#boyfriend? killer?

[pretendfan]

boyfriend?

killer?

boyfriend?

killer?

boyfriend?

killer?

{he can do both and me}

[temp-unu]

lil utmv sprites >:]

DA ORDER OF WHO DEY R WILL BE IN DA TAGS EHE. use for. whatever. if u want.. :3

if you request some, theres a good chance ill do em!!! especially if they like.. never get any art ehe.

OK TATA~

[ameamedraws]

Romantic pillowtalk

[gunsatthaphan]

just bro banter 🤙🏻✌🏻

[joongdunking]

JoongDunk kissing sounds

[secriden]

Oh! I just noticed something... this scene...

Is very clearly happening in the day (when the sun is still up).

But in episode 2, Fadel says:

Not only does this show that Style was so freaked out that he intentionally went to the gym during the day to avoid Fadel, but also our boy, Mr Plans Everything Ahead Of Time, decided to change up his whole gym routine (and brave the daytime "crowd") just to find an excuse to cuddle up to his new boyfriend and proposition him.

Fadel has like. Zero chill. 😂

[angelbitezzz]

[It was becoming increasingly clear that he wasn't her Sans. He sure looked like him but-this was different. HE was different. Sure, maybe affection hadn't been his forté, maybe his sense of humor was darker than what was generally acceptable, maybe he'd always been cagey and distant but...not something like this, never this. Nobody ever wanted to find out they had been dating a murderer.

"aaaaangel."

The soft sing-song of her name usually made her perk up. All it did now was send a bucket of ice water down her spine. There was something so utterly terrifying about knowing that you're a hairsbreadth away from death. She presses her hands harder over her mouth, squeezing further back against the counter, silently willing him to keep walking...

"tell you what, kid," Sans starts, too close. She suppresses a flinch as she hears him lean against the counter. "you're being pretty damn stubborn about this. but i do like you...so tell ya what! you make it to dawn without getting caught, i'll take the hint and leave you be. how's that sound?"

She doesn't reply, but he takes it as a yes anyways. He always liked doing that.]

Reposting this as a GIF!! It really ups the intensity, doesn't it?

[khaopybara]

❝You carry a gun?❞

FIRST KANAPHAN as KANT PATTANAWAT, KHAOTUNG THANAWAT as BISON and KENJI KANTHEE as BABE episode 5 of THE HEART KILLERS

[yanoverload]

listen getting him pregnant might not fix him but it will make us both happy.

god imagine him breaking into your house before you come home from work and then acting all cute like hes your housewife and not a freak...

also yes. its me phoenix wright.

That's funny because it's something he would do LOL

You could throw a vase at his head and scream and he would find it kinky (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Bad Guy x Reader

I am currently in my Natural Born Killers nostalgia, and so I'm borrowing its vibes and bringing you this: a bad-to-the-bone, rock-and-roll attitude yandere who constantly makes you question your own morality. Featuring an old OC!

Content: gender neutral reader, violence, murder, male yandere

He fell in love with you at first sight. A goody two shoes, quiet and obedient. Shy. Oh, terribly shy. You couldn't even meet his eyes. He knew you were the kind others would step on, take advantage of. But there was more to it, much more to uncover.

Who was it? A relative, a friend, a coworker? You know, that person holding you back, keeping you in your place. The one who'd always make you feel small and insignificant. The one who would always find something to criticize. How did it feel when you found them on the ground, bashed in and bloodied up? He was standing above the lifeless body, catching his breath, a cocky smile plastered on his face. His way of courting you.

He looked so tall in that moment, towering above your hesitant self, his gaze of a confidence and intensity you'd never known before. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get in", he said, gesturing towards a convertible he most likely stole earlier that day. What possessed you in that moment to join him without delay? Was it his charisma? Or did you know in the depth of your soul that he wouldn't take no for an answer?

You see, he's known it from the beginning. Someone like you needs someone like him. You’re a sweet little lamb lost among the wolves. The world would eat you right up if you were left by yourself. But now you have him. And he won't let his precious prey get away. Oh, dear, no. If he wants something, he gets it. And he's never wanted anything more than you.

"You didn't...even tell me your name", you sheepishly spoke up from the passenger seat, trying to keep your mind away from the crime you'd just witnessed. "Just call me Tig", he said casually with a yawn, speeding away. "Won't you be in trouble, Tig? Why would you even kill-" you tried to reason. "What kinda question is that? They treated you like shit and it pissed me off." He glanced at you with a frown, taking another drag off his cigarette. "You're mine now, so whatever happens to you is my business. Got it?" You just stared. Was that his way of asking you out?

Tig lives by his own rules, as you quickly learned from becoming his companion. Always on the run, indifferent to the world. For the most part, to your surprise, he's well-behaved. If people don't mess with him, he doesn't mess with them. Simple as that.

