#reader is a serial killer

[cease-your-release]

They're Lucky to Have You

While on your lunch break, you see a familiar face. Mark Hoffman is the detective responsible for solving the murders that, unbeknownst to him, you're the one doing. (810)

Hello! This is the first chapter in a series, but since I'm horrible at slow burn, we'll have a bit of buildup and then pretty much blast right into a relationship, then have more buildup to the next steps. I may go back and add more stuff in between chapters when it's done, but hopefully y'all are okay with a fast burn instead! Also, for future chapter reference, the reader is mostly gender neutral, but is described as having wider hips, wears a dress at one point, and there are a handful of mentions of dysphoria. I'll be honest and say this series is rather self-indulgent, so may not be for everyone.

Part 1 of "Conundrum of Carnage" Part 2

Also on A03!

You find yourself sitting on a short cement ledge outside of your usual coffee shop on break, halfway between full consciousness and spacing out while looking off into the distance. In your partially-aware state, you swear you notice an oddly familiar face standing just a few feet away, though you can’t place why. After a few seconds, you still haven’t realized that you’re staring at him.

The man looks at you through the corner of his eye a few times, and eventually turns to you with a raised eyebrow. His long black coat sways a little in the subtle breeze of New Jersey’s Autumnal streets. “... Did you need something?” 

You blink a few times in response to the sudden call out, then quickly avert your gaze back to whatever’s in front of you. “Nothing.” You say with a slight shrug, furrowing your brows. “I thought I might’ve seen you somewhere before, is all.”

He stares at you with some suspicion on his face for a few seconds, his eyes analyzing you before he speaks again.  “I don’t think we’ve met." He says as he steps closer, his gaze narrowed. You also seem familiar to him, some part of his mind far back getting a sense of déjà vu from the sight of your face, the sound of your voice.

“Obviously not..” You mutter, glancing at how he’s getting closer through the corner of your eye. There’s something about his walk, the sound of leather shoes on pavement…. Then, you turn to him.  “You’re with the police, aren’t you? You must’ve been at my work when all those cops showed up to ask about those… um, murders.”

“Oh, was that you? I think I remember now.” he says, stopping his approach just about a foot away from you. “You work at that vet clinic, right?” he says, his tone lowering slightly as he speaks the last few words.

You nod, the day flooding back at the confirmation. His name is Hoffman, if your memory serves you correctly. Mark Hoffman, right?  “I’m a tech there, yeah.” you answer, eyes then falling to look him up and down. “Still sorry we couldn’t be of any help. It’s a shame, all those poor animals left without an owner.." You say, which to any regular person would be a bit odd, to mention the pets but not the people.

Mark raises an eyebrow at the comment about the pets, his expression remaining stoic as he processes what you have just said. “Yeah, really is,” he says, with his usual blank expression and tone, “Say, how long have you worked there?”

“Oh, god, it must’ve been.. five years now?” You say thoughtfully, lifting your hand to rest on your cheek as you consider it. “And then those incidents started happening only earlier this year.. I damn near quit out of fear, I’ll tell you what.” You remark with a slight laugh at the end.

He listens intently to your reply, thinking over the information you’ve just given him.  “Why didn’t you?” His voice lowers as he speaks his next line, his stance shifting slightly, tilting his head while he eyes you.

“Well, you know how the job market is right now.” You relent with a sigh, shaking your head. “Besides, they gave everyone a pay raise when the news broke. I guess it was to try and stop people from leaving, and it worked for the most part.”

“So you stuck around for a raise? Sounds like you think the risk is worth the reward.” Hoffman lets out a dry laugh as he leans back on his heels, his eyes continuing to study you, like they’re searching for something. “Then again, why are you guys even still open at all?” he says, “I mean I would’ve never stepped foot in there again after something like that happened.”

You turn your gaze back up to him, your expression as genuine as your voice when you speak. “We’re the only veterinary office for miles, we can’t just close.” You respond, furrowing your brows a bit. “People, and their animals, need us. You of all people should know what that’s like. Right, detective?”

“Yes, I do.”  He nods, and the tense atmosphere that was filling the air dissipates slightly.  “You’re right. People need their vets, and if you are one who has devoted themselves to saving their pets then they’re lucky to have you.”  He replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well.. thank you.” You say in response, almost hesitant or unsure as you speak.  Just then, you get a text from your phone. He watches your expression change. “Ah, I have to get going. It was, um… nice talking to you?”

He shifts his weight, putting his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, you too,” Mark says, nodding once and giving a small, slightly forced smile, “Drive safe.”

[az-roser]

“We all have our vices, dear.”

It seems I’ll never escape from Human Alastor… he’s truly got my brain held captive. (not that I mind LOL)

[moondirti]

working at a hardware store, you're too familiar with the odd customer. couples who come in with specifications so detailed, you can only imagine they're for kink purposes; women old enough to be knocked out by the fumes of the paint they purchase, looking to remodel after their husbands passing; men on the verge of a mid-life crises, more devoted to their lawns than they are their families. and though it takes a couple hours of dedicated customer service to get them out the door, satisfied with their purchase, that comes with the job that sees you paid. so it's not so bad. generally fine.

a one and done sort of thing.

(of course, that's because none of them hold a candle to this freak.)

cargo net, nylon cordage, duct tape, disinfectant. all that's missing is a shovel, and the police wouldn't fault you for calling this purchase in.

"moving?" you ask, tongue lashing against your best interests in face of the oppressive presence across the counter. a monster of a man, almost too big to fit through the store. thick arms and neck, a healthy serving of fat over every muscle, filling the space of his shirt beyond what it was sewn to handle. the camo balaclava is both ridiculous and an essential component to the intimidation he strikes in you, framing a set of eyes that squint at your remark.

(jesus, you didn't think people like him existed in real life.)

he looks like he's about to bite back, but decides against it.

"hunting." he says, then nudges the objects towards you like he has somewhere urgent to be at 10 pm. but okay, fine, you can take a hint. you scan the suspicious list of things and tally up his total.

"uh, 85 quid. thanks."

"bloody extortionate." the man mutters, stacking his purchases upon one, curled arm, before throwing a pink note your way.

nonplussed, you don't notice the offence immediately. the matter of payment is instead superseded by his offhand exit, his shoulder shoving open the door, head bowing to shrug out. and you watch as he walks across the parking lot, long strides taking him there in three steps, and watch as he slips around the brick perimeter. only then does your stomach settle.

but at that point, it's far too late.

50 pounds stare smugly up at you.

that asshole underpaid you.

by the grace of the gods (your manager), your shift ends soon after. it's a wonder you manage to get to your car at all, migraine splitting your skull in two. though it should be doing something to alleviate the pain, all your body wants to focus on is the lightened bulk of your wallet, now missing 35 quid after paying the difference out of pocket.

you take the time once you're seated to smash a fist repeatedly onto your steering wheel.

"fucking fuck! cock sucking bastard, son of a bitch!"

the screaming, though cathartic, drills your sorrows further into your head. you're temporarily blinded when your head slams back onto the headrest, phosphenes overwhelming your vision. little stars, ropes, knives and dots dancing over the windscreen.

it's a miracle you're able to discern the eyes in your rearview mirror as real.

"well, which is it?" the brute from earlier derides. his hand comes over your jaw, big enough to trap the whole lower half of your face in his grip. tucks his pinky under your chin, too, the makeshift muzzle keeping you from biting. it's all you can do to breath — long, filtered gulps of air, the space between his fingers smelling of salt. something sticky smears onto your nose. "am i a bastard, or the son of a bitch?"

not a one and done thing, then.

[ozzgin]

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

[cold-kitty]

The winner of this week's poll was... Yandere Murderer/Serial Killer!

Includes: murder (not darling), nsfw (not with darling), stalking, a little fluff, cameras

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Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer that had planned to kill you as his next victim.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stalks you to figure out your routine to find when you're most vulnerable, but he ends up finding you cute.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't kill you right away just for his entertainment, he wants to figure out what makes you tick and use it against you. you're so cute when you're angry!

