haunt3dh3art

[haunt3dh3art]

Picturing Dean Winchester looking over at you while driving the Impala, windows rolled all the way down and the wind blowing in your hair.

You scream the lyrics to some Soundgarden song, but it’s faded into the background for Dean. He’s wondering how he got such a perfect thing like you.

The rumble and crackles of the car thud in your chests, knocking you both breathless.

You sneak glances his way, thinking he doesn’t notice (he definitely does because he can’t keep his eyes off you), but keep your eyes shut for the most part.

Dean couldn’t believe his luck.

a/n: i was listening to Black Hole Sun while writing this and that’s where the image of this scene came in my head

[haunt3dh3art]

born in blood - yandere!Dexter Morgan x f!reader

synopsis > Dexter comes clean about who he is, and why he does what he does.

warnings > Mentions of knives, blood, calls himself a serial killer cause why not, word dissection is written, mentions of bondage (not that kind, you dirty dog), obsessive ramblings

yandere!Dexter Morgan x f!reader

Chapter 2: Truths

The cellar was equipped well for a dissection.

Dexter had prepared Butler like a feast - wrapped up, bound, ready to be delivered by his hand. Butler’s knife had been the chosen tool for the job tonight. It seemed fitting for the occasion.

He’d sat you down and moved the chair to the other side of the room, but given you the choice to sit on the cellar steps. He had warned you that it would be a gruesome disposal. You insisted on sitting in on the process.

Donning his apron, gloves and a mask, Dexter went to work. First, he took a drop of blood from Butler’s cheek, for the designated slide; then knife cut through the flesh like butter. Well-sharpened tools, perfect for sacrificial rituals, really. After making sure the slide was safe and intact, Dexter checked his watch.

12:07 am.

He looked over at you again. You were sat leaning forward, elbows on your knees, like a student focusing intently on a lesson.

“Are you sure you want to see this? Bear witness to my wonderful work?” Dexter joked, throwing his hands in the air.

You grimaced at the poorly placed attempt to lighten the mood, and nodded. “He deserves it.”

2:51 am.

The snapping sound of rubber gloves being taken off rang around the concrete walls. It had gotten hot down here, and a bead of sweat rolled from Dexter’s eyebrow down to his jaw.

Butler, or his many parts, had been bagged, ready to be taken to the marina.

You rose from your seat, where you had practically been paralysed for god knows how many hours. The revelation of murder being a rather hypnotising process was an unsettling thought to cross your mind.

“What happens now?” You asked, eyeing Dexter carefully.

He felt your stare as if you had hit him square in the jaw. Even so, the reality of you studying him as he had studied you sent shocks through his bones. He wandered if you had felt his locked gaze on you at varying hours of the day, over the past few weeks. Be it dawn or dusk, Dexter had watched you, in cautious situations and compromising positions.

“Now,” He said evenly. “I take him to my boat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Boat?”

It makes him almost chuckle. You ask that like it’s strange. The boat is where loose ends are tied. Under that silvery moonlight, the water swallows what the work doesn’t deserve to see.

“It’s efficient. Easier to clean any.. nasty business. Then, he’s gone from here, from your life. Forever.”

You had seen things Dexter could not make you unsee.

His methods had finally been revealed to a living soul - the wrap, the slides, even the dumping grounds. He had no choice but to take you home and fill in the little details to you.

The drive back to the apartment had been silent.

That’s not to say a million thoughts hadn’t entered and escaped Dexter’s head in the ten minute drive back. His grip around the steering wheel was iron-like; his fingers tightened on the wheel, squeaking against the leather cover.

Now, you were both sat on his sofa, waiting for the other one to start talking. Taking in a deep breath, Dexter began to explain.

“I’m exactly what you think,” He started, locking his gaze to yours. He’d hoped he had made it clear to you that his intentions were far from what Butler’s had been. “Butler killed for pleasure, and some other imaginary higher calling. I kill for purpose.”

Butler had killed to fill the void. Dexter killed to stop the void from spilling over.

You didn’t say anything, making Dexter’s heart rate thump faster. A strange feeling.

“What you saw is my method. That’s how I make people disappear.”

He refrained from saying too much at first, sickeningly eager to hear your reaction, your words. The only sounds he could hear were the ticking of a clock and your slow breathing.

[haunt3dh3art]

angel - dark!dean winchester x f!reader

synopsis < dean hunts for you through the woods.

notes/tags < SEASON ONE SPOILERS, descriptions of blood, a gun, and wounds, hinted obsession, possessiveness(?), not sure of anything else. this is my first spn fic, be kind lol. also, i included a reference to a Massive Attack song in this. see if you can find it :)

dark!dean winchester x f!reader

He followed a trail of crimson soaking into the snow.