Anything involving you, however, sets him off terribly. Like a rabid, ferocious guard dog, he's ready to pounce on whoever approaches you the wrong way. Last week you stopped at a highway diner for coffee, and on your way back to your table, you jokingly pulled a clumsy dance move to the song playing from the speakers. Tig observed you with an amused smile, sipping from his cup. A passerby joined you, resting his arm on your waist flirtatiously. Tig's smile dropped in an instant, and next thing you knew, the whole place was splattered in blood. No one made it out.

"I didn't even finish my coffee", you whined, already used to the occasional massacre. The man hopped behind the counter and threw on a bloodied cap. "What will it be, sir/ma'am?" he pretended, dangling a takeaway cup and starting the espresso machine. "I never told you, but I used to be a barista", he declared proudly. An entirely different person from the unhinged killer you witnessed minutes ago. "What? You said you were a mechanic", you questioned with raised brows. "That's also true. I'm a jack of all trades, I suppose. You know what I'm best at, though?" He lowered himself until his forehead touched yours. "Pleasing you."

The man is romantic in his own way. He twists the key, and the engine stops. You follow him out of the car in confusion. "Why did we stop here?" He briefly lifts himself up onto the tall fence securing the bridge, and inhales deeply. "Isn't it a nice view?" he says, nodding ahead. It is a scenic sight, sure. The river slithers along the lush valley, and the setting sun gives everything a dramatic tint. "Give me your hand", he suddenly demands as he goes to grab it himself. Before you can ask for an explanation, he quickly drags a blade across your palm, and you wince in pain. He repeats the gesture with his own hand, locking his fingers with yours over the rail. You watch as fresh blood trails along your skin, eventually falling into droplets and vanishing into the river. "Now we're going to be everywhere", he remarks playfully. "Okay, but what was the point?" you insist, a little baffled.

"Isn't it obvious? Maybe this will help", he continues, procuring a ring from his pocket. "I'm saying I want to marry you, (Y/N)."

You open your mouth to answer, but he already slides it up your finger, eyes glimmering in excitement.

"You're never getting away from me, love."

[thedemoninmywalls]

@panicroutine and I are hosting an art exchange event for fans of Boyfriend to Death, BTD2, and The Price of Flesh!

All types of art and all skill levels are welcome! This is a fun and casual event to bring the fandom together <3

As with all Boyfriend to Death content, you must be 18 or older to participate in this event.

 Fill out this form to submit your application!

DATES: Wednesday, Dec 25th: Applications close.

Matches will be sent out via Tumblr DMs or Discord shortly after.

January 8: Check in - we will contact you to see if anyone needs to drop out, or to assign backup creators.

Saturday, January 25th: Gifts are due!

You can send it through us or give it to your match directly.

If you have any questions regarding the event, please contact @thedemoninmywalls or @panicroutine on Tumblr.

Finally, here's some bonus banner art by @panicroutine!!

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a caramel cheesecake please?!?

[Afab gn reader]

Just thinking about how much Alessio loves fucking you so much you go limp. Your body going slack, and it's just so much easier to use your like a cock sleeve! So much easier to bounce you off his cock when there's not a single thought going through your head!!:D

-🍄

˖⁺. ﹙ the serial killer magician x afab!gn!reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . need you, cariño !! 🍒 : serial killer ˖ enigma ˖ magician ˖ antihero ﹙ verse 9819 alessio. ﹚

your boyfriend fucks you until you are limp against him, taking away all of your bad thoughtsyou, cariñ | cw : rough fucking, fucking from behind, riding

running away from the authorities and government gives you a lot of stamina! and he uses all of it on your pretty little thighs when he’s fucking you raw.

pouring all of his frustration and excitement onto your cunt. you take him so well after all - how can he resist? he especially loves having you on your tummy. his hips crushing yours as he barrels into you. wild. fast. in all the ways that he knows you like.

“fuck - take it so good amorcito. always take it so - fuck - so good-!”

it’s a constant battering rhythm. and when you finally collapse into the sheets - he simply pulls you up onto his lap to ride him. circle a hand around your throat.

another guilty pleasure is seeing you ride him in this state. well, if you would consider bouncing you mindlessly on his cock riding.

his perfect little cumslut. his pretty little cocksleeve. all for him to use and fill.

[harrywavycurly]

I liked the new killer!H update! I love how protective he is but we clearly don’t like him threatening people so I’m wondering if we’ve ever seen him actually get into a fight before? 😅

Hiii babes!! So I just went ahead and wrote something for this because yes, you’ve for sure seen him fight before(if you can even call this a fight lol) I hope you enjoy!!💖

-find all things Killer!Harry here✨

CW: Minor violence (broken wrist and black eye), threats of violence, language and mentions of drinking/being drunk, a quick reminder Harry is a killer in this series but it’s not mentioned at all in this!

