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elryuse · 4 days

Note

May I request Yandere Neighbour Song Hayoung x Male reader? Hayoung is really obsess with the male reader to the point that she stalks you everyday.

Hello Neighbor.

YANDERE HAYOUNG X MALE READER

Hayoung pressed her forehead against the cool glass, the expensive telescope amplifying the image across the street into a disturbingly intimate scene. Y/n, his dark hair backlit by the warm glow of his apartment light, sat across from a girl with cascading, dark curls. Hayoung's stomach churned, a cocktail of possessiveness and primal jealousy bubbling up inside her.

It had all started with such innocent curiosity. The first time Hayoung saw Y/n, he was unpacking boxes on his porch, a shy smile gracing his lips as he met her gaze. Over the past few weeks, Hayoung had become his silent shadow. Nights were spent crouched under the bushes outside his window, a camera her constant companion. A sleeping Y/n, a discarded coffee mug, anything that held a trace of him – these were her trophies. She even left him anonymous love notes, filled with saccharine poems and pressed wildflowers, signed simply "Your Secret Admirer."

But tonight, the sight of him laughing with another woman filled Hayoung with a murderous rage that sent chills down her own spine. "Who is she?" Hayoung hissed, the words barely audible above the frantic rasp of her breath. She zoomed in on the girl, her features hardening with each detail. Long, dark hair, a bright smile – everything Hayoung wasn't. A low growl escaped Hayoung's throat, a sound more animal than human.

The girl leaned in, whispering something in Y/n's ear, making him laugh again. Hayoung's vision blurred with a mix of fury and a horrifying sense of longing. He should be laughing with her, Hayoung. She was the one who knew his coffee order, who left him those notes expressing her undying love. Determined, Hayoung grabbed her laptop, the familiar hum a soothing counterpoint to the storm raging inside her.

Days blurred into nights as Hayoung scoured social media, her obsession morphing into a terrifying fixation. The girl's name was Mina, a bubbly aspiring photographer with a penchant for capturing sunsets and stray cats. Hayoung learned her favorite band, the cafe she frequented after work, even the name of her childhood teddy bear – Mr. Snuggles. Information was power, and power was what Hayoung craved.

The apartment transformed into a shrine of warped devotion. Walls were plastered with newspaper clippings detailing Mina's life, maps with routes highlighted in red pen, and a crowbar glinting ominously in the corner. The stench of bleach and desperation hung heavy in the air. The night Hayoung put her plan into action, the moon cast a sickly glow on the deserted street. Mina, humming a cheerful tune, walked home alone after her late shift at the cafe. Hayoung emerged from the alleyway, a dark wraith materializing from the shadows.

The scream, sharp and sudden, echoed through the night before being abruptly cut short. Hayoung stood over Mina's crumpled form, a sickening sense of triumph warring with a coldness that seeped into her bones. Her hands shook as she dragged the body away, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air.

Back in her apartment, showered and clad in fresh clothes, Hayoung collapsed onto the floor. Tears mingled with the faint traces of blood staining her clothes. A horrifying realization washed over her. The thrill of the kill was a fleeting ember, quickly replaced by a hollow emptiness. She had eliminated the competition, but at what cost?

Silence blanketed the street now, broken only by the rasp of her ragged breaths. In the distance, a police siren wailed, a sound that sent a fresh jolt of fear through her. But Hayoung barely flinched. Her gaze drifted towards the window, drawn to the familiar glow emanating from Y/n's apartment.

He was alone. Relief and a twisted form of satisfaction washed over her. Hayoung grabbed her telescope, a chilling smile playing on her lips. He was hers now. And she, his devoted, if eternally creepy, neighbor, would be watching, always watching. She imagined his relief at finding Mina gone, a relief that would soon curdle into suspicion as he received anonymous notes signed with a single word: "Alone."

The next few days became a maddening game of cat and mouse. Y/n started leaving his lights on all night, his curtains permanently drawn. Hayoung left cryptic messages on his doorstep – a single red rose, a shard of broken glass. She even started playing haunting melodies on a rusty music box at precisely 3 am, mimicking the lullaby she saw Mina play on her guitar once. Sleep became a luxury Hayoung could no longer afford, replaced by a constant vigil.

