#yandere mortician x reader

[yandere-romanticaa]

masterlist.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's the talk of the town once he moves and settles in. The gossip started to pool in mostly due to his looks. He wasn't necessarily what one would call "conventionally attractive" but there was this air to him that was impossible to ignore. It was hard to find him anywhere throughout the day because he spent almost all of his time in the morgue, regardless if his work hours had long since passed. The only time he could really be seen was if you would be lucky enough to see him in the wee hours in the morning, large briefcase in hand and heading straight towards the usual destination. Small amounts of people would gather in the coffee shops and spy on the man. Gossip spread like wildfire but no one had the guts to actually approach him.

One chilly October morning, you decided to be brave. Pushing your insecurities aside your curiosity ended up getting the better of you. There was no turning back.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's caught off guard by your sudden and bold approach but he doesn't mind.

As a matter of fact, he finds it quite refreshing.

He's not saying much as the day is just a bit too early for him and despite his drowsiness, he is paying attention to you like a hawk. His soft brown eyes are focused on your lips, listening to your every word. You invited him out on a coffee but he frowns - he has to work. A serial killer has been on the loose recently and due to that individual his work keeps piling on. Families need closure and he is an important part of that process. With a sad sigh he declines your generous offer and your demeanor is like that of a balloon which was violently popped, by his own hand none the less. He feels a bit guilty and proposes the idea that you actually come to his place of work if you're so keen on getting to know him. It was a little twisted of him but he was curious to see how fast you would shoot him down on this offer but the opposite happened.

You accepted it in a heartbeat.

Well, now he has to tidy everything up.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who can't help but to feel a little starstruck once he actually meets you on this would-be coffee date. He actually prepared a selection of teas in advance just in case you didn't actually like coffee, along with an assortment of snacks to boot. You sit in the lobby and make small talk with each other. The atmosphere is comfortable as soft music plays in the background, ranging from the latest pop music to classical violin. He doesn't like the quiet, he confesses to you. He can't do anything properly because the silence is too deafening to him.

He doesn't tell you that the sound of your voice is like lovely rain on a hot summer day to him. Cooling, refreshing. Perhaps a little bit necessary. His work hours are long and odd and the only people that surround him are not even alive.

That's his own fault though. His urges are too much to handle, sometimes. He has no one else to blame for enhancing his work other than himself.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to make room in his schedule for you whenever he can. Ideally, he doesn't actually like bringing you to the morgue. The place where he works is dark, desolate and cold.

That is no place for the likes of you.

No, he likes to see you bask in the warmth of the sun with a hot beverage in your hand, a goofy smile on your lips as you tell him the plot of the last book you read or the game you had played. He never has the heart to tell you to stop, your excitement is far too precious to him.

He is aware that he is not the easiest person to approach. Aside from the fact that people get a little jumpy once they learn that he works with the dead, his personality isn't much to brag about either. Whilst polite there's a level of dryness to him, a lack of humanity which other people are not so keen on. His shoulder black hair is always messy and, yes he will admit it, his fashion choices are a tad bit archaic. He's gotten an earful from strangers that he looks less like a man from the 21st century and more like a vampire from an 18th century gothic novella.

He knows those are not meant to be taken as compliments but he still sees them as such.

You like to tease him for his fashion choices and make an attempt to improve his wardrobe but you don't want to do too much. Truth be told, you like the way he looks but you don't dare tell him.

If he were to find that out his ego would go through the damn roof.

Within weeks, his closet was filled with comfortable blazes, a sweater or two, some casual t-shirts and some fresh, crisp white button ups that go along with pretty much anything and everything. He gave you the liberty of picking everything out for him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to act more like a member of polite society rather than a reclusive shut in. You took his hand and showed him a glimpse of the world, just how beautiful everything can be. There are so many colors and smells, all so dominating and sweet. You take every chance you can to get him outside even if he's not very fond of the sun. You chastise him for how pale and sickly he looks as you shove food at him, his lanky body showing obvious signs that he was not eating properly.

He simply was not hungry. Food could never satisfy him. He only ate because his body demanded so of him. And for you, of course. He would never turn down any food you gave to him. Ever.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to become sloppy. His cuts are imperfect and his concentration has never been worse. He stares down at the corpse on his steel table, the bright light above him giving the dead hunk of flesh an unearthly aura of peace. With his gloved hand he reached for the poor victims cheeks, which have now gone hollow and dead. Your face suddenly flashes through his head, your giggles filling his ears, in a manner similar to that of when a person is submerged under water.

What would happen if this were you?

He never could have imagined that he could ever be this charmed by another human being.

For his entire life all he has ever had were his books, notes and his own gloomy company. He was not deserving of someone like you, a creature that thrived among the living. He suddenly stabbed the corpse beneath him with his scalpel, his hand shaking from the rage which overtook him.

Why couldn't he be alive like that?

What was wrong with him?

He could never get along with human beings, no matter how hard he tried. He stopped trying ages ago because the harder he tried, the more he failed.

There was no denying the fact that he was a freak of nature.

An abomination.

If he cannot function around the living he could always turn towards the dead. They made for much better company anyway, always there to listen to him and his woes.

It was frightening how much he relied on you now. His sanity was in your hands and you had no clue.

How cruel.

He hated you. He was beyond envious of your ability to function like a normal human being. All the things which you had perceived to be normal were nothing but pure anomalies to him. And yet, the more he hated you the more he craved you. He could never regret the decision of allowing you to enter his life. It was nice to be wanted.

He loved it when you wanted him.

Do you want him in the same manner in which he wants you? Did you possess the same wicked desires which he did? Human beings are all the same when push comes to shove. Their true colours are shown once they're faced with death.

And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do later that week.

🥀 𝐀/𝐍: I'm not good with creating original characters and I apologize for that. However! I keep having the same dream over and over and I just thought that it would be neat to turn them into entertainment for the rest of the world to see. Please share your thoughts and opinions with me, they are always highly appreciated!

[imayfeel]

I'm in love with a dying man.

;; Morally Grey, Mortician, Yand! Husband. Tender, Prone to physical harm, Househusband/wife! Reader. Opposites dynamic. Mentions of bodily harm [Both variables], not intentional wounds [Reader]. Unethical thought process. Hinted insomniac reader. NSFW. Unprotected sex. Genitalia [Of Reader] unmentioned. Hinted dacriphilia. Hinted breeding kink.

He is a reasonable man, he thinks. Right and wrong, good and bad, pious and sinful; all are considered mere words of the English language to him— adjectives with no purpose but to describe actions. They hold little to no true significance towards what actions should be done, he thinks. He holds little consideration towards what the general population would consider something to be done, and in turn what is not to be done.

He is not so immersed in narcissist beliefs, in the thought process of 'what I say must be correct, for no one besides me holds any worth', he was not so much of a vain man to think so. In contrast, he did not like such people either. He merely did, and if what he did evoked reactions, pleasant or unpleasant (or perhaps none at all?), it simply weighed no burden on him. The clock will still tick, day will still submerge into night, night will bleed into day, and the seasons will go on.

Some may consider him to be a nihilist. Whilst the thought of it may be logical, he could not find himself agreeing; for one detail. He could not care of his actions, nor the consequences they may evoke (unless they were to affect him or present to him tiring obstacles), if it was not for his spouse. His spouse, who laid heavy in the backs of his minds— who's image he could not cast away whenever he were to do even the smallest thing.

It is something he finds could drive a man insane. The constant nagging thought that reverberates inside the depths of his mind, what would they do in this situation?—

But he is not a fool. Anyone in the town could call him many things, but a fool is not one of them. His spouse has the opposite nature of him, much different, much less brutal. With each daily experience, he may think of what they would have done in his place, and he imagines it easy. It flows into his mind especially well, the image of their all-too-eager tendency to jump to help anyone who seems to be in need. He is also aware that, with them being unlike him, he is also consequently unlike them. Despite what he feels— knows— what they would do, it is not in his nature to help.

He continues walking calmly along the stone pavement, thick cigar hanging from his lips, the rain pouring down harder— he stays within the confinements of his mind, paying no attention to the intruding splatters of cold rain seeping through his long black coat, down to his work suit. The droplets harshly fall off of his thick black hair, crashing almost dutifully against the ground. It is not until he passes by the small flower shop that he is brought to the real world, that he becomes conscious of his surroundings. It is late at night, though not late enough for the roads to be completely silent just yet, but even still it would be around the closing times for most stores. He lifts the cigar away from his mouth, blowing out the smoke into in the cold night air.

He thinks to his spouse, likely waiting for his return in their home, but he also looks back to the shop. He lets out a sigh, putting out the cigar as his hand grips the handle of the door and steps in, his dark eyes narrowing as they adjust to the blinding (and in his perspective, annoying,) white light of the store. The worker, an assumed part-timer, seemed to have been in the midst of preparing to shut the store soon, her head snapping up almost immediately upon the sound of the bell ringing. The sweeping of the broom stops, and she smiles, far too bright for him to stomach (a shocking revelation for him, considering the field of work he partakes in). She prepares to speak, her lips parting—

"Closed?" He asks, though his tone seems to have been more of an observation, but loud enough for her to have taken initiative of replying to. His voice is heavy and almost overbearing, with a gravelly brutality to it, but a man who rarely speaks (a man who has little words to speak) has no use for a soft voice or pleasing tone.

Caught off guard, but still smiling happily, she responds, "Not quite yet, fortunately enough. What are you looking for?" She has the typical politeness of a worker, but something about her evokes an unpleasant feeling within him. Her voice is too high pitched and bouncy. Her smile is much too harsh and wide, for what a smile should be.

His spouse is not like that, no. It would be even insulting to say so, to assume they had anything in common. His spouse had a quiet voice, the type to lull a person to sleep, the voice that was only ever soft and pleasant to hear. They could say anything with that voice of theirs, and he would, in a trance, nod along. Their smile was the same, never quite gone and always comforting, whether it be a full smile or the slightest upturn of their lips.

But, simply from looking at her, he can get a read on her character, even from this small interaction. He could almost laugh. It is interesting how a mortician can read a person despite working with the dead. She looks to be the sort of person who talks your ear off, he thinks. The type to tell you of the past 15 years of her life on the very first conversation. Why is she smiling? What is she so happy about? He could never understand, why do people find themselves happy when surrounded by weeds and greeneries? Stop smiling.

People say that when a person smiles, that is them at their loveliest. Only his spouse looks lovely when they smile. And it only made sense for his spouse to be happy around flowers and plants and trees, because only his spouse grew the prettiest and most pleasant ones.

Upon hearing her question, he pauses. What is he looking for? He.. wasn't sure. He saw flowers. He walked in. He thinks, and after a beat, he answers. ".. Anything. Flowers. A plant. Something you can keep growing in a garden." His words are short and kept that way, forever straight to the point.

The worker nods understandingly, "Not a bouquet or something to put in water, I take?" She tries to confirm, to which he gives a nod of his head. The nod sends a few more droplets of water to fall onto the tiles of the ground, she notices this, laughing a little, "My, you're soaked. Such harsh rain is not to be taken so lightly." She speaks, with a friendly and joking tone, one which he has no patience for. He merely nods once more, ".. Indeed."

She takes him through the store, pointing out a variety of things, to which he merely nods or gives a word of understanding. He is barely listening to her, merely following behind her a few steps away, his eyes wandering from item to item. His eyes settle on multiple clear boxes in the wall, each with a different mix of what he can only understand are herbs or flower petals. He stops, and the woman hears the steps stop too, prompting her to turn around. As she turns and notices where he's looking, she smiles, "Types of herbal tea. They have different uses, it's amazing how many uses plants and flowers can actually have! You just boil some water, put some of the mix in, stir, and .."

