Hello i ABSOLUTELY love your art and fics, so i wanted to ask..
If i can request A scenario where the reader ends their relationship with Killer and Killer doesn't react so well 🥹🥹 (you can make him a yandere or js dont! Its ur choice!!!)
AAA THANK YOU!! 🥹 I'm very glad you're enjoying my blog hehehe, I've been having so much fun with it! :]
But ohhh I love the way you think. You should've seen the smile on my face when I saw this ask. You're a genius.
TW. This mini fic contains fairly heavy yandere behaviors/tendencies, along with knives, possible implied kidnapping, violence—the ending is somewhat vague. It really depends how you interpret it.
If yandere themes make you uncomfy, this might not be the right fic for you, and that's okay! 🫶
The reader is gender neutral. No pronouns are used.
Enjoy! <3
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Words: (roughly) 4,171
Description:
You broke up with Killer. You couldn’t take it anymore.
And truth be told, you assumed that day was the last time you’d ever see him again.
But assumptions aren’t always wise to make, now are they?
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Sorry, Not Sorry
We need to talk.
Those were the words you texted to Killer at 1 am as you sat straight up on your living room couch, foot bouncing along to a nervous rhythm against the floor below.
You've been waiting hours for him to come home.
No texts, no calls, no "hey babe, i'm gonna be a bit late tonight," nothing.
This happens almost every night.
And he has the audacity to blame his "boss," yet never goes into detail, claiming it'd be too morbid for you. You've heard snippets, mainly how horribly manipulative his boss can be. But that's it.
That's all he's told you.
God.
You don't know what he's doing right now. You don't know where he's been.
You know he's hiding things from you.
He really seems to think there are no consequences. That he can keep treating you like this.
…Except that he can’t. Because tonight just so happens to be your final straw.
You're tired. You're stressed.
And you want out.
Not long after you sent the text, a flash of red appears before you, accompanied by a rather jostled-looking Killer. The soul in front of his chest is fidgety. Its form wobbles from heart to target, jittering between the two indecisively.
Killer immediately takes note of you, offering a smile upon arrival.
"hey. got your text." He adjusts the fluffy hood on his jacket. "somethin' up?"
Your hands lay atop your knees, fingers picking at your clothing's fabric.
"Um... yeah, actually…”
Killer's smile begins to fall, but quickly shifts into a trained grin. He's already caught onto the melancholic tinge surrounding your words.
So… how to say this…
Killer’s gaze bores into your skull. Antsy and silent.
Oh boy. This is harder than you thought.
You swallow. Your mouth feels dry.
"...How was work?"
Horrible conversation starter, but you can't throw everything at him all at once.
Killer watches your expression carefully. Looking for micro-expressions, clues, anything.
"normal..."
Not "good," "bad," or even "fine," normal. His usual vague answer. Except this time, his tone has some skepticism to it. A cautious uncertainty.
You glance down at the ground, averting your gaze. Then you wince.
There are blood splatters on the tops of his sneakers.
Just another reminder of who he really is.
…But it's weird. Killer's usually pretty good about cleaning up before coming over. He must've been in quite a hurry.
You take a deep breath in.
You can do this.
"I wanted to talk to you about something. And it's really important."
Killer stays quiet.
Anxiety rises in your gut.
You take another breath.
"I've been thinking about a few things recently. This isn't very easy for me to say, but..."
Deep breaths.
"I think we should break up."
You watch for his reaction.
You thought that maybe he'd be caught off guard, maybe get upset and argue with you, or maybe even tear up a little. You've seen him cry less than a handful of times, but that doesn't mean it's never happened.
…But none of those things occur. Instead, Killer simply stares.
No surprise. No sadness. No anger. Just…
Emptiness.
You clear your throat.
"Killer?"
No response. Is he... listening, or?
You reiterate, just to be sure.
"I'm done."
Killer's soul sharply jitters.
“no, you're not.”
“Look, I know—" You pause. "...What?”
“no, you're not.” Killer repeats himself, voice flat.
You blink, eyebrows furrowing. He can’t be serious, right?
“...Yes, I am done?”
Killer tilts his head.
“that sounded like a question.”
“Well, I just wasn't expecting... that.”
“what were you expecting?
You pause a moment. Nothing comes to mind. You didn't go into this with much of a plan at all. All you knew was that your truth needed to be brought to light.
“...I don't know.”
A moment of silence stretches between you two.
…
Killer shrugs.
“well. good talk." He slides his hands into his jacket pockets, beginning to turn away.
