag. she’d been sent to do a mercy killing maybe. and he’d survived. twice he’d survived that bathroom. why wasn’t he done yet?

adam had a collection of other maladies courtesy of john kramer — jigsaw.

his grip strength in his right arm was a little.. wonky. it felt like what people described carpal tunnel to be, tight muscles and a weak grip, pain when trying to hold something tightly. he’d been scrubbing a plate the other day and found out that he probably shouldn’t do that.

he didn’t think it was a huge problem but — he’d gotten odd looks from his friends when he spoke.

they said he was… different. and well.. duh, he was different. you don’t go through prisoner of war type torture and come out the other side shiny and clean.

he didn’t like the way they said it though. he hadn’t talked to them in a long time because of it. well that and the fact that he spent most of his time sitting in his bed and staring at the wall. thinking. he’d never spent that much time thinking before.

he went to the bathroom— his bathroom— catching his reflection in the mirror and seeing streaks of tears down his cheeks. he hadn’t realized he’d been crying. he’d been having days like that — most days were like that. he used the heels of his hands and rubbed stars into his eyelids, trying not to see lawrence’s foot out of the corner of his eyes.

lawrence; he hadn’t thought about that name in at least a day. a new record. the only other person who knew exactly what he’d gone through, and he hadn’t bothered to reach out. yet. maybe he was going through the same things (or at least similar things) as adam was. adam himself hadn’t spoken a word out loud in a very long time. not since the last time a friend had come to check on him. was that last week? he didn’t know, couldn’t remember. he sighed, started stripping down out of his clothes. cold showers and nightmares were the only things that kept him awake.

he couldn’t help but think about lawrence in the shower, while he washed himself with one arm as the other sort of hung there idly by his side. he wondered what sorts of things lawrence had to do now, now that he’d cut off his own foot.

on the surface adam looked unchanged, save for the gaunt look in his eyes and sunken cheeks, his already slender frame astonishingly leaner with stress. he maybe looked like a drug addict, he thought, but drugs were one thing he hadn’t sunk to yet. he figured he’d have to leave the apartment for that and he really didn’t want to. not just yet.

adam finished his sad little shower, drying off and stepping back into his apartment. it was cooler now, he thought, surely it wasn’t just him being unreasonably cold all the time.

he suddenly remembered he’d left his window open when he’d shut the blinds, and he could feel his heart about to explode as he rushed over to shut it. he could feel his vision start to blur and his head spin, the edges of his sight turning dark as he fought the urge to panic. he slammed the window shut; it creaked as he clicked the locks shut.

his chest heaved as he sat down on his bed, half-naked, grabbing the knife he kept under his pillow. he brandished it out into the dark as he stood and re-checked everything three more times. he didn’t find anything. how could he have forgotten to shut the window?

adam dropped the knife on his bed suddenly as if it was burning him; for a second it looked like a bloody hacksaw by the streetlight coming through the slats in his blinds.

he collapsed in shuddering sobs quite suddenly, bringing his knees up to his chest. his face pressed against his knees, he let himself cry for a bit. when his body couldn’t take it anymore, he looked up, caught his phone buzzing again.

missed calls from friends, a few texts from them as well. checking in half-heartedly. he could tell they were getting tired of him being.. the way he was. well he figured he wasn’t changing back anytime soon. not unless they could erase his memory for him or fix what that bathroom had broken in him.

and then he saw it — an unknown number messaging him. he picked up the phone and looked at it, his eyes savoring the shape of the letters, taking them in and digesting them, holding them close to him, letting him just live in them for a moment.

‘adam? it’s lawrence. do you have a moment to talk?’

adam felt his lips curve up into the closest thing they’d gotten to a smile in a long long time. if anyone was able to help talk him off the edge it had to be someone who went through the same thing as him. right?

[elikalkenswrites]

[yandere-writer-momo]

I decided to treat you all to a terrifying piece. Now this man will be accurate to his time period and terrifying!

Also, for @coolgirl32 since I haven’t fulfilled their request yet! So I combined those aspects with this lovely man. It’s not too detailed since I’m still trying to get out of my slump.

Yandere Head Canons: Lock and Key

Yandere 1950’s Husband x Fem Reader

TW: Yandere themes, obsession, MISOGYNY (microdose), BEING HELD AGAINST YOUR WILL (it isn’t obvious), isolation, HORROR, murder (mention), extreme jealousy, possessiveness, DO NOT ROMANTICIZE THESE BEHAVIORS OR THEMES, and OBSESSION

Robert Jones

Robert was your husband, the only man you’ve ever dated. He was a lawyer at his own law firm. Cold and calculated to others, but he had a soft spot for you. The ideal husband who was only loving towards you… almost too loving.

