#psycological horror

[wastedskins]

Silent Hill 3, 2003

[altaira-ibnlaahad]

I don't know if you write fanfiction with Alastor Yandere? Can I ask? If not, I understand… How about an Alastor Yandere with a newbie reader in hell who doesn't know how they got there? Maybe the reader is a video game demon, and their power is to create current games. Of course, that would catch Vox's attention. (The reader, in life, loved games and always played them in their free time).

This one shot is based on this ask! Which i love! i wish i could tag the asker but i'm sure they'll see it! thank you so much for asking!

Yandere!Alastor x F!Video game demon!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Yandere Alastor, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Manipulation, Psychological Intimidation, Implied Violence, Threats of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence (Hazbin Hotel)

One-Shot: Insert Coin to Continue

You don’t remember dying.

That’s the first thing that unsettles you—the absolute void where your last memory should have been. There is no flash of light, no sudden pain, no heart-stopping accident, nothing to mark the end of your mortal life. Just… waking up. One moment you were in your bedroom, late at night, the glow of your monitor painting your face as you furiously mashed buttons to beat a final boss; the next you were on cracked, soot-stained pavement under a sky the color of burning iron. The air smells wrong—sharp, metallic, and faintly sweet—but it’s the sheer wrongness of it all that hits you first. You try to stand, and your legs wobble like untested circuits. You’re alone, and yet you feel… observed.

Your hands tremble as you glance around the city. Neon signs buzz erratically above broken streets, flickering with static and symbols that make no sense. The laughter of demons echoes from alleyways, high-pitched and gleeful, sharp like broken glass. Their eyes glint from the darkness. Teeth, claws, horns, tails—it’s a riot of chaos you’ve never seen before, and somehow, some part of your brain knows you are not supposed to be here. Not yet. Not ever. And yet, here you are. You clutch at the only thing that feels real: the memory of games. The rhythmic click of buttons, the hum of a console, the escape into worlds you could understand and control. It’s grounding. It’s comforting. And yet, in this place, it’s a distant echo, fragile and insubstantial.

You discover your power by accident. You’re cornered by three smaller demons in a shadowed alley. They leer at you, drooling, anticipation dripping from every line of their bodies. One of them, the leader, steps forward, jagged claws catching the neon glow. “Fresh meat,” he sneers, his voice a low rasp that vibrates against your chest. Panic lashes through you, every instinct screaming to flee. Your hands rise, trembling, unsure why they obey a command that hasn’t yet been spoken aloud.

And then it happens.

The world glitches.

The brick walls shudder as if they were made of pixels. Health bars appear above the demons’ heads, floating in translucent green and red. An ethereal battle theme erupts from nowhere, the notes perfectly synchronized to your racing heartbeat. You squeeze your hands instinctively, as if holding an invisible controller, and the lead demon’s eyes widen in terror. A massive, glowing hammer materializes above him, oversized and cartoonish. It slams down with a comic-crash impact that nonetheless obliterates him in a burst of spark-like fragments. The other two demons scream and flee, leaving you breathless and shaking. You stare at your hands. “I… I did that?” you whisper, barely audible over your pounding pulse.

You realize then what you are capable of. Not illusions. Not tricks. You can create games. Not just systems that look like games, but actual mechanics—physics, rules, enemies, items—manifested in reality. You can turn the environment itself into a playable world. You test it nervously, summoning floating menus, crafting a miniature racing track through the alley, watching as your powers obey every whim. Fear melts into awe. You’ve never felt so alive.

But Hell has television. And it has Vox. And nothing in Pentagram City happens without his notice.

You don’t see him at first. You’re too preoccupied with testing your power, summoning a fully functional multiplayer arena in a derelict plaza, tweaking difficulty curves, and laughing at the absurdity of your own creativity. But somewhere, across the city, his blue glow fixes on you. The moment he detects your signal, you are marked. You are a new commodity, a fresh source of content, a mind to exploit.

