It's disappointing that my old Yandere Book Oneshot is no longer available. However, this new collection presents a perfect opportunity to showcase the growth in my writing skills.
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Winter's PoV
The stage lights blinded me, a harsh glare that couldn't mask the churning storm in my gut. Across the stage, Karina and Y/n, bathed in a warm spotlight, were a picture of sickening happiness. We were all trainees together, a trio bound by dreams and instant ramen. But fate, that cruel puppeteer, had other plans. Y/n, with his shy smile and gentle eyes, had fallen for Karina's fiery spirit. I, the quiet confidante, the one who always knew the words to soothe his anxieties, became a silent observer in their love story.
Years bled into one another, each stolen glance between them, each whispered secret, a tiny knife twisting in my heart. I convinced myself I was happy for them, that their love was a beautiful melody I could appreciate from afar. But the lie festered, a poisonous bloom in the garden of my soul.
Jealously, a monstrous entity with eyes of flickering green, took root within me. It whispered insidious thoughts, replaying stolen kisses and late-night phone calls on a loop in my mind. Sleep became a battlefield, haunted by dreams of Y/n holding Karina close, the warmth I craved radiating from him but forever out of reach.
One day, a particularly dark thought snaked its way into my mind. What if... what if I wasn't the observer anymore? What if I could rewrite the story, snatch Y/n from Karina's grasp? The thought, forbidden and thrilling, ignited a spark of twisted determination.
My plan wasn't a violent one, not in the beginning. It was a slow, insidious poison seeped into their relationship. A strategically misplaced practice schedule, a "forgotten" text meant for Karina landing in Y/n's phone, a well-timed "accident" that left Karina bruised and Y/n by her side. Each act, a tiny chip away at the foundation of their trust.
The tension between them crackled in the air, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. One evening, I overheard a particularly vicious argument.
"Minjeong needs you constantly! It's like you're her babysitter, not her friend!" Karina's voice, laced with venom, echoed through the practice room.
"It's not like that," Y/n mumbled, his voice thick with guilt. "She just needs someone to be there for her."
"Or maybe," Karina spat, her eyes filled with suspicion, "she's more manipulative than you think."
A cruel smile played on my lips, hidden from their view. The seeds of doubt were sown. The harvest would be glorious.
The final blow came unexpectedly. Rumors swirled, whispers of a rendezvous between Karina and her manager, fueled by a strategically placed photo "accidentally" leaked to the tabloids. Y/n returned to our dorm that night, a broken shell of his former self. His despair was like a siren song, beckoning me closer.
"Y/n," I murmured, my voice dripping with a sickening sweetness as I sat beside him. He flinched at my touch, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. "She doesn't deserve you," I whispered, each word a tiny, poisoned arrow aimed at his shattered heart.
"What am I supposed to do, Minjeong?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
"You deserve someone who will cherish you," I purred, closing the gap between us. "Someone who will always be there for you."
My lips brushed against his, a tentative exploration that sent shivers down his spine. He didn't respond, but he didn't pull away either. It was a victory kiss, sealed not with love, but with the bitter aftertaste of revenge.
The following weeks were a descent into madness. I became Y/n's shadow, my presence a constant reminder of his loss, a suffocating blanket that choked off any remaining hope. Every tear he shed, every fear he confessed, became a weapon in my twisted arsenal. He craved solace, and I, the serpent in his garden, offered him a poisoned chalice of comfort.
One night, as he lay asleep, his vulnerability a stark contrast to his usual stoicism, I leaned closer, a dark whisper escaping my lips. "Karina was a fool, Y/n. Blinded by fleeting desires. But you," I continued, tracing the outline of his lips with my finger, "you deserve so much more. You deserve me."
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, confusion battling with a dawning realization. A chilling laugh erupted from my throat, a sound devoid of joy, filled with a cold, horrifying triumph. Pulling him closer, I rained kisses on his face, each one a claim of ownership.
"Don't you see, Y/n," I whispered between kisses, "this is where you belong. Tears streamed down Y/n's face, silent and heavy. He didn't fight me, didn't protest. He was a broken doll, the strings of his emotions frayed and tangled. My laughter, a chilling counterpoint to his misery, filled the room as I devoured him with kisses, each one claiming him as my own.
As our clothes gave way to ragged breaths and desperate touches, a twisted sense of victory pulsed within me. This wasn't love, not in the traditional sense. This was possession, a warped reflection of the innocent affection I once held for him. But it was mine. He was mine.
Later, bathed in the afterglow of our twisted union, I impulsively grabbed my phone. A cruel smile stretched across my face. With trembling fingers, I captured a photo - Y/n, his eyes clouded with despair, tangled in the sheets beside me. My other hand, possessively resting on his chest, completed the picture.
"See, Karina," I typed, a venomous edge to my voice, "this is what true love looks like." With a triumphant click, I sent the photo, a cruel serenade to the woman who stole Y/n's heart, only to lose it to the monster she unwittingly created.
The reply notification buzzed on my screen, a single word stark against the black background: "Why?"
Ignoring the pathetic plea, I sent another photo, this one a close-up of our intertwined fingers. This was a game now, a twisted dance of power and desperation. I wouldn't let her win, not even in my warped reality.
Night after night, the cycle continued. Stolen moments of intimacy, followed by mocking pictures sent to the woman I loathed. Y/n, a shell of his former self, became a ghost in his own body, a pawn in the game I'd orchestrated.
One morning, I awoke to an empty space beside me. Panic clawed at my throat, a cold fear I hadn't anticipated. Had he left? Had he escaped my grasp?
But then I saw it - a single sheet of paper lying crumpled on the floor. Unfolding it, my eyes widened. It was a message from Karina, a desperate plea for forgiveness, a tear-stained confession of her mistake.
A wave of nausea washed over me. Was it remorse? Fear? Whatever the emotion, it didn't matter. They were both pawns in my twisted game, and the game was far from over.
With a chilling smile, I crumpled the note in my fist, the echoes of my laughter echoing through the empty apartment. Y/n might be broken, a prisoner in his own mind, but he was still mine. And Karina, the object of my twisted jealousy, would forever be haunted by the ghost of her lost love, forever taunted by the mocking pictures of our stolen intimacy.
The victory, however hollow, was mine. And in the suffocating darkness of our twisted reality, I knew this was just the beginning.
