Yours (Reader x Platonic Yandere!Imposter)
I can't walk on my knee, and apparently, knee-pain is the best motivator to write because I sat down and wrote this. Not sure if it makes sense, but alas.
CW: Yandere, monsterfuckery, reader has a brother, mental anguish, straight up no one has a good time in this story, not proofread, dead dove
Minors DNI
Today was an important day.
You hadn’t slept very well, still exhausted to the bone. Nonetheless, you had dressed up nicely for the occasion. A certain anxiety flittering and forcing you to fiddle around with trinkets and empty frames. You really should find a picture for that frame, then again, pictures was always more your brother’s thing.
The unrest culminated in said empty frame receiving a crash course in gravity, repaying the favor by glass shattering across the floor.
Damnit.
“Breaking the apartment?”
You were immediately faced with that question when you sheepishly emerged from your room to search for a broom. Asked by none other than your brother, James, who was lounging comfortably on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, he made a hand motion urging you to come sit too.
“Not yet. I dropped something, alas, my hands must be as smooth as marble, it just rolled right out of them.” You sighed and shrugged, awaiting the usual punchline expectantly. James made the grand sacrifice of looking away from the pages of his magazine to direct a raised eyebrow at you.
“Smooth as what now?” He asked, and your arms dropped, for a moment your expression did too, caught off guard. You collected yourself quickly though.
“Marble. It’s either this lame joke or self-deprecation.” At this, you dramatically sighed and lifted your hand to your forehead, “Oh, it seems even picture frames flees from my touch.”
James wrinkled his nose at this. “Ugh, no, I’d rather have Mx. Marble Hands back then.”
“I’m afraid they’ve perished. Marbled to death. Investigations still ongoing, my money’s on the picture frame.”
“Well, then they kinda had it coming, don’t you think?”
You gasped at this. “Vengeance is never the answer, haven’t you watched any children’s cartoons?”
“Not a child, so no.” He answered dryly. He had been a child at some point, so you weren’t sure what to make of the answer, feeling a bit at a loss, but you powered through.
“Mx. Marble hands deserved better than this. I’d hate to be them right now.”
“I’d hate to be them anytime. Now, please shut up about it and come sit down.”
“Despite how politely you asked, I can’t. Believe it or not – some of us actually have plans.” You said with a joking “hmpf”.
“Whaat, plans? No way.”
“Wha- what’s with the immediate disbelief? Today is an important day. Today’s… It’s…” You furrowed your brow as you faltered, not noticing the way James’ attention sharply focused on you. “…Today is important, isn’t it?”
But why? What was happening today?
“Oh, probably some kind of fight day or independence day? You were always sappy for those.” James laughed, and your expression relaxed as you rolled your eyes at him.
“It’s important to celebrate that kind of stuff.” You laughed, even though it still felt wrong. Feeling restless once more but without knowing what your plans were, you settled on the sofa next to James who abandoned his magazine in an attempt to convince you to play Street Fighter together, though at your continued rejection, he dejectedly played solo, shifting, and settling up against you as he played quietly.
Relishing the comfortable familiarity and domestic bliss, you closed your eyes with a sigh, enjoying the ache of your tired limbs coming to a rest, and most of all, enjoying the quiet. You liked it much better when he didn’t speak. And then, you felt startled at the thought, how mean it felt. You didn’t like the fact you had thought it at all, so you focused on something else.
You glanced at the sole item on the empty wall: The calendar. It was tacky and ugly, but you had some fondness for it, it was the first item you bought when you moved out to live on your own.
No, you didn’t live alone, you lived with James. Right, the first item for when you and James moved out.
You kept glancing though the date felt significant, it didn’t invoke memories of why, and you felt an odd sense of distanced anxiety at this, worried if you were possibly late for whatever your plans was, yet not feeling anywhere enough panic either, settled into lukewarm worry instead.
“You trying to make time fly faster or something?” James asked, not looking away from the video game he was playing (and losing). You looked away from the calendar at that.
“Maybe it’s just that painful to see you repeatedly lose Street Fighter. You know, you can crouch and kick on repeat, right?”
“I have something called integrity and honor.”
You glanced one last time at the calendar, the date keeping captive the corners of your mind, the ones that felt fuzzy and blurry – just out of reach from what you could comprehend. As you finally gave up on the calendar, you noticed the wall.
Had it always been this empty?
Somehow, the sight made you feel uneasy. “Hey James, why don’t we take some pictures?”
“…I really don’t like that kinda stuff. I’ve never understood the craze about phones and cameras.”
