ā ļøTomb muchā ļø
āļø003-001
Yandere reaper (Kier) x GN reaper reader
ā ļøWarnings: Yandere, Violence on reader off screen, stalker-ish behavior, death
Another oldie, so no drawings for Kier either, but Iāll add it if I ever make a part two
The night was cloudless, only a chill breeze and bare trees with their black and brown branches pointing towards the dark night sky. The lush green that was supposed to be there is in deprivation from the harsh winter. Spring has yet to wake even in late March.
In a certain parking lot, in a certain car, through the black tinted windows of the car, if one decides to look close enough, theyāll find a dead corpse of a male in the silver Toyota.
But no one can see the lone soul and of the man and the lone reaper.
As you fill in the documents of assigning the soul into the loop of reincarnation in Norway, as per request, the soul asks.
āā¦ā¦Thank you, is this how things like this usually work?ā He asks you as you seem to be looking for something in your pocket, now that youāre finished.
āWell, I actually donāt know,ā you answer. āI just died about a month ago. When I woke up, I received all this knowledge in my head, and a tattoo.ā You raise a wrist for the soul to see, it is a marking in the shape of a skull. āI only met another reaper when I was reaping a soul for a double suicide and I have to sayā¦ā¦heās odd.ā You shiver at the thought of the man.
āHe chased me through a city. Then he asked for my hand in marriage, when I told him I want to take it slow, he forced me to exchange numbers with him.ā You complain while pulling a cracked phone and a small vile out, unlocking the phone to show him the bombardments of texts you received and is still receiving, mostly questions about how youāre doing and demands that you reply.
ā99+ messagesā¦ā¦? Oh, sorry Iām venting, please, drink this, this will delete your memories while I send you to reincarnation. Please be a good person, I donāt want to see you go to hell after this.ā
The soul takes the vile and pops it open.
āI will try my best, again, thank you.ā He says as he downs the potion in one go.
You stare as his somber expression disappears, replaced by a completely blank one.
Tabula rasa, a state of the human mind. People say newborns are usually in this state, yet you donāt believe in that, they have the factors of genes within, personality gifted by their parents through chromosomes, to be good or bad is partially coded in their physical body, but whether to act upon it or not takes the control of the soul.
This is the true blank state of mind, the one and only white board waiting to be drawn and filled with goods and bads. You mumble something in the soulās ear.
āMemento Mori.ā And with that, the soul, whom you no longer call a him disappears with a blinding light, leaving you in the car, with the corpse that once belonged to a now newborn, whose soul is now in the fjords of Norway.
You take a deep breath, finally, youāve gotten quite a few indecent souls who went to hell today, and indecent souls never went down without a fight, so there are violent hydrangea colored bruises littering your body, you have yet to develop a physical build for fighting, so you rely on your poor magic to defend yourself. But thatās not something to trouble with right now, you have about twenty minutes till your next soul, so you took the liberty to lean back and enjoy the silence.
Finally, some peace
āāWhy didnāt you read my texts?ā The door on your side was yanked open violently as a mop of white hair pokes in. You hear a distant clank, he has tossed the car door away.
ā¦ā¦you spoke too soon, you sat up and looked into your fellow reaperās eyes, pitch black pupils staring back at you.
āI was busy, Kier.ā You say as you rub your tired eyes.
āI donāt see you busy now!ā He retorts with a furrow of his brows and a pout unfitting for his appearance. He is lithe, a bit bony, even. With unkempt white hair messily tied into a bun on the back of his head. On his pale face are bloodshot eyes and dark circles, perhaps he had pink lips and cheeks when he was alive, but now theyāre just a shade of dead gray. He looks like heās dead, whichā¦ā¦isnāt completely wrong.
He wears a black tank top and orange cargo pants, an orange jacket tied around his waist as colorful tattoos litter his arms, and you can see a big one peeking through on the skin under his ripped clothes.
But that wasnāt what convinced you his status as a prisoner. It was the chains, wrapped around him to weigh him down, but also serve as a warningāāthis is a dangerous one.
