Precious Little Prick

19 || Neurodivergent || they/them !!! under construction!!!

[little-prick]

Now You Can Never Leave~

Welcome to my blog, have a look around, indulge in your more twisted desires

This is a yandere-centric blog, if you're uncomfortable with dark subject matter, or are under the age of 18, please leave.

Feel free to send in a request, or even just a random question or suggestion! please interact with me I am begging you

As a general rule I will write:

Character death

Abuse

Non-con

Torture

Gore (includes blood, grievous injury, etc)

NSFW (tagged nsft)

I will not write:

Gendered reader

Character x Character (just not why I'm here, sorry)

Age-play

Piss or Scat

Incest

Other than that, anything goes! Send me whatever you can think of, even if it's really specific, and I'll do my best to roll with it!

I will mostly be writing for my own OCs, but there are a handful of characters that may make an appearance here or there, along with some random oneshots.

☁️-Fluff || 🍋-NSFW || 🔪-Violence/Gore

Vincent "Vinnie" Weizmann

Vinnie's Romantic Awakening

Affectionate Reader

When you Say "I Love You" ☁️

Random Vinnie Things

You Want to Save Yourself For Marriage

Super Shy Reader

Vinnie's Scent Kink 🍋

Asking Them to Marry You ☁️

Taking Your Virginity 🍋

Blind Reader

Reciprocating Their Feelings

Serial Killer Reader 🔪

How Bad Are They for Your S/O 🔪

Adam King

Adam's Silver Tongue

Affectionate Reader

When you Say "I Love You" ☁️

Random Adam Things

You Want to Save Yourself For Marriage

Super Shy Reader

Asking Them to Marry You ☁️

Taking Your Virginity 🍋

Blind Reader

Reciprocating Their Feelings

Serial Killer Reader 🔪

How Bad Are They for Your S/O 🔪

Ursula Vasilyev

Domestic Life With Ursula ☁️

Affectionate Reader

When you Say "I Love You" ☁️

Random Ursula Things

You Want to Save Yourself For Marriage

Ursula's Quilt ☁️

Super Shy Reader

Asking Them to Marry You ☁️

Reciprocating Their Feelings

Taking Your Virginity 🍋

Blind Reader

Serial Killer Reader 🔪

How Bad Are They for Your S/O 🔪

Doctor Ursula ☁️ (upcoming)

Finnean Taylor

Random Finn Things

Work of Art 🔪

Serial Killer Reader 🔪

How Bad Are They for Your S/O 🔪

[little-prick]

Logic brain says nothing about Dwight is yandere, but I love my scrunkly little scrimblo and I wanna write something about him.

He's so nervous and pathetic that you'd never suspect him. But he's been in the Entity's realm longer than anyone else, he's smarter than you realize, smarter than any of the survivors realize. Subtle sabotage of other survivors to keep you safe (maybe causing a bit too much noise near Ace and then slipping away to go find you,) grows to straight up throwing others into harms way just to give you a better chance of survival.

But the trials aren't the only time his behavior comes to light. Come sit by the campfire with him, he saved you a spot right by his side, nevermind that he threatened the others to leave the space open. Or maybe you're feeling a little extra freaked out because of a bad trial. Don't worry, Dwight will be there to hold your hand and dry your tears. Dont bother asking anyone else for support, you wont get it from them.

The survivors know that there’s only so much he can do to them, every last one of you is powerless afterall, but they've all become so weary of dying over and over that they would rather not risk having two people out to get them during a trial.

But he's so gentle with you, always stuttering over his words or hiding his face. How could he ever do anything sinister? Surely Dwight wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a fellow survivor.

[little-prick]

Damn people really liked this one and I thought it was one of my weaker works 😳

Maybe I should just write for DBD characters now lmao

[monfufu]

[forsakenoathkeeper]

if u dont acknowledge the fanfics u read, the writer won’t think anyone is actually taking the time to read their stuff, which makes our effort feel wasted and our passions feel worthless

[wintermoonqueen]

Tell. The. Fanfic. Writers. How. You. Feel.

[starscheme]

I will always reblog this. It’s important.

[naruto-scenarios-plus-akatsuki]

Very important.

[dickinson-67]

As a fanfic writer I always get scared that people are going to be upset by my late chapters

[merppppppppppppppppp]

I will always re-blog. Remember that as writers or creative’s in general we are able to improve our craft by getting feedback because it helps us to know what our audience likes and responds to so don’t feel anxiety about commenting because commenting is literally helping and you should never feel anxious about helping someone

[reesie-puff]

please please please tell the writers how ya feel. i write tons on wattpad, and nobody tells me anything about my books. please, it makes us feel unappreciated and like our writing isn’t good.

[lauralestrange7]

This is exactly true…

[rain-on-kamino-deactivated20231]

Please… tell us what you think.

[exxasperatedauthor]

This!!

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

if engament is low, writers will assume that their work isn’t interesting to the fandom, and they’ll stop posting their work, because people don’t care about it anyways right?

meanwhile I had people randomly reach out to me abt how much they loved my fics without ever having interacted with them. Some of my fics have like 2-3 notes, but people who’ve never interacted with them tell me they love them! At first I thought nobody cared about the one-shots, so I stopped posting them, but when they told me they enjoy the stories, I kept going, it motivated me. Please, just tell writers you like their work! And if its just a “great chapter” or a “cute :)” THAT’S ALL IT TAKES

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Just want to leave a little note here for my followers who interact and show appreciation for my posts ! It really does mean the world to me and I hope that the testimonies from the others who have reblogged this post shows just how much your engagement and kind words mean to writers – and all creatives, for that matter <3 !

[banj0possum]

i to appreciate the likes and reblogs from my fans but to the people who comment, you guys make my day <3 <3 <3 thank you for going out of your way to show how much you liked my work even if its just a comment of you screaming, its awesome and i love you guys !!

[little-prick]

This 100%

Any engagement I get is cherished, it makes me feel like my writing is worth posting in the first place.

[little-prick]

Consuming - Finnean Valentines Day Special

Warnings: Blood (not yours), mentions of vomiting and heaving.

There's something special about today. That's what Finn said when you woke up this morning, at least. He won't tell you what, and it's not like he's about to let you have a calendar, so you're only allowed to guess what he could possibly be talking about. He's been gone all day, leaving you cuffed to the bed.

You stare out the window, watching as clouds roll past and the day goes on. You wish he'd at least give you a book, but when you ask he always says the same thing.

"You're my entertainment, why am I the one entertaining you?"

A book is off the table. He's made it very clear that the only way you're allowed to amuse yourself is by amusing him. And if you aren't amusing him then he has no reason to keep you alive.

You roll onto your side in an attempt to keep your joints from stiffening, but the uncomfortable tug on your arm isn't exactly helping you adjust. Just as you're about to give up hope of keeping your limbs from falling asleep, you hear the front door open.

Finnean appears in the doorway moments later, looking a bit ruffled. His hair is askew and there's dirt on his clothes. He must've been out disposing of some old art supplies. You've grown accustomed to calling them art supplies rather than what they really are, it helps keep you from the sickening realization that this home is full of ghosts.

"Did you miss me, Mouse?" He saunters up to you, eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat. "I sure missed you. It's so boring out in the woods by myself, I would have liked some company." He runs his finger along the shell of your ear as he observes you.

"But it's over now, I have some fun planned for us. It's a special occasion after all." He's leaning down now, face to face with you. He's taken to this sort of behavior more often lately, clinging to you, invading your personal space.