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to see you as an actual person and not just someone for him to kill, which is a first.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to really like you, who waits until you're not at home before installing discreet cameras in your house.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who watches you in his free time, every second of it.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who touches himself when you do, zooming in on your hand on your genitals.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to leave you little gifts. your favorite candy bar? you suddenly have one. you like a certain animal? you have a new plushie. you wanna watch a movie? you suddenly have the DVD. he loves seeing your face light up every time you get a gift.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels enraged when someone picks on you. how fucking dare they! they should be hung on a meat hook like the animal they are!

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels his heart sink when he sees the look on your face when you find the body of the person, he wanted to comfort you. he would be more careful hiding the bodies now. there's also an onslaught of gifts the next day.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who finally, finally decides to take you. he makes sure he's gentle with you, he doesn't dare inject you with anything, he uses a simple cloth dipped in chloroform. he doesn't want to restrain you, but he's scared you'll run off.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who holds you until you wake up, rocking you gently.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who's genuinely so happy to have you now, even if you're scared or don't like him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who showers you in gifts and love, who cuddles you while still respecting your personal space. he doesn't dare to force you into anything with him, he loves you too much.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't stop trying, who waits patiently for your love even if it hurts him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stops killing people for you, he knows you don't like it and he doesn't like how scared it makes you.

If you end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he immediately starts breaking down in happy tears. he's clinging to you, burying his head in your neck or chest, desperately kissing anything he can. he's so goddamn happy, he's waited so long for this.

If you don't end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he'll just wait, he needs you to love him back.

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How was this for my first fic? Feel free to ask for expansions of this idea, like darlings that act in a certain way. Mean, willing, scared, etc..

~🐈‍⬛

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Serial Killer Aegon x Victim Reader

Summary: you just wanted to enjoy the night with your best friend and getting fucked. But what was waiting for you was much more scary than anything you had ever expected...

Warning: kidnapping, blood, abuse, unwanted touch, murder.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Original Gif by @lady-alicent ♡

The mirror gleamed back at Y/N as she carefully applied the finishing touches to her makeup, the sleek red dress clinging to her curves in all the right ways. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the silky strands catching the light of the vanity. Tonight, she was going to be unstoppable. On speaker, her best friend Emily's voice filled the room, excitement buzzing between them as they planned their night out.

"Girl, I swear, tonight's the night. I will get laid" Emily laughed, the sound infectious, pulling a giggle from Y/N.

"Are you sure, though? You've been talking about this for weeks. Are you finally going to get with Tom?" Y/N teased, brushing some highlighter across her cheekbones.

"Hell yeah! I'm gonna fuck his brains out!" Emily declared dramatically, causing both of them to erupt into laughter. "But what about you? Don't think I didn't see how Oliver was staring at you last time. That man is ready to risk it all."

Y/N smirked, lining her lips with a deep crimson. "Oh, Oliver won't know what hit him tonight" she winked at herself in the mirror, confident. "By the end of this party, he's going to be begging."

Emily cackled, making another inappropriate joke that had Y/N snorting, her mascara brush shaking slightly in her hand. "God, Emily, you're gonna make me mess up my makeup."

"I cant help it, you're gonna make himー"

Suddenly, Y/N froze mid-laugh. In the corner of her eye, she caught something ーa shadow shiftingby the window, just out of her line of sight. Her heart skipped, an eerie prickle crawling up her spine.

"What's wrong?" Emily's voice came through the phone, concern creeping into her playful tone.

Y/N blinked, her eyes darting around the room. Everything was still. Quiet. The only sound was Emily's distant voice on the phone. She let out a breath, forcing smile as if it could push away the unease settling in her gut. "Nothing, I just thought I saw something."

"Probably just your nerves. You've got Oliver on the brain too much!" Emily teased, bringing the conversation back to its lightheartedness.

"Yeah, you're right," Y/N muttered, trying to shake off the strange feeling. She continued applying her makeup, but every now and then, her gaze flicked back to the window. That uneasy chill hadn't left, a quiet whisper in her mind that something wasn't quite right. But it was probably nothing.

At least, that's what she told herself.

The night was pitch black, the only light coming from the dim glow of Y/N’s headlights as they cut through the lonely, desolate road. Trees stretched out on either side, their branches twisting together to form a canopy of shadows. The once lively conversation with Emily had died down to a nervous exchange of directions as Y/N found herself completely lost in the maze of unfamiliar back roads.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Y/N asked, her voice tight with frustration, gripping the wheel a little too hard. The GPS had stopped working a while ago, leaving her utterly reliant on Emily’s instructions.

“I swear, Y/N, it’s the right way! Just keep going straight, and you’ll see a sign soon, I promise,” Emily’s voice reassured her, though it did little to calm the rising anxiety bubbling in her chest.

Straight. That’s all she had to do. But the road seemed endless, stretching out in front of her like a void, each passing second growing thicker with unease. Y/N glanced around, her stomach flipping as the dark woods loomed over her. It felt like something was watching from the trees.

"Emily, I don’t see anything—" Y/N began, but her words were cut off in a scream as a figure suddenly appeared from the darkness, leaping in front of her car.

THUD.

The impact jolted her entire body forward, the screech of brakes cutting through the stillness as the car skidded to a halt. Y/N’s heart was racing, pounding so hard she could barely breathe. The world outside was silent again, but the deafening thud of the hit echoed in her ears, over and over.

“Y/N? Y/N! What the hell just happened?!” Emily’s voice was frantic, but Y/N barely heard her.

She stared ahead, wide-eyed, her hands trembling on the wheel. What just happened? Did I hit him? Did I just… kill someone?

Her throat was dry as she swallowed, trying to steady herself. "I… I think I hit someone. I’m not sure." Her voice was shaky, barely above a whisper.

“What?! Are you okay?! What happened?” Emily’s voice was nearly drowned out by the ringing in Y/N’s ears, her panic rising with every passing second. Y/N’s hands moved to unbuckle her seatbelt, her body feeling as if it was moving on autopilot. "I need to check. I’ll call you back."

“What? No, wait—” Y/N hung up, her mind spinning with terror as she opened the door and stepped out into the suffocating darkness. The wind was cool, but her skin prickled with cold sweat. The night was unnaturally quiet, save for the rapid beating of her heart in her ears.

Her eyes landed on the crumpled figure lying in the road just ahead, and her stomach lurched. She could barely see him in the dim light of her car’s headlights, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. Every instinct screamed for her to run, but her feet moved forward, her breath shallow.

She knelt beside the man, her hands trembling as she reached out. "Hey… Hey, are you okay?" Her voice cracked, almost pleading. She shook his shoulder gently, her breath catching in her throat. Please don’t be dead. Please, God, don’t be dead.

He didn’t respond, his body limp. Y/N’s heart plummeted. For a horrifying moment, she thought she’d killed him. I hit him, I really hit him. What if he’s dead? What if I—

But then she noticed it—his chest, rising and falling slowly. He was still breathing.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, a wave of relief crashing over her. "Oh, thank God…" she muttered, her hands moving to check for any sign of consciousness. "Hey, can you hear me? You’re gonna be okay, I’ll get you help. Just hang on."

Her voice was trembling as she stood, rushing back to the car to grab her phone. Her hands fumbled with the door handle, her pulse pounding in her ears. She had to call for help. Get him to the hospital.

But just as she reached into the car for her phone, something hard and solid slammed into the back of her head.

Pain exploded through her skull, white-hot and blinding. Her vision blurred instantly, the world spinning as her body crumpled to the ground. Her mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening, but all she could register was the unbearable, crushing pain.

She tried to blink away the darkness closing in around her, her breaths ragged and desperate, but the force of the blow had knocked her senses loose. Through the dizzy haze, she saw him—the man she had just hit, standing above her with a rock in his hand. The sickening realization crashed into her like a freight train.