He drowns out her voice, lost in thought as he analyses the clear boxes and their contents. Different uses? He wonders. As the woman keeps on rambling, he cuts her off, "What uses do they have?" He asks. She flinches a little as he speaks up and stops her speaking, looking apologetic and flushing a little from embarrassment as she realises she had spoken a bit much, ".. Many. Some are for cholesterol, some for reducing stress, treating nausea, helping you to sleep, have antioxidants.. " She lists with a little shrug.

His ears catch on when she mentions them being able to improve sleep, "The one meant for sleep." He states, his eyes flicker to her. She perks up at realising that he was interested in buying. "Then, I'll get you a pack," she says, "we keep the packaged versions behind the counter."

She turns back around and walks across the store to return to the counter, prompting him to follow and stand in front of the counter as he waits. As she rummages around, he lifts his wrist slightly to check his watch, carefully keeping track of his time. They should be getting ready for bed now, he thinks. He would like to see them before they did, though, he did not like to worry his spouse. As he stares at the ticking hands on the watch, he's brought back to reality as the woman places the small bag of herbs on the counter and notices, "You have very rough and scarred hands," she notes, before realising what she had said, "ah— um, pardon me, not that it is a bad thing. I tend to speak without thinking." She explains, in an attempt of apologising.

Nothing like his spouse, he thinks. Though, he wonders, although after a long moment of silence, ".. Do you think my hands are injured?" He asks, his voice flat. She blinks. "Well.. I suppose, yes." She says, a little timid.

He smiles, "You should see my spouse."

The smile is gone as fast as it came, not that it was much of a smile to begin with. Not comforting or kind, as a smile commonly is, nor did it bring any warmth to his features. If you had blinked the moment his lips turned upwards, when you had opened your eyes, it would be as if he did not smile in the first place.

It was not that she was wrong. His hands were large, with thin scars littered across both the palm and top of his hands. Some lighter than others, some darker, some deeper, some mere surface level scratches. The skin of his palms were rough, strangely so.

She blinks again. Then again. Then again. But by the time she gathers her thoughts, he had already moved on from that, asking for the price. In return, she had also quickly, subconsciously, switched topics along with him. "This is the medium sized bag, so it would only be XX, though we have been trying to enforce a small sale on certain things, so it would reduce to.. XX?" She offers, to which he merely reaches into his pocket to retrieve his black, leather wallet. This reminds of something, "Ah, did you not want something that could be planted as well? If you're still interested, there are a few sprouts that could easily be placed in new soil within a pot or garden to be grown much, much larger!"

Her offer makes him pause. It seems ideal. He speaks, ".. Get me it." To which she nods and soon has both of the items packed in a small and brown paper bag. Ignoring her call as he walks out of the store to return sometime and have a good day, he's out once more. The rain has not stopped its downpour, only continuing in their dispense. He barely takes any notice of it. He needs to get home, he thinks. It is late, a little later than he would prefer. Later than he would like to be home.

The paper bag is practically soaked through, too, as he finally reaches closer to his destination. The town was a quiet and dreary place, often dark and dull, with wuthering winds and all too often storms. But they brought him in more work, so perhaps he should have been more grateful towards the disastrous weathers. Him and his spouse had moved here during a time which felt like many decades ago, but truly was only a few years, when they were new to marriage.

The corners he turns are becoming more and more familiar as he grows closer. He nears with each step. He then eventually is stood outside of the door, clicking the key into the socket of the small home as he creaks the door open, silent and swift. He stares inside, stepping in after a beat.

His spouse is there. With their back turned towards him, their focus on the oven in front of them, as they appear to be baking something. The atmosphere is warm and pleasantly quiet, a stark contrast to the outside world, with its pouring rain and dull, grey sky. There is a soft lamp lit, along with a couple of candles, illuminating the space with a comforting warm look. His spouse hums to themselves as they continue on, not noticing his presence just yet. He does not rush to let himself be known. He waits, taking his time to watch from afar.

He watches, even as his spouse lightly hums to themselves as they continue on, the plain white apron they were wearing curving around their figure softly, tightening even more so from every little action. He watches, leaning against the doorway, as his spouse seems to have accidentally made contact with the searing hot metal within the oven with their bare hand. He watches as they flinch and let out a soft gasp, dropping the utensil they were holding. He watches, as they turn and bend over to pick it back up, before flinching once more when they notice him out of their peripheral view. He watches, and his throat goes dry, as their surprised expression softens into a gentle smile.

They speak his name in greeting, quiet and polite, but never has his name ever held so much weight before. His dark eyes flicker down towards his spouse's hands, going over each small scratch and bruise and minor cut, all adorned with bandages and plasters of their fitting. The burn was a new one, pink and tender and likely painful, but even so, his spouse smiles at their husband. He sees their eyes soften as they look over his soaked appearance, taking small light steps towards him before taking the coat off of him and hanging it up. They turn back to him, with a small and gentle, but he could tell worried, smile.

His spouse smiles so much, so, to most, it may seem like the same smile being used over and over again, repeated throughout their life. But he knows much better. He knows that their smile links to the look in their eyes, the slight tremble of their eyebrows, the smallest twitch of their fingers, he easily reads their emotions despite their attempts of a mere comforting smile.

They turn back towards him, one of their hands reaching upwards towards a lock of his curly and black (also, dripping) hair. "You're soaked. Did you not take an umbrella? You could have caught a cold." They speak. If it was someone else to have said this, they may have come off as nagging. If it was someone else who was to try touch him, he may have abruptly pulled away in disgust from being in contact with another living creature. He hated mankind, hated its ugliness, hated how bothersome it was. To live in solitude is a life lived correctly, away from the two-faced and haughty civilians.

But he had never, not once, included his spouse within that large group of people (as in everyone else). Not even when they were younger, before they had gotten married, he had never once had the thought of them being a nuisance. It was a strange revelation to find himself enjoying the company of another instead of finding them to be a liability. He had never been the social type, never been the type to attract people— more-so the type to chase them away. But he had never, despite his lack of expression, his lack of sympathy or basic human emotion, they had never taken any of it as reason to leave. Though, if they did, he would have little to no reason to blame them for it.

As their hand had reached up, their fingers curling around a lock of his dark and wet hair, his hand reaches up also. His thick fingers trail across the top of their much smoother hand, the tips of them barely touching the skin and running over the edge of another plaster as he hooks his thumb in the crevice of their palm. He uses the light grip to bring their hand further towards him, letting him press a little kiss on the small burn. He merely replies, "Warm me, then."

They laugh at that. A quiet and humble thing, not at all like the squeaky and ear-bleed inducing laughter from the insignificant woman earlier. He merely watches, his fingers still around their hand. Their eyes drift towards the brown paper bag, now close to ripping due to the intense rain. He notices their shift of attention, lifting it towards them and pressing it lightly against their chest and their hands lift upwards to take hold of it by its sides. He does not speak, merely beginning to step forward, his hand still lightly around theirs— to avoid pressing down on any injuries or the burn— as he leads them along towards the sink.

They let him lead them, curiously peaking into the bag with one hand. Their eyes catch onto the "Helps with: relaxation, fatigue, restful sleep! 100% tested and proven!" tag, written in small, bold letters in the corner of the packaging. They don't speak of it or mention it, merely smiling quietly at the thought of the action. They notice the small plant as well, eyes shining. They notice the cold water spilling onto their fingers from the tap, their husband holding up their burn to the water. He's quiet, having realised that they had looked at the items, and it embarrassed him in a way.

Their smile grows as they notice his stiff shoulders, his back towards them and his eyes forward. The two of them stand still for a long and quiet moment, only the sound of the water running is heard in the silence. After a minute, they lean forward and press a small kiss to his jaw before leaning back again, their head now leaning against his broad shoulder. He does not react, his eyes focused on the water.

The water hits the tips of his fingers whilst he holds their hand up to it. He remembers the feeling of water on the day that he had proposed to them, too— though, it was less of a proposal, and more of a statement. They had still been practically children when they had wed; with him at 19, and his spouse at 18.

It had been a strange scene. In the woods, far away from either of their homes. Although, he, an orphan, did not consider himself to have a home. He remembers them, his memory exact, to have been sitting up against the thick brown oak of a tree, knees up for the flowers to lean against them. He remembers their fingers gently, yet skillfully, twisting the stems of them together into little knots and conjoining them ever so carefully.

He remembers standing in the midst of the small and cold stream, the water up to his calves and his shoes held together in one hand, hanging from his side. He stared for a long amount of time, the noise around them so silent, the noise in his mind so silent. There was little to nothing going on within his brain, feeling almost dereslized and apart from the real world inside this moment. He was not a man to speak without thinking, and neither was his spouse, but his mind failed him. The words had left his lips before he had the chance to process—

"Let's get married."

Even after he had spoken the words, his mind was still in turmoil. He had not the chance to react before his, soon-to-be (at the time), spouse had turned their head towards him with their soft smile and given him a tiny nod of agreement.

He had been dumbfounded. Not once before in his life had he ever felt so lost in his thoughts and emotion, as it typically was the case of the lack thereof, but this time, it was the opposite. The emotion was much too strong and complex. He had not spoken a word after that, and neither did they. He had laid awake in bed that night, his mind full of different thoughts, yet at the same time, nothing at all— I am going to marry them.

It was a small marriage, but not unexpected of two children either. He had no family nor friends to invite, and, despite being well loved within the town, neither did his spouse. The marriage had been the talk of the town for weeks, and probably had continued to have gone on even after the two of them had moved to this town. Someone who had little to no involvement, who was avoided and barely even known, marrying someone who was every elderly person's favourite, who did not complain or grow annoyed no matter how many tasks the locals bashfully asked for them to complete?— "What a shame for such a bright child! A miracle if it were to last above a year!"

It was not like they were wrong, either. He was aware of how golden they were, of how the children rushed to play with them, of how people greeted them with "Good morning!" or "Good afternoon!" at each turn. Though, what use did it have, when at the end of the day, when both of them had snuck out to meet one another, it was him who's shoulder they had put their head on and quietly spoke of how lonely things were, even in the loud town.

The town was small, but a place which involved themself into the business of all others. A place which he disliked since childhood, and neither of them had much to miss there. He was glad they had moved, this town was much more quiet, much less chatty and arrogant. Though, even here, his spouse was loved dearly by the neighbourhood children, would politely converse with their neighbours, would be seen as a regular at the small bookstores and gardening shops. It was amusing, even, seeing townsfolk try to hide their stares as they ask themselves, "That man is their husband?", seeing the local children ask his spouse if they really were married, and who to, then shrinking away at meeting his eyes.

Still, here, they lived quietly, in a small home where he was sure they were free to enjoy whatever pass times and hobbies they enjoyed. Where he did not have to worry too much for them, knowing that they would be there when he returned home each day.

He's brought back to reality as he notices the raw pink flush of the tender skin gradually going down, switching off the tap and opening a cabinet to reach for bandages. He places one hand on their hips, bringing them in front of him so that their back is pressed against his front. He wraps the bandage around the burn before cutting it off with scissors. His eyes flicker down towards the flesh that connects their neck and shoulders, unable to hide the constant underlying emotion of desire that he represses within him whenever he merely glanced or thought of them.

He leans his head down and presses a kiss there. Then another. Then another. And then he is pressing multiple kisses to their neck.

He was not a man who necessarily had much need for hedonistic activities such as sex. But it changed dramatically whenever it came to his spouse. Especially as he hears the soft sigh drawn from their lips at the sensations, as they melt into him and he feels more of their weight leaning back on him. It isn't long before his tongue starts tracing over the flesh, his teeth digging in ever so slightly, his hands travelling. And by the way they were reacting, their long lashes fluttering slightly, eyes shut as their head leant back, he took it as yes.