“Darling, I’m home!” He would always greet you with a hug and a kiss before he’d enjoy the dinner you’d make him.

Robert always sung your praises at how well you kept your home. The instant you washed the dishes, he’d hug you from behind to sniff your hair like a dog. He never seemed to get enough of you… he’s been this way since the two of you were in school.

His hands often grabbed at your hips and thighs. You swore you felt him shake as if he was holding himself back from devouring you like a rabid animal.

Robert was clingy behind closed doors and heavens he was such a possessive man… he had a long list of rules of her interactions with others. Especially other men.

“You’re my wife, dear. I can’t have another man seeing how beautiful you are.” Robert would whisper from the crook of your neck. “I’d have to kill them.”

Hell, he didn’t want you to even speak to the milkman nor the mailman. The reason being that you were too pretty and he wasn’t there to protect you. Even the other housewives weren’t allowed over.

But his consistent isolation made it so lonely… so you began to ask if you could have a job just like a few of the other women had.

Every time you asked if you could get a job, he’d always scoff. He was indeed a typical man of this time period.

“Women can’t work. They’re meant to stay at home and take care of the house.” Robert would always tell you with a click of his tongue. “Do I not give you a cushy enough life?”

You’d always reassure him and he’d smile at your submission.

“We should try for a baby soon… I hate leaving you alone in this house all the time.” He sighed. “Work has been so busy… but you’ll look so pretty all swollen. Don’t you think so, darling?”

Now you were never lacking in the bathroom. Robert was all you knew after all… and he was well endowed. Yet a small part of you wondered if other women’s husbands were constantly on them all the time. That their husbands would obsessively whisper how much they belonged to them…

Yet Robert never allowed you the time to think of it too often before he’d pull you into another round. He couldn’t stand it when your mind wandered from him. He should be all you think about because he was your husband after all.

If only you knew the lengths he had went to in order to be your husband. It was hard to hide all those bodies back in your school days. He was just lucky the police never traced the missing kids back to him.

Gods, Robert wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t chosen him. If you hadn’t chosen him to be your perfect provider and future father of your children. He was sure he would have been in a psych ward. Yet you chose him, like the kind person you were… so perfect and obedient to him. He loved you so much!

“I love you, darling.” Robert smiled as he held you close. His fingers traced shapes down your back as he sighed happily.

He would always keep you close under lock and key.

[prettykittycastle]

Dirty F!ck

DIRTY DRABBLE

(gender-neutral reader)

With each deep thrust inside you, you felt his cock in your stomach, your walls tightening around him, and your juices drenching him. The dirty ground wasn’t the ideal place for fucking, but running around punishing people made the monstrous being horny, and he couldn’t wait any longer to bury himself in your tight warmth.

“Oh my God,” you moaned, your eyes beginning to cross as you felt another wave of pleasure overcome your body for the third time. “I’m cumming!”

He didn’t care. Growling under his helmet, he fucked you harder, imagining how you’d look stuffed with his cum.

[snootlestheangel]

This does not mean I'm adding the Retired!Ghost x Cannibal!Soap fic idea to my list of WIPs

BUT

I do need a title for it so I can organize it into my folder for fic WIPs, I can't keep it as "the fic where Soap wants to literally eat Ghost"

Reasons why I chose/would like each title:

Consume: One of the themes I'm picturing is about how each is "consumed" with a different type of madness even before meeting, then their thoughts are "consumed" by the other once they part ways. Consumed with each other once they reunite and [redacted]

Taste Test: Feel like this title feeds on the spicy aspect of the fic idea. I just really like this one cause it's not as basic as "Consume", but at the same time doesn't convey the same premise (to me at least)

Devour Madness: Plays on the same concept: both are "mad", not a lot to go on this one, but it sounds cool.

Tagging: @stuffireadandenjoy @azilver @canyoubethestalkertomytango cause y'all seemed really interested in this idea

[i-heart-slashers]

Happy Birthday To Me!

It's that time of year again... My birthday. Another year older... (sigh)...

🎂

This year I'm doing something a little easier:

Follow these 3 easy steps. ⬎

↠Pick a genre from the list below. ↠ Select any horror 'character' (does not need to be a slasher ↠ Choose two or three words you would like to be included.

Rules (sort of):

† - I won't restrict this to followers only but I would appreciate if you could like, reblog and if you want please follow me.

† - Send you request to my ask box.

† - If you request a character I'm not familiar with then I will try my best but I might not fulfil the request.

† - Please be kind it literally costs nothing.

Genres:

🖤 AU 🧡 Angst 🖤 Dark 🧡 Fluff 🖤 Suggestive 🧡 Comedy/Goofy 🖤 Yandere 🧡 Random (My choice)

Example Request:

Hi, I would like to make a dark request for Ghostface using the words: knife, caught and gone.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.

TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere

You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.

It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.

So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.

You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure. 

The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.

You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes. 

Come outside. Stop trying to resist.

Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.

The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.

“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.

“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words. 

“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors. 

“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.

“Do you really mean that?”

The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting. 

“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you. 

The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy. 

From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”

You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness. 

You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence. 

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Yandere! Kidnapper

warnings: captivity, forced infantilization, nonconsensual themes, physical violence, drugging, collaring, stalking, dead dove: do not eat

—becomes increasingly more unhinged, lowkey inspired by a disturbing manga I accidentally read twice, so take that as you will.., so yeah that's my last post of 2024, happy 2025 people!

©Copyright -2024- thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Y! Kidnapper that hunts you through the forest and tackles you to the ground after an escape attempt only to scold and berate you for every little scrape on your body, as if it wasn't his fault in the first place, as if you're just too clumsy for your own good.

Y! Kidnapper that never would do anything sexual without consent, but doesn't take no for an answer when you tell him you don't want him to bathe you—you are his, so of course he will rub you clean, even the spot between your legs.

Y! Kidnapper who tells you his entire day, everything, as if you're his lifeless oversized doll, only to pinch your nipples whenever he asks a question, daring you to answer and enjoys your torment in staying quiet and pliant for him

Y! Kidnapper who sits you down, clips even your toenails for you, kneads your sore muscles from doing nothing all day, carries you everywhere, doesn't even let your feet catch callous from walking on them, only to treat you absolutely diabolical in bed, branding each inch of skin he took such good care of either with his hand, a belt or whatever he gets his hands on..

Y! Kidnapper who's obsessed with providing warm meals for you, the highest quality ingredients are used—everything to accommodate your sensitive gut, only to drug you out of your mind and giggle while doing nothing else but cuddle you while watching TV and popping chips in his mouth, all while commenting on the script of the particular horror movie he’s watching and listing thousand of things he would've done better than the director

Y! Kidnapper who before capturing you was the weirdest fucking stalker in existence— openly groping you, offering you food with a smile (mind you he’s a complete stranger???), appearing in front of your doorstep at night to holler at you, banging his fists on your door and actively breaking in only to stare at your sleeping form while jacking off. Did I also mention he would email you like you're his secret rendezvous? Oh and he went along and introduced himself to your whole family with a fake identity over email (like—wtf is whatsapp?), hahaha..

Y! Kidnapper who wants to control every single aspect of your life—from how you pluck your brows to when you're allowed to use the restroom. Will literally stare you down with a hand on the chain connected to your collar, that he forced on you after your latest escape attempt, while you're pants are pooling at your feet and you’re trying to pee. (Why? Because the window is a few feet away..)

Y! Kidnapper from who, let's be honest here, you will only ever escape in death and that will probably be in old age, with how well he takes care of you, having baby proofed his home enough to ensure that you couldn't hurt yourself even on accident and don't even think about using a razor! he will do that for you, just sit down in the bathtub, all drugged out of your mind, dumb and drooling, losing touch with reality, while he does everything for you

—just be his passive little kitten he declawed, and that's enough for him, just dependent on him and he will paint your cage gold, even if the paint will chip away one day

[dunzella]

Yandere! Childhood Friend

♥︎ Yandere! Childhood Friend whose stuck in a fantasy world. A delusion so deep, so all-consuming, that it has swallowed you whole.

You don't know how long you been here, Reality and fantasy have blurred together, days melting into weeks, weeks stretching into years. It's been so long, at first, you thought it was just a visit. A nostalgic trip back to your childhood home, back to him. You hadn’t seen him in years; not since you moved away. He looked the same, sounded the same, just… older.

The moment you stepped through the door, he hugged you so tight your ribs ached.

"Missed you so much," he murmured glad to have you back in his arms for the 100th or 1000th time? he lost count again. "It’s been forever."

But that was a lie, it hasn't been forever.

It had been a few days.

Then a few weeks.

Then a few years.

★ Yandere! Childhood Friend who never moved on after you left. Something inside him broke the day you moved away, snapping under the weight of loneliness and grief. He never made new friends. He never let go. He only waited.

✿ Yandere! Childhood Friend lost his parents soon after. They tried to get him help, but he didn’t want help. He wanted you. And when they tried to take him away from the house, your house, his house, he made sure they never left.

♥︎ Yandere! Childhood Friend who never stopped loving you. You were his first and only friend, his first love. And now you’re his only everything.

★ Yandere! Childhood Friend whose house is frozen in time rotting slowly. The walls still had old crayon drawings. The kitchen still smelled like your favorite snacks. Child like drawing littered the whole place. Nothing changed.

