thevanillerose

[thevanillerose]

MIRROR | YANDERE!ZAYNE x READER | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Captivity | Lil' bit of blood A/N: The Snow Queen was one of my favorite stories/surprisingly good TV movies as a kid, so I decided to make Zayne the queen this time around. And make him obsessed with you to a concerning degree, of course.

The shards cut your fingers, but you didn’t dare stop.

They glittered like frozen stars scattered across the floor. The mirror sprawled before you in a spiderweb of cracks, hungry for your blood, and blood it had gotten. Every time you pressed a sliver into place, your skin suffered for it.

Long ago, you should have run. You should have tried to leave this frozen palace. But like a fool, you had stayed. And now it was impossible to even imagine freedom again.

Behind you, Zayne watched from his throne of carved frost. His figure was carved in cold majesty, a silhouette haloed by drifting snowflakes that never melted. He sat as he always did, with a cold arrogance, knowing his own power.

Not a man, but a force of nature. A king, with dominion over frost.

His voice slid across the air, low and silken:

“You’re bleeding for me.”

You froze, a shard trembling between your hands. Your blood streaked crimson across its surface, staining the glass. The reflection was fractured, dozens of you staring back. Pale, trembling, lips cracked with cold and parted, huffing steam into the bitter air. 

Barely recognizable.

Yet in each reflection, he appeared too. As always, he was ever present, and inescapable. He surrounded you just like the snow.

“How is your progress?” he murmured, leaning back, his chin propped lazily on one pale hand. His eyes were glacial fire, too sharp to meet, yet impossible to look away from, and there was a slight smirk on his lips. “You seem to have made none.”

Your chest ached. He was right. Even with your hands shaking, even as the shards sliced deeper, you kept piecing the mirror together because he had told you to. But it was neverending. By now, you had long forgotten your normal life. What it was to be warm, to be with your friends, your family.

These days, you couldn’t even recall the name of your lover anymore. You knew he must be desperately searching for you, but you feared it was a futile effort.

Zayne rose.

The soundless grace of his movements unnerved you. No footsteps echoed, no cloak whispered. Just his chilling presence pooling against your back, a tall shadow swallowing you. He crossed the frozen marble floor in no time, and lowered to one knee beside you, close enough that his breath stirred against your temple.

“Look at me.”

You obeyed before you thought. Your gaze lifted, and looked at him. His beauty, which was what had captivated you in the first place, hypnotized you. Trapped you.

He steadied your hands with his own, long fingers sliding over yours. His touch was unbearable: a shock of frost rushing through your veins, numbing, intoxicating. The shard settled into place with a crystalline hum, lines of frost blooming outward as if sealing your blood inside, as he helped you press it.

“You’ve mended another little piece,” he whispered. His lips almost brushed your ear. “But so many yet to go…”

Your pulse stuttered, quick and erratic. You should have feared what those words meant, should have struggled, but all you could do was ache. His thumb traced the bead of blood at your fingertip, and he lifted it to his mouth.

The world narrowed to the sight of his lips brushing your skin.

You gasped. The sound echoed too loudly in the silent chamber, but he only smiled faintly against you, as if pleased by your weakness. The sharp chill of him turned molten, rushing heat through every nerve until you could hardly breathe.

Hazel-green eyes met yours. Sharp and beautiful. Seeing every little fraction of your fragility.

“It may never be repaired…but I’m sure you already know this.” 

Zayne, the cruel Snow King, laid his other hand against what little you had put back into place. You watched with dismay as he peeled out shard after shard, undoing your efforts.

“...I should very much like it if it never is. That way you’ll be here with me forever…”

Your lips parted, words lost in the storm inside you. 

Gods help you. Why did that sound appealing?

The silence stretched, taut and unbearable. Your mind still clung to some small semblance of your former self, your former life. When you thought of it, it was only then that you realized how much you were suffering here. Never warm, always in pain. Always working, but for naught.

“...You could let me go.”

His laugh was soft, dangerous. “I could.” He leaned closer, fingers dusting under your chin, his breath ghosting over your lips. “But why would I?”

The room spun. You pressed back against the mirror’s frame, the cold biting through your clothes, yet you could not retreat from him. He followed the movement like a predator with prey, caging you between his body and the shards.

One pale hand braced beside your head. The other slid deliberately down your arm, fingers tracing the curve of your wrist, your elbow, lingering at your waist. Every place he touched burned with unnatural cold, until you were shivering with need.

“You’ve already given me your blood,” he murmured. “Your warmth. Your reflection. Do you not see it? There’s nothing left to free.”

Your throat tightened. “I— I can’t stay here.”

His eyes softened, though the smile that touched his lips was cruel. “And yet you will. You’re under my spell as surely as winter grips the world. You want to run…” His hand skimmed lower, settling at your hip. “…but you want me more.”

Your eyes lowered. The shattered mirror reflected your betrayal.

Your own eyes in its fractured shards were wide, fevered, glistening with hunger you didn’t want to admit. Each reflection showed you clutching at him, leaning toward him, mouth parted in desperate invitation.

You looked away. But his fingers caught your chin again, tilting your face back up. “Don’t hide from me.”

He kissed you then. His lips were cold, his breath the same, yet you felt a fire between you two, dragging a low sound from your throat you didn’t recognize. Your hands rose helplessly, pressing against his chest as if to push him back. But instead you fisted his cloak, dragging him closer.

“See?” he whispered against your lips as you parted. “You’re already mine.”

You couldn’t look away from him anymore, even if you wanted to. His reflection filled every angle, every sliver of glass, every corner of your mind. Your own reflection dissolved, smudged away, until only he remained.

“You’ll never leave this place, that’s true,” he said, brushing his mouth over your temple, your cheek, the corner of your lips again. Each word sank like frost into your bones. 

“But you won’t want to.”

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[thevanillerose]

Interrogator | Caleb x Reader

🖊️ by @thevanillerose 💗 Love and Deepspace 🏷️ Choose-Your-Own-Adventure

Caleb, now Colonel, is a long way from the childhood friend you knew. You find yourself face-to-face with him in a holding cell, at his mercy. He wants answers, but not just for the Farspace Fleet.

For himself.

Colonel Caleb. The reinforced door shuts behind him, sealing tight, as he enters the room. His uniform is pristine, his gloves on, cap pulled down partially over his eyes. Eyes that are cold, unreadable. He doesn’t sit right away. You’re the only one sitting, bound to a chair in the center of the room. Instead, he paces around you, slowly and deliberately. A red recording light blinks. You’re being watched. But what bothers you more, is looking at this man you thought you knew and realizing he isn’t the same person anymore. To the point where you wonder, is it even Caleb at all? How can someone look so much like him and yet...be so different? He sets a folder on the table without breaking eye contact. "Let’s begin. I’ll ask the questions. You’ll answer them. And if you lie...I’ll know."

READ/PLAY HERE to make your choice and see what happens next! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

[thevanillerose]

VICTOR | YANDERE!FRONTMAN x READER | SQUID GAME

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Captivity | SQUID GAME SPOILERS (1/2/3) A/N: I’m so happy people worldwide are seeing Lee Byung Hun for the hottie he is like I’ve been crushing on this man since G.I. Joe okay. Now go watch Joint Security Area and I Saw the Devil and simp harder.

The moment you won, was surreal.

The final game had people at their most desperate, as you’d expect. And it was particularly cruel, to put the duty right in the players hands like that. To make it so you had to literally push another to their deaths, off those tall towers.

You won. The rest of them fought among themselves, to their doom, and as the last was accidentally tugged off the edge by his victim, you were the only one left. None of them had turned on you early because, frankly, they didn’t see you as a threat. And it seemed a fluke that you’d made it so far. 

So…you won. But you didn’t feel victorious.

They brought you inside without ceremony. There was no suitcase of prize money, no dramatic send-off. You were led through a sterile hallway and into a room that looked more like a luxury hotel suite than a cell, except for the absence of a door handle on your side.

Immediately, you got a far more awful feeling than you had even when you were expected to fight to the death. Nausea swelled in your stomach, and you weren’t left alone for long. 

That was when you first saw him without the mask. Shock struck you as you realized, you recognized this man. He was someone who had been in the games too…Young-il. You thought he was…

…That shock might have stuck, but you were swiftly numb to it. Why even care anymore?

