✧˚ · . (ᐡ_ ̫ _ᐡ)🗝️ . . . 𝖫𝖮𝖦 𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖱𝖸: 𝟢𝟢1 . · ˚✧ [ 𝖳𝖨𝖳𝖫𝖤: A key to your heart (and your apartment) ]
「 ✦ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦: yandere x reader (gnb or f) // or vague nagito/fem!nagito x reader vibes ✦ 」
╭─❖ 𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳: b&e, stalking, obsessive behavior, non-con elements (surveillance) ❖─╮
⋆╰☆╮ 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤𝖲: "just cleaning up after my favorite person ᡣ𐭩” ⋆╰☆╮
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God… it was beautiful.
The jagged silver tooth of the key bit into my palm before I finally let it go, setting it down on the counter with a click.
I stood there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, just drinking in the air. Your air. I’ve only ever hovered at the threshold before, a pathetic shadow dropping off notes, never daring to clear the entryway. But now… I’ve got an hour and some change, roughly.
The kitchen is small, cozy, and smells faintly of stale coffee. I scan the cupboards first. Such a small inventory of life; a few mismatched plates, a handful of utensils. Most are piled in the sink, slick with the residue of your busy, radiant life. My chest ached. You work so hard, burning your light at both ends until there’s no time for something as mundane as porcelain.
I checked the fridge. A hollow, cold sight. Mostly empty. A frown tugged at my lips– I’ll have to fix that. I’ll leave anonymous offerings at your door. Groceries with the mysterious flowers, maybe a home-cooked meal once I’ve spent enough time lurking to learn the exact topography of your cravings. Perhaps I’ll pose as a family friend over email, mining your mother for recipes. Even trash like me can be resourceful when the goal is to keep you fed.
I snapped on some gloves and made quick work of the dishes, the hot water scalding my wrists as I scrub. I wiped the counters until they gleamed, folding the kitchen towel with surgical precision before tucking it over the oven handle.
The living room was a delicious mess. A throw blanket thrown haphazardly over the arm of the beat up couch, holding the shape of your body. I huffed fondly, folding the fabric back into a neat square, then drifted toward the bookshelf.
Then I saw it. The photo of you and that friend.
I froze. My finger, midway through testing the dust on the shelf, trembled. I should be thankful, it was the friend who introduced us, after all. If not for them, I wouldn’t be here, basking in the glow of your hope. But the tug in my chest was sickening, a hot, oily jealousy I had to swallow back down. Trash like me… I suppressed the urge to slam the frame face-down. Instead, I just traced the edge of the glass, memorizing the friend’s face. A temporary obstacle. Once I have a foothold, once I am the only thing you need to lean on, I’ll drive the others away. One by one. Until the world is just you and the shadow at your heel.
I stood outside your bedroom door, fists clenching, palms clammy inside the latex. I pushed it open and peeked inside.
Messy. You are always so hurried, so frantic. The bed is a tangle of unmade sheets, clothes littering the floor like shed skins, textbooks mussed on your desk with scattered pens. My smile only grows sharper.
Purpose. Hot and heavy and buzzing as it washes over me. I am the perfect fit for you. Slow and methodical, attention to detail. A perfect servant behind the scenes. I could give and give for you so you could burn brighter and brighter, for me to bear witness.
I exhale with a stutter, moving to scan your textbooks and post-it notes. I didn’t touch your study system– not yet– but I let my gloved finger linger over your handwriting, tracing the loops of your letters as if I could feel your pulse through the ink. I stared at your laptop screen, imagining the password. It’s likely the same as the others, but how exciting would it be if it was different? How long do you think it would take for me to crack it? My head swam as I snapped my hand away from where it hovered over the keyboard.
I stepped carefully over a pile of laundry before pausing. I bent down, picking up a sleep shirt. My breath shifted, coming out in thick ragged hitches. I brought the fabric to my face and inhaled an excruciating long, deep pull of air. It was detergent and sweat and you. I shuddered, the sensation nearly enough to undo me right there. Later. Later, later, later.
But…
I dug through the pile, selecting a pair of boxers you’d likely never miss. A small tax for my service.
Then, I saw the pill case on your bedside table. My heart plummeted. Oh, my love… Out of all the information I had garnished from you, I wasn’t privy to this. I felt a surge of protectiveness so sharp it tasted like copper. I counted the pills, the rummaged through your drawers until I found the bottles. I snapped pictures of the labels. Research for later. I need to know every chemical that touches your system. I need to be ready to support you, to curate your health, especially when we finally move in together. Eventually.
I smoothed over your pillow, then your blanket. I couldn’t make the bed; it would be too obvious, too spooking. I’m fine with you being mildly unsettled, a ghost of a touch you can’t explain, but I can’t scare you off yet. I have to ease you into the idea of being watched.
My phone buzzed. The hour was up.
I deflated, a low whine caught in my throat. I chewed the inside of my cheek until it stung. I didn’t get to the bathroom. I didn’t get to see your toothbrush, or the hair caught in your brush. A shame. A real shame…
I took pictures instead. I snapped every angle of every room. By nightfall, I’ll have the layout burned into my retinas. I’ll stare at them until I can walk through this apartment in my dreams.
I stepped back into the hallway, locking the door behind me with a soft click. I pulled the gloves off, shoving them into my pocket with the stolen boxers. I can dispose of them on the way back to my house. My nerves were a live wire, pulse thrumming in my ears. It’ll get easier each time. Or maybe it won’t, because you’re just so damn lovely that every second in your presence feels like a beautiful heart attack.
The next week, you mention your space feeling “calming.” You laugh, saying the sleep deprivation must be getting to you because you keep forgetting you did the dishes.
I bite my tongue until it bled to keep from smiling more than was appropriate.
You’re just so damn adorable. ᡣ𐭩🗝️🍀
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