Favorite Fixation (Yandere boys x Reader)

97.) Depression

TW: MENTION OF SH AND S*ICIDE

Emi's blue eyes, wide with horror, were fixed on the severed hand Keiji dangled over her. Her pupils were blown, a mirror of the terror she couldn't voice. Keiji grinned, swinging the hand idly between his fingers like a macabre toy. "Need a hand?" he sneered, laughing as he placed the detached limb on a desk nearby with an almost grotesque delicacy. His chuckle echoed in the cold, dimly lit room, filling the silence that Emi herself was no longer able to break.

(Y/n)'s heart pounded as she took in Emi's ghastly state. Mangled didn't even begin to cover it. Emi was missing her right arm entirely, her left leg severed at the thigh, and her right leg cut off just below the knee. What little remained of her blonde hair was singed and scattered across her scalp in wild, brittle tufts, some strands barely clinging to her head as if they, too, were desperate to escape. Her nose was twisted, broken into a misshapen ridge across her bruised face. Her mouth, however, was the most haunting sight- sloppily sewn shut with thick, dark thread, the stitches stained with dried blood. Her lips were stretched tight, frozen in a silent scream, her entire body trembling under the pain and fear that (Y/n) could almost feel herself.

(Y/n) felt her stomach churn, a sickening sensation crawling up her throat as her limbs locked in place. She could hardly process the sight before her; Emi, once so full of life, was reduced to a silent, broken shell.

"(Y/n)!" Keiji's voice broke through her shock. He was beaming at her as if they were merely chatting at school, as though this scene was perfectly normal. He waved her inside, cheerfully ignoring the crimson horror he'd created. "Did she bother you with the clanking?" he asked, shaking his head as if chastising a pet that had misbehaved. "She's been doing that a lot. I think she just misses our attention." He turned to Emi, his voice pitching up in a singsong, mocking tone. "Isn't that right? Yes it is, yes it is!" He cooed, even scratching the air in front of her as if petting a loyal dog.

(Y/n)'s blood ran cold. What in the actual hell?

Keiji tilted his head toward her, breaking his trance-like gaze on Emi to look at (Y/n) with wide, innocent eyes. "Well, are you going to come inside?" he asked, a mocking lilt still in his tone. Then, as if realizing the gravity of the situation, he let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Oh... wait. You're not supposed to see this." He looked down, scratching the back of his neck with an exaggerated pout, his foot scuffing against the concrete floor.

Then he glanced up, grinning in a way that chilled her to the bone. "But you can keep a secret, right?"

That was it, the thin thread of resolve snapped. She turned on her heel and bolted, her feet pounding up the stairs as if propelled by pure survival instinct. The door swung shut behind her as she took the steps two at a time, her heart hammering in her chest, her mind racing with adrenaline and terror.

(Y/n) tore through the house, her vision blurring as she sprinted past the kitchen without a second glance. She barely registered Yuuto's form sprawled on the floor or the unsettling sight of Asahi calmly shaking salt into the blond's mangled palm as though nothing had happened. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to get away from the madness unraveling around her.

She pounded up the stairs, her breaths short and rapid as she veered right, her feet barely touching the ground. Her room was too dangerous; the window wouldn't budge. She'd checked it a hundred times. So, she pivoted and dashed into the next room down- Souta's.

The door crashed shut behind her as she took in the room: fabric scattered everywhere, bolts of cloth draped over furniture like shrouds. But the sight that made her freeze, if only for a second, was the wedding dress displayed in the middle of the room. It was pristine, intricately tailored to fit her measurements perfectly. She grimaced, a shudder of disgust rolling through her as she tried not to think about the implications of the dress. Shoving down the panic that clawed at her, she refocused and lunged toward the window, fingers frantically fumbling with the locks.