It was a trap.

Her heart raced, adrenaline surging through her, but her limbs felt heavy, numb. She wanted to scream, to fight, but her vision was dimming, the pain dragging her under. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the man’s cold, emotionless face, looming over her as she slipped into the abyss.

Y/N's consciousness flickered like a dying flame, dragging her unwillingly from the void. The pain in her head was the first thing she registered-an unbearable, spliting agony that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, making her feel like her skull was about to crack open. She groaned, but the sound came out muffled, trapped behind something in her mouth. Panic started to set in as she realized she couldn't open her jaw; the taste of dirty fabric filled her mouth. A gag.

Disoriented, she blinked slowly, trying to make sense of where she was. Her vision was blurry, her surroundings a nauseating haze of darkness and shadow. Everything reeked. The stench hit her all at once- thick, putrid, suffocating. It was a mix of urine, sweat, blood, and something far more decayed. The smell clawed at the back of her throat, making her gag against the cloth. She fought back the urge to vomit, knowing it would only choke her.

Her body felt... wrong. Heavy. Aching. Every muscle was sore, every inch of her skin stung with a dull, throbbing pain. When she tried to move, she realized why: she was tied up. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the coarse rope biting into her wrists and cutting off circulation. Her legs were bound too, her ankles tied together so tightly she could barely wiggle her toes.

Where the hell am I? The last thing she remembered was... the man. The man she had hit. Her heart jumped into her throat, the memory rushing back to her all at once一the impact, the body on the road, the moment of relief when she realized he was still breathing. And then... then he had attacked her. Everything went black after that. And now I'm here.

Her breath quickened as she took in her surroundings. The room was small, cramped, with walls so grimy she could barely tell their original color. Blood smeared the walls in splatters and streaks, both fresh and old, the sickening reminder of whatever horrors had taken place here before. There were stains on the floor, dark, sticky patches that made her skin crawl. And then she noticed the other things一flesh, torn and hanging like trophies from hooks. Bones, carelessly strewn on the floor, cracked and splintered. She wanted to scream, but the gag silenced her, the terror building in her chest until it felt like she might suffocate on it.

But she wasn't alone.

In the dim light, she saw them-other women. At least five of them, maybe more. All of them were bound like her, gagged, naked, their bodies bruised and filthy. Some of them were barely conscious, their heads lolling weakly, while others stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. There was something about their expressions that sent ice shooting down her spine-those hollow, desperate eyes, like animals resigned to their fate.

One of them, a woman with tear-streaked cheeks and a gag so tight it had rubbed her mouth raw, met Y/N's gaze. She shook her head slowly, almost imperceptibly, her eyes full of warning. It was as if she was trying to tell her something, something Y/N didn't yet understand. Don't move. Don't fight. Don't make a sound.

But Y/N wasn't like them. She couldn't just sit here and wait to die. Fear surged through her veins, but so did adrenaline. She had to get out. I have to get out.

Slowly, carefully, she began to squirm, trying to shift her weight without making too much noise. Every movement was agonyーher wrists felt like they were being sliced open by the ropes, and her muscles screamed in protest. But she didn't stop. She couldn't. If she stayed here, she was dead.

As she inched her way toward the door, the other women watched her, their eyes filling with fresh tears, their bodies trembling as they silently begged her stop. But she couldn't stop. She had to get free. She had to.

The closer she got to the door, the more hope flickered inside her-until she fell. Her hands slipped, and her body hit the floor with a dull thud. She landed in something wet and slimy, the smell assaulting her senses immediately. It was a disgusting mix of rotting food, excrement, and something else- something thick and foul that clung to her skin and made her gag. Her stomach churned violently, the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, focusing on the door just a few feet away.

But then the door creaked open.

The sound was slow, deliberate, and it filled the room like a death knell, Y/N froze, her heart hammering in her chest, her body tensing as the dim light from the hall spilled into the room.

He stepped inside.

The man. The same man she had hit with her car. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette tall and menacing, his face twisted into a sickening grin. His eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on Y/N, his expression darkened. Rage boiled just beneath the surface of his face, twisting his features into something monstrous.

"What do we have here?" he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

Before Y/N could even try to scramble away, he was on her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up, dragging her across the filthy floor as she screamed against the gag. Pain shot through her scalp, white-hot and unbearable, but the terror that gripped her heart was even worse. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her right now.

"You stupid, stupid girl" he hissed, his voice thick with venom as he dragged her back to where she'd been. "You thought you could just leave? You thought you could escape?" He threw her down onto the cold floor, kicking her hard in the stomach for good measure.

The breath was knocked from her lungs, and for a moment, everything went dark. She gasped for air, her body convulsing in pain, but she couldn't get enough oxygen. Her vision blurred, her mind spinning with fear and panic. This is it. I'm going to die.

"You should be thankful l'm not going to punish you further;" he spat, kneeling down beside her, his breath hot and rancid against her face. "You're new. I'm feeling generous today."

Y/N's body shook uncontrollably as she lay there, too weak and terrified to move. But then, just as quickly as the anger had come, his expression changed. The rage melted away, replaced by something far more sinister. His hand, still tangled in her hair, began to stroke her scalp gently, his voice softening as if he hadn't just brutalized her.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, his tone dripping with faux concern. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You just made me so... angry. it's your fault, you know? If you hadn't tried to leave.." His fingers trailed down her neck, his touch lingering on her skin as he murmured, "You're so beautiful. So.. perfect."

"Soft," he murmured, as though admiring the texture of fabric instead of skin. He leaned in closer, inhaling deeply as he buried his face in her hair, his breath warm and sickening against her skin. "You smell so good... You're going to make the perfect doll."

Y/N's mind spun with confusion and horror. Doll? What did that mean? She wanted to scream, to thrash and fight, but her body felt like it was frozen, paralyzed by fear and exhaustion. Her tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks as she trembled beneath his touch.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as his hand slid lower, caressing her naked body with possessive, almost reverent strokes. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. He was taking his time, savoring the touch, the control, the power. Y/N felt sick, her stomach twisting in knots as she lay there, helpless, her mind screaming for it to stop. But she couldn't Scream. She couldn't move.

"You're going to be perfect" he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just... perfect."

She wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and never exist again. But all she could do was lie there, paralyzed by fear and disgust, as he continued to touch her. His hands roamed over her body, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. Every touch felt like fire, burning into her flesh, marking her. She could feel his excitement, his anticipation, and it made her want to vomit.

Then, suddenly, he stood up.

“Not today" he said, smiling down at her with a look of twisted affection. "Today isn't your day."

Y/N's stomach lurched as she realized what he meant. Not her day. But soon. Her tears blurred her vision, her entire body shaking uncontrollably as she tried to scream through the gag. She couldn't stop the sob that broke through, muffled but desperate.

He laughed softly, brushing her hair out of her face with a gentleness that felt like a mockery of kindness. "Shhh" he cooed, "don't cry. You'll ruin your pretty face. And I love your face."

Before she knows it, the man turned his attention to one of the other women-a blonde who had been sitting silently in the corner, her eyes wide with terror. Without a word, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to her feet with a sickening cruelty. The woman's body convulsed in terror, her eyes filling with tears as she let out a muffled scream behind her gag.

She struggled weakly, her limbs trembling, but it was no use. He dragged her toward the door, pulling her like a rag doll, her body limp with fear. She was looking at her. Like a lamb. Wide eyes. Begging for help. But Y/N couldn't do anything.

Y/N watched in horror as the door slammed shut behind them. The remaining women in the room sobbed softly, the sound of their crying mixing with Y/N's own frantic breaths.

Then the noise began.

