Dealing with the Devil [Yandere x Reader]

Chapter 43 - Rules

What should I do?

What should I do?

I returned to my room, but I know damn well he most likely knows I left this room. What should I do? I head to his kitchen and start digging through the cupboards.

A bottle of wine, perhaps?

I open it with trembling hands, the cool glass offering a brief respite from the turmoil swirling within me. With each swallow, the bitter liquid burns its way down my throat, dulling the edges of my anxiety.

The next morning, I drag myself into the living room, my head pounding from the remnants of last night's indulgence. There, sprawled out on the couch, is Chris, looking just as disheveled as before. Clothes rumpled, hair tousled, he appears utterly spent.

Well...

At least now I know why...

But the image suddenly flashes in my mind, vivid and unsettling. God, he really showed that doll no mercy. The memory of his brutal treatment sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of the darkness lurking beneath his charming facade.

I wish it was me,

god no i need to stop these thoughts

I yawned again, feeling the heaviness of sleep tugging at my eyelids. He reached up and pulled me down on top of him, and I forced myself to succumb to sleep. When I woke up, the tantalizing smell of breakfast greeted me, and I slowly sat up.

"Morning, baby," he greeted me cheerfully.

"Morning," I mumbled in response, making my way towards the table. But before I could sit down, he pulled me into his lap and nuzzled into my neck. I grabbed a piece of food and started mindlessly eating, his affectionate gestures causing a flutter in my chest.

"My baby..." he began, peppering kisses along my neck, and I couldn't help but almost melt into his arms.

"My dear..." He muttered, I was unsure whether to ask. "You've turned still, do you not like my kisses?" he asked, his hands gently caressing my body before coming to rest on my stomach, leaving me pondering his question and the deeper implications behind it.

"Or can you still not get over the fact I fucked a doll instead of you?" he whispered hotly in my ear, his breath tickling my skin and sending a shiver down my spine.

His grip on my stomach tightened ever so slightly, pulling my body flush against his. I could feel the hard planes of his chest pressing into my back as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of my ear.

"Maybe I should have chosen you instead," he purred, his voice low and dripping with suggestion. "Would you have liked that?"

A whimper nearly escaped my lips at the blatant innuendo in his words. Heat flooded my cheeks as images unbidden filled my mind of what that might have looked like.

His other hand traced a featherlight path along my curves, igniting a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"But there is something I've been wanting to discuss with you," he said, his expression growing solemn as his tone shifted to a serious register. A crease formed between his furrowed brows.

I felt a knot of apprehension twist in my stomach at his grave demeanor. "What's that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and nonchalant.

"Rules," he stated flatly, the single word carrying an air of finality and authority. He slowly slid a piece of paper across the table toward me.

My gaze dropped to the sheet, and I felt the blood drain from my face as I read the heading - "Rules for y/n's Conduct." Below it, listed in Christain's precise handwriting, was Rule #1: No talking to boys.

I swallowed hard, raising my eyes to meet his resolute stare. So many questions and protests clamored in my mind, but I could only manage a faint, "Rules?"

"Yes, rules made just for you," he confirmed with a curt nod, his jaw set in that unmistakable way that warned against argument. "We can discuss the other items later, but that first rule is non-negotiable. Do you understand?"

This man has reached a new level of crazy

Rule #2: No saying "I hate you" or other disrespectful phrases.

Rule #3: Respond to all my calls/texts immediately.

Rule #4: Always say "I love you" when I say it first.

________

(A/N)

I cut my finger open, its hard type