You meet him a week later. You’re deep in a dungeon-crawler simulation, summoning waves of pixelated skeletons, when the space around you snaps. Reality freezes. Every enemy locks mid-swing. You spin, disoriented, to see Vox behind you, voice buzzing through your skull like static. “HELLOOOOOO, PLAYER ONE!” he booms, enthusiasm crackling in digital distortions. He grins at you, cyan screen-face glowing unnaturally. “You’re fascinating. Do you know how valuable you are?”

Panic spikes. You attempt to summon a defensive mechanism, but your powers flicker as his signal overrides your own. The rules of your creation warp under his presence, and you feel, for the first time, helpless. He laughs at your confusion, relishing your vulnerability. He wants to consume your talent, control your content, make you a broadcast. The world tilts, unbalanced, until there’s a sudden, violent interruption.

A warm, chilling laugh cuts through the tension, old-fashioned and strangely melodic. Red light floods the frozen alley, replacing Vox’s harsh cyan. The dungeon simulation dissolves entirely, leaving you standing in a golden-lit radio studio that wasn’t there before. Velvet curtains, vintage microphones, polished wood—everything impossibly luxurious and terribly out of place.

Alastor stands there. Smiling. Wide. Pleasant. Terrifying.

“Well now, that’s quite enough of that,” he says lightly, cane tapping against the floor in time with your racing heartbeat. Vox stiffens in the distance, static shrieking in protest. “Stay out of this, Radio Freak,” Alastor adds, almost casually. His gaze falls on you briefly, assessing, calculating, amused. You freeze, heart hammering. “You see,” he continues, voice smooth as silk, “I do adore novelty. And our little friend here is quite the novelty indeed.”

The studio seems to breathe with him. Shadows stretch unnaturally, twisting around your feet without touch. Vox’s signal distorts violently, then vanishes. Silence returns, but it’s heavier, denser, as though the air itself is warning you.

Alastor circles you slowly, eyes gleaming. “You’re new. Frightened. Uncertain. And powerful,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “That makes you… vulnerable.”

Your hands twitch instinctively, summoning a minor UI flicker, and he notices. The shadow at your feet stiffens. “Ah-ah,” he says softly. “No need for that. I’m not here to harm you.”

You want to believe him. You want to relax. But the tension coils in your stomach as he leans closer. His voice lowers, intimate and dangerous. “I am here to ensure no one else does.”

Days pass. Weeks. You avoid moving into the Hazbin Hotel, yet you never truly leave its vicinity. Alastor is always nearby, a constant presence. He smiles at your experiments with game mechanics, delighted when you accidentally summon rhythm-based combat in the courtyard, synchronizing enemies to musical timing. “Oh, I do like that one,” he says, clapping slowly as demons are knocked back by beats. “Show me how it works.”

You test boundaries. You attempt a portal-based escape system, a creative experiment to explore the wider city. The moment you activate it, your mechanics subtly warp. Your own parameters bend under an invisible hand, not breaking your power, just constraining it. You turn. Alastor stands behind you, smiling, polite, terrifying. “I simply can’t have you wandering into unfriendly hands,” he explains. “Think of it as… setting parental controls.”

Your pulse jumps. “I’m not yours.”

His eyes flash red, just for a second, sharp as a blade. “No,” he agrees softly. “But you are under my protection.”

The word lodges in your chest like a splinter. Not ownership. Not imprisonment. But alarmingly close.

When Vox attempts contact again, it ends violently. You hear the distant static screams across the skyline, but you do not see Alastor act. Later, he hums cheerfully that evening, a dangerous undertone hiding in his cadence. “You won’t be bothered again,” he assures, and you wonder if the threat lingers somewhere behind his smile.

Alastor’s fascination grows daily. He observes you with an intensity that is both flattering and suffocating. He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t want to exploit you for gain, like Vox. He wants you for himself. You are a living game, a world of endless surprises, a program he cannot share, a player he refuses to let leave.

One evening, you sit on the hotel balcony, summoning a soft, pixelated starlit sky over Hell’s red haze. Alastor appears quietly beside you, watching. “You’re still afraid,” he notes lightly.

“I don’t remember my death,” you whisper, voice trembling.

He studies you, his smile widening. “Would you like to?”

“…No,” you murmur.

