Yandere x Reader Oneshots

Yandere Banshee x Reader

((an Irish faerie messenger of death? sounds good to me. Sorry to folks who aren't interested in girls, I'll be back next update with a guy for you.))

{Art credit: Lowanael}

The first time you heard her, you were just nine years old. You had been tucked away in bed for a few hours already, but something in the air kept you awake. You had an uneasy feeling about something.

It was then that her cry pierced through the silence of the night, a somber lament that sent chills down your spine. You threw the covers over your head, terrified. A scream like that could only mean something horrible had happened. You shut your eyes tight, waiting for her woeful wails to fade away.

As scared as you were, though, you felt her sadness. It hurt somewhere deep inside, a feeling you had yet to understand. Tentatively, you peeked out from the blankets and made a brave decision.

You slipped out of bed, bare feet tiptoeing quietly across the cold floor. Your front door creaked as you opened it, but you paid it no mind. You followed her dismal sounds down to the riverbank.

It was there you saw her. She sat on her knees, hands running through the frigid water. The hood of her grey cloak was down, revealing her bright red hair, tangled and torn in her eternal distress. At the sound of your light tread, she turned, her eyes as watery as the river below her. She was young, no older than 14, with delicate yet pale features that even then you knew were beautiful.

You said nothing, only moving closer. You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Even with the cloak, you could feel she was freezing. You resisted the urge to pull away, determined to make her feel okay.

Her scream faded away, replaced by quiet weeping. You wrapped an arm around her, hoping your fragile touch could bring her some measure of peace. She turned back to gaze into the river, eyes distant. The two of you simply sat there, letting her know she wasn't alone in her misery. You fell asleep, head falling onto her shoulder.

When you awoke, you were back in your bed. You dismissed the encounter as a dream, seeing as nothing was left but the chill deep in your bones.

You left your room to find your mother in tears, clutching a pocketwatch you knew belonged to your grandfather. "Your grandfather," She says, pulling you into a tight embrace, "Passed away last night."

Your eyes widened, tears budding in the corners. You could now identify the feeling you had felt last night as grief. You remembered the young woman again, this time knowing what she was - a harbinger of death.

You met her again at 13. Though you never forgot your experience with the faerie, you once again had dismissed it as a dream. You never told your family, in fear of them either treating you like a child or scolding you for interacting with the fair folk.

You were returning from your uncle's house, having visited your aunt. She had fallen ill, not even having the strength to leave her bed. You had been taking care of her the past few months, wiping her brow and carefully lifting spoonfuls of soup to her pale lips.

The sun had long set by the time you got home. Exhausted from your day, you went to bed.

Halfway through the night, you were awoken by her sorrowful screech. You sat upright, trying to control your innate fear of such a terrible sound. Your sleep-addled mind didn't remember who she might be weeping for, only that the poor woman was mourning. Your own tears began to spill down your cheeks in empathy.

So you went to her again.

This time, she was sitting on a thick, gnarled root at the base of a large tree. She was older now, though not quite as old as you had expected, about 16. You saw her dress, a simple green color made of common fabric, but beautiful nonetheless. Her thin red hair flowed over her shoulders providing a lovely contrast.