If you were stupid you'd think he was in love with you or something. Like that would ever happen. The only one Finn is capable of loving is himself, you're sure of that.

"You still haven't told me what's so special about today," you say. His smile widens ever so slightly.

"And ruin the surprise? Perish the thought, Mouse. You just have to wait until I'm ready to show you." Show you. You shudder.

Every time Finn has had something to show you, it's been something so gruesome and distressing that you have nightmares about it non-stop. Nightmares that he loves to watch you have. He says that your little whimpers are adorable, that the way you squirm is tantalizing.

You really wish you'd just stop dreaming altogether.

Finnean stares into your eyes just long enough to be unsettling, relishing the way you shrink under his gaze.

"I don't know that I want to see this surprise," you mutter. Finn just laughs. You hate how human his laugh sounds, as if he were a person and not a beast. As though he wasn't a monster.

"Don't be like that. I promise you'll like this one." He uncuffs you and begins dragging you out of bed. It seems like you don't have a choice.

You land flat on your ass as he shoves you into the art room, the hardwood floor a subpar cushion for your fall. Finn towers over you, watching as you obediently find your usual spot in the corner. He stares at you for a moment, satisfied, before letting you know that you'll be joining him in front of the canvas today.

"You're going to help me today, my little Mouse. I've had this piece in mind for weeks now." He opens a large cabinet on the far side of the wall. The bad cabinet. The cabinet you dread seeing every time you enter the room.

Within this big black cabinet, are large bottles, filled with a deep red liquid. Blood. But that's only the half of it. Finnean keeps a number of his more sensitive supplies. Paintbrushes made with human hair. Syringes and blades and chemicals. Gloves and towels and cleaning supplies.

You watch as he carefully selects a jug, motioning for you to approach with his free hand. You instinctively shake your head. Smirking, Finn comes to you, lazily swinging the bottle as he does. He nearly throws it at you, causing you to shriek as you're forced to decide whether you want to dodge or catch within milliseconds.

You decide, or rather, your instincts decide to catch, luckily for you. You're sure that if it had hit the floor it would have splattered and gotten all over you. You're sure Finnean would have just loved that.

"You're participating today, you'd better get used to touching it now." He grabs your wrist, dragging you over to the canvas.

"You know, Mouse, sometimes, I find myself lacking inspiration. No tool seems to properly convey the inner workings of my soul. I couldn't help but wonder if there was a better brush to help me translate your essence to the canvas," he explains, he's staring at the canvas as he speaks, as if overtaken by his vision.

"That's why you're going to be my brush today." Your stomach sinks. You can hardly stand touching the container, you'd surely faint before getting your hands on the contents. You subconsciously begin to back away, which he notices immediately, pulling you flush to his side with a grin.

"You'll do that for me, right?" He says it like a friend asking for a favor, but the meaning is clear: 'You won't annoy me, right?' Because both of you know what he's capable of if you do.

He doesn't wait for an answer as he uncaps the jug. A sharp copper scent greets you, coaxing a gag. You don't dare pull away as he rolls up your sleeve and holds out your hand, palm facing up.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to block it all out, but the sensation of sticky fluid flowing over your fingers and dripping down your forearm is too much. You dry heave and your breath quickens, the room shrinks, walls closing in on you. He may be a murderer, but you quite literally have blood on your hands now.

He laughs. God you hate it when he does that, even more so in this moment. How could he laugh? How could he enjoy this?

"Don't freak out just yet, we've barely started," your eyes are shut tight, but you can hear the grin in his voice, taunting, mocking. You feel sick.

A hand comes up to your cheek, tracing some sort of pattern on it. You barely register the sticky substance coating your face as you gasp from the coldness of his hands.

"God, you really are so fun to play with, little mouse. And you know what else?" He leans in, breath fanning over your ear, sending a violent shudder through you, "You look so pretty covered in blood. Red really is your color."

[little-prick]

Logic brain says nothing about Dwight is yandere, but I love my scrunkly little scrimblo and I wanna write something about him.

He's so nervous and pathetic that you'd never suspect him. But he's been in the Entity's realm longer than anyone else, he's smarter than you realize, smarter than any of the survivors realize. Subtle sabotage of other survivors to keep you safe (maybe causing a bit too much noise near Ace and then slipping away to go find you,) grows to straight up throwing others into harms way just to give you a better chance of survival.

But the trials aren't the only time his behavior comes to light. Come sit by the campfire with him, he saved you a spot right by his side, nevermind that he threatened the others to leave the space open. Or maybe you're feeling a little extra freaked out because of a bad trial. Don't worry, Dwight will be there to hold your hand and dry your tears. Dont bother asking anyone else for support, you wont get it from them.

The survivors know that there’s only so much he can do to them, every last one of you is powerless afterall, but they've all become so weary of dying over and over that they would rather not risk having two people out to get them during a trial.

But he's so gentle with you, always stuttering over his words or hiding his face. How could he ever do anything sinister? Surely Dwight wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a fellow survivor.

[little-prick]

lol what if I post the one valentines thing I wrote months late

[little-prick]

too late already did it

maybe I'll finish the rest of them and we can all just pretend it's still february

[little-prick]

lol what if I post the one valentines thing I wrote months late

[little-prick]

Eternal - Adam Valentines Day Special

Warnings: extreme violence towards the reader, manipulation, Adam being a big fat meanie >:(

When you and Adam were both seven years old, you made a promise to stay together forever. He distinctly remembers you sitting together in your living room after school, your cute little nose buried in a book while he draws next to you.

You had asked him the meaning of the word eternal, to which he replied that it meant forever. He'll never forget the smile you gave him when he told you that the two of you would be together forever. You promised him that day, that no matter what happened, you would always be with him.

And now you're trying to wiggle your way out of it. You, leaving? Leaving him? God, it would make him laugh if it didn't make him sick to his stomach. And you have the gall to cry; The ropes aren't even that tight! A little pain is nothing compared to the way you savagely ripped out his heart.

You stare up at him with those beautiful eyes, and he can't help but feel bad for what he's about to do. You'll understand one day though, and this will all be just a distant memory. A rough patch in your relationship and nothing more. This is for your own good, you have to understand that you were always meant to be his. You were made to love him.

He reaches down to cup your face, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. You attempt to squirm away, but the ropes hold fast, binding you to the cold steel of the folding chair.

"You know that I love you, don't you, Precious?" Your only response is a glare. He sighs, removing his hand from your face.

"You'll learn to love me too, even if it hurts."

Your gaze follows his hands as they come down to remove his belt. Breath catching in your throat, you watch as he folds it, feeling the weight of it in his palm, the leather against his skin. You strain against your bindings in a vain attempt to wrench your arms free, but it's far too late.

You feel the sting of the belt on your skin before you even register his hand moving. You manage to suppress a scream, instead gritting your teeth and taking deep, measured breaths. It's futile.

The belt comes down again, over and over, but you resist still, unwilling to submit to him. It angers him beyond belief. Don't you get it? He owns you. Any and everything he asks of you, you give him. It's how it was always meant to be. It's how it will be, you'll give in eventually, even if he has to break you.

The skin of your thighs burns with the pain, but it's nothing compared to what's to come. You know Adam, his entire life he's gotten what he wants, no matter what he had to do to get it. If he wants you to say you love him, then that's what he'll get, eventually. But you don't plan on giving up without a fight.

Adam glares down at you, scrutinizing every detail.

"Say it." Your lips remain sealed. The belt comes down across your chest now, landing against your ribcage. You bite your lip and match his glare in intensity.