“The winner,” he said, in that deep-toned voice. His voice was measured. But you caught the faintest undercurrent of something else. Possession. “You’ll be staying here. Enjoy your prize.”

You said nothing. Felt nothing. 

He waited, maybe for you to cry or beg or ask why. But you only looked at him, face neutral, eyes steady. Whatever reaction he wanted, you weren’t going to give it to him.

…

Days passed. He visited often.

Sometimes he wore the mask, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he brought you things. A silk scarf, a book, a plate of fancy food arranged with deliberate care. The fucked up thing was how he was taking care of you, giving you luxuries you’d never known, had once been desperate for.

“You should eat more,” he’d say.

“I am eating,” you’d reply evenly, setting your fork down.

The conversations never went further than that.

Your silence unsettled him, you could tell. At first he seemed to think it was fear. Then defiance. Eventually, you realized he was obsessed, not just with you, but with what you weren’t giving him. The fact you were so standoffish was actually kind of backfiring.

It was spurring him on.

…

You didn’t waste the days though.

All the horrors you had been through, some part of you, some feeble little part of you, wanted to make them count. 

When he brought books, you flipped through them slowly, methodically. You weren’t reading for the stories, you just wanted to keep busy somehow, so you wouldn’t start to wonder too much. So you wouldn’t start to question why, why he hadn’t just let you go with the money, as had been ‘promised’.

You knew this wasn’t the prize everyone would win. Only you. You were…special, somehow. And not in any good way. 

When the guards changed shifts outside your door, you counted the footsteps, the clicks of their radios. You tried to remember anything you could about the corridors and doors you had been walked through. There was a little ember of hope in you, that you might be able to escape. 

The sea outside the window was endless. The tide line against the outer wall, the rock formations breaking the waves. You weren’t afraid of the distance. If nothing else worked, you’d sacrifice yourself to the drop. If he so much as touched you…

Gradually, it became more and more evident that any effort to sneak out of your room and past the guards was hopeless. Everything was monitored, and there were surely cameras everywhere, including in this room. 

All you could do was cling to your last shred of dignity, and make the leap.

Or…perhaps not quite such a drastic outcome. Because, there really was one last chance you’d been given. A true chance, not one which ended with you splattered on some briny rock below.

The night finally came when you made your move.

The window, though narrow, opened just enough. You slipped out onto the slick ledge. The wind howled harder than you expected, but you stayed steady, your bare feet gripping cold concrete as you crept along the side of the building until you found the service hatch.

It was something you’d overheard, after a couple of guards had come to check up on you one evening. They probably didn’t realize sound carried like it did from the corridor, or that you had immediately sprinted to press your ear to the door as soon as they were out of it.

They’d no clue you now knew there was a service hatch surprisingly close to your little prison. Or that you’d have the gall, the guts, to actually try and make it there. 

By the time the first alarm blared, you were already past the compound’s gates. Slickly enough, having prepped yourself carefully for the time when it came, you were able to sneak your way out. A rough map layout you’d hastily scribbled onto a torn book page, using only memory, was enough to guide you.

Of course, he heard. He rushed to your room immediately, struggling to believe it. 

The bed was empty. The scarf he’d given you was gone. On the table sat the open book, the missing page a silent taunt. You were so much cleverer than he thought.

For the first time in a long time, he felt something sharp cut through the calm he’d built like armor. Something he tried so hard, to no longer feel. 

Rage.

By the time they searched the nearest ports, you were long gone. Whether you’d snuck aboard a ship, or indeed taken the suicidal route of trying to swim, he’d no clue. He didn’t even know if you were still alive or not. All he knew was that you weren’t here for him to keep an eye on anymore, to confirm it.

And that…drove him insane. It filled him with an anger he could no longer contain, an anger that ended in masked men lying in pools of blood around the corridors of the compound, victims of his unexpected rampage.

Trembling hand still gripping the gun, his other gloved fingers were curled around the scarf. The scarf he’d wanted you to wear, with a smile he hoped he could have eventually forced out of you. A love he could have programmed in.

But you were smart. So numb, you’d become too brave. And now you were gone.

His fist clenched, crumpling the delicate fabric.

You’d won. Truly, this time.

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[thevanillerose]

MADNESS | YANDERE!XAVIER x READER | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Violence | Captivity A/N: This idea was marinating for the entire duration of the event tbh like Game of Thrones!Xavier are you actually joking i'm gonna keel over

Philos was dying.

Beyond the castle’s high black windows, the sky was illuminated by falling stars. Their trails burned slowly and sadly across the void, bright and beautiful signs of the end. 

Shards of light struck the distant city walls in bursts of gold and ash. Every so often, you could feel the vibration deep under your feet, the low groan of stone collapsing somewhere. Such damage had been done that could never truly be undone.

It was cold, bone-deep cold. Even by a hearth, there was little comfort to be had.

For three days, the Mad King had sealed himself in his private chambers. The heavy doors of carved obsidian remained shut, and he himself had been silent. You hadn’t been permitted to leave either of course. The sturdy, ornate locks on your own doors were proof enough that your fate was tethered to his. At least, he considered it to be.

Servants had stopped coming, and you were isolated. This was the first time you had dared venture the halls in a while. They smelled strongly of dust and old candle smoke. At least you were still alive, at least within these walls, the ruination outside could not touch you yet. 

The magical barrier that had been erected could hold for millenia, or so you had been told. Yet it was its own kind of torment, being trapped here. Watching as this once bright and beautiful kingdom, shattered into pieces before your very eyes. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t go to him. You told yourself you could endure. 

But in truth, the suffocation was worse than the danger beyond the walls. Worse than the fear you had begun to feel towards him. 

And so you found yourself pushing the great doors open, their hinges screaming against the frame. A little hope was in your heart; if you two abandoned this place, abandoned Philos itself, perhaps you could save yourselves. Start anew, somewhere across time and space.

Remaining here like sitting ducks, spirits dwindling day by day, was no way to survive.

The chamber beyond the door was dim, lit only by the flicker of dying fire. Tattered draperies hung heavy over the windows, keeping the ruin outside at bay, and any chance of light from coming in. In the far corner, half-slumped on the throne he’d dragged into his bedchamber, was Xavier.

He looked like a statue left to weather in the rain. His crown — broken, its arc split clean through — sat discarded at his feet. The silver of his armor was tarnished, dented, and beneath it his shirt clung damply to his skin.

When he finally lifted his head, the sight of you carved something raw into his expression.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he rasped. His voice was low, hoarse, as though he’d been speaking to no one but himself for days. “Go back to your chambers.”

You crossed the floor anyway. “Is it a crime for me to want to see my husband?”

That pulled a bitter laugh from him, and it didn’t reach his eyes as he repeated, firmly this time: “Go back to your chambers.”

“Why? And refuse to see or speak to the one I love?” you asked, “I do not fear you. I don’t believe you would ever hurt me. It would break you to do so.”

He rose slowly and with a gait unsteady, like the ground itself wasn’t holding still beneath him. When he came close, you saw the dark hollows under his eyes, the fine tremor in his hands. His long, ashen blonde hair framed a face that had become more pallid than usual, more gaunt. 

While still beautiful, there was something that seemed more aged about him now. A weariness that should never have come so soon.

“What have you come for, then?” Swallowing tightly, you spoke with honesty: “I have come to ask, sincerely…to leave this place. Of course, not alone. With you by my side. We must give ourselves the chance!”

His pupils sharpened, just briefly, before his eyes became heavy again.

“What a foolish request. You will perish if you leave,” he said, as if each word cost him. “Do you think I do not realize it? Do you think I would ever allow it?”

“Xavier—”

“I must protect you. I must.” His hands caught your shoulders, pulling you close until you could feel the shudder in his breath. “I can keep you here. I can close every door, lock every window. I can keep you.”

Xavier’s eyes closed, his brow crumpling with an internal agony, “The barrier…it will hold. Every mage in my kingdom poured their power into it. Even if the planet collapses, we will be safe.”

You tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened.

