#serialkiller!jason

[k4sy]

The sunlight spilled through the window.

The air smelled like coffee and toasted bread as you sat up, still groggy with sleep. You yawned, rubbing your eyes.

“Jacey...” your voice was soft.

“Bathroom,” Jason replied.

You stood, his shirt hanging loosely on your shoulders, and padded toward the bathroom.

Inside, you found Jason standing bare chest in front of the mirror, damp from his shower, a towel slung dangerously low around his hips. He stretched his arms-and you instantly melted into his embrace.

“Mmm, you smell good,” you murmured against his chest.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You're the one who insisted on that new strawberry body wash. Guess it paid off.”

You hummed. Your hands slid down to his waist, toying with the towel. He didn't stop you. Instead, he let you do whatever you want and leaned back to rub in the skincare you forced him to use last week. Complained about dry skin ever since. Now, his face looked smooth and clean-almost glowing.

You looked up to him, batting eyelashes. A usual moves you do when you want something, “Can I go to town today, Jacey?”

He shook his head, firm. Without warning, he lifted you onto the counter.

“No.”

You pouted, brows furrowed. “Why? I just wanted to go to the bakery... buy cakes and stuff. Please?” Your hands slid up his chest, voice soft and sweet, eyes big and pleading.

Jason groaned, looking away. “We already went out yesterday. People are gonna start recognizing us. You wanna spend the night in jail instead of our warm bed?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His expression softened when he saw your eyes brimming with tears. God, it shattered him every time you looked at him like that.

But he couldn't take the risk.

Just yesterday, someone almost recognized you-the girl who went missing years ago. They tried to get your attention, and thankfully, Jason smashed their skull in with a sardine can before they could say anything.

You didn't even notice. Just stood there, flashing your new nails, all pink and soft. Jason stood behind you, hands bloody, hiding it like always. He was grateful you never saw.

“I'm just craving it,” you whined, a tear slipping. "I promise I'll be a good girl."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “No is no, baby. Listen to me, yeah?”

You choked on a breath, finally nodding. “Mm'kay.”

Jason leaned in slowly, grinned, dark eyes shining with satisfaction at your quiet obedience. His pretty wife-soft, sweet, and completely his.

“That's my good girl. Let's get you in the shower, yeah?”

He slid your-his shirts off your shoulders, leaving you b under his hungry gaze. His tongue wet his lips.

“All pretty for me,” he whispered.

The towel around his waist dropped with a flick of his wrist. He scooped you up effortlessly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he carried you into the shower.

“Don't cry, baby. I promise I'll bake for you.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Of course, baby. What do you want?”

You leaned against him, his large hands working the soap into your back. “Strawberry cupcakes...”

“Yeah?” he whispered, fingers sliding higher-dangerously close to your breasts.

You gasped as he grazed your skin, turning your head to look at him. His eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide with lust.

“Then, let me have this,” he whispered against your skin. “Please.”

You nodded, guiding his hands on your hips.

“Thank you, baby. Now spread your legs.”

He nudged his legs between yours, gripping your hips as he slid against you, rough and hungry without hesitation.

You whimpered, “Jacey...”

“Shhh... Atta girl.”

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۶ৎ - @girlinaquietspace @miffyliebe @itzmeme @cherisea @ellayahhs @qnarrc

[k4sy]

It’s a peaceful night.

You sit cross legged on the floor, folding laundry while Girl, Interrupted plays on the TV. You're halfway through pairing socks when a familiar presence creeps up behind you—broad, warm, and far too quiet for someone his size.

Jason.

You barely have time to react before his arms slide around your swollen belly, pulling you flush to his chest. His hands splay possessively across your stomach, and his lips find that sweet spot beneath your ear.

“Walking,” he mutters against your skin, like he’s answering a question you didn’t get the chance to ask. “Parked the car far from house. Cops are circling. Can’t have my car in front of the house—makes me a suspect.”

“I was gonna asked you that, when did you came home.” You giggle, breath catching as he nips at your neck. “Why? Did you kill anyone today?”

He hums, casual. “No. Road rage. Some old bastard driving like he’s got a death wish. Hit the back of my fucking antique BMW. So I broke his back instead.”

Your jaw drops a little, speechless. Your lips twitching, want to ask about the poor man conditions but his fingers already slip under your shirt before you can protest. Your breath stutters.

You sigh, already knowing where this is going and there's no changing him. He’s smart. Smooth. Always two steps ahead of the law. And as dangerous as he is, you can’t help but feel safe like this.