“Oh, I get why you’re bad at games now. You’re actually an old man.”
“Aw, shut up.”
You didn’t take notice of the way James looked at you, your own gaze fixed on nothing at all, an ambiguous expression on your face, as if unable to settle on an emotion among your conflicted, confused state. It was a buzzing, prickling sensation, like when regaining feeling in a numb limb, and it felt like you could unearth what these emotions were, if you just, held on a moment longer, if you let the numbness subsize just a little m-
“How about playing a song on the piano?”
“Oh? Uh, I don’t play the piano.” You said, disorientated, the numbness spreading again. James’ face dropped briefly.
“Then why don’t we watch a movie?”
“Yeah. Of course, sure. Can it be Beauty Squad” You answered almost reflexively. Happy for a distraction, you clung onto the suggestion, as if drowning your own senses in familiarity. James’ resigned compliance to your usual movie-choice felt like a warm blanket, a blissful cover.
The fatigue sitting in your bones made you give in to its warm embrace, how long had you been awake? It was hard to tell when being conscious and unconscious all felt the same.
Familiar tones played out, familiar lines, familiar antics. You thought James wouldn’t like you to rest your head in his lap, but he hadn’t said a thing in protest, silently letting you. Only the sounds of the movie filled the room as James absent-mindedly played with strands of your hair.
If this moment could last forever, then maybe everything would be okay. You could close your eyes to this moment and…
The music became chaotic and fast as the main character crashed down into their own graduation ceremony, saying a corny punchline before the cartoonish chase resumed.
“Pfft,” Your laugh caught James’ attention, and of course, he demanded to know what you were laughing at. “Ah, nothing, nothing. It’s just, this scene is just like when you accidentally interrupted your own graduation ceremony to take pictures.”
“…” James didn’t respond for a moment. And you looked at him… Right, he was in high school right now, wasn’t he?
“It’s… It’s nothing.”
You tried not to look at the empty wall.
You stood up. “Hey, the movie’s still going, sit back down.”
It took you a moment to respond, your mouth felt so dry, and a wave of dizziness hit. “I… I just wanted a snack. I’ll be back in a moment.” James looked blankly at you for a moment, and for a moment it felt as if he was examining you, like standing before a judge, and then he nodded.
You walked, part of you protesting needing permission from him to leave, but your mind wasn’t made up either, stuck in the desire to stay but feeling drowned, as if being swallowed by a vastness. You had to leave. To move. Something. Anything.
Drowning in the dark thoughts of your mind, it felt as if it would burst. Part of you wanted it to, tempted to hit your hands against your temple, as if to make everything spill, splash across the floor and far away from you.
Instead, you walked to the kitchen. One step, then the next. You wondered, in these moments, if he knew how it felt to die while breathing, to drown while on land. One step, then the next. It was all you could do.
In the kitchen, you opened the fridge only to be greeted by empty rows. No one had gone grocery-shopping it seemed. Right, that was your job, wasn’t it? Who else could it be? James was… he was a teen, right. Yeah, that’s right, you were alone.
No. Not alone. James was here, just, you were the only adult here. That’s right.
…
Grocery shopping, right. How long had it been since you went grocery shopping? When had you last gone outside? You looked down at yourself. You were dressed nicely. Right. Today was an important day, wasn’t it?
You felt lost and dizzy, seeking something to support yourself, your hand landed on the wall. The empty wall. Why was this wall also so empty? All of them was empty.
You mistook desperation for determination as you began to look through drawers to find an instant camera. You knew James had one lying around here. Your James had so many cameras.
“But James doesn’t like cameras.” You repeated joylessly. Nonetheless, in your hands, an instant camera. On clumsy feet you began to sneak toward the living room. James, unaware of your presence, sat on the sofa, waiting.
Click.
Looking down at the picture. It hadn’t developed yet. You’d find tacks or something so you could hang it. The sofa creaked as James stood up. He had heard the click probably, and noticed you standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching something to your chest, of course.
You think, in the back of your mind, that James said something, but you head felt light, as you looked at empty walls. Temporarily empty walls. It would be better now, if you could just fill them out, your life could return to normalcy, and you’d return to the ground.
You looked down at the photo in your hand. Shapes were slowly starting to form, making way for imagery. It was only a flash, barked, hollowed skin, wrongly bent joints, and a yellowly glow, then something grabbed tightly onto your wrist, the photo snatched from your hand before it finished developing.
It was James grasping your wrist tightly, pupils dilated and a tight expression on his face. Then he sighed. “Playing spy, are we?” He smiled but the smile felt sharp and tight, and his laugh felt forced and bitter.