Nothing except you.

"I’m not really hungry."

The words barely left your lips before his body stiffened, grip tightening around the knife in his hands. The kitchen went silent. Too silent. His eyes once warm, once bright were empty. Cold.

Then he smiled.

"Rule number one," he whispered, "everyone must play."

✿ Yandere! Childhood Friend clings to your childhood games like a lifeline. Make-believe, dress-up, tea parties, it’s all second nature to him. He hums the same songs, says the same lines. His movements are practiced, rehearsed.

♥︎ Yandere! Childhood Friend who still plays house. He sets the table like he used to. He hands you a plastic teacup, expecting you to take it. If you refuse, his fingers twitch, his smile falters, just for a second, before he laughs.

"You’re so silly!" he coos, nudging it closer. "You always loved tea parties, remember?"

★ Yandere! Childhood Friend when he plays ‘house’ now, it’s different. He kissed your shoulders, your neck, your skin, sick with need, sighing out your name like a prayer. Holding your hands above your head as he fucked you into the mattress, chanting, groaning, crying. "Mine. Mine. Mine."

✿ Yandere! Childhood Friend who silenced your sobs with sloppy, desperate kisses. Tears blurred your vision. Your body trembled. Your mind screamed. This was torture.

But he didn’t feel bad. Because this was all part of the game.

And you have to play.

♥︎ Yandere! Childhood Friend who remembers every round. Every argument. Every escape attempt. Every death. But he never acknowledges it. He pretends it’s all brand new, because if he breaks character, if he lets reality sink in, the illusion will shatter.

And he can’t let that happen.

★ Yandere! Childhood Friend who tries to convince you to stay, the thirtieth time you learned the truth, you found his journal under the bed. Pages upon pages detailing each cycle. You always run away, always forget, always come back

Run away, forget, come back.

Run away, forget, come back.

The twentieth time, you jumped from the second-story window.

The fiftieth time, he held your hand and jumped with you. Laughing as if it were just another game

And then, It all started over.

✿ Yandere! Childhood Friend wishes that maybe this time, this round, you won’t try to leave. That maybe this time, you’ll stay. So he doesn't have to play afraid that you'll run away, perhaps he gets to finish the game.

♥︎ Yandere! Childhood Friend who doesn’t understand why you keep trying to leave. "We have everything here!" His voice cracks, frustration bleeding through his cheerful tone. "You don’t have to work. We have money. No bills. No depressing jobs."

"You think the outside world is better?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You think you’re missing out on something?" His hands clench into fists, and for the first time in a long time, he drops the act completely.

He sees it in your eyes. The panic. The realization.

The way your breath hitches. The way your fingers tremble.

And his heart clenches when you whisper, "I need to leave."

You always say that.

And he always stops you.

His fingers dug into your wrists. "Why do you keep trying to ruin it?"

His voice softens, turns almost pleading. "Here, anything is possible."

★ Yandere! Childhood Friend watches as you break coming to the realization this isn't the first time you did this. You screamed. You shook. You begged to leave. But he doesn’t let you.

✿ Yandere! Childhood Friend who hugs you tight, whispering sweet comforts, rocking you back and forth. His voice holds nothing malicious just pure innocent adoration.

"It’s okay. It’s okay. We don’t have to fight anymore."

♥︎ Yandere! Childhood Friend loving holds out his hand for you to take, saying how he'll always be here for you, you have everything you need here, everything here is unchanged, he will never change.

★ Yandere! Childhood Friend who beams when you finally give in, when you stop fighting and let him lead you back into his twisted, frozen world, his whole face lights up.

✿ Yandere! Childhood Friend who played every game that comes to mind, from pillow fights to hide and seek. Running through the house like children, untouched by time.

He hugs you tight happy, For the first time in years, you aren’t fighting him. After hundreds of rounds, he can love you without resistance.

And so, the game ends the way it always should have.

He drinks poison.

You slit your wrists.

And as the world dims, he cups your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, green eyes filled with childlike wonder.

For a moment, he sees it, the two of you as kids.

"I'm sleepy now.." you murmur, voice slurred, eyes heavy. which made Yandere! Childhood Friend smile gently before nodding, "Okay," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Let’s go to sleep."

The lights flicker out.

~

Dream. Just dream.

Dream of everything you’ve lost. Dream of everything you were meant to be.

Dream of the places you’ll never see.

Because when the sun rises, the grave will yawn open, and time will wake from its slumber.

But not yet.

For now, sleep. Let the night wrap around you, soft and endless. Let the dream stretch on, unbroken.

Because in his arms, time is still.

In his arms, you will never leave.

The first thing you hear when you wake is his voice.

"Missed you so much." he murmurs, hugging you tight.

"It’s been forever."