"Say it," he repeats. Nothing. You force back a yelp as the belt comes across your skin again, once, twice, thrice more.

"I hate you," you spit. He freezes, eyes locking with yours. The belt falls to the floor, and for a moment you think he's going to stop.

His hand comes across your face so hard that for a moment you think your neck snapped from the force. For the first time, you scream.

"You hate me, huh?" There’s something dark in his eyes, something perverse. Something that enjoys hurting you. You've never seen Adam this angry, and especially not at you. Your smart mouth is going to kill you one of these days.

Adam is cruel and violent when he isn't pissed, so when he's angry, he's a monster. You take a deep breath, to steel your nerves. You can't let him scare you, that's what he wants.

Adam grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, his grip is so tight you swear you heard a crack.

"For as perfect as you are, you really are a fucking moron." The defiance in your gaze isn't doing you any favors, in fact, you think he might be getting angrier the longer you stare at him, so you look away.

That proves to be a mistake, as Adam releases your face and hits you square in the nose. The strangled noise you make brings a satisfied smirk to his face. You screw your eyes shut as you gasp for air. Blood drips onto your upper lip.

You're too disoriented to fully comprehend where the blows land, only vaguely understanding that there's more pain than there was before. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you're faintly aware that your nose stopped bleeding at some point, the blood having crusted over and dried.

Adam's shoulders heave with every breath. He grabs your face once more; you whimper instinctively.

"Stop acting like such a fucking brat. It's only three words. All you have to say is 'I love you' and it'll all be over." You tremble in his grip, unsure how much more of this you can take.

"Come on now, Precious. You and I both know you'd rather be done with this. I had the perfect day planned for us," he coos, "It can still happen. You just need to say it."

He's right, he's always right. You really would rather this all stop, you'd rather you weren't so stubborn, you'd rather you were happy with him. You'd rather be his, and he knows it, he's always known it. He's just trying to show you what you deserve.

"I..." you sniffle, struggling to stifle the stream of snot running down your face, "I-I love you, Adam." The words taste bitter on your tongue as you spit them out.

"Again." He's unsatisfied but loosens his grip on your face, allowing your jaw to move a bit more freely.

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you! Please, Adam, I'm sorry!" You fight back a sob that's beginning to rise in the back of your throat. He finally lets you go, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his jeans.

"See, was that so hard?" His hands are gentle as he unties the ropes and pulls you into his arms. You don't have the strength to answer. He carries you out of the basement, whispering sweet nothings to you as you drift in and out of consciousness.

His mattress is softer than you remember, but maybe it only seems that way juxtaposed against the ache in your bones. Silken sheets are pulled over your body as Adam tucks you in with a kiss on the forehead.

"Get some rest, Precious. And happy Valentine's day."

[sweet-as-an-angel]

I read your yandere dilf post just before going to sleep and had a very interesting dream as a result: yandere Wild West Outlaw!

He takes you hostage to keep the rangers from going after him after a robbery. You’re tied up in front of him on his horse and after riding away from town for a long time he doesn’t set you down somewhere like you expected but takes you with him into his hideout.

Bonus: he‘s (basically) masked > bandana covering half his face and the rim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes

Yandere Wild West Outlaw! Headcanons

Warnings: Implications of Smut, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Masked Outlaw ;), Petnames, Killing, Mentions of Robbery, Non-Consensual Voyeurism/Surveillance, Description of Injury & Blood, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, etc.

A/N: Anon, I am in love with this concept !

♡ Yandere Outlaw whose body encompasses yours, his chest to your back and his arms caging you as he grips the horse’s reigns, his breathing steady as if he hadn’t just committed a multitude of crimes. Then again, considering how proficient he was at wiping the inn clean of all its savings and tying you up on his horse before the rangers could even arrive, you suspected this was not the first time he’d done this. Nor would it be the last.

♡ Yandere Outlaw says very little after he abducted you, his last words being sharp commands, laden with a calmness you would never have expected from a man holding an entire building hostage.

♡ And, in your terror, you said nothing to him, your back to his front as he rode to nowhere discernible, the civilised, populated terrain of your home town having melted away hours ago.

♡ No, the Outlaw gave nothing away. Even after days of being forced to travel with him to what you could only pray would be a town – somewhere for him to dispose of you before taking to the canyons again – he said nothing.

♡ He’d offer you food, and, after the first 24 hours of starving yourself out of sheer distrust – or principle, as you wanted to see it – you succumbed to your famine.

♡ Yandere Outlaw would feed it to you before disappearing behind whatever cover lay nearby – oftentimes his horse – and eat.

♡ Whatever lay beneath his bandana was a mystery to you. And it only took you trying to see what he looked like once to see that your endeavour was a hopeless one.

♡ You’d strained and leaned past the point of no return, falling onto your side.

♡ And Outlaw came back into view, adjusting his bandana back over his nose, the shadow cast over his eyes by his hat much like that descending over the valley you now inhabited.

♡ Your heart stammered as he grew closer, the spurs of his boots the land equivalent to the fin of a shark as Outlaw came to a stop before you.

♡ He got to one knee, so quietly that you could see why nobody ever saw him coming, and, brushing a lock of hair from your face with a gloved hand, chuckled.

♡ Low and rumbling, like an earthquake. Or one of God’s many natural disasters. A gruff, brief thing as ephemeral as life itself. 

♡ “Don’t get yourself all scuffed up now, Darlin’,” he says. His hand trails from just behind your ear, tracing your jaw, the tendons in your neck, stopping just short of where your shirt hangs above your collar bones.

♡ You think that you hear him hiss. So sibilant and soft you’re unsure whether you perhaps imagined it and rather heard the conversation of pit vipers laying just below the hard sand beneath your ear.

♡ Outlaw’s head tilts, his face no clearer to you now as it was days ago, especially now with the setting sun casting a misplaced halo about his hat-clad head, his front shadowed. Two sides, one a light facade, the other his true nature.

♡ “You’re no good to me broken.”

♡ Yandere Outlaw whose only elaboration of that cryptic sentiment comes in the form of another day’s travel, during which you remained firmly bound – and gagged at one juncture when you made the mistake of crying for help when you spotted a lone merchant out on the open road.

♡ Yandere Outlaw neutralised that channel of freedom for you very quickly with a crack of a bullet, leaving you glassy-eyed and breathless as he ransacked the merchant’s travel cabin, taking all manner of valuables.

♡ “Why, thank you, Darlin’,” he says, his gloved hand coming to rest on your knee, clapping down on you and making you jump – shriek. And he squeezes with all the familiarity of someone who’s done this before.

♡ “Wouldn’t’a found this here haul if you hadn’t tried to scream your pretty little head off.”

♡ Yandere outlaw knows that’s isn’t quite true; he’s an excellent tracker, and an even better marksman. He’d have found this travelling man on his own eventually; the outcome would have been identical. But you didn’t need to know that.

♡ The gag was practically useless after that, for your desire to keep others from the same fate as the travelling salesman had you quiet as a mouse.

♡ Yandere Outlaw can sense how rigid you are – less so than you were when he’d first taken you, but you still felt…different. You were loose in the way that submission often made people slaves to fatigue, to their fate. And he couldn’t help but wonder if you’d succumbed to yours so soon, especially when, as you finally drifted off to sleep after a day and a half without it, you leaned into his chest, head to his shoulder.

♡ Unwillingly, of course. Your exhaustion weighed you down, lead. You had no control over your unconscious body, regardless of how repulsive you found the pillow you were leaning on.

