Hello! i was wondering if you could do serial killer/slasher yandere parent? Dont know if thats too dark tho 😅
Here it is!! I've gotten a few requests like this, and since a lot of people also want to see more willing readers, I added a little of that to the mix!
TW: Implied/attempted murder, loss of child, implied assault/creeps toward reader (not the yandad), parental yandere, light forced infantilization, violence, reader implied to kind of has issues of their own
You know it wasn't a good idea to walk home alone, especially in this hour of the night, and double-especially when there had already been six murders around the same general area you live in, all clearly by the same person.
But, your phone had died, you couldn't get an Uber, and there wasn't really anybody you could call to come pick you up, even if your phone was working properly.
So, you decide that walking home will have to work tonight.
That probably wasn't the best choice you've ever made.
When you're halfway to your house, you hear a slight rustling around behind you. You spin around, hoping to catch whatever (or whoever) was following you in the act of making the sound. There's nothing there.
Shaking your head, you continue to walk down the street, subconsciously walking faster.
It must be that murder case that's been hanging over everyone's heads lately that's getting you nervous like this, right?
Wrong.
When you start speed-walking, the same noise as before starts up again, but it sounds closer than last time. You don't have much time before someone tries tackling you.
In the corner of your eye, you see a gun pulled out from under their trench coat. Quickly reaching out for the murderer's arm, you grab it, and try to stop them from aiming at you.
You shove them away and run in the only direction you can without getting tackled; the alleyway.
Seeing there's no time to hide, and all the hiding spots are obvious anyway, you succumb to a panic attack and crouch down onto the ground with your head in your knees.
You take out what money you have and chuck it in his direction. "Please, just take my money and leave me alone! That's all I have! If you want my phone too, just take it!"
The man almost cackles. "I don't need any money," he states matter-of-factly. You can hear the grin in his voice. He walks slowly towards you as if to intimidate you more, though it does little to affect your mindset more than it already has. He's still holding the gun. "Don't take it personally. It's nothing against you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
At this point, you've fully come to terms with your demise, which is clear to the other party.
You look up at him with puffy eyes from sobbing, and tears and snot running down your face. Most of his face is covered, but you can see his eyes.
And much to your surprise, you see them widen.
A few seconds go by, and now you're afraid to break eye contact. You watch as the man before you put his gun back in its holster inside of his trench coat and curse under his breath while looking away.
He clears his throat after a few more dramatic seconds go by. "Go home, kid." You stand up on shaky legs. "Grab your stuff first, then get outta here. I won't chase ya."
Hesitant, you do so anyway, because who would refuse such an offer?
Grabbing your money, you stuff it in your pockets and wipe your face. As soon as you're ready to go, you dash past the stranger, not wanting to spend another minute around the killer.
...
After that incident, you feel as if you're being watched.
Well, obviously you'd think so; you were just almost murdered.
But, when you're going to anywhere, you can feel eyes staring at you wherever you go.
A car with tinted windows follows each time. It isn't unique by any means, just a black Mitsubishi.
But still, it's there. Every time you leave your house, the same vehicle parks near you until you return to your home. Sometimes you try going on wild goose chases to catch the bastard following you off guard, but when you make your way back, it'll be parked somewhere near your driveway.
For almost two months this becomes a cycle, and it especially starts becoming concerning whenever you get sick, or have a bad day, there's always a basket of goodies on your porch steps the next day.
You don't eat them, and instead just throw them away, but it's clear none of them have been tampered with. The most disturbing part about it all is they have your favorites—your favorite animals now into plushies, your favorite snacks and candies, and other such things.
Is this his way of just messing with you until he inevitably comes to finish the job?
One night, when you're walking home from work, you notice the same vehicle tailing you from your workplace to your house. You walk with speed and reach your porch step, where the driver can see you enter your house, and they pull out, as if reassured you're safe.
Maybe they're trying to make sure you aren't hurt in any way?
Another night, one late, you stay out longer than you should, and much like any other time, you're followed once again.
Unlike normal though, there are three men whistling at you, taunting you. You ignore them as best as you can, walking faster and keeping your head down in hopes you won't seem interesting. Your wishes are not fulfilled.
Your arm is tugged harshly backward, pulling you onto the sidewalk with brute force.
The three guys look at you hungrily. "Where are you going this late at night?" the obvious leader speaks up, a greasy, slimy grin on his face, only worsening when he sees how fearful you've become.
"I...I'm going home."
One of them tries grabbing you, and against your better judgment, you take off in an attempt to escape, though you aren't fast enough to avoid your jacket being grabbed.
In your panic, you somehow end up wriggling yourself away and onto the ground. You try to get up, but one of them holds their foot on your back, pushing you back onto the asphalt.
But, oh-so-conveniently, you can hear a vehicle door open and slam shut, and then the pounding of boots against concrete.