The sound of metal on flesh, a sharp, wet thwack followed by a crunch that made Y/N's blood run cold. The woman's faint cries echoed through the walls, but they were quickly drowned out by the sickening sound of the ax splitting flesh and bone. The rhythm was steady, methodical, like someone chopping wood ーonly it wasn't wood. lt was human.

Y/N closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. All she could do was wait, knowing that soon... it would be her turn.

Should I make a part 2?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[klttn]

human!alastor, the serial killer, having a pretty little wife to fix him up after he comes home. all bloody and bruised, busted lips and light stabs, occasional bullet wound that he’d scoff at. panicked little eyes staring at him as she stitches him up and dabs lukewarm water on his cuts.

she knows he’s fine, he knows he’s fine. but, the thought of losing her precious protector makes her want to kill a man, cold blooded and all. and she happily would to all the scum that inflicted these battered blows if alastor hadn’t already.

“sweetheart, i’m quite alright, the bullet merely grazed,” alastor would remark, loud and with a loving smile on his face, as usual. his unwounded arm coming up to cup your face, leather clad hand, cold and harsh on your skin.

“you are not leaving until i’ve checked everywhere, mister,” you countered, alastor sighing defeatedly as your eyebrows furrowed whilst you focused your hardest to patch up his flesh. soft and presice touches making alastor fall deeper into his love for you. the perfect little wife. and she was all his.

his hand would never leave your face as you worked, letting you focus until you’d done, watching intently as you worked him over and bandaged and attended to all his needs. his other hand occasionally coming up to tuck strands of your hair behind your ears. “is that it, my love? am i all good to go?”

a sleepy yawn would leave your plushy lips as he leant down to place a gentle kiss atop your forehead. “mhm, all fixed, good as new,” your head moving slightly to return a kiss on his palm.

only then would the gentle grip on your jaw force you to look up at him fully, same doe eyed look as always painted on your pretty features, just the picture of innocence. the soft pad of his thumb would shift, grazing your bottom lip as it quivered from his touch. “i’ll never tire of this sight, such a doting little thing, aren’t you?”

you nodded softly into his hand, eyes closing for a moment to bask in his touch. it was moments like this that had you keening. his large frame manspread and sat atop the table, his legs wide with your tiny frame trapped between. he’d guide your head to rest on his thigh and run his large hands through your hair. “thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart.”

“always.”

[charliemwrites]

The Scottish Cabin in the Woods - last update: 4/4/24

"Let's go camping," Soap said.

"It'll be fun," Soap said.

"A lot of fun," the psychopathic serial killer said.

You didn't say anything, you were too busy trying not to get kidnapped - and failing.

Content: Serial Killer AU, Dark Content, Kidnapping, Violence and Murder, (Mentions of) Torture, BDSM Elements and Dynamics, (Mild) Pet Play, Predator/Prey Kink, Dacryphilia, Impact Play (Spanking), Humiliation Kink, Dub-Con, One (1) Ableist Slur (and the guy ends up dying)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader. moodboard & aesthetic only ! (not a fic please !)

you were a young doll stucked in your baby blues shades world, who was born to fall into old men traps. and this one was an old serial killer who made you a missing girl in your small town.

you adored him like he was the only god in the world. and you even started to believe that when he kidnapped you it was not a crime but intimacy.

you were a young crybaby, a babydoll full of tears, with a sweet white and blue soul, pure as heaven, and soft as clouds. you wanted nothing more than to be the wife of the old daddy with dirty bloody hands that can kill for you, but never hurts you.

“ i just wanted you to know that i think you're the sweetest guy in the world. and the most handsome. i love you. ”

you were to him the innocence he never had, the peace he wanted to hold forever. you were his little girl.

“ i will be very sad if you don't come back. just tell me, don't lie to me.”

“ you adore me, you love me, you cherish me, jesus christ you can't live without me”

“ i'm gonna step out of the car for one minute. one minute, i'm gonna step out. put your hands on the dashboard like that. hold 'em like that. don't let me see you move them one finger, not one finger move, not one twitch of a move or i'll come back and choke you to death. i swear to god, don't move, little girl. i can put a gun on your angel face, and blood on your pretty tears. ”

“ do you still think i'm the sweetest guy in the world ?" " yes, always. can i hug you now ?"

tadouuum !!! hbddd @bunnyrafe <333 (i'm 'ot so so proud of it but wish you like it) + @fae-of-prey thx to make me think of it

[lustlovehart]

Bitten Hope

A/n: loosely inspired by @merakiui ‘s DRU Jade and Death Row Floyd, not exact though, but I really liked her writing on their serial killer counterparts and took inspo!!

Pairing: Serial Killer! Jade Leech x Reader x Serial Killer! Floyd Leech

Summary: Interrogating criminals is your job, it’s rare for that to go wrong. Though, it’s even more rare for them to be infatuated with their investigator.

Warnings: Heavy Yandere [mdni] , Blood, Biting, Cuffing, Kidnapping, Violence, Dub-con kissing (not on mouth), aged 18+, Imprisonment

You’re stood on the other side of the one-way-looking glass. You can see them, but they can’t return that gaze. The two of them aren't eerily silent. No… they’re laughing and conversing as if this was just a regular brotherly reunion. To them, it might just be that, two brothers who are finally talking to one another after a year of only speaking through calls.

“Seems you’re still the same, Floyd”

“Well duhh, I don’t have that time you do to plan them out, I jus’ wanna get it over with”

“Perhaps that’s why you were caught much earlier than me.”

“Well you got jailed too so that doesn't change anythin’” Floyd leans back in the chair, his head craning up to look at the bright buzzing lights of the room.

“Ya think they’re gonna bring Shrimpy in?“

To this statement, the other twin looks at him, curiosity filled in those mismatched eyes.

“My, are you saying [name] is here?“

“Oh right, I didn’t tell ya cuz it woulda’ been lame if you knew,“ his head jumps back into place, a bubbly smile replacing his previously disinterested expression, “Yep! Shrimpy’s here, ain’t that nice~“

On the other side of the glass, you’re left balling your fist into itself.

How… How could they—!

A steady hand on your shoulder breaks your trance, the familiar sight of bright red somewhat comforting the tension in your joints.

“They were off-putting in our school years but, no one would’ve known how it was gonna turn out this way.” You place your hand above his, offering a smile to him to show your body easing itself.

“Yo Jade.”

“Yes?” Once again, Floyd’s mood changes, shifting from cheerful to… scary. The same aura can be felt from Jade but to a more concealed degree.

“I wanna break the glass.” You and Riddle's head turn immediately at the man’s suggestion.

“Pray tell how would you do that?” he tilts his head and strikes his signature close-eyed smile at his twin “And why do you wanna do that?”

“Dunno, wait till these cuffs come off.” His hands lift as the sound of clanging chains resonate through the empty room, his brother only smiling as he looks down at his own. “And I don’t like the vibe I got on the other side.”

You quickly move out of Riddles range, his hand grasping for where your shoulder previously was.

“Wha— You’re going in alre—?! [Name]—” You don’t reply, the sound of the door swinging open and shutting filling the silence of the space.

“Oh my. You should be more careful, any stronger and we could’ve broken free from these.” You sit on the other side of the steel table, crossing your legs as you lean into the cold metal.

Floyd’s been on death row for a month now, but he hasn’t given any leads. And Jade… he just got here. Maybe if the both of them are together we can…

“When. You can tell me.”

“When are we gonna marry Shrimpy? As soon as we get out—“

“No. When did you start? Killing. When did you start being murderers.” Jade lays his hands on the table, his biceps and forearms visibly buff as well as veiny.

“When do you think?”

“ Are you avoiding the question?”

“No, of course not, I’m just simply asking if you know—“ Floyd’s upper half quickly flops onto the surface, a loud sigh interrupting you and Jade.

“Since the last year of school, now can we talk about Shrimpy ‘stead, talkin bout us is boring”

“Floyd…” Jade's lips are pursed in a line, he expected his brother's outburst but he hoped it would come later compared to sooner.