A/N: Enjoy this little blurb that shows you and Harry out at a bar back when you are just dating and you see how far Harry is ready to go to keep you safe, this gets very dramatic very quickly but also has fluff and also no I do not condone violence, keep your hands and feet to yourself! ✨

“Baby.” Harry gives your hip a little squeeze as he leans down so his lips are next to your ear, you just let out a hum as you bring your drink up to your lips to take a sip. “M’gonna go get another drink I’ll be right back.” He smiles when you lean back into him, the two of you tucked in the corner of the local bar near the pool tables. He has his back resting against the wall with one hand on your hip while his other arm is resting on top of a high top table with a now empty glass in his hand, you stand in front of him using both hands to hold your glass as you watch Mitch play some random man in a game of pool.

“M’kay” You half mumble with a smile on your face as you feel his hand on your hip slide down to your lower back and gently push you to take a few steps forward allowing him to move from behind you.

“Don’t wonder off please.” He gives you a look that if you weren’t a few drinks in would’ve made you weak in the knees because it’s a mixture of seriousness but also a hint of something else that you can’t really put your finger on but you know you like it.

“Won’t move d’nt worry.” You reassure him but he just shakes his head and lets out a chuckle at how your words come out a little jumbled. You watch as he reaches over and pushes some of your hair back behind your ear before he leans in and places a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh I always worry about you love.” He casually admits making your cheeks get warm, still not used to the way Harry has no issue with telling you things like that at any moment even in the middle of a semi crowded bar on a Saturday night. “I’ll be right back.” He gives you a smile before he grabs his empty glass off the table and turns to head towards the bar.

You have a smile on your face as you watch him walk away and you can’t help but giggle when he looks at you over his shoulder and shoots you a playful wink when he catches you already staring at him. You find it hard to believe that the tall British tattooed man that currently is leaning his forearms on the bar as he talks to the bartender who happens to be his friend Jeff, is your boyfriend and has held that title for almost eight months. He’s different from anyone you’ve dated from the way he dresses in mostly black but every now and again he will venture out and wear a funky patterned shirt with his nicely tailored trousers, to the way he carries himself with such confidence that he sometimes can come off a bit intimidating, but the big thing that sets him apart from just about anyone else is how he always just seems to know what you need without you having to ask and when you casually brought it up to him he just shrugged it off and said something like “I just pay attention love, that’s all” and you nearly cried.

“Hey there.” You jump as a deep voice brings you out of your thoughts about your dream boat of a boyfriend, and you feel yourself tense up when you turn and see a man standing a little too close. “I’m Jake.” You just nod and give him a tight lipped smile as you try to look around him for Mitch who would be the closest person that would be able to help get you out of the current situation, but Jake takes a step closer and rests his hand on the table next to where you’re standing so he can lean in and whisper in your ear. “You look too pretty to be here all alone.”

“Uhm th-thank you but m’not alone.” You inform him making him raise an eyebrow as he looks around before looking back at you with a smirk.

“Sure looks like it to me.” You feel your eyes go wide as you watch Jake’s hand that’s not resting on the table reach for your cheek as if he was going to brush some hair out of your face but before he can you see a very familiar ring clad hand grab his wrist.

“What the fu-” Before what feels like you can even blink you hear a harsh snap followed by a loud squeal and then Jake is on his knees trying to get his wrist free from Harry’s grasp.

“Did my girlfriend tell you she wanted your grubby hand on her?” Harry asks with a cold and hard tone, all Jake can do is shake his head but that isn’t good enough for Harry so he bends his hand back so the top of Jake’s hand is being pushed towards his forearm. “Sorry I can’t hear you mate what was that?” He asks over the whine like sound that slips out of Jake’s mouth due to the pain he’s currently in.

“N-no no! No she didn’t!” Jake shouts making Harry just make a disapproving tisking noise as he shakes his head.

“Figured as much.” With that you hear Jake let out a sigh of relief as Harry lets go of his wrist but only so he can use that hand to deliver a solid punch to the side of his face making Jake fall onto his back. “If I see you anywhere near my girl again a broken wrist and a black eye will be the least of your worries.” He threatens as he watches Jake roll over onto his stomach with a groan.

You don’t know how long the whole ordeal took but it felt like only a few seconds before you have a hand on your forearm leading you away from the man still trying to recover from the damage done to his wrist and the punch to his face. Harry is quick to take your drink out of your hands and place it on a table near the back of the bar next to a bottle of water you didn’t even notice was in his other hand the whole time he was dealing with Jake. You don’t know why but that makes your bottom lip start to tremble and your eyes to get watery. Harry immediately sees your face and assumes your emotions are due to the shock of just seeing something violent happen right in front of you.