Every breath Dean took floated out as a cloud, snaking up into the night sky as soon as it had left his lungs.

Underfoot, the snow was solidly packed. Soft, slow crunches came with each step from his heavy boots.

Methodical.

The beaming headlights of the Impala cut through the abyss awaiting him. Sam told him to leave you behind, and forget about you. What were the chances of you surviving in the bitter cold?

Dean hunted you regardless.

He was well aware your chances were slim to none, but the urge to find you flowed like a sickening current through his veins. The thought of you without him in these woods made his chest ache. You couldn't survive without Dean.

Or was it the other way around?

He knew what monsters lurk in the dark, waiting to pounce on easy prey. He couldn't risk you being taken from him. Dean had already spent countless nights under his belt spent imagining that thought - the only remedy being you, softly breathing as you slept soundly in his arms. 

His angel, sent down to rescue his soul.

Dean had seen firsthand what losing Jessica had done to his brother. For months, Sam had lived on the verge of tears. The numbers on the bathroom scale had shot downhill - food and sleep had become arbitrary distractions in the hunt for the demon who had mercilessly taken his love's life. Jessica's passing had left a permanent mark on Sam's soul. Dean could never bear to see his little brother like that again, ever. Sam withered away in full view for months. A sharp pain at first had subsided to a dull aching one, but it will never leave him. Sam will live with that pain forever.

If traipsing through dense woods at ungodly hours of the night meant Dean wouldn't live that life, would see you safe in his protection, so be it.

The potential of seeing a glimpse of your face sent prickles across his skin. The thought of you clutching a shaking hand to your wounds, pushing your teeth together to stop the chatter from giving you away...

What would he see in your eyes when he found you?

Fear? Anger?

Pity?

These were polar opposites of what he really wanted to see. What Dean wanted to see was joy, surprise, pleasure. Four rotating hips under the light of a fireplace flashes across his eyes, a blinding fantasy. He wanted needed to make you feel how he does when he's around you.

The picture was blurry, but sent a shiver down his spine nonetheless. He trod through the snow as quietly as he could, craning his neck in every direction to listen for your breathing.

A sharp snap in the distance made him twist his body to the darkness.

The gun is cradled in his hands. Dean wished it was your face. Your soft skin, a comforting warmth beneath his icy fingers.

The sound so quick to catch his attention had been nothing more than a twig, broken in tread by a passing deer. The headlights beams reflect against the deers eyes, making them glow white. It stays in its tracks, watching.

Waiting.

Dean stops too.

The deer's head twitched east. It ran into the night, snapping branches and crushing leaves as it went.

“You can't stay here all night," He called out. "You know that, sweetheart."

No response from the woods. The cold had begun to bite through his clothes, seeping into his flesh. He ignored it, vowing to look all night if that was what it took.

There was no wind, no earthly whispers amongst the woods. The deer had come and gone.

Dean's grip on the gun had become impossibly tight the longer he hadn't set eyes on you. His hands were going numb, from the strained position and the cold.

He stopped, and cocked his gun.

The unmistakeable sound of metal clinking on metal rang out into the dark. Dean scanned the shadows for any movement, animal or human. His stomach had been knotted since this chase had started between the pair of you, and showed no signs of letting up.

A few seconds passed. The only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears.

Then, a cry emanated behind him. He whipped around, gun poised and aimed directly at your heart.

In the split second it took for him to turn, Dean had another wave of nausea hit his stomach. What if it wasn't you? How fast would he pull the trigger? Every bone in his body ached for the sound to be yours, to come from your body. All his suffering - and yours - would soon be over.

“Dean?" You whispered hoarsely.

His shoulders dropped at the sweet sound of a single syllable levering your lips. His lungs ached in agony as he breathed out. He had been holding a breath in he didn't know he was holding.

You wielded a thick, broken tree branch in one hand, while the other was a dark crimson colour, and clasped around your side. The coat you wore was almost black; your blood had flowed into the fibres and turned the once white wool into varying shades of red. The branch made a dull thud on the snow as you let it drop.

The stinging stench of blood was unmistakeable. It hit Dean like a truck - a wall of metal, unrelenting in its overwhelming potency.

He lowered his gun, pupils blown wide. He took a stumbling step towards you as his heart threatened to fall out of his chest. As soon as Dean had his arms around you, your body fell against him.

“What the fuck were you thinking?" He shouted, gripping your shoulders tightly. He placed his hand over yours, shuddering as it came away slick and hot with your blood. "You would've died out there."