“Whaat, the faces people made when I strangled them aren’t fun to think about anymore,” his body stays flopped, only turning his head as his smile is aimed towards you. “So shrimpy, yah still single right~? Savin marriage for us yeah?”

“You… I am not!”

“But you’re still available? I see.” Their flirtatious comments only serve as a way to piss you off even more.

“You two… I’m not going to marry serial killers…!”

“Then do not think of us as killers, think of us as your lovers.”

“I will not…! Ugh… just be quiet and answer me.” They don’t reply only giving you the smiles they would flash at you when school was still happening. I can’t be obvious with my questioning—

“About 250.”

“Jade, what are you talking about…?”

“You were about to ask us how many victims we’ve had yes?”

…

…What? What? We only linked 8 of those murders to Jade how could he possibly—

“Floyd, what about you?” Floyd looks up at the sky, his face almost cartoony as he ponders about the answer as if he’s on TV.

“Uhhh, dunno. I didn’t count. Was a big number too though.

… How did these two even—

…

“ Where are these people now? How did you do it to them?”

“Shrimpy wants to know real bad huh’. Okay, I’ll tell yah.“ you didn’t think his grin could grow any bigger but it does, somehow. “but yah gotta lean in close.”

Ignoring the obvious risk of getting too near, if you do this… you have the opportunity to finally know what’s happened to all these people. All those missing person cases… you can find out just how many of them were the faults of these two.

You look back at the glass for a moment. Knowing that Riddle is on the other side eases your tension, albeit only a little. Well…

You hope he’s on the other side.

Your body slowly leans towards him, each second making you wanna back out, but pushing through it despite that gnawing feeling.

Floyd’s smile seems to be the biggest it's ever been. His face comes closer to your own, his voice low as the whisper that leaves his lips sends chills throughout your body.

“Ya ready?”

It happens too fast. He’s swift with the movement, before you can fully lean back to avoid it, you can feel it. His lips are felt on your cheek before the tender texture is replaced with sharp edges that dig into the nape of your neck. Your fingers lock into his hair, immediately pulling yourself free from his Jaws.

The chair you originally sat on is knocked back onto the floor. The clattering sound of the seat resonated through the walls.

“Awwww shrimpy looks cute with red all over!” He flashes his teeth, once white canines, are now painted in red. The sight makes you freak out, both of your hands flying up to the wound in your neck, putting immediate pressure on the bite.

He didn’t hit anything vital, only deep enough to bleed me… but if I don’t get this wrapped up it might get infected.

You don’t spare them any more words, immediately walking to the door and gripping the handle. You swing it down pulling the exit inwards.

…

It won’t open.

It won’t…

“My I do wonder where that other officer went…” Your head stays locked on the handle, not even daring to turn back to face them.

“Goldfish s’out already? I wanted him to see you in red, ain’t that his favorite color?”

“How did you…?”

“Tarts, they do smell incredibly sweet, don’t they? Though, I do prefer eating their consumers instead.” It’s uncanny. Jade is putting on that… that smile…! He’s spotless, unlike his brother, the brother that’s exuding such a joyful aura with blood splattered on his mouth… The brother doesn’t seem bothered at all by the iron liquid that is absorbed in his jumpsuit.

“So that’s how… That’s how you covered up the rest of your victims…”

“Yes. Now do you understand self-control as well?” His eyes slowly trail down to your hands as he speaks, his tongue quickly wiping his lips before retreating inside. “It takes a lot of restraint to not take a bite out of such a lovely meal. I’m quite jealous of Floyd.”

“You wanna…?”

“Eat you? Oh no, not anymore. But, just a little nibble doesn’t hurt any—“

Clang!!

Your focus is caught by the sudden explosion of sound. Your eyes quickly shift to the interruption.

“So that’s how you gotta do it. It ain’t that much Jade, you jus’ pull up real hard.”

…

Floyd is out.

“It was that simple? Then let’s be quick.” Jade follows his brother's instructions, the same clanging sound ringing in the space. “It’s much more comfortable not having our hands chained to that cold metal table. It seems I even have bruises on my wrist from such capture.” He’s not lying, his wrists are littered with purple bruises, but you bet he was the one who caused those himself, not the cuffs.

“Look look!” the two of them circle the table, each step they take more menacing than the last. “Jades got a booboo on him, you gonna kiss it all nice and better right~“

Jade plays along seamlessly, wiping away tears that aren’t there at all. “Yes… It hurts a lot, it would feel much better if someone made it all better.“

“you…! I’m not going to-!“

“Jades hurt. You gonna fix him or what?“ His voice is deep, it’s not playful anymore, and his face is practically inches from your own, it’s horrifying... If you keep rejecting them you… You don’t wanna guess what’ll happen.

Riddle… Deuce… Why isn’t anybody coming?! Even if Riddle left for a moment he should be back, even then someone would’ve checked up on us…! Where… where…?!

“Won’t you heal me, nurse?“

This was so stupid! I should’ve come in with Riddle, or told him to come in with me! With how quickly I rushed in I didn't bring any of my weapons I’m…!

Your knees give out beneath you, falling onto the floor while the twins followed you down. Your fingers reach towards Jade, pulling his limb close to your mouth. The two of them smile at you, watching carefully each movement with an overabundance of joy.

Your lips make contact with the skin of his wrist. You don’t focus on the texture of his hand, only putting all your attention on this task.

“It still hurts dear, I would like more.“

This is humiliating.

“Shrimpy’s cute kissin’ you like that, I wanna take another bite.“

You keep going with Jade, placing more kisses on that one wrist before transferring to the next one.

Someone… Anyone please…!

Floyd leans into the side of your neck, the side completely clean and, un-marked. His mouth opened and his hot breath coated the skin of your side. You don’t stop your assault on Jade's hands, only acting as if Floyd isn’t readying himself to bite you again.

I’m gonna die. These two are gonna kill me.

To your right, wind blows next to you, the brighter light of the hallways illuminating into the room.

Someone… Someone came…! I’m free…!

“Rid–!... dle…?“

“You two… You couldn’t wait any longer than 20 minutes could you?!“

A man wearing a black hoodie and surgical mask walks in, the baseball cap and sunglasses covering any distinguishing traits he could possess.

“Ah, seems we forgot. Forgive us Azul.“

“It's not our fault you took so long, it wasn’t fun waitin’, we just wanted to mess with Shrimpy for a bit, s’not fair you got to play while we were locked in here.“

No… No…!

It’s been years since you’ve seen the con man. His looks have changed, but, he’s still the same it seems.

Hopefully… he doesn’t work out. Distantly, you can remember a point in time when you had wrestled Azul during your school years, albeit it was more of a surprise attack than an actual fight. You won against him.

Against the twins, even in NRC they had insane strength, so directly fighting them would’ve been a death wish, but with Azul, you might have a chance.

You pull all your leftover strength into your calves, pushing yourself up from the space between Floyd and Jade, ready to throw yourself at the man.

Before you even have a chance you’re pulled back down as a needle is pointed at your face. Jade's hand is tightly wrapped around your throat as Floyd’s arms squeeze around your waist.

“It’s rude to leave in the middle of a ‘party’ Is that not what you said to us back then?”

“You guys are leaving? Why?! A… special meeting? But I made all of you presents…! Look, I spent so much time making little eels and even an octopus…! Don’t go yet—! Oh, you’re not…? Great!”

“Where… Where’s Riddle…? Deuce…? Please I need to know—”

“They’re alive. Just asleep.” Azuls eyes look to the side, a little red blob reflected on his lenses when he turns.

“Really…? Good good…”

“But only if you behave.” His leather shoes take a few steps forward before kneeling down, his eyes scanning your body. Mostly unharmed, besides the vicious bite Floyd left on you. “Floyd did you really—” his eyes pinch together before his finger massages the nose of his bridge, the most exhausted exhale leaving his mouth at the sight,” It's… whatever, unless you two wanna stay on death row we have to go now.”

