Random Yandere JoJo Writings

I Never Go Around Mirrors (Yandere Illuso x Reader)

Note: I've neglected La Squadra members for far too long and I wanted to fix that. Still, I think this little story is kinda meh. I will try to do something better for Illuso next time.

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This wasn't the life that you wanted to live. It was never in your plan to live on the run spending your every waking moment glancing over your shoulder and your every night wondering if you should take the risk and go to sleep. You made sure that when you left, you would head out to the country, staying as far away from any place that could possibly have a mirror. You managed to get far enough away that you managed not to panic when you found the mirrors in the old farmhouse that you rented. You got rid of them immediately, tossing them into the river behind your new house and watching the current carry them away. There had only been four of them; one in the bathroom and one in each bedroom. If you needed to see your reflection that badly, you could just marvel at your tired, haunted appearance in the river water. You weren't totally sure how his abilities worked, but you were fairly certain that he could only use the reflection of a mirror. It had been a few days and he hadn't tracked you down yet, so that must be the case.

You were foolish enough to allow yourself to relax. It didn't last long. Eventually, your paranoia would just not leave you alone. You started to notice an odd echoing sound that was driving you crazy. It sounded like a faint knocking at first and you ignored it, thinking it must be distant hammering from some construction work miles away. The echo carried far out where you were. The Italian countryside was beautiful, lined with mountains and flowering meadows, but it was not as peaceful as you had hoped. Another day passed and the knocking was beginning to sound like footsteps: slow, deliberate, stalking, mocking...

You couldn't stand it!

It had gotten to the point that any reflection was unbearable. Each time you caught a glimpse of yourself on any reflective surface you would panic, expecting to see him standing behind you. He wasn't there. He was never there. Still, you didn't want to take any chances. The silverware was replaced with cutlery made from non-reflective material. The old brass knobs throughout the house were replaced with dull metal. You made it a point to stay away from the river from now on. If you didn't stand in front of a reflection, then he couldn't see you. You didn't care if his abilities could only be used with mirrors. You were not taking any chances.

Another day or so passed. That echo was getting louder. Footsteps. They were definitely footsteps! They were closer than they were a few days ago. Now you could hear them coming up the driveway, up the steps, right up to the front door! Your eyes darted to the stained glass window adorning the door. There was nothing there. No familiar silhouette darkened the doorway. Still you kept glancing down at the knob as if expecting it to turn. It never did. You almost let out a laugh at how badly your imagination was running away with you, but the footsteps started up again. They circled the house a few times, giving off the air of someone who was on a casual stroll. You jumped up from your seat and ran to the record collection that came with the house when you bought it. The house was a treasure trove of old trinkets and homey decor left behind by its previous owners. The record collection was one of your favorites. At that moment, you needed it to save your sanity.

You picked a record at random, placed it on the record player, placed the needle in a random position on the record, and started the player. An old country song began to play, the twang of a steel guitar covering up the sound of the footsteps. As long as you couldn't hear it, it was fine. You stared around the parlor trying to find something else to help you relax. Your eyes settled on the bookshelf next to the unused fireplace. Just as you did with the record, you chose a book at random. You didn't care what the book was about. It could be anything from a dull historical chronicle or an ego-driven celebrity autobiography and you wouldn't care. As long as it took your mind off of the overbearing feeling of being hunted, you would devour each and every word. You took a seat on the overstuffed sofa, relishing the softness of the cushions, and opened the book.