What was there to say? He was right, you were desperately wrong.

The cold had firmly settled in your bones while you had tried to bide your time behind cover. It had made it hard to think about anything else. Still, you had heard Dean’s slow, careful footsteps, and knew you had to give up the game. You wondered what in you had let you believe you could escape in the first place.

Looking you over, Dean saw how blue your lips had gotten, how your body shook as you shivered. You weren’t steady on your feet on your own.

Dean knew he needed to get you some place warm, fast.

Leaning entirely on him, the walk to the Impala had been a quick shuffle, and its leather interior welcomed you in. The car smelt of his musk - dirt, gunmetal, and sandalwood.

Dean slammed the door, and rushed to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

Your eyelids began to droop closed - the exhaustion of running and hiding for so long had caught up to you. The sound of Dean's racing breathing had begun to fade, and black spots began to cloud the edges of your vision.

How much blood had you lost?

“Hey! I need you to stay awake!" He shouted, shoving you roughly.

Dean glanced at your ever-darkening coat. Your hands were coated in blood; desperate to cram everything back in.

“Fuck!" He shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel.

Dean looked over at you again, seeing you slip into unconsciousness deeper by the minute. A sharp exhale came out of him. In a brief moment of clarity, Dean reached for something you couldn’t make out in his pocket.

The casual turnover of the car climbed to a shuddering thunder as his foot slammed onto the accelerator.

The last thing you remembered was the twinkly tones of buttons being pushed on a phone.

“Hey, Sam? I need help."

[haunt3dh3art]

night moves

dean winchester x fem!reader

summary ↬ dean teaches you to play pool !

notice ↬ a lil suggestive but superrr fluffy, i want him to teach me pool, literally need this man so bad it's not even funny, i listened to night moves by bob seger while writing this, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 900

the crack of pool balls clinking rings through an old dive bar in indiana, old license plates and road signs littering the dimly lit walls. the place is loud, drunk people yelling and cheering and punching, classic rock echoing from a scratchy speaker.

but dean winchester is in heaven. 

he’s standing over a pool table, holding his pool cue up as he assesses where to make his next move. you’re leaning against the wall, nursing a beer, as you watch him set his eyes on one of the pool balls, which seemed way too off path to roll into any of the pockets. he lines up the cue and starts to lean over the table.

“there’s no way you’re hitting that in,” you say teasingly, taking a swig.

dean doesn’t even stir at your comment, and without fault, strikes the billiard ball right into the far right pocket. 

he straightens up and looks at you from across the table, giving you a shit-eating grin, “still think so, sweetheart?”

you’re still recovering from how he managed to make the shot, so all you can muster is a nod, “hmhm… yeah, totally can’t hit another ball in,” you say against the rim of your bottle.

he laughs, knowing there’s no way in hell you could. the deep rumble in his chest sends your knees buckling over themselves, “alright, lemme see what you got.” 

you almost choke on the alcohol sliding down your throat, “what?” 

“just try to hit a ball in,” he says, as if it’s the most straightforward task in the world. as he crosses over to you to hand you the cue, he gets close to your ear, “i promise, they don’t bite.” 

you avert your eyes away from his jawline as it grazes yours, only for a second before he pulls away, taking your half empty beer from you and stealing your spot on the wall. 

“alright, hit 7 into far left,” he instructs, pointing with the bottle, “yup, right there.” 

 you begin to sweat under the glowing white light above you—and because you can feel dean’s eyes watching you—almost knocking the ridiculously long stick into it as you orient yourself over the table. attempting to gauge a good spot for the cue to settle in your hands, you look to dean for help, “am i holding this right?” 

“i don’t know, are you?” he taunts, taking a sip through a smirk. 

you roll your eyes, huffing, before feebly trying to line the end of the cue up with the maroon ball staring at you dead in the face. you take a deep breath and slide the cue between your fingers before taking your shot. 

without surprise, you completely miss, sending the cue flying right out of your grip onto the table.

 and the ball? 

not even touched. 

“jesus, sweetheart, i think i’d hustle you,” dean jokes, shaking his head in contempt of your god awful performance. 

“shut up,” you choke out, pitifully reaching to hand him back the cue, “just take the damn stick.” 

but, he doesn’t. instead, he places your beer down on a nearby surface and signals for you to bend back over the table. with furrowed eyebrows, you listen, looking at him with confusion, “what are you doing?” 