“No, hold on—" You shoot out of your seat, reaching out and yanking his wrist out of his pocket— "You can't just decide for me."
Killer seems a little taken aback by the sudden grab, but resumes his unbothered demeanor seconds later.
"says who?"
“Me! I…” Your mouth opens, but no words comes out. You bite the inside of your cheek, your grip on Killer’s wrist slackening. Loose, but still holding on.
You sigh.
“See, this is exactly why I can't keep doing this.”
Another moment of silence passes.
"...well, i can do this," Killer says matter-of-factly. "so now we're at a predicament.”
You give his wrist a small tug.
“What do you mean? We can't stay together if one of us doesn’t want to.”
Killer’s grin turns into something ghosting on annoyed.
“so my opinion doesn't matter?”
“No—Stop twisting my words!" you fumble, voice beginning to rise. Your grip on his wrist tightens. "You're doing that... thing you always do! Whether you do it on purpose or not is irrelevant. Stop trying to manipulate me. Please."
Your volume drops to a mumble as you glance down at the ground, blood splatters apparent as ever.
"You're just like your boss..."
The corners of Killer's plastic grin falter.
His wrist snaps out of your grip in one swift motion. It hangs in the air, frozen, bent and pulled to his chest. Directly below his red mess of a soul.
That got a reaction.
…
You draw your arm back in against your chest, fingers nervously picking at each other. Your gaze drops to watch as they fiddle, picking at your cuticles.
The silence is loud. Almost deafening.
A sick feeling rises in the pit of your stomach.
You went too far.
Your eyes shift back up to Killer's face.
His eye sockets are emptier than you've ever seen them before. Describing them as black holes isn't enough.
They're hollow. Lifeless. Vacant.
A mere shell with nothing inside.
His soul decides its phase, solidifying into an undeniably clear target.
Killer doesn't say anything more. You can't tell if he's even looking at you anymore.
The grin on his face sharpens.
Then he's gone.
Disappearing out of thin air like a whisper in the wind; eerily quiet. Gone as soon as it arrived.
The black stains left on your pillows and blankets are the only traces of him that remain.
The days that follow are quiet. The kind of quiet that lingers, even when you're lost in a rowdy crowd. The kind of quiet that doesn't make itself known as inviting or unwanted.
The kind of quiet that hangs in the air, a question unanswered.
The events replay in your mind throughout the next few days as tears fill your eyes; you still loved him, even after everything he'd done to you.
After all the friends you've lost. After all the late nights in which he never returned, not even bothering to send a text. After all the stress and worry of loving a criminal.
You still had a soft spot for him, as he did for you. It was the only thing that made you two work in the first place. The glue holding it all together. The bridge between your worlds.
And you had burned it down with one single sentence.
"I think we should break up."
It's an odd feeling. It's as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders as a new one was promptly added on.
At least this new burden is lighter than the first.
Ugh, work today sucked.
Goosebumps dance down your arms as you step outside your work building into the dark night. The air has a bite to it, making you shiver as you yank your sweater sleeves down past your fingers.
The world outside is nothing but a long, quiet road, with the occasional pair of headlights rolling down the concrete, kicking up pebbles and rocks as it crunches its way along.
The scarcely placed street lamps are the only pillars illuminating your path, their small circles of light spaced out like lily pads on a pond, running down the sidewalk into the distance.
You had to work late tonight. Something about a last-minute order a customer made, but never picked up? You weren't the one to take the initial phone call (thank god), but apparently the dude was blunt in an asshole kind of way. Real creepy, too.
Maybe you're stereotyping, but you can't say you were all that surprised when no one showed up for the late-night order. You even stayed an extra few minutes, giving this guy the benefit of the doubt.
But alas.
What a dick.
At least you get to go home now.
Your car is parked just down the road in the nearest free parking lot. There's no way in hell you're paying for parking every single day, so the parking lot is your best option. The trek isn't bad; it's a simple three-minute walk from your work building.
The stroll goes by fast. You're so used to the route by now that you nearly turn your brain off the entire time, walking purely on muscle memory and vibes alone.
Your car's dark silhouette comes into view as you turn one final corner towards the small, familiar parking lot. It's an oddly placed lot, being sandwiched between a convenience store and some off-brand gas station that's going out of business.
Small, yet reliably empty.
Though... as you approach your car, you can't help but notice something off. Dunno what it is, it's just... odd. Hard to explain.
Like when you walk into your house, and it smells just slightly different. Enough to be barely noticeable. Did it always smell like that, or did something change?
