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ASAGIRI EXPLAIN

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WERETIRGER <3

forgot i had tumblr sorry

Im starving for more Yan Fukuzawa and Yan Ranpo

Miam 🦥

yandere fyodor dostoevsky x reader drabble

2.6k words ~ a/n sorry for being like hey im gonna post and not posting for 3 days lmao

tw - stalking, invasion of privacy, guns, mentions of death, general yandere tws

It had started small. A random pair of clothing going missing, a door you had closed being left open, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up as you look into your dark apartment hallway. A nuisance, to be sure, but absolutely nothing to panic over.

But as time passed, it became harder and harder to justify. A door left open became a room left a mess, a stolen piece of clothing became everything you didn't use on a daily basis; and worst of all, a looming hallway became an unexplainable shuffle from your living room in the middle of the night.

Your friend has said it was ghosts. Your mother had said it was your imagination. But after you tidied up your bedroom bookshelf only to find yourself staring into the lens of a camera, you said something else.

When you had run to the police crying months earlier, they had assured you it must've simply been your landlord. So you reported it, finally feeling the weight of that intruder's violations off your shoulders, and moved across town.

With a restraining order keeping you safe, you could finally take a shower without needing to check you were alone. That was until you stepped out of the boiling hot chamber. As you looked over, you nearly collapsed to your knees as your stomach dropped to the floor. In the steamed mirror, someone or something had somehow drawn in the condensation. A simple smiley face.

Absolutely nothing to panic over, right?

That was the tipping point. You could barely change into dry clothing before you ran out of your apartment. The next week you spent at your mother's home had been uneventful. Either the monster hunting you had lost your scent or it didn't dare to invade your family as well.

It didn't matter which. You were safe for now, that was all that mattered. You didn't have to fear the dark and what ghost or ghoul was waiting in it. After weeks of laying there all night, eyes wide and body shaking with fear, any break was taken with a smile.

After a week of good rest, you were more than happy to wake up again. You rolled over to check your phone, as you always did, but your eye was immediately caught by a text message from an unknown number.

In a split second, you were sent back to their tear-filled nights, your hand desperately shaking as you hesitated to open the message. Please, god, let this be nothing to panic about. Please.

You clicked. It felt like it took minutes for your phone to show the message.

“Do you really believe staying there is any safer than your apartment?“

Tears spilt over your cheeks as your fingers hovered shakily over your keyboard. You needed to tell whoever this is to leave you alone, that they were torturing you, that you wanted nothing more than for them to be sent to hell-

But before you could even type a single letter, the app closed. You shot up, whining in absolute desperation as you tried to reopen it. When it finally did, the message was gone. Gone in a second, like it was something you weren't supposed to see. Like something you didn't see.

The next police visit was more helpful. Seeing your absolute hysterics, their hand was forced. You returned reluctantly to your apartment, but only with the captain's promise of someone watching all the entrances to your home.

And for the next week, none of those entrances were breached. Your home was as quiet as it had been before all of this madness.

So the police had left with the assurance that no one had been stalking you. You wish that conclusion comforted you. But you knew that whatever had been haunting your life would return soon.

You had been right, of course. The next morning you awoke to a post-it note stuck to your otherwise empty fridge front.

”How little do you think of me? I would think that your friends would have had the budget for better disguises.“

Your face didn't even change as your eyes became wet with tears. The dull ache of fear rang in your chest but failed to force you to your knees anymore.

It was nothing to panic over.

Sure, you had discovered more cameras. Your things seemed to be purposely misplaced to frustrate you. There were more notes, rarely with anything written on them. At first, that part confused you.

But then you understood. Whoever this was didn't want to communicate with you. They wanted you to know that they could, though. They were purposefully withholding the relief of knowledge. They wanted you to want to know about them. About how to end this. And they wouldn't let you.

But after half a year of this endless torture, you weren't afraid anymore. You were angry. You would rip their Post-it notes up and scatter them across the floor. No, you couldn't let them have that power over you anymore.

That was what you thought to yourself as you bought a pistol. Small, easy to hide, not too expensive, but capable of packing a punch if you knew what you were doing. Or at least, if you were convinced of what you were doing. Which, you were.