“teaching you how to hit 7 into the far left,” he shrugs, moving to stand behind you. 

your face burns, eyes wide as you feel him pressed against your back, leaning on you as his hands reach around to adjust the stick in your grip. he skillfully places the end of the cue between your thumb and index finger—“there, keep it right there,”—resting it delicately in that spot. 

you swallow harshly as dean’s fingers trace up yours, his touch so soft; so different from his usual roughness. it sends your stomach plummeting to your feet, dragging your heart along with it. 

“alright, now, line it up—hmhm, but don’t move it from that spot—okay, you got that?” he mumbles as he adjusts. 

a lump forms in your throat. you nod. 

 “right, now shoot,” he helps you slide the cue through the web of your palm, before sending it into the side of the ball. 

it rolls straight into the far left pocket and relief spreads through you. 

“i did it!” you call out, twisting around without remembering your extremely compromising position.

you were suddenly pressed between dean and the pool table, your faces only mere inches away as he’s still somewhat hunched into you. every time you exhale, your chest touches his, heart beating so wildly, you’re sure he can hear it through the bob seger and drunk singing. 

“you did,” he says huskily, seemingly unbothered by your spot against him, but you swear his cheeks match yours in color, only a few shades lighter. he leans in slightly, eyes staring so intensely into yours, it’s impossible for you to look away, “think you can beat me in a match, now?” 

you lick your lips on instinct and try to muster a smirk, something to signal you aren’t melting into the floor, “absolutely.” 

dean’s gaze, hooded with something indescribable, flickers between your eyes, lips just brushing yours as he leans closer and closer before he abruptly stands up straight and shoves the pool cue back in your hands. 

the bar suddenly sounds a million decibels louder. you’re frozen in your spot. 

“show me what you got.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ dean winchester masterlist !

[haunt3dh3art]

sigh

[haunt3dh3art]

girls don’t want flowers, girls want to see masked men do the head tilt.

[haunt3dh3art]

“He is waiting. “

[haunt3dh3art]

sorry(absolutely not)

[haunt3dh3art]

when you save alarms for specific things but then you just keep reusing them. like sure wake me up at the chocolate milk alarm, what do i care

[haunt3dh3art]

Overprotective!Simon my HUSBAND.

He's never been worried. Not at home, not when he could fight any assailants off himself. Hell, they'd be fucking loose in the head to think they could take him on. It's not like he had much to show either--he didn't have much in the ways of luxury, simply because he chose not to purchase it.

Until he met you. He was nervous then, suddenly fixing shit around the house he'd let slip by him--the broken security system, the hole in the ceiling where he'd ripped out the smoke alarm because of its incessant 'low battery' beeping. Sure it was dangerous, but he hadn't cared before.

What never changed was the fact he'd had guns all over the house. You told him before that you'd feel sorry for whatever poor bloke thought he could grab a quick check off of your home, and he'd laughed in response, told you not to worry about it. He'd deal with it, after all, should push come to shove.

So he's prepared when he hears rustling from downstairs, and the beeping of the security system he'd had installed beeping away beside his ear--quiet enough for you to never notice, loud enough for him to wake up. He slips out of bed, sooths the crease that forms between your brows when his warmth leaves from beside yours, and grabs the pistol under the bed.

Whoever's broken in is about to feel bloody sorry for even trying.

He's efficient. Makes quick work of checking upstairs, deems it all clear before he's creeping down the stairs--the perpetrator's back in immediate sight. He's rifling through the desk in the study, thumbing through cabinets for cash, or anything expensive.

He only notices Simon when Simon wants him to. It's a firm press of the gun to the guy's head, causing him to jump, flinching under the touch. "What the hell--"

“I’d shoot y’point blank right ‘ere if I could, but the missus is sleepin’ upstairs. So y’ve got thirty seconds t’fuck off before I turn y’into a stain on the carpet," Simon interjects, checking the clock on the wall absently. Like it's just an average weekday to him.

"Hey, hey man, I'm just--" he raises his hands placatingly, dropping the papers he had been holding.

"Aye. Don't give a fuck. Would rather not stain the carpet, though, missus really likes this one. Said it's real soft n' nice on 'er feet."

Simon catches the door as he practically sprints from the home, only to avoid it slamming--he wouldn't want to alarm you, of course. He hums, shuts it quietly, and goes to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

When he's back upstairs, shuffling into the bedroom, your wide eyes looking at him and quietly asking him where he went--how dare he leave you when you were cuddling, he smiles, places the glass on the nightstand and sneakily slips the gun right where he'd first gotten it.

“Nothing, luv, was thirsty, needed t’grab some water.”