āI just finished workā¦ā¦donāt you have work?ā You ask.
He ignores your question completely as he takes hold of your arm and pulls you out of the car.
āWeāre going on that date you promised me.ā He says with a joyous smile as he pulls you along with him, a light skip in his steps as the pitter-patter of your footsteps echoes in the night.
You want to protest, but the moment he gave you a disapproving side glance, you shut your mouth.
And without a word, he begin to walk, slowly breaking into a little jog, then to a run.
As if chasing the moon, he pulls you through the road, running. āCāmon! Itās just gonna be a walk in the park!ā
But the two of you didnāt walk, the first second you were staring at the unusually large moon, the next you were standing in the local park. Damn him and his skill in magic.
The night hidden behind a veil of darkness, showing only the moon and the lone stars scattered across the sky.
The trees gently danced in the wind, as they are the only signs of life around, you wonder why there is no one here. And as if sensing your curiosity, your companion answers.
āThis is the dangerous part of the city, look.ā
The feeling of his hand on your shoulder yank you out of your thoughts, an inaudible gasp left your lips as he chuckles instead.
Your eyes trail down his arm, to his pointer finger, following the invisible line he created as your eyes land on a vending machine, or the remains of one; The side of it has a large dent in it, you know a crowbar wound when you see it, even if itās not on flesh.
The lights flicker on and off, almost all of the buttons for the drinks show a large āXā signaling that itās āsold outā, even though probably no one paid for it.
You would say graffiti is a form of art, but here, on whatās left of this machine, it seems like messiness solidified, like the screams of souls when you catch a glimpse of hell.
Without saying anything, Kier strides towards the broken machine, white lights welcoming him with a little flickerā¦ā¦yet its dying breath is crushed under his combat boots as he lands a powerful kick to it, killing it off completely and denting it almost to an hourglass shape.
Liquids mix and sizzle, trickling down the machine like blood, your stomach churn at the sight, it reminds you too much of what youāve been dealing with.
Then you see his hand dig inside of the dead body of the machine and pull out a few cans of drinks, the words were in Japanese, the cans dented here and there.
āCalpis? Who on earth would name their drink ācow pissā? pfft.ā With a laugh and without a warning, he tosses the can at you (you barely caught it in time), and cracks his own open, taking a sip out of it, raising a brow. āThis cowās got diabetes.ā
He gives you a look, knowing that he wants you to follow his actions, so you pop the can open, taking a sip out of it. Itās sweet but refreshing, slightly milky yet a bit acidic, similar to watered down yogurt.
As far as politeness goes, you drink quickly, Kier starts a conversation to which you only answer with hums, tying the ends of them quickly with an unbreakable knot called a period.
Time is up, finally, you get to leave as he takes your empty can, but as he does so, his forefinger hooks onto your thumb, that tall frame of his leans down to your height.
Those dark eyes stare straight into your own, his hair flowing in the wind like it has its own mind.
āHow about now?ā
Of course he wouldnāt forget that stupid question.
You lower your head, unable to meet his gaze, and weakly shake your head.
Not a word leaves his lips as his gaze continues to stay on your head, finally, an amused huff can be heard, and your tense shoulders sag a bit.
āHmmā¦ā¦ā behind this hum, you can hear his words. āIs that so?ā lingers silently behind his teeth, but rings in your ears.
Kier seems to enjoy your fear as his lips split into a sinister smile, he lets go of your hand and holds onto the top and bottom of the cans. It looks so simple when he does it, the cylinders crushes into small plates.
A bad kind of shiver creeps up your spine, and he didnāt miss it.
āTick tock, darling. We have all the time in the world, butā¦ā¦ā
*clank*
The sound of the cans clanking on the concrete ground startles you, Kier the reaper is nowhere to be seen, as if he was never here.
You sink to the ground, knees weak as you sit there, almost forgetting that you have work in less than a minute.
You can only let out a shaky breath as you collect yourself, but he doesnāt let you have it, as an energetic ping of a text rings in the deadly night.
