[Yandere Meowscarada x Reader] I'll Make Them All Disappear!

56 | Like She Never Bled

Minutes are spilling away. Maybe they've become hours. Time slips through your fingers, or at least it tries with how hard it would have to squeeze in between your fingertips and your phone. All of this time has been spent without Meowscarada, utterly surprising to you. You can't quite remember the last time you spent this much time away from your feline partner. It had to have been years. By now, she should be bursting into the dorm room, covered from head to toe in gallons of sweat from how fast she ran to reunite with you. That, or she'll appear out of thin air and say something about how she missed you so, or went out training alone for a few hours to gain your unending praise later.

You spend your not-so-precious time swiping mindlessly through your phone, Cinnamon leaning close over your shoulder to drag her eyes over every media post you flick past. There's something about cooking. There's something about training tips, as per usual -- the kind of stuff someone like you doesn't need to hear. There's one of those Pokémon memes, the kind featuring an oddly humanoid Pokémon swaying its hips side to side with this remarkably seductive glint in its animated eyes. A while back, you might've been disturbed by the sight. Now, after spending all those years rotting away under Meowscarada's pervy influence, you aren't the least bit driven away from the animation.

When Cinnamon sees you gawking for too long, she drags her eyes onto you instead, offering you somewhat of a judgmental side-glance. You feel the pressure of her eyes on the side of your head and crane your neck, granting her the same kind of stare.

"What?" you chirp.

"Really?" she says, and her eyes flick back down to the screen. On it, the totally unprofessional artistic depiction of a Pokémon dance is cutting away to show off the character's backside.

"What?" you chirp again.

"Turn off." Cinnamon shifts, placing herself in a more comfortable position on top of you; both her arms draped over your shoulders, her head hovering next to yours, her eyes reluctantly -- and bitterly -- returning to the phone.

"You're turned off? It's not that bad."

"Not what I meant."

"Oh."

"Freak."

Maybe something's wrong with your head. Really, you shouldn't be so focused on media like this. It's definitely something Avery would call Coomer Bait and flick the side of your head for. The stuff you'd find certain people drooling over like rabid animals. Rabid animals with neckbeards. Better yet, this weird balance between wholesome and erotic is the content that'd be reeling in both the people who can't stand to see animated thighs, and people who manage arousal at the sight of even slightly larger-than-normal hips. That war in the comments would be comedy gold.

You force out a cough. These thoughts are not pleasant, not whatsoever. You're not sure why you're even pondering the plausibility of some freaks online jerking it to cute characters — Pokémon, of all things. You rub your temple, staring impatiently at your screen. You don't have a headache. Your mind feels clear. You just wish you could blame your bad headspace on Meowscarada's magic. Surely that's the most plausible. Meowscarada snuck some mind-numbing aphrodisiac magic down your throat as you slept and you're just now feeling the dose.

"What's wrong?" Cinnamon watches you massage your veins.

"On a scale of one to ten, what's the possibility Meowscarada is using magic to manipulate my brain?"

Cinnamon blinks, eyes darting away for a moment. Little do you know, she's got plenty experience with the feline magician and her display of magic tricks. Magic tricks. Right. The so-called tricks that had her limbs vanishing and reappearing at will, and then the entirety of her face. Cinnamon's so close to you, you can practically feel the shudder grinding down through her body as her mind dances away to the unthinkable memory.