It was not long before he had his large arms hooked beneath their knees, hands resting on the pillow on either side of their head, his cock buried deep inside of them. Their knees are folded towards their chest in a mating press, their nails dug deep into his broad back, scratching almost violently as he fucks them brutally—

They married a brutal man, after all.

Perfect like this, he thinks. The only time he can see them unravel, the only time he thinks they could bring themselves to every physically harm someone, as he feels the burning of the scratches on his back. It was amusing, even, to see them fret the night after over the almost animalistic marks.

As if they did not notice their own body was covered in bites and marks. He drags his lips over their neck, his teeth sinking in as he leaves a love bite, making them flinch. "Nnh.. W— Wait—" They protest, although in vain. His tongue runs down and over their collarbone, down to their chest. His tongue flicks one of their nipples before grazing it with his teeth, making them shiver and let out a whine. All the while, his hips meet theirs repeatedly, his thick cock pounding into their warm and soft insides.

It's maddening, just how soft and warm it all is in this moment. Their bare flesh pressed against him, their tears of ecstacy, their nails dug into his flesh. He presses his lips to their cheek, kissing the tears as his tongue swipes against their hot and wet cheeks. They look so perfect, he thinks, crying for him. The only way he prefers them crying, with their mind foggy from pleasure.

And soon, he can feel his own climax rising too. He mutters, "Seem to be getting along with those neighbourhood kids so well, makes me want to give you one of your own." He can't even tell how much of it is teasing and how much of it is him speaking from what he subconsciously wants. With one last thrust, his thick and hot cum had filled them up, before he had pulled out to watch the scene before him.

Perfect, he thinks again. Their legs shaky, their half-lidded eyes glossy with tears, their chest and neck littered with all sorts of bloody bites and hickeys, his cum dripping from their pretty hole. The sight was enough to tempt him into a second round, and a third, and a fourth. He had all the libido in the world when it came to his spouse to fuck; all night if they had merely said the word, and once they did, he would be unable to stop. A brutal man he is, but also one which when left unrestrained, would not be restrained.

He was a tall man, at 6 foot 3, paired with a strong and broad physique and long lasting stamina. His back, torso, arms, all littered in scars, just like his hands as he had been previously reminded of. He was, by both nature and appearance, brooding and stoic, whilst his spouse was softer hearted. Though, despite the possibility of being able to continue on, he takes notice of the drowsy and tired out look of his beloved. His spouse was much less used to physical excursion as he was, but even so, he could not help but thrust two of his thick fingers inside of them, shoving the dripping cum back inside.

His lips whisper gruffly, his hot breath fanning over the shell of their ear, "If you can get so sleepy from me fucking you, would this not be more ideal to do every night rather than using tea or medication?"

Even so, they can't help but let out a soft sleepy protest, mind all fluffy and drifting off. He holds them close, tucking an arm beneath their back and placing another on their waist to turn them onto their side in order to hold them to his chest. He lets out a sigh as he feels them drift to sleep, and he enjoys this. He enjoys the nights they spend together, albeit that being every night. Each night, despite what had gone on during the day, they had found themselves entangled together in bed either way.

He had not felt complex emotion in many years.

[heavenlayt]

Undertaker vibes ✨⚰️

Your aesthetic is just so beautiful dear!! i love how you organize everything, how pretty you write !!

Can i request maybe a yan! mortician? I don't really know the word in english waaa (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠)

kisses. mwah mwah take care of yourself ok?? 🎐

Dear Anon,

Thank you, dear. It’s really nice of you to say. Your english is very good so no need to worry. Sending you lots of kisses and thank you for the patience.  P.S I’m reminding myself to drink water regularly :)

@shooting-love-arrows

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍! 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader [gender not mentioned/specified/implied] SYNOPSIS: General headcanons/some concerning habits of his. Tw. yandere walking red flag, creepy yandere, intentional poisoning, delusion, attachment issues (?), nudity but not nsfw. 

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who treats you like a corpse rather than a living, breathing, human being. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 is so used to being surrounded by dead that sometimes he forgets you are in fact alive. It shows during those moments when he starts doing most simple things for you, like dressing you up before you wake up; when you stay still for to long, he’ll carry you around bridal style because he forgets that you can move on your own or forgets to prepare you a portion of food, because corpses don’t eat. Those moments scares you the most, because you��re never sure if he snaps out of it.

“Hm…? Oh dear…” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 muttered and tilted his head when he realized he’s been carrying you around the funeral parlor for a while. “It seems like I have done that again.” Not that he was complaining. After all, he’s got to hold you in his arms.

Who regularly poisons you. He adds small doses of the earlier crushed pills he originally brought in the pharmacy to your food. Just enough to make you sick, weak and confused. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 feels his heart squeezing painfully everytime time he sees you in this state but at the same time, he believes that what he's doing is for a good cause. You must stay in the house. It’s not safe in the stress! Not to mention those people who could harm you (or worse, take you away from him!). This just can’t and won’t happen. He’d rather be the one to bring harm to you and nurse you back to health. Your place is here, in your shared house, with him.

“It seems like you are ill again, sweetling. Lay down, you need rest.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 proceeds to tuck you in and kiss your sweaty forehead lovingly. “Let me take care of you, sweetling. I will make everything better.” He whispered into your skin decorated with glistening pearls of sweat, smiling softly. 

Who always has to carry a piece of you on him. He just can’t part with you. Be it before or after you’re officially his. He has a silver locket with a coil of your hair in it, a ribbon that fell out of your outfit tied around his wrist or a photo of you (especially the one he took of you). Those are few examples but anything that belongs to you he’ll gladly take to carry around. This way you can always be with him.

“What beautiful hair you have, sweetling.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 laughed in glee. He was in his funeral parole, staring at the coil of your hair he secretly snipped off when you were asleep. It was placed neatly in a pure silver locker he always carried around his neck. “The prettiest.”

Who has a habit of photographing your nude body. It depends on his mood whether it’ll turn sexual or not, but what doesn’t change is that he’s always in awe of your body. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 saw many naked bodies, more or less beautiful. But you…you are perfect in every way. He feels like it’s his obligation to document that beauty. So usually, you’ll find yourself lying in the coffin panelled with silk, naked as the day you were born. And so the photo session continues. And when he’s done…? 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 will lean over you, looming like a grim reaper ready to whisk you away into the underworld, and whisper sweet nothings, prizes and compliments to you while his eyes admire every inch of your body.

“Keep still, sweetling.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 adjusted his trusty camera so it’ll focus on you.  You kept shivering from the cold that keeps nipping at your skin. Not even the silk you were laying upon helped to ease your worries and shame for you had no choice but to be vulnerable and exposed towards your captor.  “Perfect. Close your eyes and stay in this position.”

Who kisses the spot on your chest where your heart beats. It happens first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. When you’re laying in bed, in your nightclothes, he’ll lower the front of yours and gently place a kiss above your heart. He imagines that it’s his way of pouring his undying love straight into your heart. It always sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine.

“I was born to love you…” kiss “I am breathing for you…” kiss “I am living for you…” kiss 

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

YOUR HIGHNESS I HAVE A REQUEST FOR YOU. 💍 not much of request, more of a suggestion if you ever feel like writing it, what about a necromancer yandere? or a mortician?!! OOOOUGHH im so obsessed with necromancers and everything related to them, and there's só many options!!! trying to realive darling reader? put me in! necromancer went to get body parts but when they were doing research they fell in love with one of the people they were getting body parts from, now they want to realive them! DELICIOUS!! killing unwilling reader and bringing them back as a form of punishment! IM ON! i give you full creative control thy humble lord, thank you for the food

(and of course, feel free to deny, YOU are the artist, you are what matters ❤)

Yeah, I can do this

Yandere!Necromancer x GN!Reader

CW: Mentions of death and corpses, both human and animal

The most powerful bastard to have ever lived.

The unspeakable horror known as Letum the Terrible, a powerful sorcerer that seemed to draw magic from the universe without any limitations; a bottomless pool of stamina who could wipe out armies with a snap of their fingers.

Or, as Nephin knew them, (Reader).

He still remembered the first time he met (Reader), when they were a young teenager and he was just a child. What the pitiful town's people called power hungry and malicious, Nephin understood to be ambitious and determined. Even at the age of five, the small boy could see how the people never broke (Reader's) spirit; how every time they publicly beat them out of fear, or accused them openly of evil and conspiring with dark forces, (Reader's) resolve strengthened.

Unlike wizards, who had to learn the ancient arts and memorize countless spells, or mages who had to use magickally imbued artifacts and books written by magick users of the past, the terrifying teenager was a sorcerer, who's power was instinct and perfected by trial and error experimentation.

Nephin craved the user's attention.

He studied so diligently, begging the universe to give him access to the energy of the universe or to grant him his own supply of natural mana.

The rest of the town was so focused on being afraid of (Reader), that no one but Nephin noticed their one and only flaw. (Reader) could not heal themselves.

Less than a month before the human known as (Reader) would seemingly fall off the face of the earth, they had changed the course of the little love sick child's life forever, after an encounter hidden deep in the woods.

Nephin cradled a bleeding rabbit, focusing on a simple healing spell, chanting it over and over again while rocking on his little heels, screaming in his heart for the universe to awaken his healing power. But the rabbit continued to bleed out over his shirt.

"Hel, oh breathing earth, this broken body. Hel, oh breathing earth, this broken body. Hel-"

The small little black rabbit went limp in Nephin's arms, releasing her last breath. Tears tumbled down out of frustration.

"No. No. No!" He whined, gripping the body against his chest harder. "Wake up! Wake up!"

A warm green light bubbled up from the earth like liquid, rising into the air around Nephin and the rabbit. It was working. "Wake up! Wake up!"

The rabbit stirred to life, moving within his grasp, without breathing.

Joy filled Nephin, believing himself to have finally achieved the power to heal, when he realized that the wound on the bunny never closed, and blood was still dripping from the gash.

He didn't have much time to wonder what was happening, as (Reader) emerged from the bushes, wide eyed at the sight before them.

"I.. didn't heal him right.." Nephin sadly stated, holding out the rabbit to his unrequited love.

(Reader) reached out for the beast, ignoring it's screams. After a brief inspection, (Reader) got on their knees to stand at eye level with Nephin. "What is your name, child?"

".. Nephin."

"Nephin, dear young magick user, you were born for power, but not to heal."

"-but-"

"This rabbit is dead." (Reader) angled the violently wriggling head towards Nephin so the child could see the green hue in the bunny's clouding eyes. "What you have accomplished, was quite impressive for one without training. You are a necromancer."

Nephin felt his tiny heart shatter. The tears that had begun to dry restarted, falling freely down his round, baby cheeks. "But I wanted to - to heal!"

"Look at me." (Reader) snapped their fingers, startling Nephin into choking back his sob. "With the advancements in non magickal science, even regular men can make healing medicines. With time, the doctors and the apothecaries will surely render healers useless. However, you can do what no healer has ever achieved. You can raise the dead."

(Reader) hoped that they successfully encouraged the kid, handing him back his first successful minion.

Their words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

After (Reader) disappeared, Nephin ran away from home, traveling across the continent to find necromancers to study under. They gladly accepted him as one of their own, filling him with praise over his natural talent. And as the years went by, Nephin grew in power tangentially with (Reader). He had no proof that the nearly inhuman Letum was (Reader), but with the descriptions of their abilities he had little doubt in his mind as to who they were.

Without an ability to heal themselves, (Reader) slowly became less and less of the person they once were. Stories told of the terrifyingly powerful being spread around the world, as the strongest warriors of all classes and species left to challenge them and were destroyed so thoroughly that there was not body to send back to their families. The only times (Reader) was injured was due to their hubris, which allowed their opponents to gain the upper hand. The fighters would be reduced to ash with a snap of their fingers afterwords, but (Reader) never missed the opportunity to allow their opponents to show off their pitiful abilities against them.

