You aren't the type to believe in the extra-ordinary, but some things make you question the fact-over-faith hill you've chosen to die on. (Fae!Yandere!Suguru x reader)(not proof read srry)
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You are not superstitous, not really atleast. Facts over faith, that's what you tell yourself. You don't have time to focus on silly things like the paranormal or the extraordinary. You've built yourself a life to be proud of! You have a house, make just enough to pay for both food and rent —which luckily isn't as high as it could be in your area— and a fulfilling job as a teacher. However, some things are unexplainable, even to you.
For example: a singular, bright red rose sitting in your desolate backyard. You aren't sure how it grew there; you sure as hell didn't grow it. The drought this summer definitely didn't aid it's growth. You had noticed the rose while washing the dishes. It's color practically jumping at you against the dead, yellow grass in your yard. Vibrant, beautiful, alive. Something about it drew you in; maybe it had been curiosity, maybe it was something more.
Whatever it was, you nearly went out and looked at the rose. Yet, something stopped you. You aren't sure what, but when you opened your back door a sick feeling in your gut was telling you to shut it. To turn around, lock the door, and pretend the rose isn't even there. You did, your gut is never wrong. That night, when you slept, you had a strange dream. You were in a field, vast. The sound of waves in the back, but no ocean in sight; the sky is cloudy and calm above you and there is a cold breeze running though your hair. It's like a fusion of the environmental conditions you feel most relaxed in. The rose from your yard infront of you, swaying in the wind. It's pulsing subtly, as if it were breathing. You kneel down infront of it, your fingers brushing against the petals. You grab the stem, thorns digging into your palm. When you grab the rose, a larger hand wraps around yours. You look up, however, no one is there. Yet it feels like eyes are piercing through you. You retract your hand, a thorn catching against your palm and cutting it open.
Your eyes opened. You looked at your hand; no cut or blood, but you could still feel the stinging. The rose, however, was not an isolated event. Weeks, almost a month later a dead butterfly was on your pillow. It's wings flattened like someone crushed it within a book; specifically a Black Swallowtail. It's resting right on the center of your pillow, like a gift. Then there was the coyote skull on your porch, resting in a puddle of red liquid you've tried telling yourself isn't blood. You try to ignore each one. You're gut telling you that something will happen if you do give in to your curiosity, however it get's harder and harder each time.
Despite these 'offerings' being spread usually months apart, you get the same reocurring dream each and everynight. Always taking place in the same enviroment as the rose dream did. An uncanny amalgamation of what should be a place you'd find calmness in. It has everything you would like, a peaceful field, the smell of rain, soft waves in the back, but you don't like it. It's all unnerving. Unnatural. You're in a strange state of lucidness during these dreams. Unable to control the dream, but being aware of the fact you're in one. There's always this sickening sense of being watched when you're here. As if there's someone out of your reach, examining you like an animal caged within a zoo.
"What do you think?" You murmur to your levelheaded coworker, Nanami, your head laid down on the table in the teacher's lounge. He had listened to you recall your entire summer. Nanami looks at you above his laptop, his face betraying nothing as always. "I think you need to set up cameras, and stop making youself paranoid." He huffs, shutting his laptop. "You also need more sleep, those bags under your eyes are horrible." Nanami states bluntly.
"I can't sleep at my house. I can barely enter my home without getting a migrain." You complain, lifting your head. You haven't bothered starting on your lesson plan for the year. You have bigger fish to fry. Nanami sighs. "You could always stay at mine if you'd like." He says, for once looking thoughtful instead of stoic. That catches you off guard, but it would be better than being subject to whatever it is your house has been doing to you. "Okay, yeah. I'd actually like that alot." You say, straightening up.
The evening comes, and Nanami stops by your place to help you get your essentials. When he steps into the threshold, his shoulder's tense. You notice this, how could you not? "Go get your things, I'll wait here." Nanami mutters, taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples. "Just.. hurry up."
You nod, only grabbing the basics to take with you. As you pack, you feel a weight settle on your shoulders. It only seems to grow heavier the more you move. As you grab your bag, something touches you. It almost feels like a hand wrapping around your throat and a body leaning against your back.
"Why are you leaving me?" Someone–something whispers faintly in your ear. The voice is smooth, soothing even, yet the anger and desperation in it are enough to make you bolt out of the room. You run for Nanami, praying whatever was behind you stays in one place. You grab Nanami's arm, shaking.
"We have to leave. Now. I'm not going back in room." Your words a sharp and quick. Nanami understands immediately, taking you by the hand and leading you to his car. The drive is silent, you can feel your body slowly easing as you part from the house. After around 15 minutes, the car stops. Nanami sighs, finally breaking the silence.
"Are you okay?" He asks, stepping out of the car and walking around to open the car door for you. For a man who doesn't believe in the paranormal and supernatural, he seems rather uneasy. "I am." You say with a breathy laugh, there's no humor to it.
That night, you get comfortable on the pull out couch. As comfortable as you can. Nanami is on his reclining chair, snoring softly. He insisted on staying in here with you. You wouldn't admit it, but you feel a lot better this way. After what feels like hours, you finally drift off.
The familar feeling of grass under your bare feet makes your eyes snap open. You're here, again. Yet, something is different. It's darker, the air smells metallic instead of salty, and the grass beneath you is dead. You're beneath a tree, near a cliff. Or what's supposed to be one atleast, it doesn't seem to lead anywhere but a void. As you asses your surroundings, you feel something cold drip onto the back of your next. Your body tenses, and you slowly tilt your head upwards.