“I… I think I need to lie down.”
“Alright.” He nodded, leading you toward the sofa, but you weakly pulled against his grip, shaking your head.
“In my bed.” You needed to get away, his presence felt cloying, and the empty walls felt as if they closed in on you. You needed a moment. He didn’t stop tugging you toward the sofa, your limbs felt too weak to put up any real resistance.
“Don’t be silly. I can watch over you better from the sofa.”
You pulled harshly at his grip. “No!” He stopped and looked at you for a moment. And you felt little under his glance, unable to explain yourself properly. He was trying to help, but it was wrong, something was wrong. The walls was empty, the fridge was empty, the apartment was… “I… Just a moment, I’ll be out in a moment.”
After a moment, he released your wrist. “Okay.”
You stumbled a bit, having unconsciously relied on the support of his grip. It was the same old sensation of falling, yet your feet never left the ground, was it a dive into nothingness, or a flight into something worse? You never learned because each time, like an anchor, you’d be pulled to the harshness of the ground by a hand on your shoulder and another distracting line, it pulled you back but never caught you in your fall.
You wondered where’d you land without an anchor.
You hurried to your room and was greeted with shattered glass. Right. From earlier, you had needed a broom, and you had to hurry because today was an important day. Your foot touched the broken frame.
The empty walls were left behind, but the room felt even smaller, and you felt tired. Too tired to push against the pressure building, letting it swallow and choke you. There had to be… a picture. Something to put in the frame. Why else would you have it?
Looking through bottom drawers and beneath your bed, it was hard to tell if you had dived onto your knee or if they had simply buckled beneath the weight of your own desperation, glass shards dug into skin as you looked through cloudy eyes.
And, in the corner under your bed, hidden away by pieces of cloth and scattered objects, was a little box. You pulled it out, your hands shook as you opened the little lock with practiced ease, as if you knew the box already.
In the box was carefully placed pictures, all wrinkled as if having been held often. On the roof of the box was a date scribbled, today’s date. You were in many of the pictures, sticking your tongue out at whoever was taking it. And some of them, there was another person, usually laughing together with you.
For a moment, you almost wanted to ask; Who’s that?
Something within you felt like it was going to burst. “James?”
This guy whose smile was entirely different, whose eyes were different, whose build was different – who was different. This was James, and for a moment, you had forgotten. Someone you loved and held so dear; you had forgotten until reminded.
Each time you looked away, it grew hazy once more, and it took just a second longer to recognize the picture again. It felt as if you’d break beneath it all.
“Oh, you want me to pause the movie?” James’ voice called out from the other room. No. Not James. Whoever that stranger was, it wasn’t James, they didn’t even bear a semblance. You wanted to scream and cry and ask, no, demand answers from this imposter.
“Hello, you hear me?” His head peeked through the door-opening, and every word died on your tongue as familiarity enveloped you. It wasn’t… It was not James. Your grip tightened on the picture, as if to remind yourself.
“Hey,” he said, a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
You didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. But perhaps you didn’t need to as he saw the scattered photos among bloody glass shards. “Come out, I’ll bandage your wounds.” Was all he said.
“You’re not him. You’re not my brother.” It felt like pushing a boulder just to say that. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you held onto the truth the best you could.
“What’s different about me?” he asked. You hadn’t been prepared for that question. Retaliation, denial, anything but that question.
“It’s… Different. You…”
He laughed. “You really do need to lie down; you must be half-asleep or something.”
No. For the first time today, you felt awake. “No. I know I’m right. You’re not…” You all-but flung the picture of your brother at him. The picture now in view, the person in front of you grew unfamiliar again.
“Does it really matter? If you need a picture to notice we’re different?” Before you had a chance to even respond, he leaned closer, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look away from the scattered photos. “Try it. Describe him.”
…You couldn’t.
“But when you look at me, you remember. Who cares if the memories are right?”
There was a temptation of giving into the sweetness that clung onto his words, the sweet lie feeling more welcome than a truth you feared facing. But you could still feel the photos beneath your fingers, feel the sting of the shards in your skin.
“I care!” Your voice raised and cracked, sharp and jagged like the shards.
Frustration slipped into his sigh. “For now. But as always, you’ll forget again. There’s no point in this tantrum. You don’t want to remember anyway, you’re too fragile for loss, so just-“
His words were interrupted as you nicked his cheek with one of the glass shards. At this he stepped back, releasing your chin. His expression’s thinly veiled exhaustion and annoyance gave way for clear resentment and frustration.