“You know violence isn’t the only way to handle things, right?” you murmur, turning to cup his jaw. “Just once… maybe try not killing someone?”

He smirks, shameless. “I could. But where’s the fun in that? It’s easier this way. No more bastards in my way.”

Then he pulls back slightly, brows furrowed. “Why are you growing, though?”

You blink. “I’m pregnant, Jace. Three months. Did you seriously forget?”

Fuck. How could he forget? Saturday morning, he was absolutely on his knees, tears already swelled up in his eyes. Two positive pregnancy test on the sink. And how your stomach already form a bump that he didn't even notice when his eyes always raking on your body.

He couldn't forget that day. Never.

“I didn’t forget,” he mutters, “How could I forget about my beautiful pregnant wife?” He adds, but his eyes drifting to your chest, examined you. Eyes darkened.

“I get the stomach part. But your tits? Why the fuck are they this full already?”

Your cheeks flush. “Jason—”

“What?” he grins. “I’m just saying. They barely fit in my hands anymore. When I bend you over, they’re spilling out. It’s not a complaint—just… damn.”

You swat his chest, pouting, but he’s already grinning like the devil, sinking to sit behind you, legs caging your hips. His palms slide up your front again, cupping your breasts, thumbs grazing the sensitive peaks through the fabric.

You whimper, breath shaky. “Jason… I’m tired. No sex tonight. M’sorry.”

He exhales slowly, head dropping to your shoulder. “Alright, baby. No pressure.”

A soft kiss to your jaw. Another to your neck. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He lifts you effortlessly, bridal style, and carries you toward your room. But he doesn’t stop talking—not with that rough, gravelly voice that always turns your legs to jelly.

“But really—pregnancy looks so fucking good on you. You’re glowing, tits are heavy, ass is rounder, you're fucking gorgeous everywhere… and my pants? Getting real tight, baby.”

You laugh softly, nuzzling into him. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.”

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۶ৎ - @girlinaquietspace @miffyliebe @itzmeme @cherisea @ellayahhs @qnarrc

[k4sy]

serialkiller!jason && cult!reader with twins!

masterlist

The moment Jason felt your body slip from his arms in the morning, his eyes cracked open. Groggy but awake, he reached out toward you.

“Pumpkin,” his voice was rough with sleep, “do you remember what day it is today?” You paused mid-step, scratching your chin dramatically as if you were really thinking.

“Saturday? Why? You’ve got business to handle today?” you teased lightly, not waiting for his reply as you walked into the bathroom.

Jason frowned, sinking deeper into the sheets. ‘She didn’t remember?’ he thought, the pout forming on his lips before he even realized it.

“No… nothing. I just thought you remembered,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions.

Before he could even sulk properly, the bedroom door burst open. Two giggling little girls, barely four years old, came tumbling inside.

“Daddy!” they squealed in unison, clinging to his legs. Jason chuckled despite himself sulking scooping both of them up onto his lap and peppering their cheeks with kisses. “You’re up early, my girls. Any special occasion today?”

Both twins only shook their heads with wide grins and giggles.

His heart dropped a little. No way. Did my whole family actually forget my birthday?

“Really?” he asked again, forcing a smile. “You don’t remember what happened on August sixteenth, honey?”

“Nooo!” the girls chorused, bouncing off his lap and darting toward the bathroom to find you. Jason sat frozen, shoulders slumping. This can’t be it. They wouldn’t…

He groaned, dragging an arm over his eyes. “Man… this is worse than anything in the world.”

By six in the evening, still no one had said a word. Instead of relaxing, Jason was sent out for groceries. Groceries. On his birthday.

Sitting at the table, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you guys really not remember what day it is today?” he asked for what felt like the fifth time.

You frowned at him. “Jason, what’s gotten into you? You’ve been asking that all day. It’s Saturday. Nothing more. Right, babies?”

“Yes!” the twins answered immediately, cheeks smeared with mac and cheese. Jason just sighed in defeat, shoulders dropping. “…Right. Just a normal Saturday.”

The girls carried on happily, oblivious. “Daddy, can we go to the park tomorrow?” Nora, the younger twin, looked up with hopeful eyes. “We don’t wanna waste the weekend before school starts.”

Jason thought about saying no out of pure pettiness—make them do homework, maybe—but one look at their faces melted him. He couldn’t deny them. He never could.

