cw: yandere, delusional man, kidnapping, stalking, murder, blood/gore imagery, implied snuff content (dark web mention), panic attack, fem reader
Previous yandere! murderer
Yandere! Murderer - who shows up at your apartment straight from a job. The one where he kills people in case your pretty little head forgot.
Heâs smiling the way he always does when his eyes find you - though the face mask hides most of it, you can tell by the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He fills the doorway, broad shoulders, blocking any hope of escape before kicking it shut with the heel of his boot.
Those eyes have haunted you ever since the night he took you. The night he said he was bringing you âto work,â only for you to end up in that basement - his so-called studio. A single flickering bulb overhead. A camera pointed straight at you. An audience you couldnât see but could somehow feel.
He called it a date. Said youâd make a cute co-star.
He wasnât planning on keeping you alive, but hey - love finds a way.
So when you open the door and see him again - after a week of police visits and reports claiming no man fits your description - there he is. Standing before you, soaked in blood and breathing hard. For a moment, your mind refuses to process it. This canât be real. This canât be happening again.
But it is. Heâs here. In your apartment.
âHey, baby,â he says, voice warm despite the rasp in his throat. âMissed me?â He drops his bag at the door. The sound makes you jump. A sound too loud to be anything normal. Your mind already imagining a body or something worse.
Your back hits the wall before you even realize youâre moving. You canât stop shaking. He looks you over you affectionately. There's something domestic about this to him.
âWhatâs with the tears?â His tone softens as he steps closer, boots leaving faint red prints across the hardwood. A pain to clean later. âYouâre crying again.â When you donât answer, his brows knit together in confusion. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. The blood on his gloves smears your jaw as he cups your face, thumbs dragging slowly across your skin. The scent is unbearable, metallic and sour and alive. You can feel it tacky on your cheeks.
He tilts his head, observing yet childlike. âYouâre so cute when you get all emotional like this. What, you think I came here to hurt you? Iâd never, baby. You know that.â
You choke out a sob in response, cowering closer into the wall.
âAw, baby. You forgot movie night, didnât you? Thatâs why I came here - I figured Iâd save you the trip. Even brought snacks too!â
He points at the bag by the door. Your mind continues to think of the worse. Unable to imagine that he stopped by the store for your favorites.
The last âmovie nightâ flashes in your mind - his hand on your thigh while a body dangled from the ceiling, the flicker of the live feed on that monitor tucked in the back corner.
âCute place! A little messy, but hey you probably forgot I was comingâ he says, chuckling when your knees give out and you sink against the wall. âYou always get worked up about that sort of thing. I shouldâve texted first.â He leans down, eyes meeting yours as he begins to talk slowly.
âI didnât wanna be late, baby. I even brought popcorn this time. Real date-night stuff.â His voice dips, tender, coaxing, trying his best to be sweet. âCâmon now. Donât cry. Youâll make me feel bad, and you know how I get when I feel bad.â
His thumb smears another streak of red over your mouth. Watching as your sobs die out. Perhaps going into shock. âThere she is,â he murmurs in a laugh. âGod, youâre so pretty when you have tears in your eyes. Now letâs pick a movie, yeah? But before that - â
He crosses the room and crouches by his duffel, unzipping the worn bag with the slow rasp of a zipper that sounds far too loud in the quiet room. You donât move from your place against the wall. Every muscle feels locked, like your bodyâs afraid it might start screaming again if you breathe too deep.
âSee? Told you Iâd bring everything this time.â His tone is light, almost teasing. The camera glints as he pulls it out - compact, familiar with a Sanrio sticker off to the side, the same one that watched you in that basement. He tests the lens, wipes a smear of blood from the screen with the edge of his sleeve. âDonât want the audience missing that pretty face of yours.â
You shake your head once, a tiny movement that barely makes it past your shoulders. It doesnât matter. Heâs already talking over the silence.
âLetâs make it like before.â He sets the tripod up near the coffee table, angling it toward the couch. âYou sit right there. Iâll grab the popcorn, weâll pick something soft, yeah? Maybe a rom-com this time.â
Your throat aches when you try to answer. No sound comes out.
He looks back at you, and for a heartbeat his smile softens. âHey. Donât give me that look. I'm just documenting our love. It's inspiring to them!â A small chuckle when he watches you cower. âYou know I hate it when you look scared. Iâm not gonna hurt you. I just want our night together. Thatâs all.â
He adjusts the focus, satisfied with the frame, then reaches a hand toward you - blood dried dark along his knuckles, palm open a chance for you to go willingly.
âSmile for the fans, baby,â he says gently. âTheyâve been dying to see you.â