“Sometimes…I fear what I may do to you myself, yes…but knowing you are here…knowing that…”

He trailed off. Outside, another star fell, and struck the earth with a blinding, burning flash. Inside, his arms locked around you like the last fortress in a kingdom already fallen.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your hair. “Everything else will burn…but we will remain.”

And you knew he meant it. Yet still, you couldn’t understand. 

“I would rather perish…than live like a bird in a cage…” At the word ‘perish’, you felt his hold stiffen. “Don’t—” “It is the truth, my king…” you breathed with a shudder, tears welling in your eyes against his shoulder, “...I can hardly stand it anymore—”

“I saw it,” he cut you off, voice low and fraying. “Over and over. The moment the light leaves your eyes. The moment I can’t reach you. The stars fall, the city burns, and you…” His jaw clenched hard, his breath catching. “You’re gone.”

You felt his hands tremble against your arms.

“Visions,” you whispered. “They’re only—”

“They’re not only anything.” His voice cracked, sharp as the splintered crown. “Every one of them comes true. Every one. And you think I’d just let it happen?”

He all but stumbled back, as if retreating from the thought itself, before his knees gave way and he sank to the floor. His gauntlets scraped against the stone as he clutched at the hem of your clothes like a drowning man.

“Stay,” he begged, his forehead pressing into your stomach. “I can fight anything, anyone. But I can’t fight fate if you run from me.”

The heat of the hearth did nothing for the cold crawling up your spine now, an uneasiness you could now see clearly the reason for. 

Even in peaceful days, there had been murmurs among the people. Whispers of ‘madness’, with regards to their king. Of course, to dare speak it aloud would land anyone on the block. But…now you began to understand why they had said so. Why, in hushed voices after hours, even his servants themselves had warned you to leave while you still could.

To abandon this royal life, to return to your family in the humble village where you’d had your beginnings, never dreaming back in those days that you might one day be chosen to wed the king himself. 

Thinking of it now, pained you. Philos was destined to fall, but if you had stayed, you might have spent these final moments with your mother and your father. Not in the gripping hands of a man who had made you his prisoner long before he’d had such a good excuse for it.

You bent slightly, your fingers hovering above his hair, wanting to comfort him, but afraid. Still, you laid your palm against his locks, stroking slowly, soothingly. 

“Xavier…I can’t be your prisoner. That is not love…”

His arms cinched tighter around your waist, the metal of his armor biting into your sides. “You’re not my prisoner,” he said, and the lie was so soft you almost believed it. “You’re my reason.”

You tried to step back. This time he let you slip free, but only far enough to make it to the threshold.

Your hand had just touched the great obsidian door when the sound tore through the chamber. The long hiss of steel leaving a scabbard.

“Even still, you wish to leave?”

You turned. The dim glare through a part in the curtains shone a streak along the length of his blade, catching in the jagged inlays of black and silver. He held it one-handed, point angled toward the floor, but the tension in his shoulders told you it could be raised in a heartbeat. Pointed at you.

His once pained face was a mask of calm over something raw and feverish beneath.

“If you step through that door,” he said, “the vision becomes truth. And I won’t allow it.”

Unbelievably, he began to walk toward you. He seemed like a stranger as he did.

The rawness in his eyes had frozen over into something ice cold. His steps were slow and patient, the gait of a man who knew you were at his mercy. That there was nowhere for you to run. 

You backed away instinctively, your heel catching on the rug and almost causing you to tumble.

“W-wait—”

The point of the sword lifted, and suddenly it was there, the cold kiss of steel resting against your chest, just over your heart. Poking your skin, fit to pierce at any moment.

You froze, the air catching painfully in your lungs. You searched his face, desperate for any crack of hesitation. But there was none.

“Do you think I wouldn’t?” he asked quietly, tilting his head just slightly, as though genuinely curious. “Do you think I wouldn’t do anything to keep you from walking through that door?”

Your back found the wall before you realized you’d been moving. The tapestry there muffled the chill of the stone, but it might as well have been ice. The pressure of the blade increased just enough to let you feel the point beneath the layers of your gown. To cause a little pain, to make you whimper.

“This is not you…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You wouldn’t…”

His lips curved faintly. Not quite a smile, you couldn’t call it that, but more the shadow of one. A sinister imitation. 

“I would rather kill you myself, and join you in death, than let you go to that fate. Better to choose our end than let the stars tear you from me again.”

The words carried the certainty of a royal decree. There was no doubting he meant them.

Tears blurred your vision as you choked on your horrified reply. “It isn’t my choice at all!” you sobbed, the sound raw, torn from your throat like it was painful, “I would have never chosen any of this! I would have never agreed to wed you if I had known…if I had known you would lock me away like some pet!”

Xavier’s mouth curved, and he laughed as soon as you finished. In a sickly warm way, mockingly.

“Oh, my love,” he murmured, shaking his head, “you thought it was ever your choice?” 

He took a slow step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “The moment I set eyes on you, in that little mud-stained slum you called a home…you were mine.”

The blade at your chest eased back, but only because he no longer needed it to hold you there. The weight of his words kept you rooted in place. You searched his face for some flicker of jest, some scrap of gentleness you could cling to, some remnant of the Xavier you once thought he was.

But the certainty there was unshakable.

Your strength gave way, and you sank to your knees. The cold stone bit through the fabric of your gown, but you hardly felt it. He lowered with you, one knee on the floor, his free hand tilting your chin upward until your tear-streaked gaze met his. 

The sword slid down to rest beside him, forgotten for the moment.

His fingers brushed your cheek, and the touch was gentle and reverent, as though you were the most fragile, precious thing in all worlds, in all timelines. He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he said softly when you parted. “Look at me. Look close. Can you not see it?”

And you did look. You looked right into the sharp, burning depths of his eyes. But all you saw was madness.

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[thevanillerose]

CASINO | SYLUS x READER | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. A/N: (An ever so slightly late) birthday gift, for my friend Aria Moon! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope you like it~! Sylus is so suave, I think this kind of setting suits him perfectly. ♤ ♧ ♥ ♢

The N109 Zone always smelled like money and danger.

The whole vibe of the place had set you on edge in the early days. You never knew what to expect, nor who to trust. Except for that silver-haired, silver-tongued man who had taken you under his wing.

Already, before you even stepped through the revolving glass doors of the Emerald Spire Casino, you could taste it on the back of your tongue: the metallic tang of the air scrubbers fighting the city’s haze, the faint sting of synthetic perfume pumped through the ventilation to keep patrons...relaxed.

Outside, the street was shifting neon, flashing in time with the slow pulse of holoscreens hawking things you didn’t want to know about. Always with a reddish glow, throbbing in the darkness like something living. 

Inside, the temperature dropped to a cool and indulgent number. Every surface gleamed: black glass, gold trim, a ceiling peppered with fiber-optic stars. Dealers in sleek green uniforms called for bets over the shuffling of cards, the clink of crystal glasses, the sly murmurs of ambition and greed.

And then there was Sylus.

You spotted him instantly, leaning one elbow against the baccarat table as if he’d been born there, the cut of his suit immaculate in a shade just dark enough to swallow the light. His posture was effortless, but coiled beneath was sheer control.

A drink sat untouched at his side, condensation beading on the glass. The chips in his other hand clicked together in a steady rhythm. Lavishly dressed ladies stole glances his way as they passed by, quietly whispering to one another, flushed snickering. 

As ever, he drew attention. As ever, he wasn’t interested.

When his eyes found you, the faintest light flickered in the red. Recognition, amusement. His voice slipped into your ear through the comm, warm velvet over a blade’s edge.

“You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” you murmured, weaving through a group of high-rollers without missing a step. The crowd parted for you enough to brush past finely tailored sleeves and sequin shoulders.

You slipped in beside him, close enough to smell the faint, clean spice of his cologne. Without looking away from the table, Sylus palmed a small, weighted keycard into your hand. The metal was cool against your skin, heavy.

“Vault access,” he said, his tone all business, but his gaze held yours for a heartbeat. “You know where it is, sweetie?”

Of course you did. You’d memorized the Spire’s blueprints until they’d practically been burned into the backs of your eyelids. But knowing the layout was only part of the battle. Tonight was tense.

“Try not to start a scene,” you teased, slipping the card into your clutch.

“Me?” His smirk was pure, measured trouble. 

“Never.”

