Dealing with the Devil [Yandere x Reader]

Chapter 1 - From Bad

I found myself gazing at yet another rejection letter from an agent, diligently following all the recommended steps. I sought feedback from editors, extensively revised my work, and absorbed critiques from my writers' circle. I had done everything by the book, so why did I keep facing rejection?

I did everything I was supposed to do.

Why am I still getting rejected?

As I sat there, the hum of the laptop's cooling fan serving as a constant reminder of the digital world's indifferent persistence, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my dreams and aspirations resting squarely on my shoulders.

A heavy sigh escaped me, and I muttered aloud,

"Why am I so bad at writing?" Just then, my phone unexpectedly vibrated.

In that eerie moment, my phone disrupted the heavy silence with an unexpected vibration, causing my heart to leap in my chest. The message that flickered onto the screen seemed out of place, an unsettling juxtaposition to my inner turmoil.

"I think you're extraordinary,"

The message from an unknown number declared, as though it were an eerie whisper from the abyss, a spectral voice that seemed strangely attuned to my innermost fears and insecurities.

Startled and disconcerted, I typed back, "Wrong number," desperately wishing to sever this bizarre connection to an unknown presence.

But the response I received sent shivers down my spine, as the message insisted,

"Oh no, Y/N, I meant it for you."

My heart raced, and a feeling of dread washed over me, as if a shadow had fallen across the room, casting a deep, foreboding darkness.

I stared at the screen in disbelief, my mind racing to make sense of the words before me. How could this be? The message was meant for someone else, surely.

A mix-up?

A misunderstanding?

But as I read the words over and over, the sinking realization settled in like an anchor in my chest – there was no mistake.

I scanned my surroundings for a brief moment, trapped in the confines of a cramped dorm room devoid of windows. The stifling atmosphere sent shivers down my spine, instilling an unsettling fear deep within me.

I needed to escape this oppressive space.

I needed to leave

In haste, I snatched an old worn out sweater and hurriedly made my way out, attributing my unease to the suffocating weather that seemed to mirror my internal disquiet. Seeking solace, I sought refuge in a nearby coffee shop, hoping the change in scenery would help me sort through my tumultuous thoughts.

With the little money i had in my pocket i Ordered a latte, I settled into a seat chosen at random, attempting to bring order to the chaos within my mind. Questions gnawed at me, foremost among them

How did they know who I was?

"Order for Y/n," the barista's voice jolted me from my contemplation. Startled, I rose from my seat to collect my drink, but in my hurried attempt to navigate the bustling coffee shop

My shoulder collided with someone, resulting in their beverage erupting into a messy cascade of liquid, spilling everywhere.

As I looked up, my heart sank like a stone in my chest, for I found myself face to face with a man known throughout campus as the embodiment of fury, a figure often whispered about with trepidation as "the devil incarnate."

His eyes smoldered with a fiery intensity that sent shivers down my spine, and in that moment, I felt as though I had stumbled into the lair of a formidable beast, unleashing a storm of consequences I couldn't yet fathom.

His raven-black hair framed his face, adding to the intensity of his expression. His sharp, piercing gaze bore into me, and an undeniable sense of impending doom washed over me. His brows were furrowed, and his lips were set in a tight line, as if he were ready to unleash his infamous wrath.

His jacket was covered with coffee.

Thinking quickly, my trembling hands thrust my own drink into his hands, not daring to meet his gaze. I had heard countless stories about his volatile temper and the chaos that followed those who crossed his path. I knew that a confrontation with him was something to be avoided at all costs.

Thinking quickly, I pushed my own drink into his hands, not daring to meet his gaze, and made a swift escape before the storm could descend upon me.

But to my surprise, as I retreated from the scene, I heard a deep, irritated sigh escape from him. His expression shifted from one of anger to something altogether unexpected: concern. He seemed to be grappling with something internal, a storm of emotions playing across his face.

"God why me" I said as I flopped onto my bed.

As I sank onto my well-worn bed, its sheets and pillows bearing the wear and tear of countless nights of worry with my now torn up sweater covered in coffee, I couldn't help but feel the oppressive atmosphere of the room seeping into my very bones. The air seemed to carry the weight of my anxieties, and I longed for an escape.

With a sigh, I unlocked my phone, greeted by the overwhelming tally of messages and missed calls: "87 messages, 40 missed calls." Frustration welled up inside me as I scrolled through the notifications, each one a reminder of the chaos that had erupted in my life.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you?"

"Where did you go?"

"I'm gonna call you"

"Why aren't you answering?"

Desperation mounting, I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would provide some relief from the relentless turmoil that had taken hold of my world. The room, devoid of any personal touches, felt like a cold, unforgiving shell that had become a witness to my unraveling.