“Excellent,” he purrs, teeth glinting. The word chills you. He could discover your memories at will, but he chooses not to—for now.

“You’re not going to trap me here forever, are you?” you ask.

He laughs, warm and distorted. “My dear,” he says, resting his chin lightly on his cane, “you could leave whenever you wish.” The shadows ripple subtly around the balcony. “You’d just have to survive without me.”

It isn’t a threat. Not exactly. But the weight is undeniable. Hell is dangerous. Vox is watching. Others will notice your power. And Alastor? Alastor has already decided.

You are interesting. You are powerful. You are his favorite new program. And he doesn’t share his favorites.

You summon a glowing prompt into the air.

SAVE GAME?

Your finger hovers. Alastor watches, silently delighted. “An excellent idea,” he hums. “We wouldn’t want to lose progress, now would we?”

You press YES.

Somewhere deep in Hell’s code, something locks in. And Alastor’s smile stretches wider than ever.

I loved writing this! let me know if you guys want a part 2! Also let me know if you guys want to be on the hazbin hotel tag list or if you want to be on just the Alastor tag list!

[g0ne1997]

MEANWHILE

[littleita]

see this cutie? this is yume! one of the main characters in my indie manga project!!!!! (๑˃̵　ᴗ　˂̵)و

isn't she so cutee? i wanna eat her up!!!!!! (ﾉ´∀｀*)

[monsterenergyblendinmyblood]

one scene that scares me the most (when I actually put my brain to it) from Black Christmas 1974 is the chase scene. Tbh chase scenes have always been the death of me 😭 watching people play a horror game and there’s a chase scene has literally had me scooching the chair away from the screen and holding my tits in fear /srs

I’m sorry, DO YOU SEE HOW FAST BILLY’S LEGS ARE MOVING THROUGH THE RAILING???

Ik it’s probably not the fastest thing you’ve seen, and I definitely know it’s not the fastest thing I’ve seen, BUT THAT SHIT STILL SCARES ME

[thefaultinourscars]

“Nobody admits anything they’ve done!”

- Hereditary (2018 film) directed by Ari Ester.

[jjkvisions]

Monster || Jeon Jungkook

Love was never supposed to feel like fear. Y/N is trapped in a relationship built on obsession and control. When she asks for space, the night turns dark—locked doors, cut power, and a house that feels alive with danger. As love twists into something monstrous, Y/N realizes the truth too late:

The person who claims to love her may be the one she needs to escape from.

𐙚 Genre: Psychological Thriller • Dark Romance • Angst • Horror

𐙚 Warnings: This story contains Abusive relationship Obsession, Psychological abuse, Control, Implied violence and Dark themes, this may trigger others

𐙚 Paring: psycho Jungkook x Reader

𐙚 wc: 2.8k

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

—

Hugging myself in the corner of my room, I hid from my so-called boyfriend as he banged on the locked door, screaming for me to open it.

I had promised myself I would never end up like this. Not after everything my mother went through. I swore that if I ever found myself in a situation like hers, I would leave—no looking back, no regrets. I wouldn’t stay trapped the way she did.

My mother was in an abusive relationship with my father.

And now here I was… in one too.

Look at me. I guess we really do fall for the wrong men.

I shivered as tears streamed down my face, my body shaking uncontrollably. I should have seen the signs—before I fell too deep. But it was those four letters that kept me stuck.

Those four letters, wrapped into one dangerous word: love.

I had only asked for a break. Just a little space. I told him I needed time to find myself again because I felt like I was disappearing in this relationship. Like I was losing pieces of who I was.

I knew we both needed it.

But he snapped.

He became unrecognizable—possessive, unstable, terrifying.

“LET ME IN, Y/N!” he screamed.

I pulled my legs tighter to my chest, burying my face in my knees as the darkness of the bathroom closed in around me.

“Baby, please open the door. We can talk about this,” he cried, his voice breaking.

“You have to understand—I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much, Y/N. Please. Please come to me. Love, do you hear me? I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

I wanted to believe him so badly.

I wanted to run to the door, throw it open, and fall into his arms—pretend his words weren’t lies.

But I couldn’t.

Because I knew the moment I opened that door, it would be over for me.