When he spoke, his voice was bitter and low, an almost malicious edge to it.
“Do you even comprehend how much I hold back not to kill you? Every moment, it’s as if your very being beckons me to consume it, that’s why I showed up to begin with. To feed. But I decided to stay, unlike everyone else, I’m staying, I’m here!
Anything you lack, anything you miss – I’ll be that. Your brother, your friends, your old stuffed animals, your childhood, yours. I’m yours. Why don’t you und-“He stopped his increasingly fast rant, sighing in tired frustration. “It doesn’t matter. In the end, it’ll be the same as always. You stay. You always stay with me, just like I always stay with you.”
Your breath was caught in your throat. But… Even though you didn’t remember, you remembered the feeling of flying so high and swimming so far, now you were stuck at the bottom of the ocean, unable to lift from the ground as you drowned, and you longed to remember the feeling of not hurting, in the face of that, fear meant nothing.
“You can’t become my brother; you can’t become anything.”
“I can. I do.” He insisted. He kneeled next to you, reaching out to you as if to comfort you, as you flinched, he let his hand fall again, and part of you wished he hadn’t, longing for the warmth. “Hidden wounds don’t need to heal. And someday, I’ll replace even the blood gushing from those very wounds.”
Nothing about his words was a comfort, somehow it felt as if he was comforting himself with them. You wanted to explode in anger, continue an assault, use glass shards or words, but anger was flames and passion and action and – and you were just too tired.
“Do you hate me this much, to torture me like this?”
“Not hate.” At this, he breached the invisible barrier, letting his hand cup your cheek. “Every time you remember a little less, question a little less, and I hide a little less. Bit by bit. One day you’ll look at my true body, hear my true voice, and think nothing of it. All you’ll see is your brother. And you’ll be right, your brother, me, not him. Not some wasted grief. I’ll make you happy.”
“This doesn’t feel like happy.” All you could manage was a broken whisper. “Why?”
He was silent for a moment before speaking,
“I’ve fed on countless people. I exist only in the scope of broken dreams and wasted chances. Regrets is the proof of life, and so I remove those regrets, and with that, their very lives, and humanity slowly corrodes. And I – I cannot even have that. That one, painful semblance of life, and yet I continue to live.”
His voice was an odd mix of gleeful and resentful. You thought, somewhere in the back of your mind, that maybe he was happy to just bare himself at all, another part of you wished he didn’t, as he grew more distant from what you knew with each word, but you didn’t believe this speech really was for you, it was for himself.
“Reasons, what reasons did I have for living or dying. I was devoid of it all yet forced to play part of it all the same, in make-believe fantasies. And even so, it was never for me to comfort or be comforted, never for me to share a meal, never for me to hold a hand, never for me to hear the sound of someone playing the piano for me, never for me to fight and make up with someone, never for me.
In this world I lacked even ones to hate. And yet, all I could do was hate. Stuck in the dirt, all I could do was look up into heaven, cursing every leaf picked by the wind, every bird that could fly, everything that could move where I could not. Love where I could not. I was in hell but forced to act out heaven.
Every time it’d be a new face, a new regret, a new deception. Never me. Always something there isn’t there. But you… You saw, you knew – for a moment, you knew. And yet, you stayed. You didn’t fight, didn’t run. You closed your eyes to it, and clung to my delusions, clung to me.”
“And yet, here you are, pretending to be my brother.” At this, the corners of his lips quirked down, his figure looming as it seemed to grow, crooked and spiny. You thought maybe this was just a little closer to his true form.
“One day, you’ll forget why you clung to me. And then you’ll cling to me all over again. I know it, you are my one thing, my one person, the one thing for me. You infuriate me, you bring me joy, regrets, hopes, all of it – I can obtain it with you, through you, if I just hold on long enough.
Even if my body decays under the weight of hunger, I’ll stay for you without fail.”
”But I want you to leave.” The words sounded fake and hollow, even in your ears.
At this, he laughed. “Leave? And then what, you’ll be left in this empty apartment? Staring at pictures, rewatching old home movies? You don’t really want that.”
“Shut up, you don’t know what I want. You don’t-“ your words were like sand in your throat, forcing it to close until nothing could come out but broken sobs. He took the silence as cue to move closer, wrapping his arms around you – you hated the comfort of this stranger but felt unable to push away its familiarity, clinging desperately unto it.
“I can leave. Simply say the words and you’ll be rid of me.” He said with such ease because he knew you couldn’t do it. In the end, the only thing crueler than this torture was its absence.
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