[haunt3dh3art]

Thinking a lot recently about the constant comparison of Oblivion to Skyrim, particularly claims that Oblivion is superior in every way strictly by virtue of quest length and the greater grandiosity of the organizations in Oblivion, and I think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what's actually going on with Tamriel during the time period of Skyrim. Even though it's like...one of the core concepts of the main storyline.

Putting most of this under a cut for length, but I just...I think people misunderstand what's going on here. This is not a "One Game Good Other Game Bad" post, it's an analysis of a major, key difference in story basis between the two that I think gets lost in the (frankly asinine) argument about which is superior.

See, everything in Skyrim sucks. Every organization you can align yourself with is falling apart. Literally every single one.

That's the point.

To summarize:

The Companions (equivalent to the Fighters' Guild) are about a dozen strong, literally cursed, and their most beloved leader gets murdered very early in the storyline.

The College of Winterhold (equivalent to the Mages' Guild, not to the Arcane University) has seemingly only been saved from collapsing into the sea because a master of Restoration fused himself with the structure itself when the Sea of Ghosts tried to tear it down a little under a century ago and his presence is constantly physically "healing" the foundation.

The Thieves' Guild has lost the favor of every possible patron deity, having been outright cursed by Nocturnal after one of her Nightingales murdered another and stole the gift she offers her champion, while the boon that the organization's founder claimed from her in ages past (the cowl) is missing.

The Dark Brotherhood has been all but completely dismantled, the Night Mother's tomb in Bravil having been raided and struggling to persist without a Listener for over a decade; the bodies of the Night Mother's children have been lost and she's essentially being smuggled from region to region in an attempt to find a safe place to continue operations.

The Empire itself has been kneecapped, forced into a traumatic treaty by a fascist regime determined to strike the beliefs and culture of anyone not Altmer off the face of the planet; the Thalmor have gone so far as to torture and radicalize the figurehead leader of the Nords in order to use their own nationalism and superiority against the Empire, sparking a civil war that will further weaken the Empire and allow the Aldmerri Dominion to destroy it wholecloth.

This extends out into the rest of the world, too! We have confirmed existence of Hist-deaf Argonians. The Dunmer are floundering to recover after the quadruple-whammy that is the fall of the Triumverate, the destruction of Vivec City when Baar Dau finally made impact, the Red Year, and the Argonian uprising. The Bosmer are literally endangered due to habitat loss following a super-isolationist cultural shift due to wars with the Khajiit and Altmer. The Void Nights were devastating to Khajiit culture and population in ways that have yet to be fully explained.

The world is falling apart. Everything is dying.

And then Alduin shows up.

We all kind of talk about Alduin carrying on as World-Eater through the course of the Skyrim storyline like it's him being a piece of shit, since he'd started it ages ago and was just displaced in time to land on the Last Dragonborn's head in the Fourth Era, but I don't think that's the case.

Based on the state of things, I think Alduin arrived right on time. I think it's the end of the world. The only reason he "should" be stopped is because the Last Dragonborn has the capacity to stop the world from ending in a more down-to-earth sense than just defeating Alduin: they can't save everyone, but they can "fix" every single organization that's holding "the world" together.

They can align with the Imperials and keep the civil war from further crippling them, keeping the Empire from being too weak to push back against the Aldmerri Dominion.

They can save the College of Winterhold, the only group in the right place at the right time to stop the Eye of Magnus from opening, and in doing so make sure that the Psijics are able to put it somewhere nobody else can find it.

They can lead the Companions, cure the curse for those members who don't want to run with Hircine after death, which bolsters their spirits enough to keep doing what they can even when everyone else is trying to kill each other. A single neutral martial force in the middle of a civil war.

They can regain Nocturnal's trust for the Thieves' Guild, restore the Nightingales, and in doing so they can return the luck that was stolen from them as punishment for Mercer Frey's transgression. They can even reclaim the Crown of Barenziah and award the guild with a paragon to increase their newly-regained luck.

They can hear the Night Mother, becoming Listener for the Dark Brotherhood to restore the balancing force of Sithis in the world, purify the most broken Sanctuary the Brotherhood has ever had, and finish a story set into motion way back in the Third Era—Emperor Titus Mede II is murdered under the order of a Motierre, a descendant of a mark the Brotherhood specifically kept from dying during the Oblivion Crisis.

The Last Dragonborn can't do anything outside Skyrim—there's nothing they can do for the Argonians or the Bosmer or the Khajiit, and they can only do very little for the Dunmer via work in Solstheim—but they can work with every single guild or guild-adjacent group, strengthening the Empire to stand against the biggest threat to Tamrielic culture since the First Era, and in doing so they can make it so the world isn't ready for Alduin to eat it.