Shaking your head, you unlock the door, placing one foot on the floor of the car.
…
This feels wrong. What the hell.
Stepping in feels so... unnatural. But why?
Is your muscle memory betraying you?
…
You stare down at your car's floor. Then the road.
It clicks.
Why's your car so low to the ground?
Even measuring the distance with your eyes from up here, it really does look—
Holy fuck.
The front tire.
You slowly set your phone down on the roof of the car, walking over to inspect the damage with an astonished expression on your face.
The front driver's side tire is brutally torn up. It looks as if your car ran over multiple spike traps at once; the tire has multiple stabs in it, along with a particularly angry-looking gash running along the top.
No wonder your car is lower than usual.
It feels like you’re stuck in a state of shock. You don’t feel anything.
Taking a long breath, you warily glance around at your surroundings. Nothing but dark sidewalks and an empty parking lot meets the eye.
Your eyes shift back to the janky car.
You doubt that you can even drive the damn thing at this point. If it were a small puncture, maybe you’d chance it. But this?
Yeah, no. The tire is absolutely fucked.
And there are no buses running at this hour.
…The shock is wearing off. Your breath is beginning to quicken.
Um.
Maybe call an Uber?
You reach up to grab your phone off the car's roof, eyes still occupied by the awfully slashed tire.
The roof makes a hollow thump as your palm smacks flat against its ice-cold frame.
Wait, what?
Your eyebrows furrow, gaze locking onto the empty car roof.
You…
You could've sworn you placed it there a second ago.
Your eyes snap to the cement below. Maybe it fell...?
…But you're not seeing it anywhere. Even getting down on your knees and peeking under the car proves unsuccessful.
How in the hell...?
Nerves rise in your stomach, sickeningly twisting.
You take a mindful, deep breath.
Okay. It's okay. You're okay.
You don't know how to get to a police station from here, and all the local shops are closed for the night.
Deep breaths.
You're pretty sure you can walk home from here, though. It's a good half-hour trek, but the sooner you start, the better. Then you can figure everything out in the morning.
More deep breaths.
See? You're okay. You have a plan.
Just relax.
You begin straying from your slashed vehicle, silently cursing whatever low-life loser fucked you over this hard. Hope they stub the same toe twice. Hard.
The sidewalk before you looms with shadows, their murky shapes hiding secrets they refuse to tell. The cool, dark shades, mixed with the warm street lamps' glow creates an uncomfortable atmosphere to travel through. Your light breaths and the patter of your footsteps atop the pavement are the only sounds that can be heard, echoing between the city’s row of buildings. The air smells of the outdoors, with a very faint flower-y scent coming from some unknown source.
It's oddly familiar.
Walking alone at night is usually off-putting, but this time, the silence brings with it an eerie presence. You can't quite put your finger on what it is.
Maybe it's your anxiety acting up. You have been pretty nervous as of recently.
Or maybe it’s, y’know, your tires being slashed n’ all that.
You reflexively slide your car keys into your palm, long metal side sticking out between your fingers. A makeshift weapon, just in case. Though you aren't exactly famous for your strength, so who knows how much it'd even help. Killer can attest to that, with all the play fighting that ended in your arms pinned to the ground, him hovering over you with that teasing grin he always—
…
Stop thinking about him.
A light breeze whisks past you, carrying with it an icy chill, spreading throughout your fingertips. You yank your sweatshirt sleeves down further, shivering bitterly.
You reeeally wish there were more street lamps right about now, because good lord. It is dark.
The alleyways' shadows seem to twist and writhe the nearer you draw. You can't help but pick up your pace to a quick trot as you pass by any alleyway between the tall buildings.
Your grip on your keys tightens.
Hoo boy. You are paranoid.
You come up on a particularly dark patch along the sidewalk; one of the street lamps is nearly burnt out. Its light is fuzzy, flickering in and out occasionally.
How inviting.
The front of an alleyway is positioned beneath the lamp. The large buildings on either side certainly aren't aiding in brightening up the small space.
You squint, attempting to make anything out of the shadowy alleyway you're approaching. But it's impossible. It's completely swallowed by darkness.
Your pace slows just before the alleyway.
...Huh.
There's a very dull glow coming from the dark space. Either that, or the street lamps' lights have burned their way into your retinas, and you’re just imagining things.
But then the glow gets brighter, like whatever it is moved closer to the front of the alley.
And then you see it.
A target. Red. Pronounced.
You stop dead in your tracks.
The target's glow gently illuminates a small patch of the figure behind it.
A dark grey turtleneck.
