𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓼 ♡ || Yandere Heizou x Reader

*-_ *Chapter 18 (🔥🔥🔥😈😈🙏🙏)

HOWDY DO EVERYONE 

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: profanity (bad words), some spice (not full-on $mut, i'd call it lime at the most) 

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It's silent. Silent as ever, that is, except for the scribbling and scraping of pencil on paper. The familiar feeling of being virtually unable to move is back. My eyes flutter open, scanning my surroundings. Everything is just a bit fuzzy. I quickly realize that the room I'm in is none other than Heizou's, but I can't help but notice the small differences... The photos of me are in different orders and placed sloppily on the wall. Some are even missing. There are tears in some, some wet spots and... bite marks... ew...? A black garbage bag sits ominously in the corner. It isn't very full.

A soft hum resonates throughout the room. I recognize it as Heizou's voice, but it's different. This time his hum is shaky and uneven, like a panicked child. The tune is familiar. The song my [mother/father/(someone who took care of you)] used to sing to me. My eyes hesitantly snap over to the man sitting hunched over his desk. I gulp. I feel nauseous again. A sick, sick, inkling of hatred creeps in my throat. It's hot like a ball of molten lava. I don't want to hear that song bellow from that poison throat of his. I only have memories of purity connected to it and now he's gone and tainted yet another aspect of my life. I'm warm but freezing. Do I have a fever?

How does he know that song?

I wonder what part of me he'll pick out to defile next.

God knows he's just waiting to scrape his claws under my skin and dig out my fat. To dissect me and keep my veins in a capsule. Make polka dotted bruises all over my body to prove something. Anything.

My gaze snaps back to the pictures of me on the wall, buried within a barrage of posters. A single poster... looks very familiar. I can barely read it with my fuzzy vision. It's about a criminal. Playing with his victims like dolls. Taking them apart. Putting them back together all wrong.

...Where have I seen this before?

Oh. That's right.

It was on the assignment description. The thing that started the end of my life. I... can only hope that this isn't the end. My life is in the bloodstained hands of this crooked, twisted man.

My train of thoughts is interrupted as that very monster cranes his neck around to stare at me with those... sickeningly gorgeous eyes of his. I had always thought he looked so delicate. He had such pretty eyelashes for a man. The two matching moles on his cheeks reminded me of a Fontaine woman in the 17th century. His lips are supple and his teeth are polished, sharp, perfect. The way his neck slides into his nape and down the arch of his shoulders as he looks at me is so sultry and soft. I hate that he's so beautiful. As I stare at his physique, that is when I notice two facts.

One, he is still staring straight at me. That sardonically pitiful smirk compliments his lips although it's still endlessly bothersome. His eyes are... wide, to say the least. The dark marks under his eyelids suggest that he hasn't slept in days. I'm put more on edge than before. I can barely think right now as it is.

Two, he's wearing practically nothing. Just his iconic shorts and a low-coverage, thin, skin-tight black tank top. That's strange. It's chilly in here. His hair is undone too. And god, his hair is so... pretty... so soft. I had always thought he had straight hair, but only now that it's undone I realize that there are twists and turns to it. Taking on its own natural shape. Other than its disheveled, messy state, that is.