The Hero of Kvatch exists when Tamriel, and presumably Nirn as a whole is in the prime of its life, that's what makes the Oblivion Crisis such a big deal. This is a world that isn't ready to give up, it still has the strength to fight, it just needs someone standing at the head to direct it. The Last Dragonborn comes into the story when everything is falling apart and nothing really feels worthwhile, when it's hard to see why the world is worth saving. They have the chance to prove that there's still some life left here, that the world isn't too far gone to save—Alduin arrived right on time, it's the Last Dragonborn's job to change that.

I can see how coming from Oblivion to Skyrim would feel disappointing and hollow, but I'm pretty sure that's literally the point of the story.

Oblivion tells you the world is worth saving because it's got so much left to live for, even with the odds stacked so high against it. Skyrim asks you whether a world that's dying is still a world worth saving, and it's up to you to prove that it is.

[haunt3dh3art]

Did you/ do you plan on writing more parts for the Dexter Morgan “Born In Blood” i started following because of it and am a little sad theres no other parts (that i can find) :(

(Love your other work though so I’ll definitely following even if not <3 )

i do actually have part two as a WIP, just stuck on where to take it lol

i will try and get something out, even if it’s just a sneak peek haha but i’m vry glad people like it :)

[haunt3dh3art]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤOBSESSIONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere COD Men x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Ranking Them From Worst To Best As A Yandere.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Simon "Ghost" Riley, König, John "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John Price, Keegan P. Russ.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— 1. KÖNIG ⋆

You never stood a chance. From the moment König laid eyes on you, it was over. The obsession creeps in quietly, like a predator stalking its prey, and before you even realize it, your freedom is gone. König is an anxious, socially awkward mess in public, but when it comes to you? He’s terrifying. No one touches you. No one looks at you. No one even gets the opportunity to think about you.

You try to leave? Cute. He saw that coming. König’s thought of every escape route, every rebellious act you might try. You wake up with reinforced locks on the doors, cameras watching your every move, and his massive body always between you and the outside world. It’s like living in a cage with a beast that adores you—until you resist, then it’s not so cute anymore.

He’s not afraid to hurt you. Not enough to break you (he’d never want to damage his precious treasure), but enough to remind you who owns you. And if anyone else tries to interfere? They disappear. No hesitation. No mercy. König is not sharing you. Ever.

If you give in, if you stop fighting, he’s the most affectionate, touch-starved nightmare you’ll ever meet. You’re smothered with love, whispered praises, and overwhelming adoration—but you’re never free.

— 2. SIMON RILEY ⋆

Ghost is calculated, methodical, and patient. His obsession doesn’t explode all at once—it festers. It grows, creeping into every aspect of his mind until you are the only thing that makes sense. He watches you for months. Learns your habits, your routines, your fears. Ghost doesn’t act on impulse—when he takes you, it’s because he’s already ensured that nothing can be traced back to him.

And the worst part? You won’t even realize you’re trapped until it’s too late.

Simon is a gaslighter. He makes you doubt yourself, makes you believe that the world is too dangerous for someone like you. That you’re safer with him. If you run, he finds you. No matter where you go, he always finds you. His punishments aren’t physical, but they’re just as terrifying. He isolates you, takes away your choices, makes you so dependent on him that leaving isn’t even an option anymore.

And when you finally break? When you look at him with trust instead of fear? That’s when he knows he’s won.

— 3. KEEGAN P. RUSS ⋆

Keegan is a shadow. A silent, watchful presence that never leaves your side. You feel him before you ever see him—watching, waiting. Unlike the others, he’s less about physical control and more about mental domination.

You’ll hear noises at night. See things out of the corner of your eye. Feel a hand brush your skin when no one’s there. Keegan is an expert at psychological warfare, and he uses it to break you down piece by piece. He wants you to need him. To crave him the same way he craves you.

And when he finally steps out of the shadows? It’s not with chains or locked doors—it’s with a smile. A gentle voice. A promise that he’ll protect you from the world, from all the dangers that lurk in the dark. From himself.

And by the time you realize he’s the danger, It’s already too late.

— 4. JOHN MACTAVISH ⋆

Soap is different. He’s not cruel. He’s not cold. He genuinely believes that what he’s doing is for the best. He’s the kind of yandere that truly thinks you love him back—you just don’t know it yet.

His obsession is overwhelming. He needs you, and that need makes him reckless. Soap is the type to act before he thinks, to grab your wrist when you try to walk away, to hold you too tight when you resist. But the moment he sees your fear? Your hesitation? It breaks him. He doesn’t want you to be scared. He wants you to be happy. With him.