He had always been obsessive. No one was allowed to touch me, not even look at me. And if they did, they would end up hurt—or worse. He wanted me all to himself. Only him. Only me.

And I was exhausted.

Tired of being isolated.

Tired of being controlled.

Tired of losing friends, family—my freedom.

“Y/N, OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW!” he growled.

The coldness in his voice made my blood run cold. I was terrified—scared out of my mind.

Then his tone shifted.

“Baby… please. Open the door.”

That was when I knew.

He was sick.

I had just realized it too late. I was already too far in to simply walk away.

“Please, Jungkook… leave me alone. Please,” I sobbed.

Suddenly, silence.

I slowly lifted my head and crawled to my feet, inching toward the door. Pressing my ear against it, I listened—nothing. No footsteps. No breathing.

My hand trembled as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

He was gone.

I stepped out cautiously, scanning the room, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. The bedroom was dark—unnaturally dark. My bare feet tingled as they met the icy floor, every step echoing with a soft creak that made me flinch.

I reached my side of the bed and opened the drawer, grabbing a flashlight with shaking hands. I turned it on, the sudden brightness making my eyes sting as I scanned the room.

Nothing.

I moved into the hallway.

The entire house was pitch black.

He turned off all the lights, I realized.

My chest tightened as I reached the staircase, gripping the railing as I descended slowly, each step filled with dread.

Where could he have gone?

___

Each step creaked beneath my weight, the sound echoing far too loudly in the silence. I froze halfway down the staircase, my breath caught in my throat as I listened.

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No voice.

Just the faint hum of the house settling around me.

The flashlight trembled in my hand as I finally reached the bottom step. The beam swept across the living room, shadows stretching and shrinking along the walls like they were alive. Every corner felt wrong—too still, too quiet.

My heart pounded violently as I took another step forward.

“Jungkook?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I didn’t know why I said his name. Maybe part of me hoped he was gone. Maybe another part of me feared he wasn’t.

The front door was still locked.

I knew that immediately. I could feel it—the air in the house hadn’t changed. He hadn’t left. He never left without me.

A chill ran down my spine.

I moved closer to the kitchen, the flashlight flickering slightly as I passed the couch. That’s when I saw it.

My phone.

It sat on the coffee table, face-up, the screen cracked—like it had been thrown. My stomach dropped. I hadn’t brought it with me to the bathroom.

He had taken it.

My breathing grew shallow as I backed away slowly, my heel brushing against something on the floor.

Click.

I jumped, spinning around as the flashlight beam landed on the breaker panel.

Every switch had been flipped down.

He hadn’t just turned off the lights.

He’d cut the power.

My pulse roared in my ears as a soft sound drifted through the house.

A slow… deliberate breath.

I turned the flashlight toward the sound just as a voice spoke from the darkness.

“Why are you so afraid of me, love?”

I screamed, stumbling backward, my back slamming into the wall. The beam landed on him—standing at the edge of the hallway, half of his face hidden in shadow, the other illuminated just enough to see the smile on his lips.

A smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I told you,” he continued softly, stepping closer, “I would never hurt you.”

Tears blurred my vision as I shook my head, my body refusing to move.

“Please… stay away from me,” I begged.

He tilted his head, watching me like I was something fragile—something already broken.

“But you’re shaking,” he said calmly. “I can’t leave you like this.”

Another step.

My back hit the door.

No escape.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he whispered. “Not like this. Not ever.”

The flashlight slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor as the house was swallowed by darkness once more.

And then—His hand reached for me.

—

Jungkook’s POV

She was finally quiet.

Not calm—no, never calm—but quiet in that fragile way that meant she was close to breaking. He could hear it in her breathing, shallow and uneven, like she was trying not to exist too loudly.

Good.

He hadn’t meant to scare her this much. That’s what he told himself, anyway. Fear was just a side effect of love—wasn’t it? People didn’t understand how dangerous it felt to love someone so completely. How terrifying it was to imagine them slipping away.

She didn’t see it the way he did.

Everything he’d done was to protect what was his.

