Limerence ❀ Yandere!Males x Reader

entry #22 | ηυℓℓ

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If someone asked her to name all the things (Y/n) despised and situations she hoped she'd never had to encounter, she'd have a lot to say. Things like a global pillow insufficiency and widespread insomnia. Oh yeah, and a pandemic or an apocalypse, but who cares about that?

One of those things would definitely be sitting in a quiet room with none other than Tristan...something. She forgot his last name.

But that's not important. What's important is that Jaehyun, bless that soul, is taking too long after he ran off saying something along the lines of "I need to clean my room so don't go anywhere I mean, I need to clean my bathtub and then my kitchen so do you guys want anything to eat? Because if you don't that's okay but we have a lot of snacks too in the cupboard—"

How she managed to understand that word vomit was a miracle. She was surprised that the blond wasn't comfortable in the blue-eyed male's presence. But after living with him for all these school years, shouldn't he be somewhat used to it?

Nevermind, Jaehyun has passed the stage everyone must go through: wanting to stab a pencil through Tristan's eye. He definitely is used to it now.

The clock on the wall in the living room ticked annoyingly loud in the silence. Everything was the same as the last time she came for the project with Kieran. The same annoyingly comfortable couch, the same T.V. with a screen brighter than her future, and a black piece of fabric that looked suspiciously like undergarments. Female undergarments.

Tristan noticed her wide-eyed shock and glanced over to what she was looking at. His displeased feels turned sour and he let out an irritated sigh. "That bloody tart," he cursed under his breath. "Bringing harlots home is one thing, but into the common space? I will not condone such a thing." He whipped out his phone and said something into it. "Robert, do burn Fujikawa's collection of disgraceful books. Understood? Good."

He hung up and placed the device down on the coffee table. (Y/n) watched his movements with raised eyebrows as he uncrossed and crossed his legs, folding his hands on his lap. He caught her looking at him and frowned.

"What is it? Speak, pe—brat."

He was totally going to call me peasant there, (Y/n) choked down her laugh. She found it funnier than insulting when people called her "peasant" or "commoner." And "sloth" was a compliment. She respected those furry creatures to an extreme.

"Nothing," the (h/c)-haired girl said simply. "Um, nice couch."

"I know."

And the best conversationalist award goes to popsicle face here.

"I designed this room so it's only natural," he added.

The humblest award also goes to you. I'll even clap for you.

"Where's Jay?" (Y/n) asked as she looked around. "He's been gone for half an hour now." 

Tristan also looked impatient; he was tapping his foot—Oh my god, she gasped. Is he wearing dress shoes?!—against the rug. He checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds to be precise. It seems like tardiness has become a shared trait between you two. How unusual."

She bristled at his mocking tone. "Hey, are you implying I'm a bad influence?"

"Of course not," he scoffed.

Oh, okay then—

"I'm stating that you're a bad influence, Ms. White."

I take that back. World War III is commencing now. "I don't see how you're any better," she snapped, a faint fire lit in her otherwise blank (e/c) eyes. "Putting down others and talking like you're better than them. Are you a tutor or a dictator? You seem to have gotten them mixed up, Mister P—Tristan."