The first night you hid your gun under your pillow, your monster under the bed failed to show up. The apartment was deathly silent once again.

Good, you thought. Better to be well rested when I aim next time.

The next night, they showed. Around midnight, you were awoken from your tired limbo by the sound of faint footsteps in the kitchen. The sound, which used to terrify you, now forced a smile to crawl itself onto your face.

You grabbed the gun, gingerly disabling the safety. You had loaded the pistol the moment you got it, so there was no noise to be made there. As their footsteps wandered into your living room, you followed. Your presence was no louder than a mouse's, your feet barely making contact with the carpet.

When you finally entered your living room, you saw them.

The night sky filtered through the window directly behind them, silhouetting them but leaving you completely exposed in the cool moonlight. They were large, that was the first thing you noticed. The second thing you noticed was the hair standing up on your arms once again.

You bristled, a dark, maniacal smile on your face before your predator.

You couldn't see their eyes. But you knew that they had seen you as well.

With not a single sound, you raised your pistol.

Their posture straightened. Perhaps in fear. Perhaps in surprise.

But that didn't matter now.

You braced for the earsplitting bang, your ears already ringing in preparation. You closed your eyes.

You pulled the trigger.

Click.

You opened your eyes, the ringing subsiding enough to hear the soft chuckling of the creature before you. It sounded like a mix of chattering, a symphony of strings discordantly orchestrated to create some disgusting imitation of human joy.

Click. Click. Click.

No, please, God, no. This can't be happening.

Click. Click. Click.

The chattering grew louder as your hands began to shake, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hit the side of your pistol. No, no, no, this can't be happening, you thought.

This nightmare was supposed to be over. This creature should be dead. Yet they still stood before you. Slowly, you looked up from your gun to look them in where their eyes should be. Then you recognized why they had adjusted themself. Not terror, not panic.

Anticipation.

And because of that, you couldn't do anything as they walked backwards, exiting through your window back into the freezing night.

The next few weeks weren't terrifying. No, it was too late to be scared. You learned to sleep through the knocking on the walls. You started expecting things to be misplaced, for your phone to be hijacked, for everything in your life to go horribly wrong.

It was no longer anything to panic about. It was mind-numbing. Nowhere was safe, and you were forever trapped in some predator's cage. And that monster couldn't even give you the simple mercy of seeing the bars.

You wished this endless horror movie would end. You didn't care how, or why, you just... wanted some conclusion.

On a dreary, rainy day, that wish would be fulfilled.

Throughout this entire ordeal, you had learned how to continue your normal routine like nothing was wrong. On that day, you had been doing just that. You had gotten off of a particularly exhausting day of work, and like always, decided to visit your favourite coffee shop near your apartment.

You ordered your favourite drink quickly, taking a seat next to the wide windows of the small cafe. The rain pattered against the window softly, complimenting the dull atmosphere of the day. But despite the desolate weather, tens of people walked by the store every minute.

You watched as they passed, tracking the more interesting ones with tired eyes. Occasionally, some would walk without umbrellas, holding their bags over their heads. At that, you couldn't help but chuckle. Even less often, one or two people would enter the cafe as well. You didn't pay much mind to those, as they always left within a few minutes.

You had always been easily entranced by crowd-watching, you thought as you sipped your coffee. It was easy for the entire world to fall away if you wanted it to.

You were startled out of your thoughts as the metal chair on the other side of your table squealed against the wood floor unpleasantly.

In a motion that took hours, you turned to look in front of you.

You didn't need to see their face. You didn't need to hear their voice. You didn't need to see their silhouette once again.

You knew.

The stranger took a moment to speak.

“I've always found first introductions to be difficult,” The man sighed. He spoke with a thick Russian accent, his voice like a perfectly tuned instrument.

Your eyes seemed to blur over as you took in the sight of him. His hair, dark as a raven's, framed his face with loose strands that stuck to his pale skin as if they were wet. His outfit was well tailored, with detailed embroidery; yet showed its age in its formerly pristine fabric hanging loosely off his light skin, light discolouring staining parts of his large trench coat.