The phone on the table had been a mistake. He hadn’t meant to crack it, but the thought of her calling someone—anyone—had made his chest tighten until he couldn’t breathe. The lights, the power, the silence… those were necessities. You couldn’t talk when the world was too loud. You had to strip it down. Make her listen.

Make her stay.

When she whispered his name earlier, something in him twisted—hope, relief, ownership all tangled together. She still needed him. Even now. Especially now.

He stepped out of the shadows and watched her freeze, her eyes wide, full of terror.

That look hurt more than he expected.

Why can’t you see I’d do anything for you? he thought. Why do you keep trying to run?

He told himself he wouldn’t touch her yet. He told himself he just wanted to hold her. To steady her shaking. To remind her where she belonged.

But as the flashlight slipped from her hands and the room went dark again, one thought drowned out all the others:

If I let her go this time… I’ll lose her forever.

And that—That was something he couldn’t survive.

-

Y/n pov

The darkness swallowed everything.

And then—His hand touched me.

I gasped violently, my body jerking at the contact like I’d been burned. His fingers closed around my wrist—not rough, not gentle either—just firm enough to remind me I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t free.

I tried to pull away, but my muscles betrayed me, stiff with fear.

“Don’t,” I choked out, my voice cracking. “Please… don’t touch me.”

His grip tightened.

“Shh,” he murmured, too close now. I could feel his breath against my temple, warm and steady, like this wasn’t the most terrifying moment of my life. “You dropped your light.”

My chest heaved as panic flooded me, hot and dizzying. My mind screamed run, but my feet wouldn’t move. I could feel him behind me—every inch of space gone, replaced by his presence.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, almost sadly. “I told you I hate when you do that.”

I twisted my wrist, finally breaking free, stumbling forward until my shoulder slammed into the door. The impact knocked the air from my lungs.

“Stay away from me!” I shouted, my hands fumbling behind me for the doorknob.

The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot.

Locked.

A sob tore out of my throat before I could stop it.

“I just wanted space,” I cried. “That’s all I asked for. Why couldn’t you just let me breathe?”

He didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was closer—too close.

“Because when you breathe without me,” he said quietly, “you start thinking you don’t need me.”

I shook my head violently, tears blinding me. “That’s not love. This—this isn’t love.”

For the first time, his silence felt heavy. Dangerous.

Then his hand brushed my arm again, slower this time, like he was testing me.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he whispered.

My heart dropped.

Something inside me snapped—not loudly, not heroically—but enough.

I didn’t scream this time.

I shoved past him with everything I had.

And ran.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t plan.

I just ran.

My bare feet slapped against the cold floor as I tore down the hallway, lungs burning, heart hammering so hard I thought it might tear out of my chest. I heard him shout my name behind me—sharp, furious—but I didn’t look back.

If I looked back, I would freeze.

My shoulder clipped the corner of the wall as I reached the front door, pain exploding through my arm. I fumbled with the lock, hands slick with sweat, fingers slipping like they didn’t belong to me anymore.

“Y/n, stop!” he yelled. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

The deadbolt wouldn’t turn.

I sobbed out a sound that didn’t even feel human, panic clawing up my throat. I twisted again—harder—until finally—

Click.

The door flew open.

Cold night air hit my face as I stumbled outside, nearly tripping over the doorstep. Gravel bit into my feet as I ran blindly down the driveway, the darkness swallowing everything except the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I just knew I couldn’t stop.

“Y/N!”

His footsteps were close—too close. I could hear them behind me, fast and heavy, gaining ground. My legs screamed in protest, knees threatening to buckle.

I slipped.

My body slammed onto the pavement, skin tearing, pain flaring white-hot through my palms and knees. I cried out, the sound ripped straight from my chest.

Hands grabbed at my jacket.

“No—no, please!” I screamed, scrambling wildly, nails scraping against the ground as I kicked and twisted, pure instinct taking over. “Let me go!”

“I told you not to run!” he shouted, panic and rage tangled together. “Look what you made me do!”

I twisted hard, my elbow catching his ribs. He grunted, grip loosening just enough—

Enough.

I ripped free and staggered to my feet, limping now, tears blurring my vision as I bolted toward the street. Porch lights flicked on. A door opened somewhere nearby.