Scars covered so much of (Reader's) skin, that their original skin tone was difficult to determine. With a bald head and lack of a nose or upper lip, the intimidating menace was easily mistaken for a monster.

No one but Nephin remembered (Reader), but everyone knew of Letum the Terrible.

And as time went on, Nephin's love for his first crush never faded, counting down the days until he reached adulthood and could track down (Reader). He knew, logically, that (Reader) would not remember him, but whether or not they allowed him to follow them around like their loyal dog, or killed him without a second thought, was enough for him; just to be in their presence once more would be an honor.

On Nephin's twentieth birthday, when he was awarded the highest rank amongst his adoptive village and became not only an adult, but a necromancer more powerful than any other in history, he set out to find (Reader), ready to track them down by following their crimes like a trail of rose petals.

Instead, Nephin found a nation of people celebrating the death of Letum.

And it was as though his entire existence had been a waste.

Letum the Terrible was preserved with magick to be researched my magickal scientists.

Their body would not deteriorate, nor rot, as scholars from around the world freely came to poke and prod and slice open their body in an attempt to understand what gave Letum such immense power.

In the hall of intellectuals, Nephin stood transfixed before the viewing table, admiring what little remained of the neighbor he once knew. Their chest and abdomen were hollowed out, every organ except the brain removed and placed in jars to be examined. Everyone who got a chance to see the most powerful evil to have ever lived felt comfortable enough in the corpse's presence to mock (Reader).

"They died from something so mundane.."

"An allergy? Even children can heal themselves.."

"Perhaps they were bored with life.."

"Perhaps they weren't so strong after all.."

'Enough with this slander.' Except for (Reader's) body, each and every cadaver, no matter how incomplete they were, woke, and turned on the humans. The atmosphere quickly changed from cheeky to tragic, everyone scrambling in a mass panic as the dead began to tear apart the living. In the chaos Nephin stole away (Reader's) body, carrying them like a bride on their wedding day.

It took years to find every piece he needed.

Nephin searched the world for pieces to fix his precious neighbor, his first and only love. The two were now the same age as each other, as a corpse can not grow old.

Although Nephin found (Reader) just as beautiful with their scars as he did when they were children, the world knew of Letum, but only he knew of (Reader). So he hunted down pieces of the old (Reader) throughout the lands. Someone's similar shaped nose, a hide matching their skin tone and texture, scalping someone with (Reader's) hair. Bit by bit, throughout the years, with the help of a warlock under contract to resurrect her wife, Nephin sew (Reader) back together.

(Reader) woke up.

Head splitting in pain, they forced themselves to sit up, despite the voice of a stranger commanding them to take it slow. Everything was fuzzy, and they couldn't recall what had happened to cause such a stiffness and agony. The last thing they remembered was being bitten by a spider, and falling ill nearly instantly, collapsing alone in the woods.

They raised their arm to inspect their bite, but found an unfamiliar arm. Patches of skin stitched together. Their other arm was similarly foreign, and as their eyes learned to focus again, they learned that the same was true for the rest of their naked body.

"I wanted to clothe you, however I was worried the texture would be uncomfortable on your new skin." The stranger with white hair and tired eyes shyly spoke, disturbingly pale skin blushing red.

"I am in no mood for jokes." (Reader) attempted to proclaim loudly, however, their voice was nothing but a dry whisper.

"You may not remember me, but I remember you. I am the one who brought you back. And.." The red deepened as his smile trembled. "I am your master now."

"Ha! Cheeky. Regret your words, and I, Letum the Terrible, shall let you live."

"You are no longer Letum the Terrible." He bent down, caressing their left hand and placing a soft kiss on a their ring finger before pulling out a small box. "You are (Reader), my beloved spouse."

"That's it." (Reader) raised their hand, no longer amused. "This conversation is over."

And snapped their fingers.

.. but nothing happened.

Confused, they looked at their hand.

"I told you." Nephin said sweetly, admiring the green swirl of magick in (Reader's) eyes. "I am your master now."

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

Slasher!Josuke with Nerdy Darling? (Based off Scream)

Darling is a Horror Movie Fanatic, as she’s seen them all, from B Films, Foreign, Classics, Silents and the more Recent ones

Reader comes off as a Geek, but she doesn’t really care if people like her or not (She even works part time at the local Video Store) she’s kinda a loner as she has no friends at school

Reader is sorta based off Randy (I loved him in the Scream Movies and was upset that he was killed off in the Sequel) as she takes pride in her Horror Movie knowledge

If Darling has a Stand, maybe it’s called ‘Mortician’ (Based of the Band known for their songs based off Horror Movies) maybe she affects her surroundings like a movie based upon the 3 simple rules she makes? (If you break the rules you get injured or attacked, but if you don’t break them nothing happens)

Josuke gets a crush on Darling after they were grouped together for a school project and realized Darling is pretty cool (She even tutors him so his grades don’t slip since she’s a straight A+ student at their high school)

However Josuke noticed Darling only shows interest in Horror Movies and Slashers, so what better way to get the girl of his dreams than by becoming a real life slasher himself?

I’ve been watching Slasher Movies on loop, including delicious plot twists so what if Darling is Kira’s daughter? (She doesn’t know about his hand fetish or about him being a serial killer) She doesn’t have interest being in the spotlight like her dad (This can be scrapped if you want)

Ooh this is so interesting I had to start writing. I ended up writing a prologue.

I'm going to set the main part of the story a couple of years post DIU (mainly to age up) but the prologue takes place just before with reader being 14/15.

Still thinking about the stand. Possibly being a stand that almost looks like a phone dangle charm on her phone that sometime gives out rules in the form of a text for a set amount of time (anywhere from an hour to 24). It's one of those self destructive stands (not literally but it's always screwing with darling).

Really loved the Kira daughter idea, writing that darling knows and is actively trying to hide it after his "death". In a way she ends up paralleling him with her need to hide it as it previously ruined her life back in marioh cho.

If you have any more ideas please let me know as I am really invested.

(Also an odd fact, my dad's bday is the same as Yoshikage kira's)

Sins of the father prologue

(Yandere Josuke X female Reader)

Warnings: mentioned abortion

You looked at the address you'd written down before knocking on the door. Your lucky your friend had offered up the cover of a sleepover to your grandparents as they'd be furious to find out what you were doing, but you needed closure on the matter.

There was a car in the driveway so you knew he was home so you knocked on the door again. Who exactly? Your father.

You'd never met him in person as from what you knew him and your mother had been at odds over the idea. So the most he did was sign his name on your birth certificate before the relationship had ended. About a year after your mother had visited him to try and rekindle the relationship only to disappear.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the door opened. He was definitely the same man that your mother had stashed photos of.

Blonde hair, blue eyes and sharp features.

He was probably wondering why some random middle schooler was at his door.

“Mr Kira?” You asked.

“Yes, that is me,” he told you. You looked oddly familiar but he couldn't quite put his finger on as to why. You quickly held out a paper bag, you'd gone to the effort to buy him a castella cake as a sign of good will.

“My name is (Y/n) Kira, I was hoping we could talk” you told him. He took the bag but he had a scrutinizing look.

“Is this about your mother's disappearance? I already told your grandparents all I knew” he asked.

Of course he lied, he simply told them that she'd left his house. In truth she never had but back then the villas hadn't been developed yet so no one was around to discredit his claim. Yet your grandparents had not believed such a claim.

“No, I wanted to meet you” you said and immediately he began to close the door before you wedged your foot between the door and the frame.

“I'm not asking anything of you, after this we can just go our separate ways… I promise” you said, desperation in your tone.

He sighed before opening the door again.

“Just this once, if I ever see you here after I'll call the police” he warned you as he stepped aside to let you in.

You came in and left your shoes on the shoe rack before following him into the living area. You sat down on the cushion behind the low table.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Yes please Mr Kira” you responded with a nod. You looked around as you waited. This was definitely one of the older houses in Morioh cho. tatami mats, sliding doors and hanging lights. Probably made around the 50s/60s like your grandparent's. Most of the houses in the town now were around tenish years old at most.

Soon he brought some cups and a teapot before sitting down himself and pouring the tea.

“So why did come here? I thought your grandparents would have been completely against you coming here?” He asked.

“I found some of my mothers belongings. After reading her diary I was hoping to get your side of the story, if you're comfortable with that?” you told him.

“Well I suppose you should know” he said with a sigh. Your gaze was just like hers and a small part of him was terrified by that, that dead woman's stare haunted him.

You rummaged through your school bag before grabbing out a piece of paper full of questions you jotted down.

He told himself to think of this like how he would any other interview. The sooner he answers your questions the sooner you'd leave.

“So first off, mom wrote down that you two were in the same homeroom in highschool when you two met” you said.

“Yes, she was seated next to me. I hadn't realized she'd had feelings for me til Valentine's day” he told you.

“Why'd you accept?” You asked. Now that was a hard question to answer. He'd been shaken after killing Reimi, a girl from the same school. He'd tried to keep his urges in check. After your mother had confessed her feelings to him he believed that if he'd had a partner maybe he'd have no need to ever do it again and she happened to have a lovely pair of hands. His eyes couldn't help but drift to yours. They were quite pretty too, he noticed the light polish on them and spoke up.

“I thought the schools had a no polish policy” he told you. You rolled your eyes, you'd painted such a similar shade to your skin hoping no one would notice.

For a while you continued to ask him questions. Until you inevitably asked why he and your mother broke up.

Another tough question, he had many reasons. He'd realized that his plan to keep his desires in check wasn't working, not to mention your mother's pregnancy had caused issues. He'd swore up and down he'd worn protection. At first he believed your mother had cheated but that was disproven. He never heard the end of it when his mother found out. She believed her son wouldn't have ever done something like that and demanded your mother have an abortion if true. In truth he'd silently wished for the same but your mother was headstrong and was determined to keep the child.

Eventually he'd decided to break up with her and at least fill out the birth certificate but that was it.

“It was complicated, in honesty my feelings for her washed away and when we found out she was pregnant, both our families had a feud over it. We decided it was best that I wouldn't be in the picture… I also wasn't ready for a child in my life” he explained, his eyes gazing upon his tea.

“Thank you Mr Kira” you thanked him, you knew these were hard questions so you appreciated that he gave you the answers. At this point he couldn't help but have questions of his own, as he couldn't quite figure out what type of person you were.

“May I ask you a few questions of my own? nothing too personal” he asked.

“Of course, it's only fair after all that I've asked you”

“What after-school club are you in?” That was probably the best way to gauge the person you were.

“Oh I'm in a book club” you replied, that was the same club he'd been in when he was younger.

“You like to read?” He asked.

“Kinda, in truth it was the only club that gave me privacy. My media interests are more on movies but reading the original sources are always fun” you confessed.

“Any plans after highschool?” He asked.

“I'm not entirely sure, I do want to do university but I'm unsure of what course to take” you told him with a sigh.

“You'll figure it out in time, I only decided what I was going to do during my last year” he told you.

It wasn't long after that you left. To go to your friend's to watch movies over the weekend. They had a large collection of horror movies that your grandparents would never allow you to watch.

Unfortunately your life would never be the same after your father's true nature became public news. Forcing you and your grandparents to have to start a new life away from Marioh cho.

[justanobody19]

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Running-with-kv1ves

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[yandere-sins]

See you

Something different this time! I was just thinking about what if Death has a favorite human? Wanted to write about that :3

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Death x GN!Darling!Reader Warnings: Yandere, There are a lot of Death Mention, Mention of deadly accidents, funerals, death of unnamed character(s) on screen, Interacting and touching a skeleton, Mention of a bar fight (Violence, Throwing glasses around, people scuffling) Possessiveness, Fear of Heights mention

Prompt: @sintember Death - A simple thing, in the end.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

From a young age, you are told death is a thing to fear.