…

The moment you stepped away from the baccarat table, the casino’s soundscape shifted. It became muffled by the thick carpet, the voices thinned, replaced by the gentle chime of private elevators.

Sylus fell into step beside you, his stride long and unhurried. From a distance, you looked like nothing more than two well-dressed players slipping away for something decadent. Perhaps, a couple. At this point, you were straying closer to being exactly that, mission-by-mission, day-by-day.

You tapped the card against the elevator’s reader. The doors smoothly slid shut, and the descent began. Dim lighting softened the space, reflecting in warm gold off the mirrored walls.

“You’re tense,” Sylus observed, not looking at you directly, but observing you via your reflection. 

“I’m focused,” you countered.

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t press. He knew you were a little proud. Often stubborn, in the most endearing way.

The elevator eased to a stop, and the doors opened into a hushed corridor lined with dark marble. Each door here was unmarked, guarded only by the silent eye of ceiling cameras. The vault was three turns down, behind a biometric scanner you already knew how to fool.

You moved in sync, playing it calm and collected. When a pair of voices drifted toward you from around the corner, Sylus’s hand swiftly closed around your wrist, and he tugged you into the nearest alcove. 

A recessed doorway barely big enough for one person. A space was so narrow you could feel the heat of him at your back. A spot in which you were suddenly made so acutely aware yet again, of just how small you were compared to this man.

His breath stirred against your temple as he leaned in, murmuring low.

“Don’t move.”

The guards passed without slowing, their conversation fading into the distance. Still, Sylus didn’t step away. His hand lingered on your waist.

“You can let go now,” you whispered.

“I could,” he murmured back, “Couldn’t I?”

Before you could answer, his fingers traced higher, all the way up to your ribs, your chest, and beneath your chin. The subtle yet still soft pressure coaxed you to turn toward him, and you did, if only to put an end to the tension.

Big mistake.

The shadows framed his face in soft gold. His scarlet eyes, luminous in the dim, caught yours with sharp intent. And they flickered lower, settling on your lips.

“You’re flushed,” he said, voice pitched low, almost teasing. “Tell me it’s just nerves.”

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “Sylus, we’re going to fail the mission if—”

The rest of your protest vanished under the press of his lips. Firm, unhurried, tasting faintly of whiskey and smoke. His free hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your chest met his.

You broke away, breath catching. “You’re insane. This is reckless.”

“Maybe. But I’m right about you.” His thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your chin up again. “You don’t want me to stop.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Every nerve in your body was at attention, the danger of the mission tangled hopelessly with the danger of him. Sylus had this effect on you right from the moment you first met. Almost as if you’d become hypnotized, so drawn in by his allure. 

From somewhere down the hall came the faint echo of a door shutting. A reminder that you were both on borrowed time. 

You tried to step back, but his hand held you in place, and you didn’t find yourself resisting. “Two minutes,” he promised, leaning in again…

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RETURN | YANDERE!CALEB x READER x RAFAYEL | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Rain came, without a warning. So, you had hurried to go get some umbrellas. No way was this ruining your good day.

The weather had held out for most of it—cloudy but kind, with the occasional flicker of sun peeking through the clouds above the amusement park. Rafayel had taken your hand after the last ride, brushing a kiss to your wrist, laughing at how the wind messed up your hair. Mocking you playfully.

It had been one of those rare, peaceful afternoons—no missions, no monsters—just cotton candy and doting on your occasionally whiny boyfriend. 

But the first drop of rain had sent the crowd scattering toward the covered game booths and snack stalls, and Rafayel, dramatic as ever, had groaned about his delicate Lemurian skin getting “flooded by the filth of the sky.” You’d rolled your eyes, mentioned something about the water cycle, and told him to stay put while you grabbed a couple of umbrellas from the nearby vendor.

And that’s when you heard them. Two voices.

Not just Rafayel’s, but another, deeper, colder voice too. So stern yet…familiar in a way that made your blood still and your heart pound all at once.

…That can’t be…

You slowed behind the side of the building, ears straining.

“How do you know [Y/N]? Why are you with her?” The query cut the air like a smooth, dangerous blade.

In an instant, your body was all tension, your breath hitched. That voice didn’t belong in this world — not here, not in this place of pastel lights and carousel music. More like the voice of a ghost made flesh. A voice you had never, ever expected to hear again.

Caleb.

“Who the hell are you?” “Oh…so she never even mentioned me. Is that right?” “Ah,” Rafayel’s voice followed, light and teasing. “Wait…I think I do know you. Caleb, right? Didn’t you die?”

I thought so too… Shuddering, holding your breath, you didn’t even feel the rain cascading down on you as you looked around the corner of the pastel-painted wall.

Your eyes went utterly wide. Oh my God. It’s really him.

Indeed. There he stood—taller, broader than you remembered, the sharp lines of his Farspace Fleet uniform soaked through. The once-familiar softness in his expression was gone. But in many ways that was still the same boyish face you had once known so well.

He was staring down Rafayel like a threat to be neutralized. “I mean, I thought you were dead,” Rafayel clarified with a slight grin, “Guess she’s gonna get a surprise, huh? Sorry I kinda claimed your spot while you were gone though.”

Stop talking to him like that! You gripped the wall, a bit disgusted by Rafayel’s provocation. He’d always had that nature but…against Caleb, it not only seemed cruel, it seemed…foolish.

Like poking a bear. Kicking a bomb.

“...You should really learn when to shut up,” Caleb warned, lowly and calmly. “If you don’t…I can always just…” Pausing, he smiled. Smiled in a way that chilled your frantically pumping blood. “Make your lungs collapse.”

You didn’t understand what he meant. Until the pressure hit.

It rolled through the air like an earthquake. The ground beneath Rafayel’s feet cracked. You heard it—felt it—the creaking groan of gravity twisting unnaturally around a single point. Rafayel staggered, caught off-guard. His body dropped hard, knees slamming against the rain-soaked earth as though something massive had crushed him from above.

As if the sky itself were pressing down upon him.

His hands trembled, struggling against the weight pinning him down. You could see it in his eyes now—panic. Fury. The realization that this wasn’t just some bluff. “You—” Rafayel gasped, trying to rise, trying to lift his hands even, so he could summon some of his own power in defense. “You’re using Evol on me?”

Caleb took a slow, deliberate step forward. Water splashed beneath his boots. The rain curved around him like it, too, was being pulled inward. “You held her hand,” he said, mechanical fingers flexing slightly. “You touched her like she was yours.” “She is—!”

Rafayel managed an attack, water collecting and surging up from around him, but Caleb, without a blink, caught every droplet in mid-air, as if freezing a wave.

Before Rafayel could curse, Caleb snapped his fingers. The gravity twisted sharply. Rafayel’s breath caught in his throat as he slammed flat against the concrete, arms splayed, chest barely rising under the sheer force pressing down on him. “NNGH-!”

“You think you have a right to touch her? You really think she’s yours? She’s the entire reason I was even able to go on living, you’ll NEVER understand that. She’s mine…” The pressure intensified. Rafayel couldn’t even beg, his face was pressed, ground into the gravel. “I should kill you…” Caleb murmured.

“CALEB!”

Your voice finally broke through. You ran from your hiding place, umbrellas forgotten, clattering in a puddle. “Stop it!” you cried. “Stop! He can’t breathe!!”

Caleb turned his head toward you slowly. And everything in him shifted.

The cold steel in his eyes trembled. The pressure receded, not all at once, but enough that Rafayel sucked in a breath, gasping as the invisible weight eased from his ribs.

You reached Caleb, standing between him and Rafayel, your hands out, shaking. This was never the reunion you had imagined, hell, you’d no idea he was even still alive, but in that moment…

In that moment…all you knew was that you needed to stop him. Before it was too late.

Caleb stared, his gaze flicked over you. Your soaked hair, your trembling lip, your wide, frightened eyes pricked with tears. And then down to Rafayel, who was struggling to sit upright, blood dripping from his nose, violet hair plastered to his pale cheeks.

“[Y/N]...” Caleb said, more quietly now. “You…were you really that happy without me?”

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. So you just acted. You dropped to your knees in front of him instead.

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t hurt him anymore. I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you want, just—don’t kill him.”