“Oh sweetheart I’m sorry.” Harry gently cups your face in his hands as he rests his forehead against yours and lets out a deep sigh. “I’m so sorry baby please don’t be upset.” His voice is soft as he pulls away so he can place a kiss to your forehead.

“You got-” you motion towards the table with your glass and the water bottle on it making Harry raise an eyebrow as he looks from the water bottle and back to you. “me a water.” You mumble with a sniffle as you feel a few tears slips past your waterline, Harry just gives you a warm smile as his thumbs swipe away the tears as they slide down your cheeks.

“I knew you’d need one.” He explains while leaning down to place kisses to your cheeks, of course he knew you’d need one because he always knows what you need. You reach out and place your hands on his chest feeling the softness of his t shirt on your palms. “Are you upset with me?” You know you should at least be a little upset at how he acted, but for some reason all you can think about is the way it made you feel seeing how he didn’t even hesitate to stop Jake from putting his hands on you and how angry it made him to see him even try. You realize as you stand there with his hands on your face that Harry always makes you feel safe, like when he’s around nothing bad can happen.

“You broke his wrist?” You catch a slight smirk appear on his face but only for a moment before he rubs his lips together as his hands slide down from the sides of your face to your neck and then to your shoulders.

“I did.” He confirms making you just nod as you reach a hand up and brush some of his out of his face. “And I also probably gave him a busted eyebrow to go with his black eye.” He adds with no hint of remorse or regret in his voice.

“Because he tried to touch me?” You feel Harry’s hands begin to gently rub the tops of your shoulders making your muscles begin to relax under his soothing touches.

“I don’t like it when creeps get too close to you.” He begins to explain as he pulls you a little closer to him. “I’m always going to protect you from assholes like that but I am sorry you had to see that. I shouldn’t have acted like that in front of you.” He looks into your eyes and you just give him a small smile as you grip his shirt to pull him towards you for a quick kiss.

“I like that you want to protect me.” Harry smiles at your words as he rests his forehead against yours. “But no more fighting okay?” You ask as you pull away from him so you can give him the sternest look you can muster in your half drunken state.

“Okay baby. No more fighting.” He answers before he leans in and places his lips on yours for a kiss that has you forgetting all about the incident that took place a few minutes ago as Harry moves a hand from your shoulder and places it on the back of your neck so he can slide it up into your hair and pull you closer to him. When he finally pulls away you feel light headed with kiss swollen lips as you rest your head on his chest making him chuckle as he gently runs his hand up and down your arm. “I love you sweetheart.”

“I love you too Harry.”

[running-with-kn1ves]

CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PART 2 FOR THE KILLER CLOWN POOKIE :((((

A/N: Long awaited, took me forever to actually finish, but HERE IT IS. I really struggled making an interesting part 2, so I hope you find it mildly interesting anon (-‿-")

Link to 1st part found here!

TW: Murderous killer clown, mentions of past killings, blood, kidnapped reader, forced close proximity, isolation torture

Synopsis: Kidnapped by your killer clown stalker, you navigate being stuck in his toy room and being fed a very personal dinner, all while trying to avoid his loving insanity.

A room full of dolls, no matter their origin or purpose, is never an endearing sight. You swore even if the off-putting, Raggedy Ann and porcelain, dust-ridden dolls were anime figurines and children’s collectibles, you wouldn’t feel any safer in this hellscape. “Your punishment” he called it, and a punishment it was. Like a child made to spend the rest of the day in its bedroom, you were tied snuggly to the recliner chair in birthday string, forced to stare back at the eyes and broken limbs of endless toys. Of his, toys. Was this room part of the abandoned warehouse connected to the shit hole he called his home? Why did this room smell so repugnantly of petrichor and mold, when the rest of the “house” was either doused in bleach or rot that made your nose so dry it bled?

Maybe, if you had ever learned to properly meditate, the hours in here wouldn’t feel so head-splitting. The darkness nearly brought you to insanity, begging for the arrival of your captor to come slinking back in with another microwaved meal. You would’ve welcomed his manic personality and demented point of view, if it meant you could hear anything besides the echo of your own thoughts and the crushing sound of an analog clock's ticking. 

If only you were smarter, stronger, faster. You could’ve gotten out sooner, could’ve kept yourself away from this kidnapping entirely. But it was your stubbornness that led you to be “disciplined”, inside the toy room. Two hours ago on the shelf behind you, an old fire truck (you guessed, from the siren sound and reflecting red) went off, falling to the floor and proceeding to wail for several minutes. Even with your erratic, terror-stricken sobs leading you to beg for freedom from this room, your captor never unbolted the door.

 You hadn’t even heard his footsteps from the other side. Maybe he was out luring another victim, adding to the stockpile of bloody buckets in the closet, or perhaps your replacement-- a relieving sentiment. But you knew, from the hours he droned on about soulmates and how your appreciation of him that night that seemed years ago, you weren’t going anywhere. Atleast, not without provocation. 