The foot on your back lets up, because the guy goes tumbling backwards onto his back.
Now free, you sit yourself up quickly, rubbing the back of your head, which had hit the sidewalk. You blink the blurriness away, to see the man—the same one who nearly killed you and has been following you—hovering over the main creep.
"Hey, what the hell is your problem?!" said creep yells. He tries standing up, but the killer stomps on his ankle.
A crunch resounds through the air, accompanied by a sharp scream. The other two guys stand frozen, watching in horror.
"Get your little buddy and get outta here," he warns the other two, finally backing away. He has a gun pointed at them threateningly, as to tell them not to try anything else.
They quickly help their leader up and hobble away in fear.
You want to yell at this man, to demand answers or run, but you can't. "Thank you, sir..." you whisper.
Now you can get a good look at him. He looks to be somewhere in his forties, maybe even fifties, and has graying brown hair, along with gray eyes.
There's a scar along his cheekbone that adds a rugged charm to him. He smells like expensive cologne and coffee beans. If he didn't try killing you not too long ago, you might've really put your trust into him, he seems like just a grumpy dad.
"Are you alright?" His voice sounds oddly soft, as if genuinely concerned for your health. He reaches toward you, and you close your eyes, readying yourself to be hurt, but he only examines a bruise forming on your forehead. "Thought you learnt your lesson last time about stayin' out late at night."
"I don't think it'd matter either way. You know where I live, I've seen your car," you mutter. You don't look him in the eyes, hoping to avoid seeing any possible rage held within them. He doesn't say anything after that, so you continue. "Why are you doing this?"
A rough hand grabs yours, lifting you to your feet. "Do what? Save ya from gettin' jumped?"
"No! That's part of it, sure, but the gifts, and protecting me, and—and...you were just gonna kill me all those months ago!"
He sighs. "Yeah, 'were'. Not 'are'. I decided I ain't gonna anymore."
"But why?" you repeat, glaring daggers at the older man.
"I usually go after bad people. I mistook you for someone else, and then when you looked up at me like you did," he says while shifting his stance to a more firm position, "'all scared and hopeless and pathetic and—" he pauses suddenly, shaking his head to recollect himself. "Look, I saw my kid in you."
"You have a kid?"
"Had. Had a kid."
You almost want to apologize for the loss of his kid, when you remember the fact he's literally a serial killer. "And that's why you decided to stalk me for the past two months and give me baskets full of stuff?"
"We both know for a fact you hardly take care of yourself well enough. You're clumsy as shit, always irresponsible, you eat terribly..."
"I'm not being scolded how I live my life by a serial killer!" you interject. "Who even are you, anyway?"
"Dante," he answers.
"And I figure you already know everything about me?" It's less of a question and more of a statement at this point.
He chuckles. "If I didn't, would you still introduce yourself to me?" When he gets no answer from you, he smiles lopsidedly. "Get in the car, I'll drive ya home."
You narrow your eyes at him. "So you can kidnap me, or something?"
Dante puts a hand on your shoulder, his expression becoming cold again. "If I wanted to do that, I could have already done it plenty of times before, kiddo. I'm a lot of things; a liar ain't one of them."
"Fine, okay. I'll let you drive me home." You roll your eyes when you hear him laugh victoriously under his breath and follow him into his car. "How do you have the time all day to stalk me like this?" you ask aloud, climbing into the passenger's seat. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
"You call it stalking, I call it watchin' over you like a father should his child. So far, we've seen just how helpful it is having me keep an eye on you," Dante replies. He pauses. "And I'm retired, but I used to be a private investigator."
"Oh joy. My own personal PI." You buckle your seat belt. You're still in disbelief. Someone actually gives enough of a damn about your safety, and it's your local neighborhood serial killer? "You said you only kill bad people." He hums in confirmation. "Does that mean 'petty thief' bad? Or, like, actual bad people?"
"The latter, kid. Not 'cause it makes me feel like a good person, just makes me feel like less of a bad person."
"So you can admit you aren't a good person?" you quip sarcastically, arms folded.
"Course not. But I don't think there really are any inherently good people in the world," he says.
"What about me, then? Why protect me if you think there's nobody who's actually 'good'?"
Dante glances at you. "I don't expect you to be a saint. In my eyes, you're amazing, perfect even. And sure, you got flaws—a lot of 'em—but so does your old man."
You cringe at the statement. "You mentioned me reminding you of your kid. What happened?" you pry further. "All I know is they died, right?" You rub the bruise on your forehead.
"They were out with some friends one night. And a few hours later I'm gettin' phone calls about how my baby's in critical condition. I get there, but there wasn't anything I could've done to save 'em. All I could do was sit beside them 'til..." He trails off. "They died holding my hand. But," he adds, looking at you sternly, "that shit ain't happenin' to you. That's why I'm keeping you safe."