His eyes locked onto yours. For one long moment, he said nothing.

Your eyes shut tight, as you braced yourself for his response. In that moment, you were brought back, just briefly, to those early days…

…

Back when you still lived together in Gran’s house, sharing midnight snacks and building models in the summertime. 

You remembered how Caleb used to intercept the mail before you saw it

Always so casually, tossing letters aside as if they were nothing. You hadn’t thought anything of it, not until you found the torn corner of an envelope under his bed…one that hadn’t been addressed in his handwriting.

You’d been fifteen when someone left a love letter in your locker — sloppily folded, messily written, but sweet in that teenage, over-eager way. The next morning, the boy who wrote it showed up with a split lip and wouldn’t look you in the eye. He mumbled something about tripping on the stairs. Caleb had sat beside you at dinner that day, unusually quiet, knuckles bruised. When you asked what happened, he only smiled.

“Don’t worry about it, Pipsqueak.” he said.

Later, when you’d started making more friends, he always hovered just on the edge. Playing it off in a sweet, casual way, as if he really had no issue at all.

But when anyone got too close, something in him changed. A glance that lingered too long. A hand that gripped your shoulder instead of resting there.

Once, a boy had tried to walk you home from study hall. You never saw him again after that semester.

…

“You’ll come with me,” he repeated. “Yes,” you breathed. “I’ll come with you.”

You opened your eyes again to see his hand reached out—gloved, cold, soaked with rain. Extended towards you, an invitation to a life you knew you would regret stepping into. But what choice did you have, when Rafayel’s life was on the line?

“Take my hand. And maybe I’ll let him go.”

The word maybe curled around your throat like a noose. Your heart stuttered. Your hand trembled.

Behind you, Rafayel groaned—still conscious, but barely. You glanced over your shoulder. His hair was matted with rain and blood, his eyes glassy. But he was looking at you. Not Caleb. You.

Even now. His dual-toned eyes glistened with a kind of desperation screaming for you to run. Sorrowfully, you turned back to the man you were about to give all of yourself to, for his sake.

Caleb’s face was unreadable, shadowed beneath the stormclouds. He waited, and the longer you took, the thinner the line that was his mouth became. The darker those eyes got. As though, if you dared take too long, he’d actually do it.

Because deep down, he really wanted to.

Your fingers touched the edge of his glove before he could, and then your entire hand slipped into his grip. Just briefly, there was a flash of something more boyish, surprised, in his expression. The tension, those gritted teeth behind his lips, eased.

The moment you did what he wanted, the pressure in the air began to shift again. The unnatural weight of his Evol faded, like a storm leashed at last. Rafayel collapsed fully, gasping in what little air he could draw.

Caleb didn’t even look at him.

Instead, he tugged you forward. A strong, uniformed arm wrapped taut around your back, practically crushing you against him. The strength felt almost inhuman, and despite not using his powers, he made it feel like you could barely breathe just the same.

The rain continued to fall, soaking through your clothes, washing away the warmth of the day, the laughter, the cotton candy, the carousel. All your semblance of a normal life beyond the tragedy.

He leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You made the right choice.”

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WEARY | YANDERE!KAEYA x READER | GENSHIN IMPACT

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Capture | Drugging | Abuse A/N: i would drink with him too tbh

You should have gone home.

You knew it the moment the door to Angel’s Share swung shut behind you with that familiar thud, sealing the quiet night outside. Sometimes there was just that uneasy feeling, that something was off, something was amiss, something just wasn’t right.

But your body ached from the mission, your fingers were scraped raw, and the thought of waking up sore and alone in your cold little apartment made something twist in your stomach.

A drink would be easier. 

Kaeya saw you the second you walked in. Of course he did. He always did. He noticed you whenever, wherever, whatever you happened to be doing. The man was tuned in, solely, truly to you.

He was perched at the bar as if he hadn’t moved in hours, elbow resting lazily on the wood, a half-full glass in one hand. He looked relaxed, polished, and entirely too pleased to see you. As handsome as ever of course, with his tan skin and sapphire hair, one crystal eye peeking between his bangs.

Slim, tall, smug. “Well, well,” he said, standing up and approaching with that slow, confident walk of his. “You look like someone who’s had a long day.” You exhaled, forcing a tired smile. “I don’t have the energy for riddles tonight.” “Lucky for you,” he replied, his voice velvety smooth, “I’m in a generous mood. No riddles. Just wine. And company.”

You hesitated, but you sat, because the word ‘wine’ was enough.

The first glass made your shoulders relax. The second dulled the throb behind your eyes. The third tasted stronger. Sweeter. You blinked harder after each sip, unsure if the room was shifting—or if you were.

It was strange. Nobody could typically call you a lightweight. In fact, there had been many a night when, in this very bar, you’d drank men and women alike under the table. Yet tonight it was hitting you harder than usual.

At first, you chalked it up to exhaustion. But you barely remembered the fourth.

And then— Nothing.

…

You woke to velvet sheets.

Soft, and warm. The air smelled like clove and wine, mingling with something masculine. Your body felt heavy, your mouth dry, your thoughts sluggish and wet, like dragging yourself through a river of honey.

Ugh…I drank way too much… This felt worse than your typical hangover too though. It was a kind of heavy nausea that made you feel like you could barely budge an inch.

With effort, you managed to turn your head against the pillow. A pillow that wasn’t yours. Neither was the room.

It took a few more seconds to realize your wrists were restrained.

Soft, padded leather cuffs bound them to the headboard—firm, snug, unyielding. The kind of restraint designed to hold, not harm necessarily. They felt a little cold against your skin.

Panic cut through the haze in an instant, as the reality of this sudden situation dawned on you. I’m tied up!? I’m tied to a bed!? You struggled, twisting against the binds, trying to make sense of anything. All you knew for sure was that people who woke up in this situation were typically screwed.

When he entered the room, it was so nonchalant, you could only freeze.

Kaeya stepped by the bed, a glass of water in one hand, a small folded towel in the other. He looked entirely unbothered, sleeves rolled to the forearms, hair tied loosely back in a messy bun. There wasn’t a single trace of guilt in his expression. More…pride. 

“You’re awake,” he said, sounding almost pleased. “Good.” Kaeya? Your breath caught. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

He tilted his head, blinking once before setting the towel and water on the nightstand. “You were exhausted,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You looked like you’d collapse right there in the tavern. I helped.”

“You drugged me,” you hissed, yanking at the cuffs. It was no regular hangover after all, you knew there was something different about those drinks! “‘Drugged you’? That’s a harsh way to put it. I helped,” he repeated calmly. “You were never going to rest properly otherwise.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, far too close for comfort. “I brought you here. Got you cleaned up. Changed your clothes.” He gestured vaguely toward you. “You’ve always been careless when it comes to your wellbeing, [Y/N]. Someone had to step in.”

A pit formed in your stomach. Changed your clothes?

He noticed the way you tensed. His smile softened into something close to pity. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything inappropriate.” “Kaeya—this isn’t—this isn’t okay.” Your voice cracked. “I disagree.” His voice remained smooth. “I think it’s the first time anyone’s taken care of you properly.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face in a delicate manner. You recoiled, and his smile faltered for just a second. “Look…you’re safe now,” he said softly, as if that were the whole point. “No more cursed missions. No more late nights. No more chasing danger just to prove something.”

This is insane…

“...I’m not yours to protect. I’m my own person, I can do what I want!” His eyes sharpened, just slightly. “You’ve never complained when I did before. Protected you, that is.”

Staring daggers, you spoke through gritted teeth. “Let. Me. Go.”

“You’re not ready.” “Kaeya—” “I said,” he interrupted, eyes hardening, “you’re not ready.”

Without warning, his hand reached out and closed gently around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, nor hurt you, but every implication was clear. It shut you up quick, and you stopped moving.

Kaeya leaned in close enough that you could still smell sweet wine on his breath. That his lips could have pressed to yours. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured. “I didn’t take you. You’re not a victim. You gave up. I just made sure you didn’t fall apart on the way down.”

Thankfully, that hold of his didn’t become any harsher. His hand slipped away and he stood, dusting off his shirt and straightening the fabric. “You’ll stay here. Just until the worst of it passes. A few days, maybe a week. You’ll see. It’ll be better this way.”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. There was such a mix of fear and anger within you, it made you tremble. “...And what if I still want to leave?”