♡ Yandere Outlaw can’t help but let his gaze drift from the open canyon ahead, gradually giving way to caves and rocky rivers, to your face. You were tranquil in sleep, brew no longer knotted in worry, or fear. Just…sleep.

♡ Yandere Outlaw could feel his hands twitching, the urge to touch you creeping up behind him the longer he stared at your vulnerable form.

♡ Yandere outlaw who, for a second, and a second only, let his hand slip from the reigns and slither, slowly, to your knee, up the expanse of your clothed thigh.

♡ Yandere Outlaw’s heart who, for the first time in a long time, beats at a humming bird’s pace when you shift in your slumber, making him withdraw.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, watching, waiting for you to settle back into sleep, kept his hands from you the rest of the night. Though temptation beckons him to do otherwise.

♡ Yandere Outlaw shifted behind you, waking you. Only when you were torn from a dream of being anywhere but here did you realise the horse had come to a stop, an unfamiliar breeze settling over you.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, unsaddling you from the horse, carries you like a bride in his arms, kicking open the door to an abode you didn’t even know was there.

♡ Yandere Outlaw sets you down beside a pole, tying you to it. Tightly.

♡ “Welcome home, Dollface,” he says, hands settling on his belt as he watches your eyes jump from one corner to another, taking in these new surroundings, these new circumstances.

♡ Of course, you don’t accept the conditions Outlaw has roped you into. Not without a fight.

♡ Yandere Outlaw, as a result, had to keep his eye on you when you initially began your residence with him. 

♡ For the first couple of weeks, he’d take you to the waterfall to bathe every other day; would watch you as you did so. At first, bashful and uncomfortable, you’d asked him to turn around as you stood exposed. To which the Outlaw just laughed. “Ain’t much worth lookin’ at,” he’d reassured you.

♡ Yandere outlaw who tells you exactly how the day’s going to go.

♡ “You’re gonna cook whatever I bring back. Y’understand ?”

♡ Yandere Outlaw who initially only lets you chop up vegetables and bread, withholding the excuse to use a sharp knife from you by intentionally not collecting any meat.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, before taking even a bite of the meal you prepare, makes you taste it first. “I know you little crafty types; poison enough in your veins to kill a horse.”

♡ Translation: “You’re having this first to make sure it’s not going to kill me.”

♡  Yandere Outlaw who, after that initial hurdle, though he won’t admit it, feels his tongue practically bursting with flavour when he tastes your soup for the first time. Though, he keeps it under wraps, his form hidden behind a wall, his bandana pulled down.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, with little alternative to offer you, makes you sleep in his bed.

♡ “Either that, or you’re sleepin’ outside.”

♡ He still wears the bandana btw, and wears a sleep mask over his eyes.

♡ He doesn’t touch you. Not in intentional ways, it would seem.

♡ Not at first.

♡ A light brush of the hand here and there. 

♡ Sure, the urge to bask in the aura of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen is pretty overwhelming for the Outlaw. Especially since he doesn’t understand why he feels this way, never having felt it for anyone else before.

♡ Sure, he’s taken others, some much more enthusiastic than others (you don’t get to his level of notoriety without attracting a few hundred fans).

♡ So, when you’re asleep, an arm and a leg bound to the bedpost, he watches you.

♡ He tells himself it’s for his own safety, to make sure you’re not going to reach for a weapon and gut him like a pig.

♡ But when he sees your gentle face, he knows you’re incapable of that

♡ He likes to think that you’re incapable of anything without him around. Makes him feel bigger, stronger.

♡ So why exactly was he still looking upon you into the late hours of the night ?

♡ Over time, his resolve begins to crack.

♡ Especially with every aspect of your partnership accounted for.

♡ The baths, the bed sharing, the homemade cooking – it’s just all so…

♡ Domestic.

♡ But, that doesn’t make Outlaw trust you any more than the day he first took you. Not yet, at least.

♡ Despite his confidence in his own ability to keep you here, he knows the indomitable human spirit is strong enough to break through every precaution. And, just in case you do manage to escape, he’s making sure you can’t pick him out of a lineup if you make it to law enforcement – if the vultures don’t pick you off first.

♡ Yandere Outlaw makes you cook every night, under the guise of you “Needin’ your strength to straighten this place out.”

♡ Yandere Outlaw who appoints you as his head housekeeper, making it your sole responsibility to be the “homemaker” of the two of you.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who feels strange when he sees you with one of his shirts tied about your waist – a makeshift apron – who doesn’t even recognise this feeling as domesticity. Warmth. That feeling of security having been deprived of him all his life.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who wonders what you’d look like wearing one of his shirts.

♡ And something in his brain chemistry changes.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, during your river baths, knocks your clothes into the stream when you’re not looking, offering you his shirt when you’re ready to come out.

♡ “Y’really should be careful,” he tells you, swallowing thickly as the neckline of his shirt dips below your collarbones, drowning you. He looks away, not trusting that the feeling coiling in his lower half won’t spring out at any moment. “Men might take advantage of a pretty lil’ thing like you. Especially when you’re so…” A shiver shoots up his spine. “Vulnerable.”

♡ Your clothes seem to disappear not long after that, leaving you only with whatever consisted of the Outlaw’s wardrobe.

♡ You notice that he seems to disappear at odd hours of the day, leaving you to your chores while he does something.

♡ Little do you know that the something he is doing is a secret he’ll take to his grave.

♡ The sight of you in his shirts, of you in the river, is too much for him.

♡ He takes to hiding out in a densely vegetated patch of land behind the cabin to…relieve himself of his thoughts of you. Thoughts he’s used to sustaining for perhaps a second or two when it came to his prior conquests. Thoughts that, now, a month into your capture, extend long into his nights and speckle his logic when he’s on a mission.

♡ It’s dangerous, he knows; to have his mind elsewhere while he risks his life for the loot he so desires. But he can’t deny that they make him feel human. Normal.

♡ Despite how un-normal this entire situation is.

♡ It takes every ounce of his restraint not to just tie you down and take you while you sleep beside him, make you scream and cry for him as he empties his frustration and, dare he say, lust, into you.

♡ But, he doesn’t want to scare you off.

♡ Doesn’t want to see your eyes light up in fear whenever he enters the room.

♡ He wants something else.

♡ Something that he doesn’t have a word for.

♡ It’s only when he happens across a conversation with you, asking you if you had “A lover boy back home,” that he found the word he was looking for.

♡ You wince at the question, the memory of your life away from this situation salt in an unhealed wound.

♡ “No,” you tell him, your honesty a virtue. “Haven’t been in a relationship yet.”

♡ Relationship.

♡ It felt right to the Outlaw when he heard it; especially coming from you.

♡ It sticks with him the rest of the day, and while you’re cooking dinner, washing the Outlaw’s clothes, dusting the sparse furniture, he’s got one thing on his mind.

♡ How to get you into a relationship with him.

♡ He’s completely unequipped to deal with someone on such an intimate level, so he uses all his knowledge he’s gathered while seducing and bedding others to piece together a game plan.

♡ First, he needs to know what you like. He remembers from that one time a woman hit him with her shoe when he forgot her name ten minutes after meeting her.

♡ So, he starts hanging around you (much) more often, making you sit down and tell him about yourself.

♡ As he makes you spend time in his company, he comes to learn of the fanciful little things you enjoy.

♡ At first, the details are dry and few and far between, with you giving very little about yourself away.

♡ But, as his persistence drags into days, you eventually just start telling him whatever he asks, so long as it’s not too personal.

♡ Or painful.

♡ Whenever the outlaw can see you're starting to become upset, being reminded of your circumstances, he eases up on the personal questions and just asks superficial ones.