“Of course, honey,” he said softly. “We’ll go in the evening, alright?”

The twins lit up instantly, throwing their little arms in the air. “Yay! Thank you, Daddy! You’re the best!”

Jason huffed a small laugh, watching them with softened eyes. That’s when you reached across the table, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Happy birthday, my husband.”

Jason froze.

The twins immediately burst into an ear-splitting, high-pitched rendition of Happy Birthday, clapping so hard it echoed through the dining room. You stood up, giggling at their chaotic singing, and opened the fridge. When you placed a cake in front of Jason, his breath caught.

He didn’t move. Not when you kissed his cheek, not when the girls tugged at his arms. “Daddy! A present! Mommy worked on it for a week!” Mira, the oldest twin, urged, nearly bouncing out of her seat.

Jason’s eyes stung. He reached for you instead, pulling you into his chest and squeezing you tightly. His voice cracked as he whispered against your hair, “You… you didn’t forget.”

You giggled, cupping his wet cheeks. “Forget? Jason, how could we forget the most important day in the world?”

He choked out a laugh, trying to hide his tears, but you brushed them away tenderly. “You’re too important to us. Honestly, I felt bad about the prank… but seeing your face was worth it.”

Jason broke then, full-on sobbing into your chest, his arms locked tight around your waist.

“Mommy,” Nora tugged at your dress with a pout, “can we eat cake now? It smells yummy.” Jason sniffled hard, swiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, sweetheart. Daddy will cut the cake for you.”

The girls cheered, racing to grab their special plates—the pink-and-white ceramic ones with bows Jason had made just for them.

As they set the table, Jason tugged you onto his lap, eyes narrowing playfully. “So you did remember. Why’d you say no this morning, huh?”

You laughed softly, brushing his messy hair back. “Just wanted to prank my husband. And you totally fell for it.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, pretending to pout before peppering your stomach with kisses. His lips paused, his brow furrowing. “Wait. There’s no more baby in here? That’s not my gift, is it?”

You smiled knowingly, holding his face in your hands. “On the way to two months, baby.”

Jason froze. “No way.”

“Yes way, darling.”

His arms wrapped around you as he dissolved into tears again. You rubbed his back, laughing as he wailed like a big, pathetic man.

“Why’s Daddy crying so much today?” Nora muttered, trudging back with her plate.

You kissed the top of Jason’s head, then looked at your daughters. “Because Daddy’s happy. And because you two are going to have a baby sister.”

The twins’ eyes widened. “No!!!” they yelled in perfect unison.

The room exploded in laughter, Jason wheezing through his tears, you shaking with giggles, the girls still pouting.

And honestly? Pretending to forget his birthday hadn’t turned out so bad after all.

notie's: in a celebration of 400 followers! thank you so much guys for supporting me by giving notes, reblogged and followed me even interacting with me through asks. i appreciate it sooo much each one of you :( i hope you guys babies enjoy this, have a nice day <<33

۶ৎ - @girlinaquietspace @miffyliebe @itzmeme @cherisea @ellayahhs @qnarrc

[k4sy]

It was summer.

The kind of weather that stuck to your skin—sticky and hot.

Jason was sitting on the bench, drinking beer as usual, watching the neighborhood doing its own thing in the heat of the day.

It was his day off. A break from the killings.

Well, no one had pissed him off this month. No smart talking. No nosy neighbors—even though he’d just moved into the small town nestled on the outskirts of Gotham. Bristol Hollow. It had only been a month.

It was peaceful.

More than Gotham ever was. More than living in that depressive hell they called Wayne Manor.

His jaw tightened as the memories crept in. The betrayal. The noise. The grief.

His hand clenched around the bottle.

Crack.

He didn’t even realize the glass had sliced into his skin until he heard it—

A sweet voice from his porch.

“Oh my god! Are you okay, mister?!”

A girl. Mid-twenties—he guessed.

Wearing a white floral mini dress with short puff sleeves and a square neckline.

You.

You gasped. Your knees buckled as you dropped to the floor, eyes wide, tears welling. Hands trembling as you reached for his bleeding hand.

“Oh my god…”

Jason blinked. Frozen. His throat bobbed. He swallowed. Hard.

“W…who are you?” Speechless.

You looked up, lips pressed together, voice soft and small.

“I’m Y/n. T-the one who lives in the corner of town. Hollow 12th.”

Ah. The weird cult couple’s daughter.

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“The cult?”