Soap is the kind of yandere who begs for your love. Who looks at you with desperate, pleading eyes, asking why you won’t just see what he sees. And when you finally smile at him, tell him you love him?

He’s the happiest man alive.

Soap isn’t the worst yandere to have—but he’s still a yandere. You’ll never be able to escape his overwhelming love.

— 5. JOHN PRICE ⋆

Price is the best yandere to have—but that doesn’t mean you’re free. He’s possessive, but in a way that feels comforting. Price is older, more experienced—he doesn’t let his emotions control him. He’s rational about his obsession. Smart.

Price doesn’t steal you away. He makes you want to stay. He builds a life around you, gives you security, makes you feel like the outside world isn’t worth the trouble. If you fight? He sighs, arms crossed, telling you that you’re being dramatic. That you’re safest with him.

And when you finally accept that this is your life now?

He kisses your forehead, murmuring, “That’s my girl.”

You’re not leaving—but at least he makes the cage feel like home.

— Final Ranking

König (Completely unhinged, no escape)

Ghost (Tactical, manipulative, and always in control)

Keegan (Obsessive stalker who wears you down mentally)

Soap (Desperate, emotionally driven, smothering but not cruel)

Price (Protective, controlling, but still somewhat gentle)

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[haunt3dh3art]

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃 𝐌𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ┆ not so hidden 𖢖

reader catching david being violent with someone ᬬ david’s other side isn’t as hidden as he thinks ᬬ

you steps slowed when you hear the whimpering. then your brow furrows when you hear the voice. david’s voice. he sounds angry? and why is there someone pleading with david not to hurt them?

you round the corner, coming to a halt at the sight in front of you. david, with his back turned to you, one fist holding a guy a few inches off of the ground by his shirt. the other first, posed in the air, angling to hit the guy.

“you know what’ll happen if you touch her again, right? do i need to remind you? is that bruise not enough, you want more?” david sounded manically. . joyous as he said the words. almost like he said them with a smile on his face that you couldn’t see.

the guy shook his head quickly, his head slightly moving to the side as david’s fist inched closer. “i don’t need your filthy hands touching my girl and tainting her. i oughta cut them off right here,” david lowered his fist to reach into his back pocket.

you quickly called out his name before he could reveal what he was reaching for. both of the boys turned to you. one, relieved to see you, the other, stumped.

david quickly let go of the boy’s shirt, taking a step back like he wasn’t just about to. . severely hurt the guy. he quickly moved his hand from his pocket, tossing an innocent smile your way. “hey, baby. i was just on my way to get you. this guy here,” david gestured to the trembling boy, “looked lost. was just trying to help him out.”

you couldn’t believe the lie that steered so far from what you just witnessed. david furrowed a brow, chest heaving from the anger he felt towards the guy and now seeing you, not sure how much you saw and how you’ll react. “why aren’t you still at school? were you walking home? why would you do that, i said i was getting you. just, just come back to my car. let’s get out of here.” david gestured his head towards where his car was parked.

you slowly shook your head, taking a step back. “i’ll walk. it’s fine.” you spun on your heels, deciding to take a different route. a route then didn’t involve david trying to stop you.

“no. .” you heard from behind you before your arm was snatched back, david pulling you toward him. “no, i’ll drive you. i don’t like you walking, it’s weird people out here. just get in the car.”

you turned your head towards david, movement behind him catching your eye. you looked over his shoulder to see the guy david was threatening, putting a phone up to his ear, nodding at you.

you swallowed, nervously looking back to david. “he’s calling the cops.” you whispered. david scrunched his face, looking back to the guy and letting go of you to rush over to him. you took that moment to run off.

david turned in time to see you fleeing the scene. he huffed out a breath, turning to the guy. he silently grabbed the phone, throwing it to the ground, and crushing it. “she just needs some time to herself. it’s fine. i’m not pressuring her. nothing is wrong.” he told the guy, or more so himself, then got into his car.

he drove to his place, actually giving you some time to yourself. after spending some time worrying his head about you, he decided to call. when you didn’t answer, he tried again. then again. were you ignoring him? david was quick to leave out again, driving to your place.

once he pulled up, he grabbed the spare key he had made from underneath the plant that sat outside of your front door. letting himself in, he wandered around looking for you.

spotting you in your room, david was methodical to sneak up behind you, grabbing you in a hold that you couldn’t escape from. you yelped out, david shushing you. “it’s just me. it’s just me. you weren’t responding to me and i got worried.” david spun you around in his arms. you peered up at him, not knowing what to say. first, he threatens a guy for touching you, which you don’t really remember, then gets into your house when the door was locked.