The figure steps forward into the glow of the nearest street lamp, its cheap light fuzzy and unfocused.
But it's enough to make out the black streaks dripping down his face.
The street lamp’s light flickers.
Killer's grin is lethally sharp.
“hey.”
Your eyes lock onto the red knife materializing in his hand.
"miss me?" Killer twirls the knife between his fingers with skillful precision. "i missed you~"
Your mouth hangs slightly ajar.
“...What?”
While you were together, Killer had a habit of disappearing when topics got tough. If he felt overwhelmed by any negative emotion, he'd simply pop out of existence for an hour or so. Then he'd later reappear before you with his usual chippy smile, as if nothing had ever happened at all.
That's what this feels like.
Except for the fact that it's almost been a week, and you two are thoroughly broken up.
You blink, unable to stop the wide-eyed confusion on your face.
"...We're done, remember?"
"look, i was gonna leave you alone." He laughs, throwing his hands in the air as if surrendering, knife glistening under the streetlamp. "i tried! honest."
His demeanor is... uncomfortably cheery. Something's up.
You eye him carefully.
"What are you doing here?"
“funnily enough, i always knew you'd try something like this," Killer says, dismissing your question entirely. "you've been so distant lately. i just..." Killer's grin buffers for a fraction of a second. "...wasn't expecting it so soon."
You can't help but hold onto the word try. Something about it doesn't sit right with you.
“i gotta hand it to you—" Killer laughs again— "you caught me pretty off guard earlier. i'm impressed."
Your eyebrows furrow.
"What are you doing here?"
"mm." Killer drags his finger along the tip of the knife. The light from the street lamp shines off its red blade. “wouldn't you like to know."
Your voice dips, annoyed.
"Killer..."
"by all means, keep going. i like when you say my name," he winks, shit-eating grin n' all. Almost like he's flirting with you.
Really? At a time like this? Does he think it's funny to fuck with you?
—That's why he's back, isn't it. He's still salty about everything. He just wants to annoy you.
God dammit.
You can't help the way your face scrunches with distaste.
"My feelings aren't some stupid game."
Killer shrugs.
"neither are mine, yet you don't seem to think so."
"What are you talking about?" Your voice rises. "I've never fucked with you! Not once! I've always been honest."
"then explain this."
Killer pulls a strip of paper out of his jacket pocket. It's a vintage-styled Polaroid of you and him, posing your hands together to form a heart. Small heart doodles adorn the edges of the picture, with the first letter of Killer's and your name written in your handwriting.
Oh.
You two had spent that entire day together, with Killer dragging you to various shops around the area, trying weird drinks, and picking out clothes for each other to try on. It had ended with you two cuddling on the couch and finally confessing the words "I love you." You two had taken the picture shortly after with a camera Killer had bought at one of the stores on a random whim.
It's one of your favorite memories you have with him. One of those unforgettable dates that you still look back on fondly.
It's truly a shame that the joy you previously felt for him is now overshadowed by cold, hard facts.
"that day..." Killer trails off, fidgeting with the Polaroid between his thumb and index. "...you told me you were mine."
You swallow.
"Were." The word comes out colder than you'd intended. But it doesn't matter at this point.
Killer goes quiet. He stares down at the photo before his gaze shifts back up to you, sharp grin unchanging.
"i hate liars."
Your eyes flicker to the knife still clutched in his hand. You grip your car keys like your life depends on it.
Killer runs the knife over the small square photo, the tip barely grazing the shiny plastic. The blade stops over your throat.
Your heart skips a beat. Its pounding is sickening.
Killer’s target wobbles.
…
The knife lowers.
Killer's voice is quiet.
"but i can't hate you." His thumb rubs gently over the edge of the photo, fondly.
Then his tone darkens without warning.
"so i'm not letting you take that back." He slides the photo back into his jacket pocket.
You take a cautionary step back.
Killer meets the extra distance with an advancement of his own.
"don't make this harder than it needs to be, bunny." He spins the knife in his hand. Once.
What is that supposed to mean.
Your eyes dart to the side. All you can see is the dark, desolate road, not one passerby in sight. Not even a pair of headlights.
Your gaze snaps back up to Killer.
"Quit calling me that."
Killer's grin curves into something more unsettling.
"why, would you prefer something more domesticated? maybe puppy?" His voice has a sneer to it.
Your face scrunches.
"I'm not a pet."
Killer darkly chuckles, a challenging head tilt speaking for him.
You take another step back.
And another.