♡ “How’re ya feeling today ?” “D’ya eat well this mornin’ ?” “D’ya need me to dust a shelf down or something’ ?”

♡ His miniscule acts of selflessness are extensions of his effort to make you at least not hate him. Though you didn’t know this. His thought process was still an enigma to you.

♡ He also stalks you in his own home.

♡ Listens to you sing while you complete your tasks, your voice the softest thing he’s heard since…well, ever.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, when he embarks on a hunt, never tells you where or when, and never even the how.

♡ The only clue you’ll ever be given as to his nigh-weekly excursions are trinkets he brings with him. Ones which you thought he’d pawn elsewhere in the county at a later date, or bury in the canyon somewhere.

♡ Until he offers them to you.

♡ At first, you’re not sure what to make of these…gifts ?

The first time he gave you one, he said nothing, only watching you.

♡ You swore you could see his shoulders heaving beneath his jacket, something almost feral in his demeanour. Pressurising.

♡ And, with the possibility of what could happen to you should you decline these acts of…generosity…You just take them, uttering a quiet “Thank you,” before putting them in a kitchen cabinet, unsure of the intent behind them.

♡ The first few times this happened, you were befuddled.

♡ Yet, with how gently the Outlaw placed them in your hands, with how intense his gaze was, even though you couldn’t see it beneath the permanent shadow across his brow, you could feel it.

♡ It was only one evening when the Outlaw returned with yet more loot that the meaning behind the trinkets became apparent.

♡ His hand disappears into the inside pocket of his jacket, and he withdraws a small box; rounded and bejewelled like an idol. He comes to stand before you, and, shoulders pinned abc and rigid, you swallow. Thickly.

♡ He looks down at the box, and,his finger dragging along the edge, slowly, he relinquishes it to you.

♡ And, by pure force of habit, you accept.

♡ You turn the box gingerly between your fingers, the dim candlelight from within the cabin just barely warding off the black of the night, setting the precious stones welded within the metal alight.

♡ “Well,” the Outlaw says, making you jump. You look up at him, eyes wide.

♡ “Open it.”

♡ He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

♡ Swallowing again, your gaze skitters back to the box.

♡ And, with bated breath, you lift the lid.

♡ A delicate, silver melody slithers from the portal you’ve opened, a serpentine tune wrapping around your mind, vivid, beloved memories riding on its feathered wings.

♡ Your favourite song.

♡ For a moment, one sweet, fragile moment, you’re not here.

♡ You’re back at home, in a warm bed that is yours and yours alone, surrounded by the people who matter most to you, any celebration mankind can conjure not even a whisper of the joy you feel in this scene.

♡ And then, as the wind blows autumn leaves from the human mind, the memory is gone, taken away by reality realising it has neglected you.

♡ You’re looking into nothing now, the apparition of your past slipping from you, your eyes wavered and muffled with…

♡ Tears.

♡ In your periphery, just outside the realm of reality you’re returning to, the Outlaw’s drilling gaze drops from you to the floor ina  rare show of anticipation. A hand comes to the back of his neck, where he squeezes the skin. A stress ball.

♡ “Do you…” he begins, “Do ya like it ?”

♡ Your stare inches from the void up to the outlaw’s hidden face.

♡ Perhaps if he had a discernible human feature, you could sense anticipation there. But as it stood, this was no man, but a phantom.

♡ One which must have heard and remembered that tune you often sang while completing chores.

♡ You couldn’t take it.

♡ To have him acknowledge the memory – to make it more real – nailed your coffin shut.

♡ And you broke down.

♡ When you crumpled into a pile, the Outlaw took a step back, one hand reaching for his holster; a knee-jerk reaction.

♡ And what little solace he could offer came in a most inconspicuous display.

♡ The Outlaw got to one knee, now at your level.

♡ And, with a careful hand, he placed a gloved finger upon your shoulder. Then another. Then another.

♡ Spidery and unfamiliar, foreign, the Outlaw’s actions were jerky, janky, an unoiled machine. But he was trying.

♡ When his hand lay against the curve of your shoulder, you did not move. Did not shunt him off or scream at him to let go.

♡ You remained where you were, weeping into your shirt apron.

♡ And the Outlaw, with a fiery grip encircling his heart, feeling brewing in his centre, stronger than all those implicatures and desires. This was solid, unlike the quicksand foundations upon which the Outlaw’s every emotion was built upon.

♡ Was this…

♡ Empathy ?

♡ His grip on your shoulder tightened, the revelation swarming through him like locusts.

♡ He swallowed. Tried thinking through the orchestra in his mind.

♡ “S’okay,” he said. To you, and to himself. His fingers moved gently, your skin and muscle warm through the leather of his gloves. “You’re okay.”

♡ Things changed after that.

♡ He no longer forced you to sleep in the same bed as him, instead bringing back with him a fine silk cover from one of his trips, gifting it to you.

♡ Yet, you still chose to sleep in the same bed as him.

♡ “It’ll be getting cold soon,” you said. “WIth winter coming, and all.”

♡ And, while this new feeling, raw and fresh, was…nice compared to the emptiness that often lingered in his chest, the Outlaw couldn’t help but feel weakened by this influx of emotion.

♡ When he tried to have his alone time with his thoughts of you, he felt…wrong.

♡ Ashamed.

–

♡ You were used to him disappearing for days at a time. Hell, you'd come to expect it at this point in your captivity.

♡ But something about tonight felt...off.

♡ Not that you'd ever admit it, even to yourself, but with the amount of time you'd spent together these last few months, you no longer hated being in his company.

♡ In fact, on the days he would be gone from the early hours of the morn to the late hours of the evening, you could even say you...missed it.

♡ And, unfortunately, despite your every instinct swaying you otherwise, you find that to be the case now.

♡ But, more than that, you're concerned. Something you'd never thought you'd feel for a murderer, a thief. Your kidnapper.

♡ And your pacing, your lip-chewing, your nail-biting are all proven justified when the Outlaw slams against the front door, stumbling through.

♡ At first, you just watch, ready to yell, to ask where he's been the last few days, until you see it.

♡ A bloodied handprint on the door.

♡ He staggers in, swaying on uneven footing, his breathing stifled,as if through a thin straw. He wheezes, collapsing into the doorframe beside him.

♡ And you rush to him. As if he wasn't the one who put you here to begin with. As if whatever's bringing him to his knees now wasn't justified, provoked.

♡ But you don't think of any of that, your mind filled only with the fact that nobody knows you're out here. Without guidance, you'd be dead before you reached the edge of the canyon encompassing your hiding place.

♡ You needed him alive.

♡ After wrestling him onto his bed, almost buckling beneath his weight, you found the source of his downfall.

♡ A wound; bullet-bitten and bleeding, a rouge flower burgeoning with the promise of extinction.

♡ You tried getting him to talk, to tell you what to do. But his voice was barely a whisper, instead using what little seeping strength that remained to point to a cabinet.

♡ Inside, you found what you knew would be needed to heal him. Whether it – you – could save him, though, was another story.

♡ You tried taking his bandana off to see if he was hurt elsewhere, but to no avail. Despite the life draining from his body, he somehow found it in himself to stop you, to place a gloved, trembling hand atop yours, an imploring aura to the gesture.

♡ Don't.

♡ And, for the first time, beneath the dim light of the cabin, you could see something human on him.

♡ It existed only in the form of a shimmer beneath the shadow of his hat, his face still very much obscured, yet the emotions on it were not.

♡ You recognised this emotion, for you'd worn it yourself, both inwardly and out, for the last three months.