It made sense as a precaution for parents and to instill prudence in children, but the older you grew, the less wary you became of it. Even if the possibility was always there to die at any given moment, you still lived your life normally, took your bows and falls as you learned to be independent, and experienced the things life had to offer. It became less of a fear and more like an omnipotent presence in your life once people around you passed away naturally.

Uncomfortable, but a simple and logical thing, in the end.

Of course, you didn’t expect to face death so soon. And you really didn’t expect it to be literally face-to-face. However, your life changed the day you went to a friend’s parent’s funeral and saw him, hollow-eyed and covered in his long, dark coat, scraggy fingers reaching for the casket. He was there, presumably, to take the soul of the person passing on. Why he hadn’t done that earlier went against what you thought Death was like, but he wasn’t supposed to be someone in the first place. He didn’t notice you staring—it was tough to tell by the lack of eyes—and you thought you were just imagining things from all the crying and being sad with your friend, so your gaze didn’t linger.

The second time you saw him, he had changed. It was just two years later, a traffic accident that led to death on a busy road you passed by on your way home. He could have passed off as a mortician, sharply dressed in a suit and tie, his features as human as they were otherworldly beautiful. No one seemed to mind or even notice him, the rescue doctors performing CPR while Death counted down the seconds on his clock. A cruel but very beautiful image of the patient but unavoidable Death. And just before the life seemed to leave the body on the ground, he glanced up, catching your eyes, his lips counting the seconds that seemed to slow down, the whole world giving you two just a moment.

You knew he saw you this time, and he knew that you saw him.

This time, for sure.

Of course, you heard about people with special senses. Who are able to recognize things beyond the scope of the living. But you never heard of someone exchanging strangely intimate glances with Death and yet never having a hair on their head harmed. In fact, you were as healthy and lively as most wished to be. You never got into an accident or were seriously hurt, and your wounds always seemed to heal fast and without scarring. And still, even with your brushes with Death, you weren’t scared of him. Much less now that he took a human form, his reasons for doing so unfathomable to someone just human like you. But you liked this form better than the skeleton. It even had something morbidly fascinating about it that, if you were to describe it, people would call you crazy for.

However, the good luck you experienced with never getting so much as injured or having your heart race from panic, was running out. Unbeknownst to you, your encounters with Death were neither coincidences nor very lucky in the first place. So, when you met him again while cowering behind a table in a bar, too many people to count punching and throwing glasses through the air, you finally realized that death was, indeed, scary. Because you really didn’t want to get caught up in the fighting, there was still so much to live for, but it only grew more violent by the second.

“Hey,” someone said, pushing the tip of his immaculately polished shoes against your worn-out, dirty sneakers to gain your attention. Even though you had looked at the person the moment he stepped in front of you, a small part of you had hoped he might not know who you are or remember you two meeting before. But with that touch, it seemed unlikely Death was that forgetful.

“I know you can see me,” he replied to your thoughts, and it shocked you more than it should have that he could see right through you as well. With a sigh, Death squatted down, a scent so unlike your imagination—like apples and cinnamon—joining his despairingly beautiful features. You were awestruck by the entity before you, and he watched you just as intently. 

Reaching out his long fingers, his touch was bitterly cold, way below what a body should feel. It also made you realize one thing: his appearance was a beautiful illusion, a misguided effort at best. Upon touching you, you could feel the gnarly, slim bone of a skeleton finger moving with ease, just as if it still had muscles and strength to it. 

“Don’t…” he muttered, startling you as the situation suddenly became strange and real. You had somewhat accepted being able to see him, even if it was weird. But having him touch you made him into less of a ghostly entity, and that was hard to stomach after all. 

“Don’t look away now,” he pleaded, his voice deep and symphonic, underlined with goosebump-raising want. “I’ve been searching for you for so long.” 

You were taken aback by the strange demand, gulping as you focused your eyes back on his. He didn’t seem bothered by the ruckus around you two, didn’t even flinch at the glass flying over his head and smashing into the wall behind him. Looking into his golden eyes, it was as if the color was swirling in them, never settling, but his whole demeanor was so calm and collected. 

Maybe because Death didn’t have anything to fear, he could stay relaxed in the face of such chaos. But you couldn’t. You flinched again as the sound of glass cracking resounded all around you, and you closed your eyes reflexively. Death clicked his tongue, and just a moment later, the sounds of screams and violence disappeared. Blinking, confused, you slowly looked up again, Death being the one to look away now, in a mix of annoyance and disgruntled. But when you pushed away from the table you hid behind, he let go of you, his body moving with yours naturally. He even curled his skeleton fingers around your upper arm, steading you as you stood up on wobbly legs, staring at the remnants of the fight that had taken place in the bar.

You didn’t need to feel their pulse to know everyone was dead. 

Everyone except you. 

“What did you do…?” you muttered in disbelief, the whole situation feeling too much like a movie to be the reality surrounding you. Death didn’t answer immediately, and you figured that there was no good answer to give to a human. “They weren’t supposed to die yet… were they?”

“No,” he replied truthfully, and his grip grew stronger as your body threatened to give out. This, right there, was scary. A room full of people at their liveliest, adrenaline running high, wiped out. “But… why?” you asked, wrenching your head around to look at Death again, the swirling, golden eyes not allowing a reflection to form in them even though you didn’t need to see it to know what kind of face you were making.

Again, he took his time, never breaking eye contact, but grabbing you by your arms and supporting you, slowly guiding you to your knees. He sat you down, sparing you the inevitable crushing of your body to the floor just before your strength threatened to give out. Sliding his hands to yours, the illusion between his real body and the fake one became a thorn in your perception, alerting you that something was wrong. But you were already aware that everything was wrong even if the shock didn’t give you the pass of realization yet. Like a puppy, you stared up at him as you waited for an answer. After all, seeing how he could eradicate lives with the click of his tongue, what was one more human to an entity like Death?

“There, now,” Death sighed, peaceful, content, not an inch of remorse. “I want those pretty eyes on me for a while longer, Human.”

Cupping your cheek, Death brushes his thumb over your skin, mesmerized by your features as he admired you, his gaze barely shifting from yours. “You have no idea how lonely it is to be unseen. How ungrateful humans are for the work I do.”

His voice trailed off as his thumb reached your lips, an audible breath escaping him as he traced them too. His words almost made you feel sad for him, but the iciness of his touch robbed you of your logical emotions, instilling fear inside you instead of this creature so much more powerful than you, way beyond human capabilities. “But not you. You… see me. You are special. Indeed, your eyes are…”

For a moment, he got lost in the softness of your lips, his thumb as inquiring of their softness as it was deadly cold. Then his gaze jumped back up at yours, a sharp intake of air filling his illusion of a chest as he met yours confidently. “They are mine.”

“My… eyes?” you whispered, the blatant disregard of the horror all around you only overshadowed by his honeyed voice that seemed to pierce right into your brain, spreading there and overshadowing every thought. You didn’t shudder anymore, didn’t flinch. Everything felt settled and calm, even sitting amongst the bodies. The fear you felt looking at him was but a soft humming remnant of instinct. It must have been one of his abilities, but you didn’t even feel scared when he declared your eyes as his. 

“You are,” he added. “I have been given a reward for my hard, ungrateful work. It’s you.”

“M-Me?” Finally, you managed to snap out of the trance he put you under. Jerking away from him seemed logical to you but upset Death greatly, the swirls of gold growing restless in his eyes, spinning back and forth. You realized that was the reason for your sudden change in demeanor, his eyes downright hypnotic, so you looked away quickly to avoid that.

“But… I’m just me! I am just a human! I haven’t done anything to you, I’m just living my life, and eventually… I’ll die.”

Gulping, you regretted your own words. If someone knew about human’s mortality, it was Death, and he had showcased just how easily he could take a life if he wanted, even if you weren’t sure about the legality. Then again, were there even rules for Death? You wouldn’t know. Perhaps these people were meant to die, and he just quickened the inevitable. 

“No,” he stated, the word as clear as day, even if his choice seemed weird. It brought you out of your shell, and the moment you glanced up at him, his fingers captured your chin, directing you to face him even if you wanted to crawl away instead. “I won’t let you die. You are mine.”

You wanted to say something, your mouth opening, but his thumb came down to rest on your lips again, an eerie, “Shh, be quiet now, Human. Let me do my work so we can leave.”

You had no choice but to watch as Death stood up again, tearing his eyes from you as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. Looking through the room, he merely lifted his hand, the scythe you knew from the past and from the depictions of artists, appearing in his grip, a swift swing cutting the souls from the bodies. 

Death was uncomfortable in that you heard all the bodies take their last breath at once, slowly making you realize they died because of you. Because, as weird and unthinkable as it was, this entity seemed to have waited for his opportunity to get close to you. Everyone else was just a nuisance he had to take care of. But it was also uncomfortable how the blue flames erupted from his hand and transferred to the next best wooden thing—the table you had taken cover behind—burned you even from far away. As well as how cold and boney the hand he held out to you was, offering you help to get away from the quickly spreading hellfire and dooming you to something beyond your imagination. 

But he was indeed simple, never lying, never too late, not even from taking your hand when you wouldn’t give it to him voluntarily, pulling you off the ground effortlessly and saving you from the quickly spreading fire licking at you. He wasn’t wrong that he wouldn’t let you die even though you two stood in a room ablaze, nothing harming you as he enveloped you in his arms, keeping you off the ground and safe. “My human,” he whispered, affectionate beyond measure, and for a that reason, it didn’t sound like a lie either. “Let us depart now.”

Squeezing your eyes closed, you only felt a draft of wind. The next time you opened them, you stood in midair above the city you lived in, an instinctual fear of falling overcoming you. You grabbed onto his coat tightly, and Death pressed you closer to his body, no longer that of a human but that of the grim reaper you witnessed at your first funeral. And yet, his skeleton arm held you tightly, only the threat of falling remaining, but never the actual act. 

It was then that it finally dawned on you that, perhaps, you were not as lucky as you thought. All the years of escaping death and harm suddenly didn’t seem like the universe looking out for you. No, rather, one very specific being. The only one that would hold you tenderly in his arms as he looked out for his next job and stared at you from within the darkness of his eyesockets as if he had to burn your reflection into the endless depth. You realized quickly you couldn’t find your voice to ask him what he had planned for you. What was going to happen now to you, your life, everything. Your body shook in his hold, your lungs almost incapable of breathing in as you began hyperventilating. But out of your tired, confused, and scared mind, you thought the skeleton’s face changed into a grin even without you asking the questions out loud. 

Death shushed you gently, rubbing your back as he made his scythe appear again. He must have found a new target, all while you grew limb in his hold, the tension fleeting as he kept hushing you. His voice was just as hypnotic as his eyes, and you settled against him, a mix of fear and anxiety only manifesting in a drop of sweat running down your forehead. “Everything is fine. I am here for you now. I won’t let you get away from me again, my Human. We’ll be together for all eternity.”

And suddenly realized you were never supposed to be scared of death. 

But Death was a whole other thing.

[yandere-romanticaa]

It's a good evening to write and you're all craving something for Viktor, which I shall deliver. I haven't started writing part two of his backstory but I'll get to it. Eventually.

Also, if you're interested I made a Pinterest board for this man and I'll regularly add images there. Thank you all for the support and please enjoy this little blurb. ♥️

masterlist.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who after he takes you for himself, starts to do little but intimate things with you around the house. The first few days, possibly weeks, were spent with endless screams, pleas and tears. Viktor hated seeing you in such a state, he hated the fact that he was the reason for your bitter tears and silent whimpers.