After he stops at a red light, you stare up at him, deep in thought. "Is that why you kill...?"
"Because someone killed my kid?"
"Yeah, exactly."
Dante nods his head after a moment of hesitation. "It started with that, yeah. I killed the bastards that put them in that hospital bed. But that wasn't enough. I guess with monsters like that, I get a little trigger-happy."
It's quiet for a while.
"...how do you know I won't come forward about this information?" you question once your home is in sight. "Or try leaving, for that matter?"
Dante laughs. "You wouldn't get far without me knowing."
That shuts you up quick. Your house pulls up soon afterwards.
"Well, uh, thanks for driving me home," you mumble, opening the car door.
"No problem. Oh, wait—" he takes your wrist gently to keep you from getting out yet. He digs in the compartment below your armrest. Eventually he finds a pen and pad. He writes something down, ripping it off and handing it to you. "—call me whenever you need it. Even if ya just need help studying, or whatever." Dante shrugs nonchalantly.
"Or I'll just knock on the window of the car outside my place?" You weakly smile. Despite the oddity of the situation, this whole scenario is strangely hilarious.
At least, it feels that way because you might've hit your head a little too hard.
...
Those people who were harassing you went missing. You know for a fact it was Dante, and while you don't wish for their deaths, it still leaves a sour taste in your mouth when you see them on the news, with their parents crying about how sweet and kind they were.
You don't even know how to feel about Dante anymore. Maybe he is a good person, who really is doing the world a favor, but it's just not worth the risk to associate with him.
Except he isn't going to leave you alone.
Still though, you decide that ignoring him until he just leaves you alone.
Which proves difficult because sometimes he comes around and knocks on your door every so often, to drop off food, and just check in on you and how you're doing.
Some days you wonder what might happen if you answer, or send a text. He did give you his phone number after all.
You fight the curious urge, until one day, when tiredly trudging home after a particularly awful day.
For some reason, you look around the streets for a black car following you, but find nothing of the sort.
You decide to go against your better judgment and decide to call Dante. You don't know why you're doing this, every instinct in your body is telling you to not do it.
The phone rings a few times, until an annoyed voice picks up. "What? I'm busy," he snaps.
"Oh, uh, sorry," you stutter. "I shouldn't have called, that was stupid of me—"
"Wait, no, I didn't—" Silence hangs in the air. "Sorry," Dante says softer this time. "Didn't know it was you at first. Is everything alright?"
Your fingers tap against the wood of the table nervously, trying to make up some sort of excuse to cover for the real reason you're calling him.
"Nothing, just... didn't have a good day." You feel so pathetic right now, too caught up in your own emotions to hear the muffled cries in the background on Dante's side of the call. "But that doesn't concern you, does it? Why am I saying this?"
"It's alright, kiddie. Whatever happened to make you upset is important to me." Dante is definitely smiling right now. "Well, listen. I was busy right now, but it can wait, so how's about I swing by wherever you are and you and I can spend some time together? Get somethin' to eat, maybe? Your choice."
You find it hard to decline him. "...okay. I'm not home right now though. Can I just call an Uber and meet you somewhere?" you suggest.
He snorts. "My driving so bad that you'd rather waste money than spend thirty minutes in the same vehicle as me?"
"No, it's not that. I just feel like I'll be intruding since you're busy, or something."
"Don't be silly. Just tell me where you are and I'll be there soon. Alright? Don't get into any suspicious vans or anything like that while I'm not there." He ends the call with that.
The next ten minutes or so you stand around awkwardly, watching as pedestrians pass by. Eventually though, Dante arrives, driving up beside you. He gestures for you to open the passenger door, which you oblige.
You climb inside, buckle your seatbelt, and turn toward Dante. "So...where are we going?"
He stares back at you for a brief second. "Depends. Where would you like to go?"
After some hesitation, you give your favorite restaurant, which he nods in acknowledgement to and begins to drive.
"Why was your day bad?" he asks. "Did something happen? Someone hurt you?" At the red light, he turns to give you a quick glance-over, searching for any bruises or cuts, most likely. You're not injured, though the concerned look on his face stays.
"No, I just haven't slept much lately," you mutter.
"Have you eaten today?" You look away from Dante as an answer, making him curse under his breath. "The biggest hazard to you is yourself, it seems." He shakes his head disapprovingly. "I'm glad you finally called me, by the way. Why'd you decide to do it now?"
You hesitate. "I was feeling lonely, I guess."
"Really? Is that all?" The light flicks to green again, and Dante continues to drive.
"...I didn't see you stalking me today. Normally I see your car following me everywhere."
His breath hitches. "And...that worried you?" Dante looks at you from the corner of his eyes.
You don't reply.
Soon the conversation dies out, and neither of you bother to start another one up.