♡ Fear.

♡ In its purest and most carnal form.

♡ And a voice, strained with either agony or disuse.

♡ “Help me.”

♡ Throughout the night, you tended to Outlaw's wound. A maw-like, gaping thing it was, spouting blood as one would bucket water out of a sinking boat.

♡ Luckily, you didn't have to worry about shrapnel; the bullet went clean through outlaw's side, leeaving only the aftermath and not the instigator. You managed to stop the bleeding, use the stitching on Outlaw's shirt (which was basically yours now) to sew the wound closed.

♡ For the first time, Outlaw was uncharacteristically human.

♡ Sure, you'd seen the scars on his back when he bathed, the many brushes with death he'd encountered, some advancing into a dance, much like this night's escapade had been.

♡ But you knew, somewhere, somehow, that without another pair of hands here, Outlaw likely wouldn't have pulled through.

♡ Not this time.

♡ And now, here you sat, at Outlaw's beck and call, his bedside your new home.

♡ You watched over him, the cabin silent, the night just as quiet. Even the crickets seemed to chirp quieter, either out of fear or respect for the almost dearly departed.

♡ And, looking up from the massacre on the bed, your gaze swept the room. And you realise something.

♡ The front door, which neither you, nor Outlaw locked, is unguarded.

♡ Yandere outlaw is riddled with sleep, his agony having stripped him of his energy and his strength.

♡ So...why hadn't you tried to escape yet ?

♡ Looking over at Outlaw, sound asleep, you realised just how easy it would be to walk out that door.

♡ Sure, you might get lost. Might die of hypothermia during the freezing hours of a dessert night, but with enough layers, food and water, you saw no reason as to why you couldn't just leave right now.

♡ After all, it wasn't like you'd be killing Outlaw if you left. Sure he might die of infection, or blood loss if his stitches come undone. But you'd at least tried to help him. So your conscience wasn't going to be the issue.

♡ So what was stopping you ?

♡ Looking back at the Outlaw, you felt strange.

♡ The urge to protect him, to care for him, outweighed even your greatest notion of escape, which explained why the thought to do so hadn't hit you until just now.

♡ You bit your lip, looking between Outlaw and the door.

♡ Both options were tantilisingly easy to pursue, and yet only one would be available to you, the other perishing if you ignored it.

♡ Maybe hours passed. Maybe it was mere minutes.

♡ But watching the Outlaw sleep, at his most vulnerable, with his pleading “Help me,” rattling around in your mind, the choice already seemed to be made for you. You just didn't want to tell yourself exactly why. 

♡ So...you stayed.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere Masterpost Masterpost

[little-prick]

Hi everyone! Just wanted to let you all know that the reason I've been inactive is because I'm busy job searching right now and it's taking a lot out of me. I don't know when I'll be back to posting regularly but you can expect a valentines special for each yandere on the 14th! I pinky promise I'll get them done on time.

[little-prick]

Hey what if I was a liar? A huge liar and big dumb idiot?

What if I just disappeared for like, months with no warning? 😳

Anyway I'm alive, I'm sorry, I'll probably write something soon or maybe I'll just vanish again idk.

[thisholyday-deactivated20240711]

His Cold Knife, Your Warm Blood

Ghostface x Reader

Synopsis: Ghostface wants to take your "relationship" to the next stage.

Warnings: Murder, gore (it’s dbd) wound fingering? yandere content (it's danny...), implied necrophilia, reader death

tag list: @p00pdev1l @lusts1ck @letskidaddle @princessfetus

2939 words

A lone crow sits on the shoddy railing of the boat, looking around. Its eye settles on you, trudging up the boat stairs and trying to keep low. You hope it doesn’t caw, please don’t caw. Please don’t fly away, and don’t alert the hooded man of your location. The boat stairs creak under your weight and you cringe at every small noise. You shuffle into the small room on deck, having to crawl so you aren’t seen through the large windows. You briefly wonder if this boat ever was on the water, not docked perpetually in a putrid bog. You hold your side, careful not to leave a blood trail.

You settle down in the far corner, between the wall and a barrel. If there were a locker here you’d be able to hide. There must be one somewhere on the boat, but you’re too scared to go looking for it. You have no plan, no medical kit to patch yourself up, and no idea of what to do. Dread swirls in your stomach and your legs feel like jello. It’s bad enough you’re the last one standing in this trial, even worse that it’s Ghostface who’s after you. You try to lay on your side, not the side your stab wound is on. It seems to be the least painful position, curled into yourself. Just for now, until you can come up with an idea of what to do. 

Mud and debris make their home on your skin and in your wounds, and if you were still in your world, you would surely have an infection by now. There are deep scratches on your leg where your skin breaks to reveal your flesh. There’s a deep stab wound in your side, just below your ribs. Ghostface let you get away after he plunged his knife into you, evidently, he wasn’t done with you. It hurts to breathe, your lungs burn and your eyes prick with tears. If you were someone else, like Meg or David, you’d have the strength and experience to push through. 

Alas, you’re just you. The newest addition to the endless fog. You’re still getting used to the near-constant blows to the head, stabs in the gut, and slashes to your back; the whiplash of being suddenly in perfect health after being brought to the brink of death. 

Tucked in the top room of the old paddle steamer, you try to listen to the sound of the Blackwater Swamp. Roaches scuttle in the cramped room you’re in, and insects buzz and hum all around the boat. Crows softly caw to each other, jumping from perch to perch. Everyone else is dead, they died too fast. It was you, Laurie, David, and Ace against Ghostface. In theory, you should have had a good chance of escaping this trial. Laurie was highly experienced with generators and sneaking around, David could throw a solid punch if it came to it, and Ace was good at distraction and wasting a killer's time. You could have stuck with Laurie or David and been safe. In theory.

Ghostface knows this, he knows everything about all four of you. He knows his best chance is to whittle you all down to just you and Ace. He knows the best way to scare you is to kill Ace in front of you, give you a glimpse of what's in store.

Your best option is to look for the open hatch, though you aren’t hopeful. Maybe it would be better to die from blood loss in this match. You think about trying to hurt yourself to hurry the process along, you’d rather die by your own hand than Ghostface’s. At least then there would be some illusion of control.

Ghostface never offered you to the entity, never threw you onto a hook, and had the rusted metal pierce you. He always killed you himself, and in the most intimate and perverse of ways. Whether it was by strangulation, slitting your throat, or (your least favorite), torturing you and making you beg for death, he always made it just that more disgusting. Ghostface made it a point to show you how worked up he was getting over killing you, with his heavy breathing and once dragging his tongue across your cheek, getting a mouthful of blood and dirt.  

Every stab, every cut, and slash is calculated. Every torture session was planned. You wonder sometimes if Ghostface has any medical background, he always knows what tendons to cut through and where to slice for the most pain. 

He drags things out, always targeting you specifically. The others warned you that sometimes he fixates on certain survivors, but you didn’t know it would be this bad. Being dragged into trials to be used as bait by your other survivors so they can escape, being offered sympathetic looks or empty promises of “We’ll make sure you get out this time!”. It was isolating, being the butt of a sick joke only Ghostface was in on.

It had been an off-hand comment from Claudette, it must have been your third trial ever. Poor you, poor unfortunate, stupid you. You didn’t know it at the time, and neither did Claudette, but her attempt to try to reassure you then would be the catalyst for him. 