One afternoon, while peering through her telescope, Hayoung noticed a change in Y/n. His smile was gone, replaced by deep shadows under his eyes. A sense of morbid satisfaction bloomed within her, a twisted sense of victory. But as she continued to watch, a new horror dawned on her. Y/n wasn't alone. He sat across from a woman, but not Mina. This woman was older, her face etched with worry lines. Her voice, low and strained, carried on the wind.

"Y/n, honey, you need to tell the police! This can't go on!"

His voice, hoarse and barely audible, drifted across the street. "But who would believe me, Mom? The police already dismissed it as a runaway case. What proof do I have?"

Hayoung's blood ran cold. This woman was Y/n's mother. The realization hit her like a physical blow. In her twisted obsession, she hadn't considered the collateral damage. The pain she inflicted on him wasn't just his loss of Mina, but the gnawing fear for her disappearance.

A fresh wave of paranoia washed over Hayoung. If Y/n confided in his mother, the police might get involved. They might find the crowbar, the bloodstained clothes Hayoung had shoved deep into a hidden compartment in her closet. Panic clawed at her throat. She had to stop him.

The following night, under the cloak of darkness, Hayoung found herself lurking outside Y/n's apartment building again. This time, however, she wasn't there for Mina. She was there for his mother.

Hayoung slipped a note under the door, her carefully disguised handwriting scrawled across the page: "Don't believe him. He's dangerous. Stay away."

A twisted sense of satisfaction filled her. This would plant a seed of doubt, keeping Y/n further isolated. He wouldn't dare tell his mother about the strange notes, fearing she'd think him delusional.

The next day, Hayoung watched from across the street, a sickening thrill coursing through her veins as Y/n's mother left his apartment in a flurry, fear etched on her face. Y/n stood at the window, his silhouette a stark contrast to the bright sunlight streaming in. He looked defeated, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as his gaze swept across the empty street.

The game continued, a macabre dance of manipulation and fear. Hayoung left cryptic messages for Y/n too, playing on his growing paranoia. A single red rose with a single thorn pricked through the center left on his doorstep. A dead sparrow, its neck snapped, tucked into his mailbox.

One particularly stormy night, Hayoung upped the ante. Power flickered across the neighborhood, plunging the street into an inky blackness. As the first flicker of lightning illuminated Y/n's apartment, Hayoung pressed her face against the window, a wicked grin plastered across her face.

There, hanging from the ceiling fan, was a grotesque marionette, its porcelain face a crude mockery of Mina's smile. Its vacant eyes seemed to stare directly at Y/n, a silent accusation.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the night, a sound that sent shivers down Hayoung's spine despite the twisted pleasure that bubbled up inside her. She had finally broken him.

But as the days turned into weeks, a chilling realization dawned on Hayoung. The thrill of the chase was gone, replaced by a suffocating sense of emptiness. Y/n remained a prisoner, yes, but so was she – a prisoner of her own twisted obsession. His constant fear, his vacant eyes staring out the window – it mirrored the hollowness that had consumed her.

One morning, Hayoung woke to a deafening silence. No flickering lights from Y/n's apartment, no sign of him leaving for work. Panic seized her. Had he finally confessed? Had the police arrived?

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Hayoung raced across the street, her heart hammering against her ribs. She pounded on his door, the silence stretching into an eternity. Finally, a weak voice rasped from inside.

"Go… away."

Hayoung's world tilted on its axis. The fear, the isolation – it had broken him. He no longer cared, no longer lived. Her twisted victory tasted like ashes on her tongue.

Tears blurring her vision, Hayoung stumbled back, her gaze falling on the single red rose she'd left on his doorstep days ago. It lay wilted and forgotten, a stark symbol of her own decaying love.

Hayoung turned and walked away, leaving behind the scene of her twisted obsession. She knew there was no escape from the horrors she'd inflicted, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption on the other side of her journey, a journey far, far away from the man she'd loved and destroyed in equal measure