He focuses on driving, while you distract yourself with counting the amount of trees along the sidewalk on the way to the destination.
When you two pull up in the parking lot, you expect there to be tension, but surprisingly enough, the silence between you two feels comfortable, safe almost. It's a nice change from the usual uneasiness.
Dante gets out first, and you follow. The bell of the restaurant dings when you both enter.
"How many?" the hostess asks politely.
"Two. Thank you," Dante says with a charming smile. To you, it's an obvious fake persona, but she buys it hook, line, and sinker. You roll your eyes discreetly as she leads you two to the booth. You sit on opposite ends, taking your menus from her before she heads off to take care of other customers.
You think about it, then settle for the cheapest thing on the menu, trying to avoid taking advantage of Dante's kindness.
He notices anyway. "I know I don't dress fancy, or anything, but I've got the cash, kiddo. If you want to order the whole menu, you could, and I'd still be able to afford it tenfold. Nothin' is too expensive for you."
"I..." Your face burns out of embarrassment. You flip through the menu once more. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I am." Dante scans through his own menu, although half-heartedly, considering his focus is still mostly on you.
Once your orders are made, you both try making small-talk, which proves ineffective. Then your orders arrive, and that too, becomes awkward when he insists on helping you cut up your meal into smaller pieces.
You make a show out of being mad, though truthfully it isn't bothersome as you try letting on it is.
After dinner (which he pays for completely) he looks like he's contemplating on something in the car. "Would you like to come to my place, kiddo?"
"Like, your house?" you clarify.
Dante nods. "It's only fair. I know where you live, I figure it'd be polite showing you the same courtesy."
"Sure, but it depends if I'll leave alive," you joke, but part of you is still concerned about that.
"With the way you take care of yourself, I think staying with me might actually help increase your lifespan a little bit."
A few moments pass by, the two of you basking in the company of one another. It's...nice.
The drive to Dante's home is around thirty minutes long, and barely in the city, surprisingly enough. His house isn't anything super impressive, but it doesn't look bad either.
A very average, middle-class home. It's comforting to see Dante likes simple things, makes it easier to think of him as a normal person than the murderer you know he is.
He steps outside of the car and opens your door for you. You give him a questioning glance, but decide to ignore it for now, unbuckling and heading over to the porch with Dante trailing behind you.
"This is it," he states, pulling his keys out to unlock the door, beckoning you to go in before him.
The interior of his home isn't anything special either, which you enjoy seeing. It makes Dante seem more human. On top of that, it feels safe here, even if this is the last place it should feel this way. It does have a slightly annoying (and worrying) scent of bleach permeating throughout the house.
You bite the inside of your cheek. "Can I ask something? It might be a little weird or triggering, so..."
"You can ask me anything. Doesn't bother me," Dante says.
"Okay... are you so interested in me because I simply look like or act like your kid? I'm worried you expect me to act like them or something similar..."
Dante sighs heavily, sitting down on his couch, and motioning for you to join him. Hesitantly, you do so, staying silent while you wait for him to gather his thoughts.
"I know you're not them. Sure, you remind me a bit of them, but you're your own person, too. It's fine if you don't want to pretend you're anyone but yourself, y'know? That ain't what I'm looking for, and forcing someone to do that wouldn't make anyone happy." He mulls over his words for a moment. "I guess I just want to be a dad again. I felt useless after my kid died, so you gave me that opportunity again."
You look at the ground awkwardly. "Why couldn't you just adopt a kid?"
"A lot of money," Dante answers. "Not to mention not working anymore and not being married anymore makes adoption agencies wary. Plus, you looked like you needed protecting, so I wanted to do so. Now, my turn. Why'd you invite me out? Wanted to spend some time with your old man?" Dante laughs lightly, but his eyes show clear hopefulness.
"If you insist on acting like my father," you pause, taking in a breath, "then yes. I suppose that means I wanted to spend time with you. Is that okay?"
Dante looks almost ready to cry. His hands twitch at his sides. "'course it is," he mutters softly, barely containing himself from getting overly emotional.
You scoot closer to Dante, hesitating for only a few moments before wrapping your arms around him. "Thank you for inviting me into your home."
He reciprocates quickly, holding onto you like a lifeline, face buried in your hair. "I missed this so much..." His voice is choked-up as he holds you tighter to him. "My baby," Dante whispers.
You don't know why you're letting this happen, but you don't want to dwell on that. His embrace is more comforting than it should be, especially considering what he is. But if he wants to play pretend, to imagine he has a child again, you may as well let him.
Even if that means ignoring the faint noises from the basement, and pretending it's just someone next-door.
"I love you so much," he mutters. He almost sounds hysterical, even if his tone is quiet, almost a whisper. "Never leave me. I can't take that, kid. I can't."
You pretend to be asleep, just so you won't have to answer that. He sighs and only holds you tighter.