Your exhaustion didn’t let you care if there was someone chained in the woodcutting section of the warehouse, if there was another layer of gore on the ground. You just wanted out from here, food in your gnawing stomach. You could even pretend to apologize, to care for him. Okay, maybe not that far, but you could give a convincing act. By now, you were sorry. Sorry you didn’t open your mouth to his prodding questions, didn’t comply when now it feels like it would’ve been so easy. 

You licked at the corner of your mouth, hoping a salty, fallen tear could reach your tongue. Your lips were so cracked, you’d give anything for chapstick, for some water to cover your sawdusted throat. 

So hoarse from screaming and wracking with sobs, you wondered if this was how he was planning to kill you. The day was inevitable, after what you’d seen him do… but, you really thought it’d be more horrific than this, more… agonizing. Maybe you should be grateful. Dehydration really isn’t too bad compared to drawing blood or whatever sick, Saw-type torture he had in mind. 

And like that, when you were near accepting this newfound death, Satan spoke. 

The creak of an industrial metal door respunded in your pounding head, your neck snapping and cracking to look toward it's screech.

“Hm-- I thought I let you out before I left.” His signature, raspy voice rendered muffled under his mask. “How long have you been in here?” 

The swift blade of a hunting knife came to the back of the recliner, letting the tight ribbon binding your hands and body fall to the ground, harmlessly. It looked so small now, so thin and fitting for this uncharacteristically silly, dusted room. 

“I--” You cut yourself off with a blood-spitting cough, the sensation of needles coming up and out of your throat. 

“Oh rats… look at you, covered in dust and all tear-stricken; It was only twelve hours,” He brushed the wet spot on your dusty cheek. “Sweet doll… that’s all it takes to drive you insane?” 

He laughed a short snort, reeking of dried blood and dirt. The diamond-patterned gloves usually adorning his bone-thin fingers were already gone, cold and clean hands pulling your bound wrists forward out of the chair. He drug you up far enough to get you out of the recliner. Legs weak and practically immobile, you did your best to keep your distance; but he was determined to make you lean on him, taking your hands to inspect. 

“Bruises don’t look too bad on you…” He mumbled, watching the dark ring that had formed below your palms. “But it's not right, I need to take better care of you, don’t I?”

He asked, as if your say meant anything. But you knew this; you were getting a hold of the game now. 

Nodding your head, you leaned just a tad against his damp shoulder for support, nearly ready to fall to the ground. From the sound of the metal roof, it had been raining only an hour earlier. You prayed it was rain drops staining into your sleeve. 

“I don’t feel good..” You mumbled, voice cracking under pressure. 

“Of course you don’t. That was the whole point of this little time out session, dollheart; but I bet you want to come out, to talk a little bit now, don’t you?”

He was always too comfortable, acting as if you were more than just an angry hostage. You were his darling, his pet, his everything. It made you sick, listening to the way he talked at you-- feeling like you were watching yourself from outside your body, as if these pet names were for somebody else. 

You forgot the whole purpose of this endeavor was to get you to cooperate; when you didn’t respond immediately, you could feel him tense up. 

Even a nod wasn’t enough, like you expected. What did he want, again? For you to say his name, to listen and to speak? All this time in here, and you barely reflected on the purpose of your discipline. 

He gave you another opportunity, a short kindness, placing his ridden jacket over your shoulders. 

“Are you hungry? Ready to come out and eat without problems?”

You swallowed the little saliva you could muster. 

“Please, yes...Quin.” You were so quiet, a small part of you doing it on purpose, shame in saying your kidnapper’s name so casually like old pals. You kept that anger at the back of your mind, ignoring how speaking rubbed your throat into a deeper raw. 

He led you through the thick steel door away from your prison, rubbing at the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the state your throat was left in. You hobbled your way out, gaining some strength back in your jello-ified legs. 

“What do you want to eat, chicken or beef?” 

You almost threw up in your mouth remembering the frozen pasta options you had consumed for the past two months. Would you ever get to taste something besides starch and fake meat again? 

“...Chicken. Please.” You added, forgetting you were on thin ice. One wrong move and another needle-full of mystery fluid was stuck into your thigh and you went eye-to-eye with Raggedy Ann again. 

You let the apathetic creature grab hold of your sweating fingers, hand-in-hand as the labored breathing behind his stained, venetian-like mask became unbearable to listen to. It was different from the one you had seen him in the night you were dragged here; most of the time he wore something new, maybe depending on his mood or something as superficial as his outfit, you weren't sure yet. It made you more afraid, only being able to see shadowed green eyes beneath a painted porcelain, often accented with red and gold to accompany the splatters of gore that make way to his face. 

