Deep Like Water (Yandere!BEN Drowned X GN!Reader)

Screaming Out My Deepest Fear

cw: kinda disturbing imagery/description of being forcibly restrained or bound? putting it here just in case

Your jaw was aching. It wasn't your imagination—it stung like an absolute bitch. The pain was sudden, with no reasoning given for its cause, and as you rubbed the stinging skin, you winced when you accidentally pressed against it.

It felt like a bruise with the way your fingers could only lightly graze it to avoid causing a wave of localised pain. Looking around in search of a mirror, you resigned yourself to wiggling your jaw from side to side in the hope that it would click and solve the problem, and you became increasingly disappointed when it didn't.

Eyes moving back up to the stage, you could feel your cheek burn as you locked eyes with something that hadn't been up there when you had last checked.

It was another mannequin, but unlike the others, it had defined features that you would never misidentify, regardless of how much you wanted to. It was mimicking you, standing in the same way that you were and holding its cheek in a way identical to you. When you tilted your head, the mannequin did the exact same thing in the exact same way—right down to the confused blink.

Okay. So there's a mannequin of me. Forgetting about your jaw completely, you watched the mannequin as it mirrored your movements: arms moving up and down, rotating wrists, feet stepping out to the side. You were like a young child trying to outrun a shadow, watching in morbid curiosity as the mannequin kept up with your erratic movements.

Something wasn't right, though.

When you tried to step backwards and slightly to the right, where, on stage, your father's mannequin had placed his feet, you discovered that, no matter how much you wanted to see your mannequin step on your father's feet, you physically couldn't. An invisible wall (or perhaps invisible strings) prevented you from moving to that specific spot or standing anywhere where your mannequin would come into contact with something on stage.

This discovery slightly irritated you, and aloud, you said, 'What, am I not allowed to do what it can't do now? Can't stand on someone's foot? Coward.' Sneering at your mannequin, you couldn't help but hate the way its eyes never looked up from the floor or how its movements, despite following yours, were subdued and forced, like it didn't want to do this either.

You remembered when you looked like that, and seeing your past self so clearly carved into fibreglass was enough to make your stomach coil until you felt sick. When you eventually couldn't stand it, you turned away, trying to calm yourself down. You were all over the fucking place—crying one minute, angry the next—and it was overwhelming.

If only you could leave and maybe avoid what the mannequins had been silently planning.

You had only managed to take a few steps towards the curtain, once again thinking of trying to break through it, when you were suddenly pushed by an invisible hand that sent you flying to the floor. By some miracle, your cheek was the only part of your face that was hit, even though you hadn't had time to shield yourself with your hands.

Swearing viciously, you rolled over, pushing yourself up to your elbows to see what had caused you to fall, ready to scuttle away, only to see nothing standing behind you. The stage, however, told a different story.

Of course, your mannequin was in the exact same position as you, but the others were standing around it like vultures, glaring down at your on-stage representation like they were ready to kill it. When your mother raised her foot, you were ready to block it, so when she tried to bring it down onto your face, the heel twisted so it would hit you dead in the eye, your forearms held it at bay.