#noirscript: 1.5k plus

[noirscript]

Hii, I love your fics. Please may I request yandere demon who’s quite possessive and strict with reader but can also be quite coddling?

Hollow Haven

Description: You tried to escape, but Alastor’s grip is tighter than you think. In his haven, freedom is just an illusion.

Warning/s: Yandere | Possession | Captivity | Psychological horror | Emotional Manipulation | Failed Escape | Yandere Demon

Note: I will not be able to tag this fic below. Read the warnings before proceeding. I hope you like this anon!

Join the 1.5k(+) celebration. Request is open (but will take time to be fulfilled due to irl).

You hadn’t expected the doorknob to turn.

For months, or maybe longer—time had no structure in that place—you had tried it at least once a day, if only to confirm that it remained locked. You had long accepted it was symbolic more than anything. A performance of hope to make the silence bearable.

But this time, it clicked.

The metal handle turned with a dry groan, and the heavy door creaked open by just a sliver. You stared at the small gap with disbelief, heart hammering so violently it almost hurt. For several seconds, you stood frozen, half-convinced it was another of Alastor’s games. An illusion. A hallucination. A taunt.

But there was a hallway on the other side. Dimly lit. Real.

You didn’t allow yourself more thought than that. You pushed it open fully and ran.

The floors were old and uneven, the walls crooked. Every sound echoed far too loudly—your frantic footsteps, your panicked breath. The air was dry, full of dust and decay, but it was different from the perfumed heaviness of his domain. There was no lingering scent of roses or sulfur. It smelled like neglect, like age.

You didn’t care. It was not him. That was enough.

You ran faster.

Corridors twisted in unnatural angles, as if the architecture had been scribbled by a madman. The hall stretched and shrank with no rhythm, yet you kept moving forward, convinced that somewhere in this maze, there would be a way out. It didn’t matter how the walls bent or how they whispered under your fingertips—you refused to stop.

At one point, you passed a mirror, and in the corner of your eye, you thought you saw him standing behind you. You didn’t look. Looking would give it power. Looking would make it real.

The hallway eventually ended at a door completely unlike the rest. Black, frostbitten, silent. There was no reason to trust it, but something told you it led out—truly out. You gripped the iron handle, wincing as it burned your skin, and pushed.

Cold air blasted you in the face.

It hit you so hard it stole your breath, but it was sharp and honest in a way that made your chest ache. Snow stretched out across a forest clearing, grey skies overhead and skeletal trees swaying against the wind. The colorless world was bleak, but freeing.

For the first time in ages, you remembered your name.

You stepped forward and didn’t look back. The door disappeared behind you, but you didn’t panic. That was fine. Doors weren’t meant to last here.

The snow stung your bare feet, but you kept moving. The icy wind bit at your exposed skin, and branches clawed at your arms and face. It all felt real. Tangible. Sharp. Everything the velvet-and-gold world he created had tried to numb out of you.

You didn’t know how long you walked. The trees blurred together, the cold numbing your legs, but you kept going until your knees buckled and you sank to the ground.

You were free.

Or you had been.

The voice came softly, as if drifting through the wind itself. “Pet?”

You froze. The pain in your legs vanished. Your ears rang.

“No,” you said automatically, as if denial alone would reverse time. “No, I made it out. I made it.”

You turned slowly, already feeling the weight of failure crash through you before your eyes even confirmed it.

Alastor stood just beyond the trees, leaning against one with casual grace. His crimson suit looked untouched by the elements. Not a flake of snow touched him. Not a single hair out of place. His long, dark red hair cascaded over his shoulders in elegant waves, brushing the waist of his coat. His smile was calm. Too calm.

“I should be angry,” he said, stepping forward slowly. “But I’m mostly hurt.”

You backed away, slipping slightly on the snow. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t need to.

“I’ve done everything I could to make you comfortable,” he continued, voice smooth and casual. “Shelter. Music. Meals. Company. Me. And yet, you snuck away like a thief.”

“I didn’t—” You tried to speak, your voice breaking. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

He paused, tilting his head slightly. His eyes glinted with amusement—or something worse.

“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t. But I know what you need, little one. You’re just… confused. Sick, maybe. Tired. I don’t blame you for that.”

You took a step back.

He took two forward.

The snow beneath your feet turned to slush, then to liquid. It pulled. You gasped and stumbled, trying to lift your foot, but it stuck fast. The ground thickened into black tar, swallowing your ankles.

You screamed.

Alastor’s smile softened, and he crossed the distance between you effortlessly, reaching out as if to comfort a child.

“I forgive you,” he said, voice low. “Running away isn’t uncommon. Everyone tries it once.”

You twisted your body, trying to wrench free from the pull, but your limbs were sluggish. Your muscles refused to obey. The air thickened around you like glue.

“You tricked me,” you gasped, tears burning down your cheeks. “You let me think—let me think I got out.”

“Of course I did.” He crouched beside you, brushing your damp hair back from your face. “You need to understand what it feels like. The panic. The failure. That’s how you’ll learn never to do it again.”

Your breathing hitched violently. “Please.”

He leaned in, lips ghosting near your ear.

“There’s nowhere else for you. Nowhere safer. Nowhere that wants you.”

The snow melted entirely now, revealing a familiar velvet floor beneath you. The forest blurred and crumbled around the edges, giving way to the walls of your chamber—his chamber. Red drapes, soft lighting, incense curling in the corners. You sobbed as the illusion collapsed, dragging your broken hope down with it.

By the time the last traces of the outside world vanished, you were curled in his lap. His fingers moved gently through your hair, his other hand stroking your back.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ll rest now. You’ll forget all about it.”

“I won’t,” you choked, shaking. “I’ll never forget.”

He smiled faintly, resting his cheek against yours.

“You will,” he said. “That’s the part you don’t understand yet. You will. And when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll thank me.”

You wanted to scream. But the room was too soft, too warm, too heavy. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even cry anymore.

He kissed your temple and held you tighter.

“You’re mine,” he said, not asking this time. Just stating.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.