47 "did you get my letter?" with Yandereplier and your choice?
This kind of turned into the Host... whoops lol. Tagging this as "yanderehost"
Tags: @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @demon-dark-666 @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s @purple-anxiety-blog @rabbitsartcorner @tried-my-best @endangered-cryptid @swag-droid @skatle-skootle-demon-noodle
Prompt 47: “Did you get my letter?”
Yan cornered him in the kitchen, between the stove-- still charred from the last time Wilford tried to cook-- and the coffee machine, which gurgled away.
“Did you get my letter?” She demanded, the words spilling out in too much of a hurry to be truly intelligible. She did a little excited dance, school skirt swirling at her thighs. Her eyes were practically heart-shaped. “Did you get it? Did you like it?”
The Host paused to take a drink from his coffee mug, which was purple, decorated with dozens of tiny eyes, and read I’ve got my eye on you. Really, what he was doing was reading the different paths that lay before him, judging which was best to take, while heaving an inward sigh. Becoming Yandere’s crush of the week was an inconvenience at best.
Of course he’d gotten her letter; it was an overdramatic, poorly written, scrawling declaration of love that bordered on obsession. It was something the Author might’ve indulged, once upon a time.
Ah.
The Host sneered at her. “I got your letter, and it had to be the worst thing I’ve ever read.”
“What?” Yan looked taken aback. Her grin flickered. “What do you mean? Do you not love me, too?”
“Love you?” The coffee cup plunked to the counter and all of a sudden he was looming over her, drawing up to his full height and coughing out a scornful laugh. “Why would I ever love you? I hardly know you exist.”
He withdrew the letter from a pocket within his trenchcoat and tossed it at her, a cruel smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth as she scrambled for it, tears rolling down her cheeks to splotch the wrinkled paper.
“You’re horrible!” She cried, crumpling the letter into a ball and throwing it at him; it bounced uselessly off his chest. Then, she fled the kitchen, weeping.
Meanwhile, the Host relaxed, resuming his usual slouch. He leaned back against the counter and took another drink of coffee.
