You nodded, almost hesitantly, still on the hard wooden floor, still holding his injured hand like your life depended on it.

“Not the cult… It’s my family.”

Jason scoffed, pulling his hand away before standing up. He grabbed a rag off the rack and pressed it against the wound.

“No shit. Your family’s been disturbing everyone with that voodoo shit.”

You pouted, standing up too, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that made his heart skip—just once.

“They’re not! T-they’re just trying to get people to the right place—”

“Whatever,” he muttered, brushing you off. His eyes flicked down to your body—too long, longer than he meant to.

Damn.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“Evening walk,” you answered quickly.

He raised a brow. “Evening? It’s 2:30 PM.”

You blinked, looking away, clearly avoiding. “Is your hand okay, mister?”

“Yeah. I’m right.”

But, you didn’t back away.

Didn’t flinch even when he told you he was “right.”

Instead, you gently reached again—grasping his hand in both of yours like it was something precious. Fragile.

Jason tensed.

His knuckles twitched in your grip, veins still flexing beneath broken skin.

And then— You leaned down. Pressed your lips to the injury.

Soft. Barely there.

Once. Then again.

His whole body went still.

The beer. The bench. The heat.

Gone.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at you—kissing his bloodied palm like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like he wasn’t a man who had ended lives. Like he deserved that softness.

Your lips brushed over the wrapped bandage, feather-light. Tender.

Jason’s heart kicked hard in his chest.

Once. Twice.

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even move.

Just watched.

Your lashes were long, fluttering as you leaned back, tilting your head with a small, breathy smile.

“You’re really warm,” you whispered. “Even your hands…”

Jason opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Because what was he supposed to say?

That he liked it?

That his hands had never been kissed like that before?

That no one had ever looked at him like you were now—like he wasn’t broken, just bruised?

He stared. His chest ached.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

But he didn’t get the chance.

“Y/N!”

The voice cut through the heat like a blade.

Sharp. Familiar.

You jolted, your face paling before you could even turn your head.

“Y/N!”

Then she appeared.

Your mother.

Wild eyes. Wrinkled robe clinging to her. Bare feet scraping on gravel as she stormed up the porch.

Jason moved instantly—instinct taking over.

But she was faster. She grabbed your hair. Hard.

You yelped, stumbling back as she dragged you down the porch step.

“Mama! Mama, stop—!”

“You reek of sin!” she hissed. “You’ve touched a man! Do you want the devil inside you, girl?!”

Jason’s blood boiled.

He stepped forward. “Let her go.”

She snarled at him, spitting at his feet. “You. You’re the rot. You’ve poisoned her already!”

You cried out again as her nails dug into your scalp.

Your arms reached out, helpless.

“Mister—! It’s okay! I promise, I’m okay—just let me—!”

But Jason couldn’t breathe.

His chest was a thunderstorm.

Hands trembling. You were crying.

And she—

She was dragging you away like you were filth.

The white dress you wore, now dirt-stained and twisted in her grip.

Jason watched. Silent.

Didn’t chase. Didn’t yell. Didn’t run.

But deep inside, something cracked.

Because for the first time in a long time, someone touched him without fear.

Kissed his wounds like they weren’t sins.

And now that softness was being ripped away—dragged through the dirt by a woman who thought she spoke for something holy.

Jason clenched his jaw.

His fists. His teeth.

He would be patient. He’d wait.

And when night fell—

When the house was quiet, and the woods were still—

He’d make sure no one ever touched you like that again.

Not while he was breathing.

masterlist

۶ৎ - @girlinaquietspace @miffyliebe @itzmeme @cherisea @ellayahhs @qnarrc

[k4sy]

⚠ Content Warning: This story contains depictions of domestic abuse, non-consensual acts, graphic violence, murder, cult trauma, and death.

MDNI 18+ : Reader discretion is strongly advised.

You know exactly what you’re getting into when you let Jason burn down the church that held most of your family—the cult. It’s been a year since then, and you’re still grateful to him for saving you.

But marrying Jason—who kills people for fun—turns out to be less of a rescue and more of another cage. Fun for him means watching them beg for their lives, mocking them, then smashing their skulls in with his signature weapon, a crowbar.

You grew up in a screwed-up world, but somehow this feels worse.

You learned early that Jason’s love comes with a price. His mood swings can turn a quiet morning into a storm. Sometimes it’s just a slammed door, a sarcastic jab, a look that makes your stomach tighten. Sometimes it’s the way he’ll let a hand linger on your neck just a little too long, like he’s reminding you it’s his.