My best choice is to let them go, I'm unarmed and no one else is coming so… I’ll just use the building's cameras to figure out what they plan to do next.

“You guys can leave, no ones… no one’s going to stop you—” your body is lifted into the air, your stomach having the sharp pain of a shoulder blade driving into it.”w-wait stop…!” your legs kick and flail all around, but the hold Floyd has on your body doesn’t falter for a second.

Before you can lift your arms to hit him from behind, Jade locks them together using a spare pair of handcuffs he stole off Riddle’s unconscious body. His finger plays with the chain between the cuffs as a smirk plays on his lips at your struggle.

“I wouldn’t advise it.” His finger makes your hands move up and down before hooking the underside with his index. He doesn’t let up, successfully locking your hand from further use.

“We have 10 minutes to drive out of here, you two are lucky this place is on the edge of town.”

No… Please…!

Before you leave the room, your eyes take a glance at Riddle's body. It’s only a slight bit of movement, but you can see him stir up, his head turning to face the doorway.

He can’t move. It’s over.

The last thing you see before being swept away is the bright red of his pupils widening at the sight of you bitten and taken.

“[Name]… Stop… Don’t take…!”

A quick glance is all it takes before his eyes shut close again, the last thing his vision pieces together being the sight of your form carried away from view. The tall silhouettes of Jade and Floyd shrouding in shadows as they leave through the doors, the hooded figure waving his hand before following behind. The trail of officers littered behind them is a sad sight.

As they leave, their disappearance will leave a stir in their community, all that’s left being the view of their successful escape.

“[Name] [Last], missing, please call 911 if any leads.”

———

This is leaning towards heavier dark tones than what I usually write, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway <3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Elite Serial Killer (2)

Part 1

Like frightened deer you scatter

In your opinion, you get pretty far

At one point climbing up high to see where the lights of the small town were

You were making great time 

“(Y/n)! Down here!”

The sun was rising and while you were hesitant you did go to meet ‘Piggie’

She seems high-spirited for such a horrible situation

But she shares the berries she’s found that weren’t poisonous

And clues you in on some helpful camping knowledge

So you’re none the wiser when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head 

 Waking bleary-eyed to the tight hold of a bloody rope around you 

The sun has long since set and all you can gather is that you're tied to a tree 

You hesitate to call for the girl only for somebody’s nails to dig into your scalp

It's her and she looks deranged covered in dirt and blood (it doesn’t look like it's hers)

Being sure to throw rocks and kick at you for emphasis she explains how she already knows the major twist of this hunt

They own the town 

No help would have been given if you had arrived there

Or even to the airport 

So she says she’s going to stand her ground to entrap them the second they come for the bait

And the bait just so happens to be you

When you ask her why it’s because she hates your pity

“At least when they kick me in the dirt they have the decency to know I belong there!”

She sounds demented 

But determined

So much so you’re sure if this was a movie she’d be the 'final girl'

But you’re here so that’s not happening

Hearing sticks snap and bushes shake you’re sure they’re on the way

So you shut your eyes in fear

Saying your final prayers as you feel the heat of another person stalking up to you

“How disappointing I expected you to get farther.”

It sounds like something he’d say before lobbing off your head

So you prepare for the oncoming blow 

Only to hear a shotgun fire off 

‘Piggie’ screams

So you look up to see Wille grinning madly in that direction before turning back to you 

He holds your face gently but firmly

Turning your head as he examines you 

“She really did a number on you.” 

He sighs snapping his fingers 

An unknown masked person cuts through the ropes 

Holding you on their back and securing the back of your knees

“Take them back to my room and patch them up I’ll gladly delight in my prize once I’ve finished.”

Wille takes off in a giddy sprint as he watches another masked servant drive off in a quad bike with you on the back

Now that the only real stake in this hunt is out he can really let loose

He’s been doing this for a long while

Enticing the masses at whatever new college or preparatory school he could 

Providing a plentiful harvest for his family 

And it’s great for a while but unfortunately, he just hasn’t found what’s missing 

His mother and father have each other and their pets respectively

His brother does as well

And then his sister…well she enjoys just hunting

But he was never like her

He took care of his appearance more, grew his hair long, and wasn’t pretending to be an apathetic prick

Though he could see how easy it was to become that way

He hates how forward people are when they want something from him or his family

He does admire the tenacity of the poor

But among the fellow rich? 

Absolutely unforgivable

He can only imagine the terrified faces he stalks being that of those hated elites

And of course, in the midst of a mission to harvest is when he becomes aware of you

It’s not really any one thing you do 

You just happen to exist close enough to his latest harvest grounds

It’s not your college but something of a rival school

And all it takes is one mutual and he’s whipped

Suddenly he’s decided that you're the perfect one for him

The prize  that’s greater than anything he could buy

To be Continued

[toxicanonymity]

Midnight Snack.

3.4k slasher!Joel x f!reader

slasher Joel masterlist | spotify SUMMARY: Joel has dinner with his Mom, then visits you. A/N: Shoutout to @iamasaddie for the master list mood board magnets, @gasolinerainbowpuddles for the edit and divider, fridge magnet anon ask, @thesummerpetrichor , anyone I'm forgetting?  WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon unsafe p in v, creampie, light somnophilia, choking, lewd degradation, home intrusion, manual restraint, spitting, toxic parental issues, angst/insecurity, changes POV, NO Y/N.  

“I said I’m good, Ma,” Joel grumbles as his mom puts another heaping spatula of casserole on his plate anyway. He sighs and pushes it around with his fork. 

“What’s got ya down, hun?”  

“Nothin’.”

“It’s a girl, ain’t it?” She smiles. “Knew it. Last time ya were here, ya had that glow," she nods, then registers his sullen face again.  "It's okay, hun. Whatever it is, you'll work it out.". 

He hasn't stopped thinking about you since he was there. When he drives, when he showers, when he goes to bed, when he jacks off—he sees the desire in your eyes when you’re pinned against the counter. He sees your dripping hole stretched around his fist. He thinks about you every time he uses his wrench. Still smells like your filthy cunt. 

"Tell me 'bout her,” his mom urges. 

“Can't,” Joel mumbles. “Don’t got a girl.” 

His mom looks at him knowingly. She always sees right through him. He doesn’t like how close they are, but in a way, she’s his only friend.  He fails to suppress a little smile, then looks down shyly at his plate and finally takes a bite.  

She asks,  “How’d ya meet?” 

Joel gives her a half-serious cautionary look and keeps chewing. 

“Work?” his mom prods. 

Joel swallows, nods, and takes a sip of milk. “Gave'r a ride.”

Two rides, really. Although you took the second one all on your own. And damn, it was good. He shifts in his seat. 

“Well, great,” his mom lights up. “When ya gonna see her again?” She dabs her mouth with a cloth napkin and stands up. 

“I dunno, Ma. . .She’s too good for me.”

She huffs, adjusts her glasses, then walks over. She playfully whips him on the shoulder with the fabric napkin, then puts her finger in his face. “Don’t you ever say that. No one’s too good for my boy.” She takes his glass to the kitchen and pours him some more milk, then sits back down at the table. 

“already left me once,” Joel grumbles.

His Mom’s face falls, then sours.  

“Then she’s not worth your time." She scoffs. Or anyone else’s." 

“She’s different, Ma," he mutters deadpan, then quieter, he adds, "Sometimes I think she likes me," with the slightest lift of his brow.  

Mrs. Miller's eyebrows shoot all the way up. "Well, she should!"

"'mixed signals." He’s saying too much, but he can’t stop. It’s not like he has anyone else to talk to.

"Bring'er for dinner," she suggests.

"Ain't like that," he sulks. "We don't-" He cuts himself off and sighs, sitting back in his chair. He puts his napkin on his plate. "Shouldn't'a mentioned it," he mumbles. 