“i just. . i felt like walking. and you looked busy. .” you tried to explain. david smiled down at you. he shrugged. “wasn’t busy. i told you, he was lost. and i offered to drive you, you know i wasn’t busy. why’d you really walk off? why’d you ignore my calls? i told you what happened, why are you acting scared of me?” david rambled on, getting more aggressive after each sentence.

“david, i think you know why. .” you tried to slip from his arms. he was quick to tighten his grip though, pulling a confused face. “no, i don’t. i think you’re confused. you think you saw something that you didn’t. it’s fine. you know i wouldn’t hurt anyone. and i definitely wouldn’t hurt you. i just have to let people know sometimes. . that you’re off limits. i have to gently remind them, it’s nothing wrong with that.” david smiled softly again.

you nodded along, too scared to disagree or continue to try to make your point. you leaned forward into david for a hug, him immediately embracing you and sighing out at the touch of you. while he was distracted, you quickly reached into his back pocket, pulling out whatever he was reaching for earlier. when your hand returned with a switchblade in it, you simply gasped as you stared at it.

david was quick to snatch it back. “don’t touch that. you’ll hurt yourself.” he placed it back in his pocket.

with his arms free from around you, you took multiple steps back. “david, you were going to. . cut him? stab him? you threatened him with a knife.” your voice raised.

david shook his head at you, coming closer to kneel in front of you, grasping your arms and peering up at you. “i told you, i have to remind people. this guy just had to be reminded. . differently. he wasn’t listening. you understand that, right? you understand i can’t let people hurt you. you want to be with me, right? you want me to keep you safe? that’s how i do it. you can’t be mad at me for that. you can’t ignore me for that.” david sneered.

you slowly nodded as david rose to his full height. “yeah? you believe me? you done thinking those crazy thoughs?” he chuckled.

“yeah. . yeah, i’m sorry.” you whispered. what could you even say? he was proving to be a caring, protective boyfriend. why wouldn’t you appreciate him?

david smirked at you. “it’s alright, don’t apologize. just don’t ignore me again, okay?” the light smirk fell from his face. “i mean it, don’t do that to me again.”

[haunt3dh3art]

GHOST BY JIANGBAOAOWU

[haunt3dh3art]

let me in, baby ⊹ david mccall, fear female! reader. he has a deep obsession with you, manipulative, and protective. kissing. violence. pantie stealer. eating cunt.

david mccall who’s so sweet to your parents. so sweet, they believe he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

david mccall who says “no, ma’am” and “yes, sir” to your parents with the smallest smile that barely shows teeth.

david mccall who buys you a necklace with his initials on it for your birthday and some pretty flowers.

david mccall who lets you play any song in his car you want.

﹢ who’ll watch you smile while you sing in his passenger seat, with only obsession in his eyes.

david mccall who doesn’t kiss you on your lips in front of your parents trying to give them the illusion that you’re still their sweet little girl.

david mccall who walks you to and from class at the university. walks you to his car too.

david mccall who keeps a hand on you at all times. arm around your shoulder, around your waist, whatever it doesn’t matter to him.

david mccall who’s definitely the type to lead you through a busy crowd by hand.

david mccall who hears girls whisper about how hot he is all the time.

﹢ who ignores those same girls when they try to twist their hair and smile up at him for his number. him looking down at them with disgust.

david mccall who likes how naïve you are to his psychotic tendencies.

david mccall who loses sleep when you’re mad at him. shrugs off his friends, barely eats. does anything to make you forgive me— anything.

david mccall who doesn’t mind guy friends as long as they don’t interfere with your relationship with him or hug you or try to talk you out of the relationship with him.

david mccall who you brag about to your friends. bragging about how good he treats you and how well he fucks you.

david mccall who kisses you with hunger on the brain. both your tongues sticky with each other’s saliva.

david mccall who steals panties from you every time you have sex. doesn’t do anything with them after, just likes keeping them as souvenirs.

david mccall who eats your cunt until your crying.

﹢ tears running down your cheek, legs trying to close around his head but his strong arms are keeping them open. watching you cry and feel you squirm with hungry eyes.

david mccall who doesn’t mind killing the guy who’s been begging for your number for the last month.

david mccall who dreams about fucking you in the back of his car. not caring who hears or sees.

david mccall who tells you he loves you when he’s balls deep inside. hand on your face, looking into your eyes as he rolls his hips into yours to feel your warm cunt clench around him.

david mccall who can’t live without the taste of you on his tongue- he won’t.

[haunt3dh3art]