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horrormurderkill · 1 month ago

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hellooo!!1 tysm <33 i also hope i never go bald… you’re highly appreciated. and ofc you can!! ;))

the remedy for lovesickness

yandere actor! x gn! makeup artist! reader. yandere themes, power imbalance, manipulation. 2.6k wc

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

he was born in a small town.

he spent the majority of his life hating it, a total waste of a land full of fussy and old people. it didn’t have enough bars to socialize, nor did it have a swimming pool for him and his friends to enjoy. it didn’t have enough area for him to let his emotions out. there weren't enough people for him to express himself.

no, there weren’t enough experiences this small town could give him.

maybe that was the reason he became so good at his job. he didn’t have a place to express himself, yet the classroom had plenty of empty seats to think about how one must feel in certain situations. he didn’t have many reasons to get angry, but he could always watch the old man in the neighborhood going crazy over the kids making too much noise. he could read books about agony and love.

at first, he did it for laughs. the jester way of conveying the message. then it became a hobby. then— an overgrowing passion.

and, safe to say it paid off well. a pretty face with talent -with the devotion to get it right-, and of course, a little bit of luck finally helped him get out of that shithole. a pretty face and the obsession with imitation got him places, unlike what that one girl from highschool had said.

it got him fame, thousands of people who cheered him on, lovely apartments, and numerous opportunities to try and catch a glimpse of new lives, of new roles.

still, he didn’t like the metropolis any better. a total waste of a land that’s too industrialized for his country-boy tastes, although he might have not liked to admit. it didn’t give people enough time to process their feelings, and the crowd wasn’t something he thought he could get used to.

but he still loved his job, and he most certainly had thousands of inspirations.

except for that one role. the story of a prince and his undying adoration for his lover. the one his manager didn’t stop blabbering about. he had considered it for an hour or two. “no,” he then decided. it was a role he had never got the chance to explore. he wouldn’t know how a lovestruck guy would act and talk like. he didn’t have enough time to practice.

but his manager didn’t seem to take no as an answer.

“you have time to practice,” she said, “it’s a good opportunity.”

guys with possessive tendencies truly sold a lot, apparently.

the manager was too sure that it was the perfect role for him at the moment. it took a long time and effort on her end to convince him, but it was a good opportunity.

“a good opportunity…” he finally agreed.

he had to be ready by the tenth episode. and he had nothing except books about love.

“so kais loses his mind, right? he’s now a madman telling everyone he met about leyla’s breathtaking beauty and praising her. people start making fun of him, ‘majnun’, they say, ‘madman’,”

now, you weren’t really sure if that was in your contract.

still, you nodded, signalling him to go on as you kept applying his makeup. either your boss was very fond of love books, or he was bored to the point where he would talk about anything.

you loved being a makeup artist. you loved working with idols and celebrities. gossiping to your friends about them was fun. seeing them without filters or scripts was fun. most importantly, makeup was fun.

“you know the remedy for lovesickness?” he asked suddenly.

“no. could you please close your eyes? thank you. I’m going to put on some powder now.”

“if love causes sleeplessness and delirium, it’s understandable to worry that the person might lose their mind. in such cases it’s a good option to keep them fed with easy to digest foods… like soup. um, and a hot bath should help them relax.”

“interesting...”

“yeah, and the scent of violet oil can also help too. that’s the remedy of the body.”

“could you lift your head just a little bit— perfect.”

“as for the soul, that’s kind of like a mental illness. the person should be talked to gently. at least until they calm down a bit. they can also keep themselves busy with other things. to distract themselves, you know.”

this guy didn’t know how -and when- to stop.

it was hilarious. it was strange. but there was something truly captivating about him. so you didn’t stop him. you didn’t pretend you weren’t interested. you didn’t intervene with his drawn-out threads that felt like a needlessly long script from a soap opera.

“duly noted.”

by the time they shot the fourth episode, he had shared a handful of stories. all revolved around one plot: love sickness with tragic endings. you didn’t think too much of the obsession with it, and honestly, you probably wouldn’t really understand even if he told you that was the only way he could learn.