However, his patience outweighed his sorrow. He was willing to wait until the stars in the whole universe imploded for you to love him.

But, for now, not feeling the need to flinch away from him and his touch would be a good start.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who tells you about his day as he makes you dinner. Viktor understands that communication is important and that he needs to establish some things, and what better way to do that than by talking? Of course, he is rather awkward at it, as he has no idea what to talk about aside from his work. There are times when Viktor tries to tap into your interests and wants to ease your fear but it almost never works. What a pity...

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who starts over sharing specific details about his work which depending on your mental state could either be terrifying, useful or some morbid combination of both. Viktor tells you of the people who come to his table, all dead and all his to dissect. There's an odd glimmer in his dark eyes as his dominant hand mimics movements of his sharp scalp. The way in which he speaks sends shivers down your spine, it was rare to see someone so emotionless show even the faintest sparks of passion.

If the situation was not already so grim, his childlike excitement could even be considered cute.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who tries so hard to accommodate you and your whims! While he does keep you locked up, your little cage is more than furnished - soft blankets, pillows fit for royalty of old, little trinkets which could keep you entertained and perhaps even a television if he sees fit. Viktor may not understand social cues but he is not stupid either. He doesn't want your brain to rot away in that room, especially when he's not home!

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍, who sometimes sneaks into your room and just. Stands there. Watching you, his gaze neutral but his eyes are blown wide. He does not want to be caught so he makes sure to control his ragged breathing and beating heart. Can you hear him, even when you're knocked out cold? Can you feel him, his presence? A part of him wishes to stay hidden in the shadows, where it's safer, where he can keep a close on you. But his bolder side demands more, more, more.

Who knows, he might just sliver under the covers with you one day. But, one step at a time.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @samuraijack, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @red-viewe

[yandere-romanticaa]

Here are some crumbs about yandere mortician! From now on, his name is Viktor. (I'll make a detailed post about him, his personality, looks later, I promise.)

masterlist.

Viktor can often be seen with headphones in his ears, his expression neutral and eyes glazed over with a sheen of nothingness. When he's spotted in public people want to give him the benefit of doubt and say he's just lost in his own world, consumed by the sound of music. Perhaps he's just so in tune with the lyrics, maybe they speak to him on a level which people often seek out when listening to music. His playlist is filled with all sorts of songs - be it long ballads, cheesy love songs, generic pop, heavy metal, screamo, classical music, frankly some songs you wouldn't even expect someone like him wouldn't even listen at all(a la WAP by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion).

Even while working, Viktor likes to have something playing in the background. His co-workers often joke about his music taste but he just shrugs them off without saying anything. It's all just a rollercoaster, a complete mess but he likes it that way. It's fun to be on his toes.

Truthfully, Viktor never liked music. He never bothered paying attention to the lyrics nor the meaning or even the tune of the song.

He simply can't stand the silence.

Viktor is a walking contradiction - he dislikes most people and yet wishes to be a part of them. He wants to be someone. But he doesn't know how to do that. His way of coping became listening to music. He even learned to play some instruments growing up, thinking that maybe someone would take a liking to him.

Even so, no one bothered with him. He was still a nobody.

Some did admire him, from a safe distance at least. His aura was black as charcoal and posture stiff as a board. Even if one dared to look at him for too long it felt like Viktor would pluck their eyes out if he caught them looking.

Perhaps he would. He wasn't sure either.

The sounds had no meaning to him. It was all used to cover up the silence, pure white noise. Nothing more, nothing less.

All of that came to a screeching halt once he met you, his tiny piece of sunshine.

You'd go through his playlist, sometimes scoffing, sometimes liking the things you saw. His eccentric side never failed to amuse you. Amongst that jungle you'd ask him who his favorite artists were, if he had anyone specific he liked.

Viktor said the names of some random artists he thought you fancied yourself. He wanted you to like him.

His answer ultimately did not matter in the end as you would still recommend some of your own personal favorite songs to him. Viktor promised he'd give them a listen as soon as he could.

Later that evening, he was hard at work. As he was putting on his coat he turned towards his phone and reached towards it, slightly eager to see what you had in store for him. The song played quietly in the background as gently rain tapped against the window, giving the morgue a more tranquil feel than it ought to have. The person on his table tonight was an old man who presumably died of a heart attack earlier this morning.

Poor soul. That was all he could bother to say.

The evening went on as it usually did but Viktor could not stop thinking about you. His sweet little sunshine, he was so touched by the fact that you bothered to go so far for him. He could feel his heart racing as unfamiliar butterflies started to flutter in his chest.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

If he wasn't careful he would be the next one to die of a heart attack.

The music got a bit louder as it reached the chorus, its tune almost perfectly in sync with his heart. He hadn't even realized that he started to sway his hips gently. Left, right, left right.

It felt like the correct thing to do.

Viktor also picked up the sound of a male voice humming which was odd, considering the fact that the singer of the song was a woman. He nearly dropped his scalpel as he realized that the one who was humming was him, not someone else, him.

For the first time in his life, Viktor bothered to pay attention to the song. The singer detailed her undying feelings for her lover, promising herself to them and them only.

Viktor thought about you the entire time. He never fancied himself as a dancer but if he could, he would want nothing more than to dance with you.

Would you want to dance with him?

For the first time in his life, Viktor found joy in the music he listened to. And it was all thanks to his sunshine.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince

[yandere-romanticaa]

More yandere mortician? I miss our pookie

𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐞.

yandere! mortician oc! x fem! reader.

masterlist.

Despite it being the start of the warm month of May, this day was anything but.

Soft rain tapped against the window, giving the grey office a slight hint of a cozier ambience. Viktor was working and you had made the decision to stick around in his office, at least until the horrible weather had subsided.

As if on cue, a strong ray of thunder roared loudly in the sky, telling you everything that you needed to know - you were stuck here, possibly for the entire evening.

No matter. Despite his demeanor, Viktor was a decent source of entertainment.

And just like that you made your way down the metallic stairs, a slight pep in your step as you pondered on the various ideas on how to mess with your new friend. He once confessed on accident that he didn't mind your endless ramblings.

Now it was time to see just how true that statement was.

You heard him first before you saw him. Viktor liked to hum this one tune you never could recognize but judging from the pacing, it was most likely some old lullaby. He would hum it whenever he was lost deep in his head, which was the exact case right at this moment.

Slowing down your pace, you hid behind a wooden cabinet, silently watching Viktor. Despite his back being turned towards you, the scalpel in his hand still glimmered brightly underneath the dim office light. Soft strands of his jet black hair were loose in his messy low ponytail, which would typically make you swoon if the situation were any different.

You forgot just how awful the smell was down here. The stench of chemicals and death made you want to gag, but doing so would expose your presence. Although, you should have registered his sudden silence before that thought came to you.

"I know you're behind me." said Viktor. Even with that flat tone he had used, you could just tell that he had a proud little smirk on his face.

He raised his scalpel high in the air in a dramatic fashion, his own way of telling you to come to him.

"You're more than welcome to join me..." he spoke as he quickly but skillfully lowered the metallic tool, slicing deeply into the flesh of the now rotting corpse which lay on his table.

"... if you can stomach this."

Ugh. Not a lot of people could stomach such a sight but you felt brave at that moment. After composing all of the possible bravado you had in you, the walk towards Viktor did not feel as nauseating as you thought it would. But the moment you caught a glimpse of the fleshless face of the dead man before you, the instinct to turn your head was too much to handle.

Viktor couldn't help but to chuckle, the bastard.

Not knowing how to approach him with any topic of conversation, you asked him the first thing which came to mind:

"I often hear you sing that song to yourself when you work. What's it about?"

Viktor abruptly stopped with his slicing, his body going rigid. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the entire room, causing you to tense up. Before you could even think to say something, Viktor spoke up:

"It's an old song my mother used to sing to me when I was very young."

He continued with his work seemingly without a care, never once even bothering to glance in your direction. The awful squelching of the dead flesh made your blood pump wildly as Viktor continued to speak normally.

"I never realized just how morbid the song was until very recently." he said, slicing away at the dead man's cheekbone. You didn't even need to ask him about what he was talking about as Viktor was something of a mind reader (or so you liked to call him).

"... The song is about a little rabbit which got lost in a big forest."

Another piece of flesh gets discarded. Still, he doesn't look at you.

"It searches for food and water wherever it possibly can, the poor thing."

Out of the corner of your eye, your spot droplets of crimson blood on the floor, taunting you for coming down here. The smell is too powerful, too overbearing. Even so, Viktor continues to elaborate.

"Unfortunately, the rabbit doesn't survive the winter. It's a sad song, don't you agree?"

His words fell on deaf ears as your gaze traveled up and down the body, the skilled cuts and injections leaving you gasping for air. A warm hand made its way to your shoulder, snapping you out of the morbid daze. Viktor's gaze was sharp, but sweet. He wasn't going to hurt you.

"You can always just go back upstairs, if you can't handle it."

Another clap of thunder rang loudly in the background. The already dimmed light felt as though it was going to give in any moment now, making you feel anxious.

... You thought that you had gotten used to this, the atmosphere, the smells.

What a horrible reminder of your weakness.

Without a word, you turned around and quickly rushed up the scary looking stairs, their squeaking boards giving you an ever growing sensation of being free from the smell.

Viktor turned back to the body he was working on. With a tut, he cleaned his trusty scalpel as he gazed down at the bloody remains, his eyes sparkling with determination.

"It's a good thing I started with your face first." said the mortician.

"Otherwise, I fear she would have recognized you almost immediately."

And with that, Viktor set out to finish his horrific deed. He was not sure how much time he had left before you would start catching on to the mysterious disappearances around town but he thanked his lucky stars for all the extra time he could spend with you.

🥀 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @samuraijack, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @red-viewe, @kate03-27, @black-swan-blog27

If you wish to be tagged in future posts, feel free to say so!

Also, fun fact about the song Viktor was singing, it's not something I made up, it's an actual song my own mother often sang to me when I was a child.

[yandere-romanticaa]

trigger warning: abuse, animal death, malnutrition, my horrible writing. not proofread, we die like men!

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 - part 1. (you are here!)

masterlist.

The bitter scent of nicotine clings to him wherever he goes, his cold, brown eyes devoid of life as he wakes up and gets ready for another day. Every day is the same - wake up, get ready for work, work, head back home, rinse and repeat. He was living. But, he was not alive.

As long as he could remember, this was the life which Viktor Martinović (read as Martinovich) was leading.

Growing up his family was always distant. Cold. Even scattered at times. He had some siblings, some alive, others long gone from the Earth. To him they were all like air, non-existent and invisible but yet oh so relevant. His father hailed from Croatia while his mother was an American. Viktor could recall some more peaceful times as he would sit on the front porch of his house, his grandmother serving him tea while his grandfather told him many stories. Be it folklore, urban legends, random stories he made up, Viktor loved them all. Unfortunately, he could not see his grandparents very often as they lived in the US and the cost of travel was a rare luxury to him.

The time he spent with his grandparents was precious. He was positive that it was the only time he felt true joy and tranquility. With them he could be a little boy and do what all the little boys did - run around the streets with his feet bare, fall hard onto the ground and skin his knees, find dead animals on the ground and poke at their remains.

That last thing became a favorite past time of his.

Be it birds, dogs, cats, hedgehogs, no tiny critter was safe from his clutches. At first he did nothing but poke the dead critter with some random stick. Its lifeless eyes would stare back at Viktor, taunting him to take more action. However, one day his father caught him poking a mangled little bird which Viktor did not understand was wrong. The anatomy of the animal had caught his interest and he had no other children to play with. What was so wrong with having a hobby? His horrified father dragged Viktor by the ear back home that day, his grip so tight that crescent shaped marks were left behind on the soft skin due to his fingernails.