He cocked his head to the side, “I am glad that I waited to talk to you face to face.” You struggled to respond, your voice caught in your throat as you looked upon the face of your torturer.

He gazed at you hungrily, his deep violet eyes blank as a corpse's while still being able to dissect you without any effort.

“Why?” You struggled to say, every part of your body telling you to run, to scream, to fight, to finally murder the man in front of you-

But you knew you couldn't. No, it would be a futile effort. Just as everything else had.

He sighed contentedly, taking a sip of his tea and looking out the window for a second.

”I believe timing is an important factor in any relationship.”

You stared at him dumbfounded, struggling to believe that this was really happening. No, this was a dream, another horrible dream about this horrible man.

Slowly, you joined him in looking out the window. Looking upon his young but shallowed face made you feel as if you were going to hurl. Looking out the window could blur out the stranger sitting in front of you, couldn't it?

”Who are you?“ You choked out, fighting back the tears that pricked at your eyes as you tried to ignore the reality before you.

You didn't dare to turn back, but you felt the burn of his eyes on you once again.

“My name is Fyodor.”

For some reason, that made your heart drop to the floor. No, you knew nobody by that name. This man was truly a stranger, a stranger that had been inside your home, viewing you more intimately than anyone had ever done so before. And you didn't even know his name.

“Why... why are you doing this?” You asked softly, looking down at your lap as the tears began to stain your cheeks.

“Don't worry, that shall be made clear very soon.”

“What?”

You jolted up, realizing the gravity of what he had just said. And as your eyes raised, you were greeted by the sight of two large men clad in black sitting at the table next to yours. You frantically looked back to the man in front of you. Fyodor was frail, you could tell from the way his button-up hung off his chest. These men... were anything but. They... they would have no problem handling you.

“It's quite a dreary day, isn't it?” He said, setting down his cup of tea gently, “Not quite as picturesque as I had planned, but God must have known better.”

You didn't dare to respond, crying weakly into your hands.

”My apologies, my dear,“ his tone was even, ”But I do believe our time is up.“

He stood up, clearly not bothered by your pathetic form before him. As he stood up, the men clad in black joined, standing next to your table.

”You- You can't! Someone will see- Someone will call the cops-” You cried out, looking up at him with red eyes.

He cut you off with a comforting sigh. Or at least, it should have been comforting. Yet all you could feel was absolute terror, your body wracked with chills greater than you'd ever felt.

”Oh, I don't think anyone here will be able to call the cops,“

You shuddered, ”W-What do you mean by that?“

”It is unlikely that anyone besides us will leave this cafe.“ He said calmly, his tone completely disassociated from the horrifying thought he had put in your head. He nodded back to the men behind him, and they both left the table.

“You're... you're going to have them kill these people?” You ask quietly, but you truly didn't want the answer.

In response, he chuckled, the sound worse than the first time you had heard it.

“No, no. Of course not. Why would we waste precious ammo? No, I'll be killing them,” He stated, his face contorted into a smile that made your skin crawl.

”Stand up for me, won't you?“ He continued.

You could hear the sound of your heart beating against your chest as you struggled to stand, your knees weak. He placed a hand on the small of your back, his touch feeling like spiders crawling up under your shirt.

He started to guide you towards the exit gently before you stopped walking. His head turned towards yours, stopping as well.

“One last thing... please,”

“Of course, my dear.”

“This... this has all been just a... a game to you, right?”

He smiled, “Yes, yes it has.”

“Did I play it well?” You asked, finally looking him in his blood-churning eyes.

”Oh, absolutely,“ He said with a quiet laugh, opening the door for you to leave. In front of the cafe, a black SUV was parked, with another black-clad man standing to escort you inside the car.

“You played it perfectly, my love. You definitely proved to me that I have made the correct choice.“

You didn't struggle as you entered the car. No, you didn't cry as you heard the screams of the people left inside the cafe.

No, it was absolutely nothing to panic over.

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Chuuya LED panel in New York's Time Square from a Vietnamese fan