“Maybe because you’re new, some of them might go a bit easy on you.” She offered, and it was a bold lie. If anything, the majority of these brutes were going to tear you apart just because you were new. The thought of it amuses Ghostface, tickles him pink if you will. So, in an impromptu move, he pounced when the opportunity was right. Your scream was perfect, more than Ghostface could have hoped for. When he cut into you like you were a piece of meat, you screamed the whole time. Your shrieking and the sickening crunches and snaps of your fragile body were like music to his ears. He was sure Claudette heard it, no matter how far she ran. A wonderfully ironic performance, if only you had kept up the struggle toward the end. Ghostface would have liked you to have a bit more fight, but he can’t be greedy. He hopes the other survivors heard it too, he hoped his show of brutality would serve as a reminder to them.  

The insects and unshapely frogs in the bayou cease their noise as if they were making way for him. The crows caw and flee their post, you can hear their wings beating as they fly off. His combat boots hit the mud, they tread on the creaky floorboards of the Pale Rose. He knows just where to step, and what planks of wood make the most noise. Every footstep is calculated, he’s done this a million times. They get louder, climbing up the stairs and onto the deck of the boat. He’s just outside the small room, you can hear him on the other side of the wall. He walks slowly and deliberately, building up his anticipation as you build up your dread.

He always knows how to scare you, how to make you cower and fret. He’s studied you, every action and slip of the tongue, every jerk or twitch. Ghostface, with too much confidence, can say that he knows you better than you know yourself. 

Ghostface pokes his head in, seeing you lying on your side. Each footstep closer to you makes you tremble further. Maybe if you play up how pathetic and sad you are, he’ll go easy on you this time. Maybe he’ll even take you to the hatch out of pity?

…

Who are you kidding?

You keep your eyes shut, face scrunched in pain. Whatever he’s about to do, you don’t want to see. You try to imagine something else, anything else. You’ll be at the campfire soon, you can catch up with the others. Kate will be playing her guitar, maybe she’ll play that song you always like. You try to focus on how it goes, the way her fingers strum the piece and-

Leather-gloved hands grab you by the ankles, dragging you into the middle of the room and turning you on your back. Your eyes shoot open, seeing the bloodied mask of the killer. He’s looking down at you, black empty sockets staring into your pained eyes, and you shut them again. You hope he makes it quick, you don’t have the stomach to deal with his antics today. Ghostface comes down to straddle your hips, his hands on either side of your head, the wood creaking beneath them as he supports his weight. Your arms are glued to your side, muscles tense. You cringe, not enjoying how close he is. Just think of Kate again, think of her and her guitar, and Feng, Feng too-

“Hey, open your eyes. I got something for you.”

Ghostfaces voice is clearer than you expected, you assume he lifted his mask slightly. It drags you out of your feeble attempt at a daydream. You don’t want to open your eyes, you’re more than sure this is one of his cruel antics. You don’t entertain the killer with a response either. He isn’t expecting you to.

“Are you scared? I promise you’ll like what you see.”

He drawls, wearing a lazy grin on his face. There’s something touching your forehead. It’s warm. It isn’t Ghostfaces mask; it isn’t his leather gloves or his steel knife. Warm breath tickles your face and someone's forehead presses against yours. 

You only ever saw under the mask twice, if that. The first time was when he licked your face, and you barely got a glimpse of him then. The second was when Nea slammed a wooden palette over his head with a painfully loud thunk. If Ghostface didn’t have brain damage before, he surely had some now. You had been paces ahead, looking back upon hearing a muffled groan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him slip up, he must have been off his game that day. In doing so, his mask had fallen off and he was forced to cover his face with a gloved hand. You got the faintest glimpse of the monster underneath.

You’d never seen a man with so much vitriol, with such an overwhelming urge to kill. Not until that day.

The bog is quiet, overwhelmingly so. You strain your ear, desperate to hear something. If it weren’t for Ghostfaces steady breaths and the warmth coming from his body, you would have thought he left. You hate that he’s warm; it removes him from the inhuman image you assigned him to. You can hear him swallow thickly, waiting for you to look at him. To see whatever it is he has to show you. 

There’s something pressed against your lips, and you don’t recognize it at first. The so foreign yet so familiar feeling of a lover's kiss. It catches you so off guard you gasp a little, allowing Ghostface more entrance to your mouth. By the time you realize what’s happening your eyes fly open with a shriek. Ghostfaces teeth clamp down on your lip, biting down hard. You scream again, muffled by his now gorey kiss. It hurts your entire jaw, he’s bitten so hard you think he’s close to tearing that chunk out of your face. 

Ghostface pulls away, a trail of saliva and blood connecting the two of you. On your face is an expression he can never tire of; you look like a deer caught in headlights. A wounded doe facing the Big Bad Wolf. Finally, he’s got your attention.

You don’t know who you’re looking at.

This is not Ghostface, it can’t be. You’re unsure of what you expected under the mask, but not… this. Clean-shaven, groomed brows, there was hardly a flaw on his face. His dark hair was semi-pushed back, some of it falling across his face. It matched his dark eyes. He was handsome, like a late 80’s movie star. The worst part though was how he could have been someone you knew. If not for the blood on his thin lips, running down his chin, he looked like a normal person. Someone in your lecture hall, a man you sat next to on the bus, passed in the grocery store. Yes, his eyes were slightly disturbed, but he doesn’t look like a killer.

Then again, what does a killer look like?

His face, his presentation, everything about him is carefully manicured. Every pluck of his brows, to shave or not to shave, how to style his hair, decided all with the intent to impress you. Not that you know, nor does Ghostface expect you to know. To him, you are an idiot. An endearing one, yes, but an idiot. 

“Do you want the hatch?” He pops the question suddenly, dangling the prospect of an easy escape in front of you. Your mouth is still open, disbelieving. He’s showing you his face, now asking if you want to escape. The answer is no, the answer should be no. He’s going to make this weird, or he’s lying. The answer is no, he’s playing a mean trick on you, he’s going to close the hatch shut right in front of you and slit your throat over it.

“...Yeah.”

“Kiss me then.” “What?” You said, brows knitting further. Ghostface grabs your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks together—pain blooms from your lip, and more blood trails out. “Kiss me, and I’ll give you the hatch. I’ll take you there, I know where it is.” He says as if it's an offer you’d be stupid to refuse. Perhaps it is, maybe this is a decision that will go beyond this one trial. Ghostfaces fingers tap against your side, pressing near your stab wound.

“No way, that’s gross.” You groan. You gain nothing from this, your hatch escape will be an insignificant blip in your endless torture in the fog. Ghostface gets your willing humiliation, something to hold over your head, and if he’s fast enough, a photograph. Ghostface’s mouth twitches, and he asks again. “Not even one?” Two of his fingers poke directly into the knife entrance, getting a sharp gasp out of you. “Why not? Scared you’ll fall in love with me?” He says with a low, teasing inflection. Maybe in another time, if you two had met at a bar and you were drunk enough to ignore his conflated self-importance, you might have taken the bait and kissed him. 

“I am not kissing you.” You grit your teeth, looking him in the eye. His gaze holds an unidentifiable emotion, for the briefest moment it appears he’s disappointed. No matter, he planned for every answer of yours. Another opportunity for him to exert his control and hold over you. His fingers plunge further into your wound, jamming into it, scissoring it, and damaging the flesh further. A mix of a sharp gasp and scream rips from your throat, it hurts beyond belief. He treats your cut like something lewd, to be teased and savored. Ghostface has to be careful, popping a boner isn’t part of tonight’s plan, and your bloodied face and pathetic whining aren’t helping. 