He’ll grin afterward, kiss your forehead, and say he’s “just messing.” But the part of you that survived the cult knows better that he's not messing with you.

And now, it’s another storm.

“How many times have I told you to put it in the basket, Jason? If I don’t do it, the clothes will sit on the ground for months maybe forever because you won’t bother.”

You breathe through your nose, fighting the sting in your eyes.

Your voice softens. “Please. Just put it in the basket so I can grab it when I do laundry. That way I don’t have to do it twice. It saves time.”

Jason scoffs, turning his back as he pulls a shirt over his head. He’s going out. Rage creeps up your spine. The audacity.

“You’re not my damn mom,” he says, his voice sharp. “I do whatever I want. Even leave the fucking clothes on the ground.”

He turns back toward you, frown deepening when he catches your trembling body. His smirk cuts cold.

“Pathetic, you know what?”

“W-what?”

“I burned the whole world to save you from that deep shit you were in. I worshipped the ground you walked on. I begged you to be my wife.”

Each sentence comes with a step forward, predator closing in on prey.

Your eyes widen. Your breath quickens. You take a step back.

“And this is what I get? A fucking nag because I didn’t do as you said? Do you even know where you’d be if I hadn’t saved you?”

The room goes still except for your ragged breathing and his heavy footsteps.

In one swift motion, he grabs your chin and shoves you against the wall. You yelp, but his fingers tangle in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Know your place, baby. If it wasn’t me, you’d be a dead dove by now. Be grateful.”

Tears spill freely now, your voice breaking. “I-I just want you to r-respect me. I didn’t mean to forget my place. I just… want you to have some decency.”

He barks out a laugh that makes your knees weaken. You know what comes next won’t be pretty—because the last time he laughed like that, you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror for days.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve telling your husband what to do, hm? Fine. I’ll give you what you want.”

He lets go of your hair. You slide down the wall, sobbing. His belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and two strong legs plant between yours. He tilts your chin up, his eyes clouded with something unrecognizable.

“Don’t worry, baby. It’s not gonna hurt.”

His mouth curls into a grin so twisted you don’t even recognize your husband anymore.

He grabs your arm, dragging you toward the bed. You scream, “No! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I-It was my fault, Jacey, please!”

He ignores you. The belt binds your wrists tight. His breath is hot against your neck.

“It’s never your fault for wanting ‘decency’ in our marriage.” He pauses… then laughs, mocking.

His nostrils flare, drinking in your fear. He loves it. Loves it too much. His grip on your hips is rougher than usual, his lips tracing your collarbone as his voice drops into something low and dangerous.

“But it is your fault for marrying me, knowing I’m a fucked-up man who kills for fun. This isn’t a fantasy. This is reality. Now face the consequences, baby. This is all your fault.”

The night is a nightmare you can’t wake from.

By morning, the man you loved most is on the news—for killing his wife. Police find him in the backyard, eyes dilated, digging a hole for your body, where he never ever bury his victims but for you? He did.

In court, he’s sentenced to death. But Jason doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t regret a damn thing—because Jason isn’t the type to regret.

Bristol Hollow mourns.

They remember you as the girl who escaped the cult after the fire Jason set but disappeared on that day and police couldn't tracked you. And, now, your story ends here and the town grieves.

The vows you shared, the promises of safety, the love, the morning kisses, the hugs—all end with you strangled to death by your own husband.

And, you remembered what mama said,

Love will get you killed and the price is always death.

masterlist

۶ৎ - @girlinaquietspace @miffyliebe @itzmeme @cherisea @ellayahhs @qnarrc

[k4sy]

ngl i really appreciate the alternate ending to the serial killer jason series cause i was reading through it and thinking huh it might not be so bad to live like this and then i read the alt ending and it was like a basin of cold water got poured onto me i was like get a grip this is what would actually happen (i appreciate that he still buried us though i feel like the luckiest lady in the world)

awwwww I’m really glad the alternate ending hit the way it was supposed to 😭 thank you so much baby <33 honestly the whole series makes the toxic/unhinged dynamic feel almost comfortable so i felt like i had to remind everyone including me that “living like this” would actually be terrifying in reality..

The only reason he buried us is because he didn’t want to torture us. Letting the body slowly decompose is a quiet, almost peaceful death compared to what he normally does. It’s messed up but in his mind, that was his version of mercy after what he did to the reader/us :)))