His mom reaches across the table for his hand, and he gives it to her.  He looks at the delicate, paper-thin skin covering the veins on her hand. It makes him sad. He wants to bring a girl home. He wants to make his Mom happy. He doesn't come by enough.  She must be so lonely.  And he's the one who. . .no, his father deserved it, he reminds himself for the millionth time in his life. He didn’t love them, his mom said. Resentment begins to overtake his guilt. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for her. He steels himself and decides to feel nothing. 

"Look at me, Joel."  She looks him in the eye. "You're not gonna get a wife like this, honey." Joel swallows and looks down. She continues, "Don't be a quitter. She's yours if you want her." Don’t be a quitter. 

The buzzer for the laundry goes off. Mrs. Miller starts to head to the laundry room, but Joel stops her. "Feel like a loser when ya do my laundry." 

She shakes her head in disapproval and starts clearing the table instead. "My son. . .” she picks up both their plates. ". . .Is not a loser." 

Joel finishes his laundry, watches some tv with her while she knits, then pulls himself away.  His Mom sends him on his way with an old tupperware of casserole. "Go get her," she tells him with a wink.

—-

He wants to make a move.  He wants to fuck you again, but he isn’t sure how.  How do people do it? He doesn't know how to ask you out, or what you'd do together. Every time he thinks about it, he feels stupid, but he does wanna see you.  He wants to be inside you. He wants to make you purr, little sex kitten. 

At this hour, you’re probably out whoring, but he might as well drive by while he’s close.  All your lights are off, but your car is there. Hmm. He can't bring himself to go home. Don’t be a quitter.  He sits in his car at the end of your street. Last time he came over, it went pretty well. You wanted him to fuck you, and he did.  You wanted more, and he gave you more. Then he left before you could leave him. 

He feels like you’re special, but he really only knows a few things about you. Most importantly, you like the danger, you want the thrill, you want his dick, and you sure can take a cock. 

The only thing he can think to do is give you more of what he knows you want. Even if you're asleep, you'll be purring for it as soon as he drags you out of bed and pins you on the floor.  He pictures a knife at your throat. Not a big one, just his switchblade. 

He gets out of his car and adjusts his balls, spreading his feet for a moment. Then he starts walking to your house.  After a few seconds, he goes back to his car for the casserole. Maybe you'll have a midnight snack after he stuffs you full of his cock. He rolls his eyes at himself. That’s stupid. 

—-

There's a lamp with a dying bulb barely flickering on your back patio with a couple of moths fluttering wildly around it. Joel looks into your dark kitchen and scowls at his reflection in the glass. He holds the Tupperware under his elbow and picks the lock with ease. After stepping into your kitchen, he quietly slides the door shut behind him. His boots thud stickily as he takes his first steps on the linoleum. Do you ever mop? He holds his switchblade open in the air.  He’s headed toward the hall where he expects your bedroom is.  He inches through the kitchen--between the counter on his left and the stove on his right, until he gets to your fridge.  

The surface of the fridge is peppered with magnets--souvenirs, letters of the alphabet, bottle openers. It's silly. But a piece of paper catches his eye and he stops dead in his tracks.  It's pinned to the fridge by a "J," and an "X" and an "O." He blinks and squints, but his eyes don't deceive him. It's his drawing of you, legs spread wide open. His chest flutters looking at his sketch of your cunt hung proudly on your fridge. His dick twitches, and he inhales sharply. His mouth is watering.  He dips the tip of his thick pinky between his lips and dribbles a string of saliva on the paper, right between your legs. He tilts his head and admires the way your graphite cunt glistens.

You want him. You really want him. His body relaxes. He closes and pockets his switchblade.  He opens the fridge as quietly as possible and puts the casserole on the top shelf, pausing to survey the scant contents. Mostly condiments. Takeout containers. Beer. Expired orange juice. He closes the fridge. 

The microwave is hanging down from a cabinet to his left. He steps in front of it and bends his knees enough to push back his hair in the reflection. He stands up again, squares his shoulders, then prowls in silence to your bedroom. 

---

The door is open. Of course it is. You want him.  His boots are quieter on your carpet.  He approaches the foot of your bed but doesn't get closer. You're occupying less than half the bed.  You're just as pretty in your sleep. All bundled up. He knew that already. He gets harder, recalling the time he woke you up with his cock inside you. God, you're sexy. How'd he get so lucky that a hot little slut like you wants him so bad?

He goes to the other side of your bed. His side. There’s a chair full of dirty clothes. He sits down on them and takes off his boots.  He stands up again and lowers the zipper of his jumpsuit, pressing down on his bulge to get the zipper over it without snagging. Then he peels the sleeves off and brings it down over his ass and meaty thighs. He lets it pool at his feet and steps out of it. 

He's left wearing a blue soft wash t-shirt, lighter blue striped boxers, and white socks with holes. He takes those socks off too. He approaches your bed, lifts the covers with care, and sees what you're wearing.  You're wearing the shirt–he recognizes its condition.  God damn, you really do want him.  

Joel gradually lets his weight onto your mattress as he slips under the covers. His heart races and his forehead is damp.  His cock is so hard just from being close to you. He lies there perfectly still on his side for a moment, watching your back as you breathe. Then he scoots forward, inch by inch, until his leg hair brushes your bare legs and you jerk in your sleep. 

"Shhh. It's just me," he whispers as he wraps his hulking arm over you.  He spoons you and lightly presses his hard cock against your ass. You moan in your sleep and push back, then he moans. 

You jerk in your sleep again, but this time you don't relax. You startle awake.  You gasp and whimper. Your limbs thrash, and his arm tightens around you. You squeal, and his massive hand covers your mouth.   He wasn't expecting your feisty side, kitten. He came to give you what you want. 

Why don’t you want him anymore?

-----you-----

Pure instinct kicks in when you wake up with someone in your bed. Your heart is pounding, you thrash and  kick with all your might trying to get away. He covers your mouth and repeats “It’s me, sweetheart. God damn.” He sounds confused and irritated at your reaction. His voice is familiar, but it takes you a moment to place it, despite thinking about him all the time in waking life.  It's like your subconscious hasn't caught up with reality, and can you blame it? 

"Would you stop? Damn," he pants, getting more irritated as you continue to struggle and his arm tightens more, compressing your chest.  What did he expect breaking into your house and getting into your bed?

You feel his hard dick press against your loose sleep shorts and get butterflies in your core, even as you continue struggling. He backs up for a moment and the pull of his arm forces you onto your back.  He pins you with his left forearm on your chest and aggressively yanks down your shorts then kicks them all the way off before getting between your legs. His hard cock lays against your clit, separated only by his boxers, and you're throbbing. Your efforts to free yourself get weaker and weaker until you’re just lying there, staring up at him, your chest getting sore under his arm. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, just breathes heavily. 

He’s scowling down at you with a fine mist of perspiration along his hairline. He presses his cock against your mound again. Over a long moment of silence, an electric charge passes between your eyes and his.  He slightly tilts his head and looks at your mouth. You reach for the back of his neck and feel the cold sweat under your palm as you pull him down, drawing his face to yours. 

Your mouths meet but don't seal, and you find your lips reaching for his, wanting something to hold, something to suck–but he devours you without granting you any bit of control. You whimper as he kisses you hungrily, hard cock throbbing against your aching clit. He kisses you sloppily, biting your lower lip, dragging his tongue across it to the corner where he pauses and presses his teeth into your cheek and grunts with a slow thrust against you. Then he drags his lips and tongue down your jaw as you tilt your chin up.

He latches onto your neck with an "mm" and his hips begin to grind his thick erection against you at a slow rhythm. He grunts and his breath is humid with a moan against your neck before he latches onto it again. You feel the delicate skin bruising under his mouth while your pussy is gushing wet. You tilt your hips and wrap a leg around him. He groans at your slick, throbbing cunt against his cock. 