“on the wedding night kerem tries to undo the buttons of asli’s robe. but he keeps failing. and then he takes a deep breath, right? he sighs so deeply… that he quite literally bursts into flames.”

you couldn’t help but snort at the very sudden ending, “what?”

“yeah, because the buttons are enchanted. and then asli tries to save him but ends up catching fire too.”

you hummed.

“I’m gonna need you to stay quiet or a second now,” he nodded before asking, “what do you think?”

“fire as a metaphor for love is… intense.” you changed the brush. “within that, the stories you’ve shared focus on forbidden love more often than not.”

he closed his eyes.

“the metaphor starts making much more sense in such cases.”

you tried your best to stay professional, to not speak unless you’d been told otherwise, and to make sure you did your job properly. but he was friendly. not just with you. he was close with the whole crew, and it wasn’t something you often came across.he was easy to talk to, genuinely warm, and honestly fun to listen to.

“and, you’re ready,” you said.

“it’s all about the unrequited -or forbidden- desire,” he mumbled.

“kais was literally a prince. and layla loved him back.” you finally replied to his ramblings.

you definitely didn’t sign up for this. it wasn’t that deep. love-turned-obsession stories often came with such characteristics, but that didn’t mean that was the case all the time.

“he was still scared he couldn’t have her.”

“I don’t know. maybe some people are just not meant to be.”

“wouldn’t that make their love sweeter?” he laughed softly.

debating on love every other day with your regularly transformed opinions while doing your job was not something you often told your friends about. but you weren’t complaining, not really.

6th episode’s shoot, and you were busy with doing someone else’s makeup. but, not a big deal, not at all. it happened in sets all the time after all. it was chaotic, unbearable. the part he hated the most. but it was fine. he had stories to tell. people who listen. or so he thought.

the new makeup artist seemed easy going too. yet, the story refused to be known. the tale wouldn’t let him reveal it. he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. he adapted quickly to most things very quickly, but he could hardly let them go. it was his little ritual: underlining passages from the books and getting excited to tell you more about it the next day.

it hadn’t even been that long. but he didn’t dare tell the newest story to anyone but you. as I said, he picked up silly habits easily. sometimes worryingly so. he even waited for you to finish your job so he could talk to you— but no. someone always had to ruin the day.

7th episode, and he didn’t seem as excited about telling a love tale. his mind was obviously on something else. the quietness was unfamiliar and almost unbelievable, but for some reason, it wasn’t bothering you.

still, you truly wanted to ask what was going on in his head, even when you did your best to stay professional.

“do you want to work with me?” he finally spoke up. you let out a sudden “huh” as you grabbed the far palette.

“would you like to be my personal stylist?” he asked again.

“oh, I do have a contract with the producer of the show at the moment.”

“I’m not asking you to quit.”

a good opportunity, one that you shouldn’t even hesitate before saying yes. “it’d be more appropriate to talk about it later,” you said, a perfect way to dodge the question . he handed you a card with a phone number.

“reach out to my manager whenever you’re available.”

he sounded like a businessman, a person who hated love books and romance more than anything, like he was rude towards service people on purpose. but well, mostly likely because he was tired, at least you thought so.

you loved your job, but it sure had drawbacks. working with people adored by everyone didn’t suddenly make you as appreciated, for instance. you were still easily replaceable. every single person in this industry was.

and a contract meant insurance, a promise, and a guarantee of employment. working for a successful actor meant promising career prospects in the long term. it meant network and experience. and there was hardly anything that could be considered as a con. an opportunity too good to pass. an opportunity too good to be true.

was it professional? not that you cared.

“it’s a good opportunity,” he agreed, “better not waste it.”

so you didn’t.