He paused at the door, turning to glance back at you. The light caught his uncovered eye just enough to show the cold glint behind it.

“Then we’ll try again,” he said. “And again. Until you stop asking.”

He stepped through the doorway and pulled it shut behind him. A soft click followed.

Locked.

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HEART THIEF - POV POLL

So recently, I revealed I'll be uploading an exclusive ongoing story for my Level 2+ subs on Patreon (but you can read the teaser completely for free HERE!).

If you haven't heard yet, here's a summary of what it's all about! ---

HEART THIEF is the story of you—descended from a bloodline tasked with protecting Seoul from all manner of monsters. Raised to be strong, so far your efforts have been a success. So far...

You weren’t supposed to be working that night. You just wanted to have fun. To go to a concert. To feel normal for once.

But when the hit boy group, HEX, took the stage, and when his eyes met yours...you knew.

He wasn’t human.

---

(A little inspo from a certain movie that came out recently, credit to Kpop Demon Hunters! Jinu, please marry me.)

Now, the Prologue is scheduled to be released next week, with weekly updates following from then on. However, before I upload it, I thought I'd ask:

What POV do you guys like the best? 2nd person or 3rd person? Do you prefer reading about a character, or do you like to become that character?

This isn't just regarding how Heart Thief will be written, it's a general question (since most of my works uploaded here are 'you' POVs). So, that's why the poll I've posted on Patreon is open for everyone to vote!

Please let me know what you think? I'm curious!

VOTE HERE!

P.S. Even if you are not subscribed to me on Patreon, I appreciate all forms of support. As long as I can keep writing, and as long as people can keep reading and enjoying it, that's what matters the most! Thank you♡

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SNAG | YANDERE!NANAMI x READER | JUJUTSU KAISEN

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Entrapment | Violence A/N: did i write a fic based entirely off of this one unexpectedly kinky scene in the show yes. yes i did.

The mission was supposed to be straightforward.  Locate, isolate, and secure.

But as you sprinted through the maze of the abandoned office building, heart hammering, you realized just how wrong it had gone.

Gojo had warned you, half-smirking in his typical way, that surveillance had picked up unusual movement near a known Cursed Spirit nest—and a certain grade-one sorcerer had already been dispatched. He told you not to worry though. You were only there to assist. Not confront.

What he didn’t say—what no one warned you about—was that Nanami Kento had gone completely, utterly off-script.

He wasn’t purging curses anymore. He was hunting you.

You didn’t know why. Not exactly. But ever since you’d stumbled on that half-sealed veil deep in the ruins—since you’d seen whatever was inside—he had started watching you. Closely. Too closely.

And now, he was chasing you like you were the threat.

You skidded to a stop, gasping, your back pressed hard against a wall as your eyes darted around the dimly-lit hallway. Papers scattered across the floor crunched under your feet. You held your breath, listening.

Silence.

Well, except for your heart, which was like a jackhammer. Pounding hard enough to choke you. A palpable sort of fear you had never truly experienced before. 

You waited another moment before pushing away from the wall, cautiously moving down the corridor, footsteps slow and deliberate, every muscle tense. You thought you were free—

Until a large, firm hand fisted into your hair, yanking your head back so violently your knees nearly broke beneath you. A sharp gasp tore from your throat as pain lanced through your scalp immediately. Your back hit the broad, tall, unmistakable chest of the man who had been pursuing you.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide with terror as your gaze met the shadowed expression of Kento Nanami. Who looked like a man possessed.

“Found you,” he murmured, voice low and devoid of its usual patience. His hand was still tangled in your hair, holding you in place, dragging your face inches from his.

Your breath hitched. You could feel his on your skin, calmly exhaling.

“N-Nanami—what are you—?”

“You weren’t supposed to be there,” he said, voice deceptively calm—measured, like he was reciting a report. But there was something beneath it. Something sharp and weird and wrong. “You weren’t supposed to be there at all. Not alone. Not exposed.” His grip in your hair tightened, sending another jolt of pain through your scalp. You winced.

“That thing left a mark on you,” he went on, almost clinically. “And now every curse in the district will smell it. They'll hunt you.” He leaned in closer, his words low and final.

“You’re a liability now. A target. And whether you realize it or not…” His gaze burned through you. “You’re mine to contain.”

You barely had time to process the implication before he added, flatly: “I’ll have to make sure you don’t leave my sight again.” His glasses reflected the flickering hallway lights, but behind them, his eyes were unreadable—except for the glint of something sharp. Possessive.

Scalp beginning to burn, you suddenly twisted in his grip, hand flying up to claw at his arm, a half-choked cry escaping your lips. “Let me go!”

Wrong move.

Nanami’s grip on your hair tightened, yanking your head back so harshly your spine arched against his body. A jolt of helpless pain surged through your neck.

His face was inches from yours now, voice low and dangerous. “I suggest you stop struggling.”

Each word was crisp. Measured and controlled as it typically was with him. But there was venom behind them—something held back, barely restrained. Despite yourself too, a flush tainted your cheeks, though you were held by him in a rougher way than any lover should.

“You’re in no position to fight me,” he added, gaze hard and flat behind the gleam of his glasses. “You’re panicking. Calm down.”

You panted, breath coming in shallow bursts. He didn’t shout. He didn’t curse. That somehow made it worse. And telling you to calm down? As if it were easy??

“What do you want?” you whispered. His eyes raked over you—your reddened face, the way your lip trembled, the tight clench of your fists like you still had a chance. Then his expression shifted, ever so slightly.

“You made yourself a liability,” he said. “Saw something you shouldn’t have. Perhaps it would be easiest if I eliminate you.”

Your blood ran cold.

He leaned in further. You could feel the warmth of his breath now, steady and calm as yours stuttered.

“But I have a better idea.”

His other hand came up gripping your jaw and tilting it just enough to make you look at him directly. “I keep you,” he said. “I keep you close.” “Y-You’re not serious—”

His fingers pressed tighter into your cheeks, just enough to warn. “I’m always serious.”

You could see it in his eyes now. The calm wasn’t calm at all. It was cold fury, barely leashed. He had snapped somewhere along the line, and the worst part was that he still looked like himself. Still spoke like himself.

But the man holding you like this—he didn’t see you as an equal anymore. 

You were less than human. A possession.

“Don’t run again,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you do, I won’t stop at your hair next time.”

No need to elaborate. You stopped fighting.

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IMPLANT | YANDERE!ZAYNE x READER | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Entrapment | Body horror (light) A/N: ye i had to put him in a bathrobe at some point SEQUEL TO PROGNOSIS

The morning after, you didn't drink the tea again.

You left it untouched on the bedside table, let the fruit slices brown. You couldn’t trust a thing, and now you were sure of it.

That was the new pattern now. Resistance disguised as obedience.

Because if Zayne thought you were still compliant—still soft, still slow—then maybe he’d stop watching so closely. It was clear he’d caught onto something, but if you acted sweet enough, that might satiate him.

Maybe buy some time and you could figure out what he really did to you. Maybe you could get it out.

The device.

Because that’s what it had to be, didn’t it?

Whatever was stitched beneath your skin, whatever pulsed when he scanned you, whatever made your limbs feel foggy and your heart flutter faintly if you stepped too close to the front door…

He had put it there. You knew it now. That ache in your arm wasn’t just a scar—it was a signal.

And he had done it without your consent, which was what disgusted you the most. He was someone you had once put so much trust in. To think he would literally modify your body while you weren’t even aware…was unthinkable.

…

It was a fateful day when you found that closet key.

You hadn’t been looking for it. You were folding laundry, trying to chip in with the chores to keep things sweet. Zayne had been reluctant to let you do anything, insistent that you still needed rest, but he allowed you to do this at least. 

Which was good. The longer you stayed in his good books, the better. This…hadn’t been expected though.

The key had fallen out of his shirt pocket. It was small, cold and glossy white.

You palmed it, glanced over your shoulder anxiously, and kept folding like nothing had happened.

…

That night, you waited until he stepped into the shower. He was always predictable—ten minutes, lukewarm water, humming low under his breath. Some habit picked up from a life spent calming screaming hearts in operating rooms.