“Help!” I screamed, voice shredding. “Please—someone help me!”

That’s when he stopped.

I didn’t know why at first. I just felt the sudden absence of him—the space where his control had been. I turned just long enough to see him standing at the edge of the driveway, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice breaking. “Come back.”

I shook my head, sobbing, backing away.

“No,” I whispered. “You don’t get me anymore.”

A neighbor shouted from across the street. Another door opened. Someone was already calling the police—I could hear it.

He took a step toward me.

Then sirens cut through the night.

He froze.

I collapsed onto the curb, my body finally giving out, arms wrapped around myself as I rocked back and forth, shaking uncontrollably. Blood, dirt, tears—I didn’t care.

I was outside.

I was seen.

And for the first time all night—

I was still breathing.

—

The wail of sirens cut through the night like a knife. I froze for a moment, chest heaving, trying to convince myself it was real—that help had finally come.

Blue and red lights painted the street in harsh, blinking streaks. Two officers jumped out, flashlights in hand, their voices sharp.

“Ma’am! Are you okay?” one shouted, rushing toward me.

“I… I—he—he’s in the house!” I stammered, pointing back toward the driveway. My legs shook so badly I could barely stand. “He won’t let me go! Please… help me!”

The officers moved fast, one covering me while the other approached the house cautiously. My stomach knotted as I watched shadows move inside, every second stretching into eternity.

“Sir, step outside! Hands where we can see them!” one officer barked.

Jungkook appeared at the doorway, face pale but eyes wild, as if he couldn’t understand why the world had stopped obeying him. I instinctively took a step back.

“Stay where you are!” the officer warned, hand on their taser. “We’ve got this under control!”

He hesitated, then retreated back into the house, the officers following quickly.

I sank to the curb, wrapping my arms around myself. My body was trembling so violently I couldn’t stop it. Pain, relief, fear, and exhaustion collided into a single, choking wave.

The officer crouched next to me, offering a calm voice.

“You’re safe now,” she said gently. “You did the right thing by getting out. Can you tell me what happened?”

I nodded weakly, too tired to speak, my words coming in ragged whispers. “He… he wouldn’t let me leave. He… he’s… abusive… possessive… I—I was trapped…”

The officer nodded, her pen moving quickly across her notepad. “We’re going to make sure he can’t come near you. Medical will check you, and then we’ll take your statement. You did the right thing by getting out.”

I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her. My mind replayed the night over and over, every scream, every slam of the door, every hand that had tried to hold me back.

Somewhere in the distance, Jungkook’s shouts faded, replaced by the wail of police radios. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the moment crush me, but also, somehow, feeling a strange spark of relief.

I was finally free.

For the first time, I let myself cry—not out of fear, but out of exhaustion. My body shook with silent sobs as the reality settled in: I had survived. I had escaped.

And maybe, just maybe, I could finally start to breathe again.

-

A few months had passed.

I was finally… happy.

Really happy. Laughing with my friends at a small café, sharing inside jokes with family during weekend dinners, feeling the sunlight warm my skin without a single shiver of fear. The nightmares had quieted, replaced by a fragile sense of peace I hadn’t dared imagine.

It had been months since I’d seen Jungkook. Months since the darkness that had swallowed my life. I had started to believe I could move on—that I could survive.

I stepped out of my apartment, the crisp morning air filling my lungs. My bag swung lightly from my shoulder as I waved goodbye to my friends, their laughter ringing behind me.

I didn’t notice him.

He was there.

Hidden in the shadow of the overhang across the street, his eyes never leaving me. Still. Silent. Patient. Watching.

Every carefree step I took, every laugh that escaped my lips—it was all recorded in his mind. Every detail. Every fleeting moment of happiness.

He tilted his head, a shadow of a smile curling on his lips. Months had changed nothing. Months hadn’t healed his obsession—they had only sharpened it.

A chill ran down my spine, though I didn’t know why. A sense of being watched, of something unseen, waiting.

And I had no idea he was still out there…

Waiting.

Waiting for me

[kryptidkelsey]

Photoshoot time!