His father was an awfully conservative man. Everything and everyone had their place in the home and that included Viktor, who just happened to be at the bottom of the food chain because he was the youngest. Viktor does not remember his fathers face very well.

He never liked him.

All meals would start with prayer and would end with his mother and sisters putting away the plates, sometimes with Viktor's aid. He wanted to be good. He wanted to be useful. His father always taught him that he was a man and that men needed to be strong. This is not something you should concern yourself with, his father told him one chilly autumn morning.

This is a woman's duty, said his stone-faced father.

He was around 8 years old when his beatings started.

Despite his young age, Viktor was a very gifted child. He understood that something was off about his family. The way in which his siblings would flinch away once father entered the room, the way mother was always in a hurry to serve him coffee and a hot meal the moment he got back home despite being on her feet all day set him on edge.

He was very sensitive when it came to his mother.

She was his first and only real friend. She was his rock, his hero. Viktor was often sick which caused him to be physically frail and weak. His complexion was always pale as a ghost, his lips always thin and bloody from him gnawing on them and his tiny hands were always covered in cuts and bruises. The eldest brother in particular always just loved to make fun of Viktor when it came to his lack of strength. You can't even break into a sprint!, the cruel boy would taunt him as he held Viktor's book high up in the air, tearing pieces of the pages in the process.

Viktor hated his brother. He loathed him. Religion was not something he was 100% sure he believed in but during evening prayers, Viktor would always put his concentration on the fact that he wished his brother was dead. A grizzly thought indeed.

He wished for him to die the cruelest, most painful death imaginable.

The older he got, his dream only seemed to grow further and further away.

His two sisters never paid any attention to Viktor unless it was absolutely necessary, such as clothing or bathing him. Viktor was not capable of doing many things on his own because he was like a little doll. Frail and easy to break. He lived in a big house in coastal Croatia, an old city known as Dubrovnik, where the summer was long and the sun shined so bright that Viktor never wanted to go outside because his pale skin would turn a disgusting red even with the tiniest of exposure. He would spend his days locked away in his room, reading, studying or maybe playing a game which he had stolen from his brother.

He always took a little pride in the fact that his brother never caught him being so sly.

His sisters would usually be in school in the afternoon or somewhere out and about while his mother took care of the chores. Despite his fathers words, Viktor wanted to help her in any way he could. His heart would melt at the sight of his mother as she would lean down to give him a kiss on his forehead, her tired eyes shining with love. She would never give him tasks which could tire him too much which the young boy silently was thankful for. His favorite chore was chopping up vegetables and meat and in no time, he became quite skilled with using the blade. If it was possible Viktor even started to carve intricate shapes from fruits and vegetables, usually roses because his mother was very keen on them.

She never had the heart to eat any of them.

The outside world was filled with squeals of laughing children, frustrated fishermen and the bustling tides but Viktor did not need that world.

He had his own little bubble which he was more than content with. It was also convenient for him that he was homeschooled, which allowed him to spend even more time with his beloved mother. She was a doctor and a really good one too. Other than teaching him the basics such as reading, writing and mathematics, she would often throw in some more obscure things such as philosophy and anatomy. She taught him about the human body, where each organ was and their purposes.

Viktor was always enamored with this vast sea of knowledge.

The human body is like a machine, his mother would say. Treat it well and it will operate well.

Time passed. Viktor had started to grow and was 11 years old now. He was still sick, still useless according to his father. The man was a renowned fisherman and would always bring home the biggest and best kills. He would take his eldest boy with him and teach him everything he knew, hoping that one day his son would become a master at this craft as well.

Viktor hardly ever went on these trips. The sea was a cruel mistress and weak men could not be near it. His father had barely managed to teach him the basics but the scorching sun and the bustling activity was too much for him. Viktor's skinny little fingers would always be injured from carrying the heavy cargo, which his brother always made sure to make even more difficult for him by giving him even more to carry.

He was a lost cause when it came to fishing, which was his family's main source of income.

No matter, Viktor would think.

He had his own skill sets which those baboons could never understand.

Viktor would hone his skills with the blade in secret, his usual victim for practice being the very fish which were caught earlier that day. Sometimes he would stay up all night and sneak up back into his room at the crack of dawn, his hands smelling horribly which caused his sisters to gag a little if they caught a whiff of the air. Viktor studied the insides of the fishes, taking dutiful notes and hiding them all in the wooden floorboards where nobody could find them. Scattered carcasses of other animals become precious to him as he always had to be swift lest he wished to be caught by someone. Hiding them was always a pain and concealing the smell was the hardest task he could just barely pull off.

Not all secrets can be kept hidden though. Viktor found out that the hard way when his brother caught him dissecting a dead poodle. Viktor fell to his knees and begged his brother to not spill the beans, fat tears caking his face as he hiccuped horribly, his whole body shaking like a leaf. His brother merely looked down at him with a sneer as he shouted for their father to come to the garage. As Viktor heard the approaching footsteps his heart was beating so hard that he was positive that he was going to die of a heart attack right then and there.

His brother was the devil. The exact replica of his father. He was in every way, his son.

Viktor could not walk or talk properly for three months after that incident. He became something akin to a dying houseplant, unmovable and withering away in the darkness. He stopped eating completely and became skinnier than ever. His father locked him in his room but took his books away just to add more salt to the wound. Countless days passed and Viktor was rotting in bed, slowly dying from the lack of sustenance and the massive sorrow which took over his very being. Spring had been long gone and summer was over as well. He didn't even realize that it was October.

It was his birthday.

On October 31st, Viktor was woken up with a soft knock on his wooden door. It was his mother, who was holding a tray filled with food. There was even a little chocolate flavored cupcake with a single candle sticking on top, the whick not quite lit yet. His mother wished him a happy birthday and shared the meal with him. Viktor ate the food quietly, his appetite not quite out there but was still grateful for the miniature feast. His mother took out a small lighter and lit the candle.

Make a wish dear, she said softly.

Viktor gripped his sheets with all of his remaining strength, his knuckles so tight that he almost injured himself. He could feel the delicate touch of his mother who sat next to him, her presence like the calm evening breeze. With a sigh, Viktor closed his eyes but before he could blow out the candle a thought popped into his mind -

Just what was he going to wish for?

He did not see himself making it far in life despite his top notch grades. His family, father in particular, would always drag him down back to the ground. All of the money they had would most likely go to his siblings with just a tiny inheritance left to his name and when his parents both eventually passed the entire estate would go to his brother.

A lump formed in his throat as Viktor came to the realization that he had nothing to live for. He had no one on this Earth other than his mother.

He was no better than a ghost.

However, ghosts could not rest until they fulfilled some sort of quota in their lives, that one last thing for them to do so that they can finally take their final breath and bid their old life goodbye.

That goodbye came in the form of a cough.

It was his father.

His dark eyes stared down at Viktor, a strange glint of determination shining brightly inside them. With his arms crossed and mind set, he spoke:

"The weather may not be ideal but it is advantageous for your.... condition. You will not rot away in the sun, nor in this room like some coward."

His father took a few strides closer towards him, his footsteps so heavy that he could feel the floor creak beneath the heavy pressure. Viktor felt his whole body tense up as he was forced to look his father in the eye, his teeth clenching so tightly that it felt as though his jaw was going to break from the pressure. The only thing that gave him an iota of comfort was the fluffy blanket across his body, its softness a weak shield in stark contrast to the rough man before him. Viktor felt his fathers hand land on his shoulder, his touch disturbingly friendlier than usual.

"You will head out with your brother soon, to the sea. It is time you start pulling your own weight properly. I won't ever allow any son of mine to be weak."

Viktor's eyes widened - Christ, how could this be happening? Why was this happening? Cold terror came over him as he felt his lunch threatening to be spilt all over his parents.

It was soon prevented by a thought. A very devious thought.

On this little excursion it was just going to be him and his brother. All alone, at sea. The only thing keeping watch over them would be the grey stormy clouds high above them.

And just like that, Viktor had hatched a plan.

There was no going back from this moment.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @yandere-wishes, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @connorsui

Ahaha, here it is, the long awaited backstory for my OC, who finally has a full name! I decided to split it into several parts because it was getting kind of long and I really just wanted to post something about this guy. The demand for him is honestly kind of silly... Dare I say overwhelming even.

If you have any criticisms, ideas, complaints, literally anything - I'm all ears! My askbox is always open for a chit chat!

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

LAST EDITED: May 2nd 2024.

introduction.

his backstory. - part one.

his thoughts on music.

blurb. lullaby of woe.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @samuraijack, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @red-viewe, @kate03-27, @black-swan-blog27, @purple-obsidian, @absoluteicon (if you wish to be tagged in any posts, feel free to ask!

[yandere-romanticaa]

Yandere Mortician is getting so popular to the point where I'll have to stop calling him Yandere Mortician and give him an actual name 😭✋

(he actually listens to love songs and thinks about you btw. he's whipped.)

[yandere-romanticaa]

THANK YOU FOR 1K NOTES!!

masterlist.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's the talk of the town once he moves and settles in. The gossip started to pool in mostly due to his looks. He wasn't necessarily what one would call "conventionally attractive" but there was this air to him that was impossible to ignore. It was hard to find him anywhere throughout the day because he spent almost all of his time in the morgue, regardless if his work hours had long since passed. The only time he could really be seen was if you would be lucky enough to see him in the wee hours in the morning, large briefcase in hand and heading straight towards the usual destination. Small amounts of people would gather in the coffee shops and spy on the man. Gossip spread like wildfire but no one had the guts to actually approach him.

One chilly October morning, you decided to be brave. Pushing your insecurities aside your curiosity ended up getting the better of you. There was no turning back.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's caught off guard by your sudden and bold approach but he doesn't mind.

As a matter of fact, he finds it quite refreshing.

He's not saying much as the day is just a bit too early for him and despite his drowsiness, he is paying attention to you like a hawk. His soft brown eyes are focused on your lips, listening to your every word. You invited him out on a coffee but he frowns - he has to work. A serial killer has been on the loose recently and due to that individual his work keeps piling on. Families need closure and he is an important part of that process. With a sad sigh he declines your generous offer and your demeanor is like that of a balloon which was violently popped, by his own hand none the less. He feels a bit guilty and proposes the idea that you actually come to his place of work if you're so keen on getting to know him. It was a little twisted of him but he was curious to see how fast you would shoot him down on this offer but the opposite happened.

You accepted it in a heartbeat.

Well, now he has to tidy everything up.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who can't help but to feel a little starstruck once he actually meets you on this would-be coffee date. He actually prepared a selection of teas in advance just in case you didn't actually like coffee, along with an assortment of snacks to boot. You sit in the lobby and make small talk with each other. The atmosphere is comfortable as soft music plays in the background, ranging from the latest pop music to classical violin. He doesn't like the quiet, he confesses to you. He can't do anything properly because the silence is too deafening to him.

He doesn't tell you that the sound of your voice is like lovely rain on a hot summer day to him. Cooling, refreshing. Perhaps a little bit necessary. His work hours are long and odd and the only people that surround him are not even alive.

That's his own fault though. His urges are too much to handle, sometimes. He has no one else to blame for enhancing his work other than himself.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to make room in his schedule for you whenever he can. Ideally, he doesn't actually like bringing you to the morgue. The place where he works is dark, desolate and cold.

That is no place for the likes of you.

No, he likes to see you bask in the warmth of the sun with a hot beverage in your hand, a goofy smile on your lips as you tell him the plot of the last book you read or the game you had played. He never has the heart to tell you to stop, your excitement is far too precious to him.