He murmurs into your neck, “God damn, you’re a slut for my cock,” then chuckles. “Aren’t ya, kitten?”

He lifts his pelvis off you to massage your cunt aggressively with his hand. You whine and he gives a low whistle.  Then he urgently takes his boxers down and you help him, curling a toe into the waistband once his boxers get down to his thighs.  You drag your foot down between his legs to his feet, taking his boxers with you. . He kicks them off the rest of the way. Before he lays his hips back into you, you reach for his balls, longing to feel the heft of them. It sends a bolt of desire through you. Fuck. 

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, but you're really asking yourself.  You’re asking yourself why you've got this sicko in your bed, someone unhinged enough to break into your house not once but twice and all you want is his cock. 

"Me?" He asks. "the fuck is wrong with you?" He wraps a hand around your throat. “Playin’ games with me,” he growls bitterly. “Ya want it, ya don't, ya want it–” you cough under his grip as he reads your eyes, then he whispers, "want it" with a small nod, and takes his hand away.

He notches his tip at your entrance then breathes, "don't ya?--uggghh" As he shoves into you. “Want it, you’ll get it,” he pants as his cock parts your walls. His cock spreads you wide open as he gives you his full length, and you gasp as he bottoms out. He withdraws a few inches and hangs his head to watch you swallow him back up.  

"God damn," he murmurs.  "Forgot how tight ya were before."  Your clit twitches at the thought of the wrench. 

Then his eyes come to your chest and the ripped shirt he gave you. He moans at the sight of your nipple poking through one of the slashes and he covers it with his mouth as he fucks you.  His wide tongue drags under your nipple and wets the curled edges of the slash in the shirt before his lips seal around your nipple.  He brings his hips back and pushes into you again, sucking and moaning into your tit. Your eyes fixate on his triceps nearly bursting out of his sleeves and that’s the first time it hits you that he was already in sleepwear. He undressed and got in bed with you. God, he’s weird. And you. You're. . . You don't know, but your hands are gliding on their own over his muscular back, feeling him flex as he pounds you. 

You find your fingers curling under the bottom hem of his shirt and he reaches one hand behind his back to help you remove it. You can't see much, but when the angle shifts, the moonlight catches enough to tell you his body has really been through it. When his head dips to your neck again you watch his hulking back muscles and see lines whiter than his skin. At least a dozen, overlapping lashes. You run your hand over it and the slight change in texture makes you wince with the confirmation. No telling how old they are. 

On his front, there’s a short straight line near his shoulder and a longer, thinner one on his side, curving around near his v muscle. Your thumb drifts to that one. Joel shivers at the touch, then slams his hips into you harder. You quickly abandon it, sliding your hand up his side, then to his pec. A wicked smile spreads across half his face as your hand runs across his chest. "Y'ain't scared, are ya?" He asks, breathing heavily with his cock dragging heavily in your dripping wet cunt. 

“No.” You thumb his nipple. 

He lowers himself and lets the weight of his middle onto you with a sigh, still railing his length into you. You wrap both legs around him, and he breathes "yeah, mmmgg baby, yeah" as he fucks you deeper. 

Your nipples go fully erect. "Fuck," he breathes when he feels them.  He grinds against your clit as he fucks you, and you feel a climax looming. The thought crosses your mind whether he's going to kill you one of these days and your chest erupts in goosebumps. Your face feels cold. 

As though reading your mind, he says, “don’t whore around on me” He reads your eyes then adds, "n' you'll be fine," with a small nod, a brief smile, and harsh thrust. 

You can't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of it.  The implied monogamy–on your side, at least. When he registers your amusement, his smile fades into a scowl and his eyes turn black. He grabs your jaw, squeezes it open, and spits in your mouth.  He grabs your hand off his chest and pins both your wrists harshly above you, holding them there with one massive hand as he fucks you harder, angrier. He looks down where your bodies meet, and he watches you take his cock again, breathing heavily, sighing and moaning.

Eventually his sour mood subsides, replaced by renewed marvel at your body. "Sure can take a dick." Your hips lift into him, seeking more pressure for your clit, near the edge.  "Didn't bring my wrench." He glances around your bedroom.  You moan at the thought of him shoving something inside you. Your walls twitch, and the deep groan that leaves his mouth is too much.  You grab his ass and pull him deeper using your hands and your legs.

"Fuck, Joel," you breathe, and a new softness spreads across his face. 

His mouth falls open and he whispers, "yeah, sweetheart." You bite your lip and groan as a huge orgasm seizes you. "Yeah," he whispers and his eyes map your face as your walls clench around him. "oh fuck," he pants as you cum on his cock.  "Fuck," he breathes again, "fuckin love this cunt," he looks you in the eye.  "Ohhhh," he groans and begins to pulse inside you. He lowers his face to your neck again and you keep cumming, your body jerking into his. "Yeah, fuck," he manages into your neck as his balls empty into you. "Mmmmm" he thrusts slowly one more time like he can hardly stand the pleasure. 

He pushes himself back up to look at you and shudders as you squeeze him with an aftershock.

"'s'okay," he whispers and brushes your temple with his thumb. “ruin ya in the mornin'” In the morning? He wants to stay over? "God you're hot," he chuckles, cock still inside you. After a long moment of silence, he slides his cock out of you and you wince at the void. He lays on his stomach and drapes his arm over you. Your heart races and you can only hope he doesn’t feel it. You don’t want him in your bed right now. He's a novelty and he has to stay that way. Yeah it was fun, it’s been fun. It’s fun. You have his stupid drawing on your fridge, like a wild memory, a souvenir. But this. . . this is unsettling.  

You can't get attached to this sicko. But you know better than to try to make him leave.  He gets that look in his eye sometimes, and you just don’t know.  You take deep breaths and try to plot how you’ll get out of this in the morning. You can say you have to work. Yeah, you’ll say you have to work.  Eventually, you drift off under the weight of his arm. 

------

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Love you guys.

@toxicfics for notifications.

[az-roser]

“The world is a scary place, now that you’ve woken up the demon in me.”

Yoooooo ngl I’m so SO in love with how this piece turned out 😭🖤

bonus points if you know what song these lyrics are from lol👀

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

-

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

-

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

-

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

-

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

-

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

-

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

-

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[cold-kitty]

can I maybe request a willing (and maybe really affectionate) reader with the serial killer yandere? I love your writing!

Of course! Thank you by the way!

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Contains: Fluff, Stockholm Syndrome

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Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who expected you to be scared, pissed, just upset in general, so he made sure that he held you close while you were still unconscious so that he could savor what he thought would be the last moments of closeness with you.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who isn't surprised when you're scared, he expected it.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who tries to make himself the least threatening as possible, nervously handing you a cute little teddy bear he found with shaking hands. and, to his surprise, you take it.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who watches as you take hold of it with your own shaking hands, nervous for your reaction.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who watches you accept it, a shaky attempt at a smile twitching on your lips. he's relieved, to say the least.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who keeps getting you small gifts, happy that you're quickly becoming comfortable with him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who decides to risk it all one night.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who waits until a stormy night, one with lightning and thunder and all that, and he comes into your room. his voice shakes in fear as he asks you the million dollar question. "can I sleep with you tonight? I have a phobia of storms..."

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who almost lunges at you when you say he can, but he forces himself to stay calm and slowly climb into your bed.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who itches to snuggle up to you, fingers twitching with the want- the need -to hold you.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who jumps out of his skin when you say that he can get as close as he wants, how did you know!?

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who latches onto you like a baby monkey, spooning you as gently as he lets himself.*

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who notices how nonchalantly you act around him, and soon you're living with him as if he hadn't kidnapped you.

(BONUS: he doesn't care about spooning positions. you want to be the big spoon? hell yes. you want to be the little spoon? hell yes.)

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He is such a sweetheart <3 (he has committed ATROCITIES)