You crept to the wardrobe in his room, pressed the key to the hidden drawer near the bottom, and turned. You hoped this was the right one.

Click.

So it was. Inside was a box. Smooth steel. Unlabeled.

And beneath it—papers. A sealed envelope with your name on it, stamped CONFIDENTIAL – SUBJECT 01/AETHER CIRCUIT COMPATIBILITY.

Your hands began shaking. What you had hoped so desperately was a preposterous, paranoid thought, had turned out to be true. 

Before you could read further, a shadow fell across the doorway, and your pulse skyrocketed. 

You turned slowly—too slowly—to find him there, a towel slung over his shoulders and one around his waist, hair damp and glasses gone. His bare arms showed every scar in stark relief. Water still clung to his collarbones.

He blinked once, then looked down at the open drawer, then back at you. “…You weren’t asleep.”

The calm in his voice made your stomach turn. You took a step back. The envelope crinkled in your hand.

“Zayne,” you said, trying to find your voice. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer at first. He just stepped forward and closed the drawer.

Took the envelope from your trembling hands and set it gently atop the box. Turned the key again.

Locking it.

“I asked you a question—” “You weren’t supposed to find that.” His voice was still soft. Still maddeningly measured. “But I knew you would eventually.”

Then he looked at you.

Not like a doctor. Not like a man.

But like something else entirely. It set your nerves on edge like a Wanderer would.

“…You still don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.

You wanted to scream.  “You drugged me—implanted something in my arm—!” “I saved your life,” he said simply. “And made sure I could keep doing it.”

His voice didn’t rise. But his eyes were sharper now. Less glass. More scalpel.

“You were dying,” he continued. “On that mission, your heart nearly stopped. The only way to stabilize you was direct intervention. The device regulates your neural output—prevents Evol surges. Keeps your body calm. Keeps it safe.”

“But you didn’t ask me—” “You weren’t capable of consent.” “That wasn’t your choice to make!”

He tilted his head slightly, and for the first time, you saw something falter behind his eyes. “…If it were up to you, you’d leave. Wouldn’t you?” For a moment you could hardly breathe.

His expression didn’t change. But his hands slowly, delicately curled into fists. “…You may not admit it…but I’m well aware…” Zayne took one step forward. Then another. He raised one hand, slowly, and touched your cheek. 

A doctor’s touch. Exact. Familiar. But something in it felt darker now. Like he was cataloguing you. Measuring. Remembering.

“You can hate me,” he murmured. “You can scream, if you like. It won’t change anything.”

His hand drifted lower. Over your pulse. Your jaw. Your arm.

Attempting to pull back only had you yanked forward, surprisingly violently, suddenly slammed chest-to-chest up against his half naked body, feeling the shower-heated warmth turning to chill, cool droplets glistening on your own skin now.

His heart thundered deeply. His eyes gazed down at you, his expression strangely delirious, strangely…smirking. Not letting you speak another word, Zayne instead curled his hand around the back of your head, and pressed your face tighter to his skin, muffling out the world.

Blocking everything, except his voice, deeply reverberating through his broad, muscular torso.

“…You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

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TRY | YANDERE!BLADE x READER | HONKAI: STAR RAIL

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For a while now, you’d been wanting to leave him.

He felt it in the way you didn’t meet his eyes anymore. In the distance in your voice, once soft even when it was scolding. In the sharpness of your steps when you walked away after each mission, as if you were slicing through something that had tethered you for a long time.

Something he had thought was real, even if twisted. 

The Xianzhou Luofu glimmered beneath your feet as you stepped off the Cloud Knight skiff, the scent of blood and ozone still clinging to your uniform. You were sore, tired, and sick of it. Sick of watching Blade tear through enemies like a cursed thing, reckless and smiling like pain was just another way to speak.

This mission had been a warning bell. A horrifying one.

He hadn’t waited for the signal. He hadn't stuck to the plan. He had almost gotten you killed.

And the worst part was, he hadn’t even flinched when your voice cracked in the comms, screaming for backup. You’d watched him through the smoke, calm and red-eyed, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter if you died, so long as he didn’t. Again.

At least, that was how it had seemed. 

Seeking to cling to your last shred of self-respect, you filed your report, and you asked for reassignment.

It was the first time Kafka actually hesitated before responding. Maybe she knew. Maybe she’d always known. But she gave a vague nod and said, “We’ll see what can be done.”

And that was when it started…

…

“You’re leaving.”

You froze in your quarters. He stood in your open doorway, as if the lock hadn’t even mattered. From the blue he had appeared, now glaring at you in the shadowy hallway.

Your heart stuttered. “Blade—”

“I heard.” His voice was low and calm, but it had an edge that prickled the skin on the back of your neck. “I saw the request form. Transfer protocol. Full separation.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you did your best to stay composed. You had to stand by the choice you had made.  “It’s not about you…”

That was a lie. That was practically all it was about.

Seemed like he already knew it too.

He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft hiss.  “You filed it the day after our last mission. The same day you started avoiding me.” He tilted his head, something unreadable in his face. “You think I didn’t notice? A thing like that?”

“Blade—” you stepped back, but your spine hit the desk. “We both know this isn’t working.”

His eye twitched. He closed the distance in a blink, his hand slamming beside your head with a crack. You flinched, cowering suddenly against the wall. “Not working for who, exactly?” he asked, his voice dark. “You’re alive. Every time. I make sure of it.”

“Bullshit!” Incensed all of a sudden, you snapped, “You’re the one who almost…who almost got me killed!”

He paused. Then leaned in, just slightly. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” “...Doesn’t seem like you would have cared if I wasn’t…”

Silence stretched between the two of you after you said it. All you could do was stand there for a moment, shivering, staring at him.

He stood like a carved shadow, all pale skin and ink-dark hair that tumbled past his shoulders in uneven strands, wild from his recent mission. Blood had dried in a sharp crescent along his cheekbone, and his collar was still half-undone, exposing the taut stretch of his collarbones and a single thin scar that cut down toward his heart — if he still had one.

There was always something ancient about him, out of place in a world like this. But it was his eyes most of all, that anchored you.

Crimson. Sharp.

He breathed in slowly, finally, as if steadying himself. But his hand didn’t move from where it had slammed beside your head. If anything, his body shifted even closer — and your instincts screamed at you to move. To run.

“Do it, then,” he said. You blinked. “What?” “Leave.” His voice was low, venom-laced. “Push past me. Walk out that door. Try.”

Your lips parted, and you almost spoke. Then, you did try. You tried to move.

His hand clamped around your throat before you could, and you inhaled sharply, freezing up again. He’d barely wasted a millisecond, and now your pulse was hammering, vulnerable in his grip.

“You say I wouldn’t care if you died,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “You think I don’t care?” His thumb brushed along your jaw in a twistedly tender manner. “You think I wouldn’t burn this ship to ash if it meant keeping you here?”

Your heart thundered. “Blade…”

“You don’t get it,” he said. “I’ve died before. I’ve been broken. Ripped apart. Again. And again. And I keep waking up.” His hand at your throat slackened — not out of mercy, but so he could caress your skin more, slender digits drifting over your gullet. His pallid face leaned in close, dark strands tickling your cheek. “But you,” he whispered, “you’re the first thing I’ve been so willing to come back for.”

Your stomach dropped. Confusion consumed you. It didn’t make sense…

“And now you want to leave?” His breath hitched. “You think you’ll be safer with Kafka? Or Silver Wolf? You think they care about you the way I do?” A slight smile… “I could make you stay, if you prefer,” he said, like it was a casual offer. “You know I could. I could break your legs. I could chain you to this wall.”

Your blood ran cold.  It didn’t make sense…

“Ah…” he sighed, almost wistfully, caressing your cheek, “...Maybe though…I can admit it. Wanting to see it…” That hand returned to your neck, “Wanting to see you get hurt.”

Just like that, it suddenly did.

“I’ll never let you die, [Y/N]. Not like me. But I like the thought of it. You being in terror and pain.” he didn’t let you go, only gripped harder, brushing his lips against yours in a manner so much more intimate than you’d expected from him, “Though I suppose what I prefer…is that I be the one that gets to do it.” His teeth sharply nipped your bottom lip, his tongue darted out to lap the little drop of blood.