Quin watched you walk barefooted and soulless, taking in the familiar sights of the small inhabitable area of his “home.” What wasn’t inhabited by you most of the time, was reserved for Quin’s… activities. Despite thinking about what he must’ve done today, you were ravenous. 

He wasn’t wearing the usual get-up today-- the circus-like, ridiculous clown-inspired rags he dared to do most of his bidding in. It was… oddly casual, muted colors with dark layers to shield him from the cold. The mask looked out of place, wisps of fiery red hair covering his forehead and ears. The color was fresh, not fading into blonde like the last time you saw him a mere half-day ago. 

Quin pushed your shoulders down, placing you in the wooden chair that had already been pulled out; the way it was left after you had been drug out of it. 

“Sit. How tired are you?”

He pulls out a small keychain flashlight from his pants pocket. 

“Tired.” You respond, huddling into yourself as the cold from the floor crept in. It was freezing outside, late November proving to be no joke compared to the windy October day you last saw the sun.

Quin gave you a dead stare, shinning the light into your eyes. 

“Very funny. Do you feel like passing out at all? Your eyes are bloodshot.” He focused on each eye, temporarily blinding you before turning the flashlight off to put it back in his pocket. “Warm,” He mumbled, smoothing a finger from your chin to your throat. “A little too warm. Maybe got a fever being in that old room.”

“I’m just exhausted, I didn’t sleep… at all.” You didn’t have the energy to be angry, but the resentment and hate burrowing into you was making you more disgusted with him by the minute. Who was he to act worried and interested, after throwing you into a demented toy room for hours? “I couldn’t, being in that godforsaken room.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on the dolls, doll. I thought they’d keep you company.”

Your captor stood up, running his frozen hands along your jaw, smoothening your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Keep me company?” You remembered the firetruck, wanting to scream and cry until your body shook again. “I.. I don’t think I was alone, but there was something more than dolls in there. It moved, things were moved…” Tears rushed to your eyes, willing to fall faster after crying so recently. “ I can’t go back in there.”

You were firm in your words, looking up at him. You wouldn’t go back in there, you’d give yourself a heart attack before he managed to kill you. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.” Quin bent back down to lay a hand on the wooden chair frame behind you, scanning your eyes. 

You tried to lean back, not too obvious yet not allowing him to get any closer. You could feel the exhale of air through the mask’s nose hitting your forehead. 

“I’d rather you kill me than put me back in there.” His chest was warm, from where you put a shaky hand to stop him. You didn’t have the courage to be firm, to do more than rest your palm there, as if you were feeling his heartbeat. It was gentle, a rhythmic beat that reminded you he was just as human as you were. A monster of a human.

“Really? You’re that scared, baby?” Quin smoothed the hair above your ear, resting his hand on your scalp. “Even after everything I made you see, more that you’re gonna see? You’re scared of some collectibles?”

You looked away, being the first to lose the staring contest he put in order. 

“It’s different.” You murmured through hoarseness, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach after hearing another sappy pet name.

“Fine. Next time I’ll just make you bleed our next guest dry. Its about time you learned the family trade.”

He placed a kiss to your cheek through the mask, doing little to acknowledge the wince you gave when he moved forward so quickly. By now, maybe you should believe him when he says he’s not killing you quite yet... But after witnessing so many of his activities, you can’t help but imagine yourself in his victims’ place, waiting for a knife to drag itself across your stomach.

The thought made bile rise in your throat. You had so little to vomit away, and yet you still felt the desire to rid last night's meal. You couldn’t do it. The dolls were better. You couldn’t hurt someone like that. It was now, that you realized how different watching was compared to actually doing it. You couldn’t stomach watching him work with his gadgets and coroner tools, how could you comprehend actually doing anything with them? 

The microwave began to churn alive after Quin’s button pressing, refrigerator door swinging to a close as the microwaves’ hum filled the damp, grainy room. Peeling wallpaper reminded you of an aging housewife, brown stains on the floor being a more comforting vision than looking up at your captor. 

Even if you kept your eyes down, you had to contribute-- to be more than a lifeless doll here, lest you get thrown back in again to that pit of clown memorabilia. 

“What did you do, while I was here?” 

Your voice cracks dryly, attempting to clean the dirt under your nails as you stare down. 

“Do you really want to know?” You could hear the smile through his words. “you've got such a weak stomach,” He waited for you to protest, continuing when you sat silently. “It wasn’t anything you would deem oh so “horrific,” really. Just some shopping at the hardware store, odds and ends.”

“Oh.” Is all you could muster. You continued to pick at your nails until the ending beep of the microwave resounded. Quin opened its door, grabbing the tips of the cardboard meal plate as it steamed. The smell of chicken and pasta filled the small, round dining room. 

Your stomach churned, hungry and yet sick at the thought of eating another mushy, microwaved meal of little to no nutritional value. 