“You really are a tease.” He murmurs, removing his fingers from you and tasting the gore on his gloves. He relishes in the face you make. He sits up, getting out his camera from underneath his cloak. Ghostface has plenty of photos of you, most of them are of your corpse. When you’re alive, you really like to move around. Cute, but not very photogenic. 

You don’t know it, but there are nine photos of Ghostface, in some way, desecrating your dead body. He wouldn’t call it that of course, he considers it a form of veneration. It’s safer this way when you aren’t able to voice your disgust or try to push his loving touch off. It’s born from insecurity, though he will never admit it to himself. He doesn’t think he can ever repay his gratitude to the Entity for letting him have an extra few minutes with your body at the end of trials before it all ends. 

Ghostface hates the number nine, it’s an ugly number. Ten is perfect, it’s crisp and its multiples are used to measure things. People measure in 10s, not 9s. He hopes that tonight, he can get his tenth photo. He wants you to be alive this time.

“Smile for me.” He says, and before you can react he’s going to kiss you again. You shriek into his mouth and want to scream further at the sound of a camera flash and its bright light. You’re sure whatever photo he just took is unflattering. Ghostface has experience with taking photos while in motion, his hand is trained to be steady to get the best picture for him, his tenth photo. 

Of course, it was a trick, he would have kissed you regardless of your answer. Between your aching body, bruised lips, and the stretched hole in your side you aren’t sure how much more you can take. You hope he ends it soon. He sets his camera down, replacing it with an all-too-familiar hunting knife. He tilts your chin up with his other hand, savoring that look on your face before he digs his knife into your tender skin. Dark blood sprays wildly onto his face, and your pathetic gasping and gurgling are soon cut short as he keeps at it, severing your flesh. 

He hopes you’re more cooperative in the next trial you two share. He can’t wait.

[little-prick]

Hi everyone! Just wanted to let you all know that the reason I've been inactive is because I'm busy job searching right now and it's taking a lot out of me. I don't know when I'll be back to posting regularly but you can expect a valentines special for each yandere on the 14th! I pinky promise I'll get them done on time.

[little-prick]

How bad can yanderes be for your S/O?

I think they'd all be pretty bad, but in very different ways. So in order of least to most bad for the health of your S/O, here they are

Adam is surprisingly tame. No outright violence, he has other ideas. As your best friend, he's obviously the person you talk to the most about your relationship, all he needs to do is sow little seeds of doubt. Eventually, you begin to resent little quirks about your partner that you once adored. Then he gradually steps it up, nitpicking their habits and behaviors, then calling out their "questionable" choices, until finally outright stating that you could do better. It seems like a natural falling out. 2/10 your S/O will be fine, if a bit heartbroken.

Vinnie is less subversive. Blackmail, vandalizing their home or car, or even sending death threats. If none of those deter them, then he decides to get his hands dirty. Cuts their breaks, sabotages their oven, messes with their electrical outlets. Anything that could look like an accident and still solve his problem. If none of that works, he knows a few people that will do the job for him, for a price. 6/10 50/50 on if they survive, and if they do, they'll probably be a little traumatized.

Ursula is hysterical. You can't love anyone but her, you just can't! You were meant to be together. Ursula isn't a fan of killing, she prefers to leave that to others, but for them she'll make an exception. After all, she can't just such a manipulative monster live, they even tricked you into caring about them! You haven't heard from them in weeks, and only find out about their death from the news. 8/10 they're dead but at least it was quick and relatively clean.

Finnean both loves and hates the thought of you crying over their corpse. He wants to watch the horror spread across your face as he dumps the corpse in front of you, so that’s what he does. By far his messiest kill, he won't admit it, but it's because he was enraged at the thought that you gave a shit about someone so pathetic. Someone that isn't him. 10/10 tortured and brutalized before having their corpse tossed around? Yeah, that's about as bad as it gets.

[little-prick]

Thinking about a yandere Cullen Rutherford, and a circle mage warden reader. Maker that power dynamic drives me wild 🥴

You're trapped in the circle tower with him, unable to leave, but staying is a nightmare. The other Templars don't care, and the other mages avert their gazes, lest they invoke his wrath. Wouldn't want to be accused of blood magic, would they?

He's always so adorably flustered around you, so his change in personality is that much more drastic when he's angry.

Bioware had no right to make me thirst this hard over the most milquetoast white man ever fr

[little-prick]

By the way, feel free to request things for individual yanderes! My writing is better when it's more focused, plus I wanna see who you guys like the best and who might need more development!

[little-prick]

Yanderes reacting to reader who is a serial killer. Reader is very efficient in their “hobby”, and has never been caught in the few years they started indulging in their twisted desire. How would they take it when they found out? Would they say anything or confront the reader or would they simply pretend to not know how well-versed reader is with knives/other weapons of choice?

This aligns pretty closely with another ask I got, but is more general, so to the anon who asked about an innocent seeming reader who is actually a killer, here's a little slice of something for you ❤

Adam

He probably finds out pretty early on and just doesn't say anything. He knows everything about you, did you really think you could hide this from him? He won't confront you about it, but he'll certainly tell you to get your act together. He found out about it, which means you aren't doing a good enough job covering your tracks. Just what would he do if you got arrested? Break you out most likely, but he'd be pretty pissed about it for a long, long time.

Ursula

Conflicted. She doesn't want you to do these things, but only because she loves you and doesn't want you to get in trouble. Ursula's job is... semi-related to your little hobby, and she's seen what happens to people like you. She'll subtly try to hint that she knows what you're up to, but she'll never outright say it. You'll have to bring it up yourself if you want to have a real talk about it.

Vinnie

Thinks it's hot but is also in panic mode. Probably wouldn't say anything outright, but you find out he knows when he accidentally lets it slip. Very insistent that he doesn't care at all but he cares a lot. He doesn't mind the killing so much, but he wishes you had a more hands-off approach. If you want someone gone, at least make it look like an accident y'know? Can't exactly stay that the victim tripped and fell onto a knife fifty-seven times.

Finn

He's ecstatic, he's never been more in love with any thing or any one. He wants you two to be a fucked up power couple. Maybe he'll even let you help out with art prep and you can swap techniques. Buys you guys matching knives and everything. He even helps you dispose of your leftovers. Wouldn't want your pretty little hands getting dirty, now would we?

[little-prick]

Classic girl/boy/they (not too sure what to place here I’m so sorry aaah) next door reader - all sweet, innocent and uncorrupted by the world. At least from what neighbor’s know of them.

In reality, reader is a sadistic/masochistic killer with a penchant for people with pretty eyes. They soon target the yanderes with sweet words, offers of help with daily housework and company so they’re never too lonely… even making them pies to really cement that neighborly bond. Of course, it’s all a ruse - you didn’t think reader was that nice, did you?

Yandere passes out after eating one of their pies one night and awakens to find themselves strapped down to a table.

Reader walks in and flashes them a pretty smile. All while carrying a sharp set of surgical tools.

“Oh? I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, darling.”

Bestie you just handed me half a story already and I didn't even have to write anything lol

In all seriousness, this is a really cool concept that I think I would want to dedicate at least 20k words to, which means it doesn't really fit here. I still totes appreciate the ask and love how your brain works though! Kinda reminds me of this audio series from one of my favorite VAs (violence tw obviously)

I think that out of all of the yanderes, Vinnie would be the most accepting of it. If he's gonna die, he's happy that you're the one killing him. Ursula might also accept it, but she's a lot more upset, she really wanted a future with you. Finn and Adam are both too dominant and prideful to ever give in though, so you'd probably have to knock them out again if you want to keep the eyes intact.