Limerence ❀ Yandere!Males x Reader

entry #51 | ωнïтє нåт

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(Y/n) woke up with tears pricking the edges of her vision. Of all nights, her mind had to choose this one to plague her with a dream. In it, she was standing in a sea of what felt like wisps of mist and shadows. But with each step she took towards the flash of light in the distance, her feet felt heavier and heavier as if something was dragging her down. The airy floor turned into black tar, coating her hands, feet, face—every part of her skin.

And then it melted into ripples of crimson blood that left bloody handprints on her arms. You did this, they wrote. You killed us. In that pit of tar, blood, and haunting emptiness, the corpses of her friends rose up around her in the same state they had been when they died. They clawed at her, tried to drag her down, pull her deeper and deeper into whatever void they came from.

You did this. So you're not allowed to be happy. You have to be alone too.

Endlessly, there was no escape from this violent dream that gripped her. Dream or reality—she wasn't sure anymore. One morning she'd wake up feeling fine, feeling as if all those deaths and murders were a bad dream. And then the next she'd remember and the weight of her emotions would hit her all at once. It's a feeling of suffocation as the poison wraps its claws around her throat, not letting go until she is completely painted in its shades of black and blue.

The color of bruises. Bruises no one could see. Not a single mar on her skin. Underneath it, however, was a different story.

She slid her legs over the comforter and off the bed. The dog—she's yet to name it—woke up drowsily and circled her legs in concern. (Y/n) padded towards the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth in the sink. When she looked up, a girl she almost didn't recognize stared back at her; dark circles under her eyes, a hollow, sunken-in look as if she had been abusing drugs for years, and pale, chapped lips.

Normal (Y/n) wasn't especially stunning. But current (Y/n) looked even worse.

She couldn't help but make a face in the mirror. Haha, I look funny. Not bothering to comb her hair, she stepped into the closet and drew on the cheapest-looking pair of clothes she could find, T-shirt and jeans, and came out of it within seconds. Her stomach growled.

I raise a pet called my stomach, she mused as she patted her belly. Where can I disown it? The dog weaved through her legs again, its soft fur tickling her skin. She scooped it up listlessly, not quite registering her actions as she flopped back onto the bed. 

Oh, wait...this isn't my room, she realized. She had been moving on routine, not even realizing the bedroom she was in was leagues larger than her usual one at home. Why did I bother to get changed them?

Her answer came in the form of a hyperactive blond lugging a folded up easel through the doorway. He wore an oversized pink hoodie with the sleeves tugged over his hands and a pair of navy blue shorts. There was a little furrow between his brow as he struggled to fit the tall wooden structure through the narrow doorway. He stumbled and nearly fell over but managed to regain his footing. He bit his lip in concentration as he slowly eased the easel into a leaning position and slid it into the room.

It would've been funny had his face not brought unpleasant memories to mind. She sighed. At the rate he was taking, she'd have to put up with it for another hour at most. "Need help with that?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice. His head whipped around, his eyes wide in alarm. "Y-you were still here?" He stammered with a squeak. In his surprise, the easel slipped out of his hands and crashed into the floor before he could catch it. (Y/n) flinched at the loud sound.