He is aware that he is not the easiest person to approach. Aside from the fact that people get a little jumpy once they learn that he works with the dead, his personality isn't much to brag about either. Whilst polite there's a level of dryness to him, a lack of humanity which other people are not so keen on. His shoulder black hair is always messy and, yes he will admit it, his fashion choices are a tad bit archaic. He's gotten an earful from strangers that he looks less like a man from the 21st century and more like a vampire from an 18th century gothic novella.

He knows those are not meant to be taken as compliments but he still sees them as such.

You like to tease him for his fashion choices and make an attempt to improve his wardrobe but you don't want to do too much. Truth be told, you like the way he looks but you don't dare tell him.

If he were to find that out his ego would go through the damn roof.

Within weeks, his closet was filled with comfortable blazes, a sweater or two, some casual t-shirts and some fresh, crisp white button ups that go along with pretty much anything and everything. He gave you the liberty of picking everything out for him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to act more like a member of polite society rather than a reclusive shut in. You took his hand and showed him a glimpse of the world, just how beautiful everything can be. There are so many colors and smells, all so dominating and sweet. You take every chance you can to get him outside even if he's not very fond of the sun. You chastise him for how pale and sickly he looks as you shove food at him, his lanky body showing obvious signs that he was not eating properly.

He simply was not hungry. Food could never satisfy him. He only ate because his body demanded so of him. And for you, of course. He would never turn down any food you gave to him. Ever.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to become sloppy. His cuts are imperfect and his concentration has never been worse. He stares down at the corpse on his steel table, the bright light above him giving the dead hunk of flesh an unearthly aura of peace. With his gloved hand he reached for the poor victims cheeks, which have now gone hollow and dead. Your face suddenly flashes through his head, your giggles filling his ears, in a manner similar to that of when a person is submerged under water.

What would happen if this were you?

He never could have imagined that he could ever be this charmed by another human being.

For his entire life all he has ever had were his books, notes and his own gloomy company. He was not deserving of someone like you, a creature that thrived among the living. He suddenly stabbed the corpse beneath him with his scalpel, his hand shaking from the rage which overtook him.

Why couldn't he be alive like that?

What was wrong with him?

He could never get along with human beings, no matter how hard he tried. He stopped trying ages ago because the harder he tried, the more he failed.

There was no denying the fact that he was a freak of nature.

An abomination.

If he cannot function around the living he could always turn towards the dead. They made for much better company anyway, always there to listen to him and his woes.

It was frightening how much he relied on you now. His sanity was in your hands and you had no clue.

How cruel.

He hated you. He was beyond envious of your ability to function like a normal human being. All the things which you had perceived to be normal were nothing but pure anomalies to him. And yet, the more he hated you the more he craved you. He could never regret the decision of allowing you to enter his life. It was nice to be wanted.

He loved it when you wanted him.

Do you want him in the same manner in which he wants you? Did you possess the same wicked desires which he did? Human beings are all the same when push comes to shove. Their true colours are shown once they're faced with death.

And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do later that week.

🥀 𝐀/𝐍: I'm not good with creating original characters and I apologize for that. However! I keep having the same dream over and over and I just thought that it would be neat to turn them into entertainment for the rest of the world to see. Please share your thoughts and opinions with me, they are always highly appreciated!

[shooting-love-arrows]

Your aesthetic is just so beautiful dear!! i love how you organize everything, how pretty you write !!

Can i request maybe a yan! mortician? I don't really know the word in english waaa (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠)

kisses. mwah mwah take care of yourself ok?? 🎐

Dear Anon,

Thank you, dear. It’s really nice of you to say. Your english is very good so no need to worry. Sending you lots of kisses and thank you for the patience.  P.S I’m reminding myself to drink water regularly :)

@shooting-love-arrows

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍! 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader [gender not mentioned/specified/implied] SYNOPSIS: General headcanons/some concerning habits of his. Tw. yandere walking red flag, creepy yandere, intentional poisoning, delusion, attachment issues (?), nudity but not nsfw. 

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who treats you like a corpse rather than a living, breathing, human being. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 is so used to being surrounded by dead that sometimes he forgets you are in fact alive. It shows during those moments when he starts doing most simple things for you, like dressing you up before you wake up; when you stay still for to long, he’ll carry you around bridal style because he forgets that you can move on your own or forgets to prepare you a portion of food, because corpses don’t eat. Those moments scares you the most, because you’re never sure if he snaps out of it.

“Hm…? Oh dear…” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 muttered and tilted his head when he realized he’s been carrying you around the funeral parlor for a while. “It seems like I have done that again.” Not that he was complaining. After all, he’s got to hold you in his arms.

Who regularly poisons you. He adds small doses of the earlier crushed pills he originally brought in the pharmacy to your food. Just enough to make you sick, weak and confused. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 feels his heart squeezing painfully everytime time he sees you in this state but at the same time, he believes that what he's doing is for a good cause. You must stay in the house. It’s not safe in the stress! Not to mention those people who could harm you (or worse, take you away from him!). This just can’t and won’t happen. He’d rather be the one to bring harm to you and nurse you back to health. Your place is here, in your shared house, with him.

“It seems like you are ill again, sweetling. Lay down, you need rest.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 proceeds to tuck you in and kiss your sweaty forehead lovingly. “Let me take care of you, sweetling. I will make everything better.” He whispered into your skin decorated with glistening pearls of sweat, smiling softly. 

Who always has to carry a piece of you on him. He just can’t part with you. Be it before or after you’re officially his. He has a silver locket with a coil of your hair in it, a ribbon that fell out of your outfit tied around his wrist or a photo of you (especially the one he took of you). Those are few examples but anything that belongs to you he’ll gladly take to carry around. This way you can always be with him.

“What beautiful hair you have, sweetling.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 laughed in glee. He was in his funeral parole, staring at the coil of your hair he secretly snipped off when you were asleep. It was placed neatly in a pure silver locker he always carried around his neck. “The prettiest.”

Who has a habit of photographing your nude body. It depends on his mood whether it’ll turn sexual or not, but what doesn’t change is that he’s always in awe of your body. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 saw many naked bodies, more or less beautiful. But you…you are perfect in every way. He feels like it’s his obligation to document that beauty. So usually, you’ll find yourself lying in the coffin panelled with silk, naked as the day you were born. And so the photo session continues. And when he’s done…? 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 will lean over you, looming like a grim reaper ready to whisk you away into the underworld, and whisper sweet nothings, prizes and compliments to you while his eyes admire every inch of your body.

“Keep still, sweetling.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 adjusted his trusty camera so it’ll focus on you.  You kept shivering from the cold that keeps nipping at your skin. Not even the silk you were laying upon helped to ease your worries and shame for you had no choice but to be vulnerable and exposed towards your captor.  “Perfect. Close your eyes and stay in this position.”

Who kisses the spot on your chest where your heart beats. It happens first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. When you’re laying in bed, in your nightclothes, he’ll lower the front of yours and gently place a kiss above your heart. He imagines that it’s his way of pouring his undying love straight into your heart. It always sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine.

“I was born to love you…” kiss “I am breathing for you…” kiss “I am living for you…” kiss 

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[yandere-romanticaa]

No matter the time, the askbox is always open for this little creep. Any and all ideas as welcome!

More yandere mortician? I miss our pookie

𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐞.

yandere! mortician oc! x fem! reader.

masterlist.

Despite it being the start of the warm month of May, this day was anything but.

Soft rain tapped against the window, giving the grey office a slight hint of a cozier ambience. Viktor was working and you had made the decision to stick around in his office, at least until the horrible weather had subsided.

As if on cue, a strong ray of thunder roared loudly in the sky, telling you everything that you needed to know - you were stuck here, possibly for the entire evening.

No matter. Despite his demeanor, Viktor was a decent source of entertainment.

And just like that you made your way down the metallic stairs, a slight pep in your step as you pondered on the various ideas on how to mess with your new friend. He once confessed on accident that he didn't mind your endless ramblings.

Now it was time to see just how true that statement was.

You heard him first before you saw him. Viktor liked to hum this one tune you never could recognize but judging from the pacing, it was most likely some old lullaby. He would hum it whenever he was lost deep in his head, which was the exact case right at this moment.

Slowing down your pace, you hid behind a wooden cabinet, silently watching Viktor. Despite his back being turned towards you, the scalpel in his hand still glimmered brightly underneath the dim office light. Soft strands of his jet black hair were loose in his messy low ponytail, which would typically make you swoon if the situation were any different.

You forgot just how awful the smell was down here. The stench of chemicals and death made you want to gag, but doing so would expose your presence. Although, you should have registered his sudden silence before that thought came to you.

"I know you're behind me." said Viktor. Even with that flat tone he had used, you could just tell that he had a proud little smirk on his face.

He raised his scalpel high in the air in a dramatic fashion, his own way of telling you to come to him.

"You're more than welcome to join me..." he spoke as he quickly but skillfully lowered the metallic tool, slicing deeply into the flesh of the now rotting corpse which lay on his table.

"... if you can stomach this."

Ugh. Not a lot of people could stomach such a sight but you felt brave at that moment. After composing all of the possible bravado you had in you, the walk towards Viktor did not feel as nauseating as you thought it would. But the moment you caught a glimpse of the fleshless face of the dead man before you, the instinct to turn your head was too much to handle.

Viktor couldn't help but to chuckle, the bastard.

Not knowing how to approach him with any topic of conversation, you asked him the first thing which came to mind:

"I often hear you sing that song to yourself when you work. What's it about?"

Viktor abruptly stopped with his slicing, his body going rigid. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the entire room, causing you to tense up. Before you could even think to say something, Viktor spoke up:

"It's an old song my mother used to sing to me when I was very young."

He continued with his work seemingly without a care, never once even bothering to glance in your direction. The awful squelching of the dead flesh made your blood pump wildly as Viktor continued to speak normally.

"I never realized just how morbid the song was until very recently." he said, slicing away at the dead man's cheekbone. You didn't even need to ask him about what he was talking about as Viktor was something of a mind reader (or so you liked to call him).

"... The song is about a little rabbit which got lost in a big forest."

Another piece of flesh gets discarded. Still, he doesn't look at you.

"It searches for food and water wherever it possibly can, the poor thing."

Out of the corner of your eye, your spot droplets of crimson blood on the floor, taunting you for coming down here. The smell is too powerful, too overbearing. Even so, Viktor continues to elaborate.

"Unfortunately, the rabbit doesn't survive the winter. It's a sad song, don't you agree?"

His words fell on deaf ears as your gaze traveled up and down the body, the skilled cuts and injections leaving you gasping for air. A warm hand made its way to your shoulder, snapping you out of the morbid daze. Viktor's gaze was sharp, but sweet. He wasn't going to hurt you.

"You can always just go back upstairs, if you can't handle it."

Another clap of thunder rang loudly in the background. The already dimmed light felt as though it was going to give in any moment now, making you feel anxious.

... You thought that you had gotten used to this, the atmosphere, the smells.

What a horrible reminder of your weakness.

Without a word, you turned around and quickly rushed up the scary looking stairs, their squeaking boards giving you an ever growing sensation of being free from the smell.

Viktor turned back to the body he was working on. With a tut, he cleaned his trusty scalpel as he gazed down at the bloody remains, his eyes sparkling with determination.

"It's a good thing I started with your face first." said the mortician.

"Otherwise, I fear she would have recognized you almost immediately."

And with that, Viktor set out to finish his horrific deed. He was not sure how much time he had left before you would start catching on to the mysterious disappearances around town but he thanked his lucky stars for all the extra time he could spend with you.

🥀 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @samuraijack, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @red-viewe, @kate03-27, @black-swan-blog27

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Also, fun fact about the song Viktor was singing, it's not something I made up, it's an actual song my own mother often sang to me when I was a child.