8th episode, and he finally turned back to normal again. full of joy and positivity, wishing everyone a very good day as he passed by. full of energy and with little stories of love and adoration while you made small comments here and there.

love stories then evolved into his ramblings about his town, his annoying physics teacher and what that one girl had to say about his acting skills in highschool -he seemed very offended by it, by the way-, and questions of what your life looked like. question that almost felt like an interrogation.

questions about your routine and habits, your love life, whether you liked that one book, and a bunch of very privacy related stuff you’d rather not answer.

he was made for this job, you decided when you watched episode 10.

but that is also when you realized his obsession was a two edged sword. his devotion to playing the character accurately, to see him through the scripts, to not just act like him but becoming him— it meant danger. the character and his successor would merge into one; eventually, they would become impossible to distinguish. was it always the case? most certainly. playing the role of an angry old man, he used to storm into the street, snatching the kids’ ball while also shouting they were making too much noise. or at least, that’s what he suddenly remembered.

it didn’t always have to be the case.but here he was, calling his manager, the crew and the producer by your name. “my bad,” he’d say quickly, correcting himself, and then his eyes would wander around the room exactly three times. the makeup would take much longer than usual. the seventh time he pinpointed the eye makeup– implying you should redo the left eye, you would sigh with frustration.

it didn’t always have to be the case. but here he was, yet another prince of the metropolis, featured in magazines with his picture everywhere. interviews, questions about how he prepared for the role– but no, please give him a second as his stylist fixed his goddamn hair for the fifth time in ten minutes.

you didn’t sign up for this.

you weren’t his goddamn manager. you didn’t know you had to follow him everywhere he went, even to places he certainly didn’t need any makeup or hair styling. but emergencies could happen, he would say.

14th episode, and it was getting harder to keep the script straight in his mind. tangled stories with the image of you and dialogues he had made up. his face would grow warm, the slow thrum of his pulse made his knees weaker. the accidental mentions of your name turned into small comments on how well you did your job. soon, they became long, winding monologues about you, the kind someone with a fevermight mutter in the middle of the night.

that was how kais felt when they called him majnun.

the magazine pages kept mentioning the scandalous news, although no one could confirm any of it for sure. the manager ran her hand through her hair, swearing under her breath as she tapped furiously on her phone. she spent her days arguing with journalists, demanding they take the stories down.

you tried your best to act oblivious. ignorance was bliss, after all. but it was hard when he acted like you two were joined at the hip. when he kept claiming how much he loved you. when he was so desperate for attention he ended up crying, ruining the makeup he asked you to redo every 15 minutes.

“do you know the remedy for lovesickness?”

you made soup for him. told him to take hot baths, said it’d be good for his body. then you gave him books to keep his mind busy. after that, you started applying violet oil to his clothes every day. none of them truly helped. if anything, the fact that you made soup for him only made things worse.

“you should quit.” the manager finally said to you. and if you had to be honest, although the job did pay you well, being the center of attention because of a madman made you consider leaving. so all you did was nod. you didn’t try and solve it. you didn’t pretend you weren’t scared and uncomfortable.

safe to say he didn’t take it well.

“I'm just wondering— where did you get this stupid idea?” his harsh tone didn’t match the kindness on his face. the type of kindness that held that strange, almost gentle warmth.

“I didn't sign up for this,” you said, voice louder than you intended. he blinked, as if confused, then let out a faint chuckle that almost made you shiver, “yes, yes you did,” he smiled. mouth ajar, you glanced at the manager, her lips pressed into a tight, straight line. he gave a small tilt of his head when he noticed you looking at her. the manager caught the signal and nodded once, then silently left the room.

“you did sign up for this,” he said, voice flat. “the moment you let me read those book passages out loud. when you let me ramble about my nowhere hometown, stupid stories from my high school like any of it mattered,” he looked at you, unreadable, “you knew you signed up for it the second you took the opportunity. don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I’m quitting, then,” you murmured. you’d never seen him so serious, and the unfamiliarity made your body tense.

“yeah?” he gently smiled, “you truly believe I’ll let you walk away? just like that?” he let out a quiet, genuinely amused laugh. “do you really not see it? your career’s pretty much over.”

a contract meant insurance. protection. it also meant chains. guaranteed captivity.

“and one more thing” he muttered, rummaging through the drawer as he spoke. at last, he finally pulled out a small bottle— the violet oil. “I adore you,” he said, voice too sharp, a little too bright. “and that—“ he gave the bottle a little shake,

“is not the cure. not even close.”

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