“...Thanks, Quin.” You were mildly sarcastic, a habit you had forgotten to shove down in fear of punishment-- but you tried to shoot him a crooked, half-smile to cover it up. 

“Nothing but the best for you, doll.” The clown pulled out an unmatching foldable chair with a lengthy screech, a plastic fork with muted ends already sitting in front of him at the table. He was so lean, uncharacteristically gangly at the hips and forearms, but wide in his shoulders and thighs. It tooke everything in you to not scratch at the floor boards to get out, to run away from a man so close that took pleasure in hurting people just like you. 

You were going to comment on the fork, again still not understanding how a plastic utensil could cause enough damage to need to be shaved down, but Quin did something that struck you as even more unsettling. 

“I think, maybe we should go back a few steps. It would do us some good, rebuild our trust.” He stirs around the mixture in the cardboard frozen meal box. Quin looks toward you while he covers the bits of broccoli and chicken in alfredo sauce. “ If I can trust you again to be good to me, there’d be no reason to return to the toy room you’re so afraid of.”

You bit your tongue, trying to choose your words wisely. He overstepped, but you shouldn’t be trying to stomp on his toes either-- save future you some punishment, you told yourself. 

“Thats not necessary, I’ve… you know I just need some time to adjust, I’m kept here all day and--” 

Quin suddenly patted at his lap in interruption, opening his legs and turning himself to face you. 

“Come sit.” 

You look at him incredilously, trying to garner a reaction out of that stoic, masked face. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Just sit, you’re hungry, aren’t you.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoved down an insult, wanting to throw fast words on how the hell he knew what you wanted, who he thought he was to tell you what to do!

You sit there in defiance, utter disbelief and anger at how he watched you quietly, patiently stirring the pasta absentmindedly, the other tapping his leg twice again-- like he was calling a dog. 

He puts both hands on his knees and looks as if he’s about to get up. His bottom nearly leaves the chair before you race out of yours, taking an uncomfortably close step to prevent him from moving any further. It would do no help in a fight, but you could at least make it as uncomfortable for him to try and hurt you if he wanted. You knew better now that when you were walking on cracking ice, to work faster than he did-- he was unlikely to carry out his undesired punishment that way.

Quin relaxes, putting his back against the fold-up chair with a squeak. His palms still grasp his knees looking up at you, an expectation in his body language. 

“Well?”

You turn to the side, lining up with his thigh in preparation to sit. The idea of sucker punching his head is mouth-wateringly appealing. You almost consider it, despite the implications of what will come after; yet, the masked murderer is quicker than you, cutting off your plotting thoughts. 

Cold hands grab at your hips, lurching you down and back against his chest, the full weight of your butt on his thigh. Immediately you hold your weight back up, hovering above his leg as you fear the oddly heated sensation of being against someone, close to another living being. It's been a long time since you felt skin on skin contact. 

“Sit down, you're insulting me,” Quin complained with an effort of wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back. “Acting as if I'm the plague. Just eat.”

You'd try and pull up again but his arm would not relent. It felt uncomfortably close with his leg shifting under you, the muffled sound of his breathing and speech under the puckered mask. 

He didn't seem uncomfortable with your weight on his lap-- weirdly… more relaxed, oddly calm. Shoulders slumped, legs open in the usual masculine spreading fashion-- if you didn't know better, you'd say he was enjoying this. 

Staring down at the steaming pasta, you swallow down your dissipating apetite. Quin picked up the small fork, looking away from you. Every millisecond that he took his gaze away, you fought back the urge to escape. He twisted thin noodles around the fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli along the way. 

Letting go of you for just a moment Quin used his free hand to lift up the Venetian mask from his chin, pushing it just barely above his lips. He bent down gently to blow on the fork, flurries of steam pushing away from the utensil. You watched, mildly weirded out at his softness, feeling the heat of the meal container radiate toward you. 

Quin, finished with his motherly theatrics, pushed the fork towards your mouth. You instinctively pulled your head back in a flinch. 

It looked as if he was about to say something, jaw clenched in a grating fashion. 

“...Thank you.”  This sugarsweet, docile behavior you had to pretend to play was even harder than you were hoping. 

You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to take the fork as you opened your mouth. But Quin didn’t let it go, allowing your fingers to rest on his as you tried to take it. The pasta was gently placed against your tongue, filling your mouth as you bit down. 

The killer slowly, --too slowly you might add-- removed the fork from your lips. He was watching, his eyes and gentle, plum lips nearer than they ever had been before. You had never seen him up so close, only mere inches away as you cautiously chewed. 

A thought ran across your mind, wondering if the food had been tampered with-- but at this point, did it matter? It likely wouldn’t be the first time, or the last. 

Quin repeated the process, softly blowing on the food before feeding you with a tenderness that wasn’t mean for a captor and his captive. 