“Look, man—” Your voice heightens, panic seeping through the cracks— “j-just leave me alone. This is stupid.”
Killer doesn’t respond. He just keeps coming towards you.
“We don’t need drama. Stop.”
He’s still coming closer.
“Dude, fuck off.”
"i really don't appreciate your attitude." Killer spins the knife in his hand once more. "that kinda talk can get you hurt."
His grin tightens.
“or worse.”
You continue walking backwards. Killer deliberately meets every step you take with his own.
What is he doing.
"and i really don't like hurting cute things," Killer winks. "so let's play nice, 'kay?"
Then he disappears in the blink of an eye.
WHAT IS HE DOING.
You wheel around, eyes frantically searching for the red target.
Where is he.
Every alleyway is dark. The road is quiet. No one's around. The air is cold.
And yet you feel warm. Sweaty.
WHERE IS HE.
Your pace quickens as you turn back around, panically sliding down the nearest alleyway. You definitely can’t outrun him. You’ve seen how fast he can be.
Stray trash cans litter the ground, bits of balled-up paper scattered about. Various bags of trash lay spread out, some more neatly tied-up than others. There is a severe absence of light back here.
All those times you jokingly ran away from him, letting him chase you for the hell of it, all the play fighting, the way he always won with little effort…
Now those memories don’t feel so fun anymore.
But if you can’t outrun him, maybe you can hide.
...Who are you kidding. Call 911.
Your hand plunges into your pocket—You don't have your phone.
The alleyway comes to an end.
Fuck.
"looking for this?"
You spin around.
Killer stands near the entrance, target sticking out like a sore thumb. He's waving something in his hand, teasingly. It's small, rectangular. A streak of red from his soul reflects off its surface.
Your stomach drops.
"mm," he chuckles, "yeah, i don't think so."
His knife plunges through it in one swift motion. It cuts all the way through, coming out the other end. Glass splinters off, shattering all over the ground.
The phone falls to the cement with a clatter.
Killer did that so effortlessly.
How easy would it be for him…
To break…
You?
Killer’s shoes crunch over the shattered glass, foot stomping on the phone one final time with an audible crack.
You flinch, blinking hard, nearly dropping your keys.
Killer slowly approaches you, his leisure pace feeling intentional. He knows you’re trapped. He knows there’s nowhere to run.
And he knows you can’t stop a monster.
Dread fills your every sense, every bone, every muscle with each step he takes. Each twirl of his knife.
You can't do anything about it.
Killer brings the tip of the knife to the wall, letting the blade drag along as he advances. The scraping sound is metallic, cold, close. It drags all the way until he reaches you, his body stopping a mere arm's width from yours.
You shrink away, back pressing tightly against the freezing cold wall behind you. It's dirty, crumbly.
"Leave me alone." You swallow. "Please."
Killer just chuckles. Low. Predatory.
The blade makes a sharp shing as he draws the knife in, away from the wall. Now pointing it towards you.
But he pauses.
The knife lowers slightly.
His free hand suddenly shoots forward, ripping your keys from your hand with such speed that you fail to react. Your eyes widen fearfully as he takes a step back, looking over the keys now dangling between his fingers.
Killer smirks amusedly.
"really? car keys?" Killer tosses them aside. They clatter against the wall with a metallic chime. "cute."
The knife comes back up. The blade is a mere inch from your right shoulder.
Your bottom lip wobbles.
"Killer..."
Killer grins. He isn’t listening.
"Please," you plead. “Don't do this."
"shh."
The tip of the knife presses into your sweatshirt, cutting a small snag in the fabric. Careful. Calculated.
A warning.
Killer tilts his head to the side.
"puppies don't get to choose their owners, love."
The knife makes its way up, past your shoulder, dragging towards your neck. It ghosts over your skin.
The blade is warm with magic.
You shudder.
The knife presses into your skin with a gentle, controlled pressure, blade held to the pulse point at the side of your neck, right under your jaw. It tilts your head to the side, guiding you along.
Your breath hitches, heartbeat racing beneath the sharp edge.
Killer draws in close, head tilting to whisper in your ear.
His warm breath fans down the exposed skin on your neck.
"sorry, not sorry.”
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I hope this suffices!!
And I hope you're okay with this kind of writing. I swear I was gonna write a non-yandere version—I had a rough dialogue sequence prepared and everything!
But uh. Then this happened. Oop— 😗
This is not how I typically portray Killer, buuuut I do enjoy this version from time to time hehehe (deviously rubs hands together)
I left the ending up to interpretation, so do with it as you will... 👀