You appreciated the silence, though; no bitingly silly remarks or sadistic smiles, just a softly domestic scene with the humming of the yellowed refridgerator. 

The wrongness of having someone watch you eat, waiting till you’ve swallowed, making sure you’ve taken every bit off of the fork-- it was like being watched by a crowd, not showing immediate judgement and yet just as uncomfortable. 

“You’ve got a little,” Quin hesitated, putting the fork back down in the frozen meal plate. His nimble hand came to hold under your chin, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his breath now tickling your nose as he parted his lips in concentration. A wintry thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, taking away stray sauce that hadn’t made it to your mouth. 

“There; what a mess you make. Looks like you're trying to tease me, acting all helpless.”

You were ready to react, but a splotch of something dark resting on the clown’s open chest caught your eye. You thought it was a birthmark at first, one you had never noticed before-- but upon closer inspection, you saw it was uneven dots of blood, dried and smudged. 

Your tongue went dry, breath getting caught in your throat as you recalled his words earlier. Was up to nothing, huh? 

…How many people have died since you’ve been stuck alone in that room? 

The fear of your impending death was rising in your throat in the form of acid, no longer hungry for anything-- merely sick and distraught. What was he saving for you, what were you going to become-- he may be spouting nonsensical “I love you” ‘s and such, but how could you believe it when so many have been killed in your stead? 

Quin ignored the creased lines of horror on your face, the silence of your twitching frown as you kept your gaze on his soiled neck. 

“Alright, now open wide.” Quin brushes your cheek with one hand, the other holding another forkful of pasta and chicken. 

Your lips shake, finding it hard to keep your mouth anything but clamped shut as you remember the foul sights, the smells of the rest of this warehouse-- how could you be so stupid, thinking maybe you’d find one way to get this all to stop, a daydream of freedom from this dank hellhole. 

You’d better start getting used to saying ‘I love you.’ 

[gunsatthaphan]

#re-entering his babygirl era ✨🌹 (not that he ever left)

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Have His Cake And Eat It Too

Male Serial Killer Yandere x Gender Neutral Immortal Reader (CW: Noncon, blood, violence, murder, death, cannibalism and reader forced into cannibalism, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, cursed immortal reader) Word Count: 500 (This is really bloody and dark compared to what I normally write, but it is also a drabble and does not contain the usual level of detail my other fics do, if you have played boyfriend to death and its sequel you may recognize some similarities between those characters and my Serial Killer Yandere, he is a bit of a mix between Strade, Ren, and Lawrence, though I still feel he is unique.)

Imagine there is a serial killer loose in your area. He finds people that meet his criteria, the specific personality and aesthetic that he desires in a partner, and he falls head over heels in love with them. He kidnaps them, doting on them, feeding them, clothing them, bathing them. But his love for them grows and grows. Serial Killer Yandere rapes them, forcing himself inside so he can feel them surround his cock. Serial Killer Yandere starts to cut them more and more, enjoying the sight of beautiful red blood on their otherwise flawless skin. But Serial Killer Yandere needs them to be a part of them. Serial Killer Yandere needs to be closer to them. Serial Killer Yandere really can’t help it, his love is just so strong. Serial Killer Yandere cuts them open and grips their heart, feeling it beat in his hand as they slowly bleed out. He consumes it, he held their very life in his hands and made it a part of him. But now he is alone again and needs a new darling. Serial Killer Yandere meets you for a date. You are exactly what he wants, even better than the ones that came before you. He kidnaps you like all the others after drugging your drink. You wake up with a chain on your ankle, dressed in delicate clothing. He dotes on you. He bathes you. He feeds you. He soothes you. He fucks you so hard just to see those beautiful tears stream down your face, the prettiest tears he has ever seen. Serial Killer Yandere loves you more and more, very quickly. Serial Killer Yandere can’t help himself, he knows he will miss you but he must be closer. His hand is in your chest, gripping your heart. Your blood leaves you as everything fades. You die. While you are dying he has never felt more in love, but once you are gone the familiar emptiness is quick to fill him. But you are not like the others. You don’t stay dead. In the morning when he comes to take care of your corpse and appreciate your beauty one last time before burying you with all the rest of his loves he sees that you are fine. You aren’t human. Not anymore. You were cursed to never be allowed to die hundreds of years ago. Serial Killer Yandere is shocked. He thinks he is losing it. Serial Killer Yandere kills you over and over, taking your heart for himself each time. You’re always back the next morning. Serial Killer Yandere becomes thrilled. Serial Killer Yandere force feeds you your own heart and shares it with you sometimes the day after he has killed you again. The curse transfers to him, and he discovers after dying due to an accident one day that he is unable to die. Now Serial Killer Yandere can have his cake and eat it too~ Forever <3