Whimpering, you feebly clasped his wrist, and he leaned back to look at you again. Coldly, sadistically, yet with a strange sort of feeling he dubbed ‘love’.

“So try it, [Y/N].” He smiled.

“...Piss me off.”

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DIMENSION | YANDERE!JIJI x READER | DANDADAN

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Stalking | Entrapment A/N: these lovable dork types make such good yandere i stg (IT WAS SO HARD FINDING A GIF OF HIM THAT WASN'T HIM JUST BEING TOTALLY F*CKING RIDICULOUS)

You weren't sure how long you’d been trapped here—hours, maybe days. 

This place twisted your perception like the warped shadows on the cracked tile floor. It resembled a forgotten train station, lit by a sun that never moved. Broken vending machines flickered with error messages in a language you didn’t recognize. 

No people. No exits. Just an eerie silence and the distant hum of static in the air.

And Jiji. He was the only familiar thing here.

“Well,” he said, hopping off the bench and stretching his arms behind his head, “at least the weird ghost-thing didn’t eat us. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

His voice was bright, cheerful. His signature lopsided grin was in place. But you noticed it—the tightness around his eyes, the way his laugh lingered a second too long. It was clear, he was nervous. As nervous as you were.

Still, he hadn’t left your side. He cracked jokes when the silence got heavy. Shared what little snacks were left in his pockets. Every time the strange lights above flickered, he subtly moved closer, always standing between you and the unknown. Just in case something came for you both, just in case anything put you at risk.

At first, it was comforting. He was someone you always felt you could trust, and in a scary ass place like this, his doting was welcome.

“Maybe we’re in some, I dunno, psychic echo chamber,” he said on the second day (if it was a second day), spinning a coin through his fingers. “Some residual dimension crap. Okarun and Momo’ll get us out. No sweat.”

You smiled faintly, gripping your knees to your chest as you sat near the empty platform edge. “Yeah…”

But by the fourth loop through the same hallway—where the bathroom stalls reset and the same moth banged its wings against the same light—you started to notice Jiji was…changing.

He stopped looking for exits. He stopped calling out for help.

And he’d started watching you more.

That night, you curled up on the dusty bench near a broken info screen. Jiji sat cross-legged nearby, humming softly to himself. It was one of those off-key lullabies he always made up on the spot. “G’night,” you murmured, back turned to him, trying to find peace in the numb ache behind your eyes.

“…Hey,” his voice came quieter. “When we get out…you’re gonna go right back to him, huh?”

You blinked. “What?” “Okarun.” A pause. “You’ll go back to him, yeah?”

Your stomach tensed, and you sat up slightly, looking back at him.  “Jiji, what are you—”

“You like him, right?” His voice stayed light, too light.  “I—That’s none of your business.” you spluttered. “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “We’ve been stuck in a time-hell ghost station together for days. I think I’ve earned some honesty.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking. So you opened your mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes suddenly froze you.

He was still smiling. But his eyes—those normally soft, silly eyes—were dead serious.  “I’m just saying,” he continued, standing and slowly approaching, “on the outside, you’re always looking at him. It’s like I’m not even there.”

You stood up too, stepping away. “...You’re tired. We both are. Let’s just—” “Out there,” he cut in, voice lower now, “he’s always the one you turn to, isn’t he? When shit goes down, he’s always the one you go running to. It’s never me.”

Backing into the cold station wall, you couldn’t help but flinch as he placed his palm flat beside your head. “You never once looked at me the same way.” Your breath caught. He tilted his head, almost affectionate.  “But…now we’re alone…I wonder if you finally will…”

“Jiji…” Your voice trembled. “What are you saying?”

He leaned in, nose brushing yours. His breath was warm and sweet.  “I think this place brought us together for a reason. Just you and me. No more distractions.”

At that moment, it didn’t take a thought. Shoving him back as hard as you could, you bolted.

…

Not far though. The corridors were shifting again—hallways looping back on themselves, signs changing language mid-step. You turned a corner, praying to find an exit, and slammed into him chest-first yet again.

You staggered back, eyes wide. “How—?” Jiji smiled, breathless with a wild kind of excitement. “I knew you’d come this way!”

Again you tried to run, but his arms wrapped around you from behind this time, hauling you back against his broader, taller form. “You’re scared,” he murmured into your hair, his own tawny locks brushing your brow. “That’s okay. I was scared too. I thought if we got out, you’d leave me. Go back to him. Forget me.”

“Jiji, let go!” “No.”

You struggled. Kicked. But he was stronger than you expected. “No more being second best,” he whispered. “No more ‘Jiji’s just a friend.’ You get it now, right? That no one else is coming for you? Just me. I’m the only one.”

You twisted in his grip, gasping, grasping at his arms and desperately trying to pry them off, “You’re not thinking clearly—!” “I’ve never thought more clearly in my life.”

This entire place had begun to feel like a cage for entirely different reasons now. Reasons tied to him.

His desires. His will.

“Jiji, if you care about me—”

“I do,” he said softly, “I love you. That’s why you have to stay.”

Pain panged in your chest. Why does he sound so sincere? But you couldn’t let yourself fall for it. Whether he was really still Jiji, the Jiji you knew, or not, you had to get away and STAT.

As soon as his grip loosened, as soon as he spoke those gentle words, you slammed your heel down onto his sneaker. Jiji grunted, cursing under his breath as you broke free yet again…

…

Once more, a chase. “[Y/N]…” Jiji’s voice called gently down the corridor, more like a coaxing whisper than a threat. “Where are you going? You’re not thinking straight.”

Your lungs burned. You ducked through archways of distorted signage and twisted support beams, the architecture of this place warping the deeper you ran. Breaking free from him was just the start, now you had to somehow figure out a way to rescue yourself.

Your hand clutched the old talisman Momo had once pressed into your palm—"For spiritual interference. Only if it gets really bad. ONLY then." So, basically, it could perhaps potentially, just so maybe, kill you. Hence why it had been kept as a sort of last resort so far, one to resort to only if every other option had been exhausted.

The risk still scared you, but the thought of seeing Jiji become any more monstrous was worse. Whatever’s going on with him, I have to try and get us both out of here before it gets worse. Even if it costs me-!

You slapped it against the wall as you skidded to a stop and braced yourself for the worst. Yet the worst never came.

Nothing. Nothing happened.

Ripping it off, you tried pressing it to your chest instead, struggling to remember exactly how Momo said you were supposed to use it. You whispered the words she taught you, hoping you remembered them right, every syllable trembling, and felt the pulse—like static under your skin. A shock.

Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me please don’t kill me—

And then—nothing. Again. The talisman instead turned black, and withered like a dead leaf in your hand. Dismay fell over you, as it fluttered away and dissolved into ashen dust.

“…You tried to use that?” came the voice, soft and almost amused. Horror and a kind of nausea set in, as you realized it was all too little too late. He’d caught up with you. A warm hand settled on your shoulder from behind. “Sweetheart…that kind of charm only works when the person isn’t meant to be here.”

Jiji turned you around with an easy whirl, and shoved your face into his sweater. His arms wrapped around you tightly and possessively, not allowing you to budge an inch.

His eyes were wide, glowing faintly like moonlight on still water. Relief, rather than anger. “You really thought that little paper trick would get you away from me? Get you out of here?” he asked, tilting his head with something almost like pity. “That it would banish me? Seal me? Come on…”

His grip tightened, crushingly so, like he wanted to hurt you for even trying. Terrifyingly, it would be too easy for him to do so. “Did you seriously think that would work?”

Again, after your initial bewilderment subsided, you struggled, a last ditch effort to break out of his hold and make your third sprint to freedom. It barely moved him. 

But, he let you try, his arms loosening, only to catch your wrists when you tried striking at him. In a flash, you were pinned back against the nearest wall, arms above your head, wrists in one of his hands. “Nn-!!” The other hand gripped your chin.

“Stop running from me,” he whispered, and you felt his breath against your lips, sweet like before. “I haven’t hurt you, have I? I’ve been really patient [Y/N]...” Your body trembled, still reeling. The space around you was throbbing now. Like the very dimension had shifted. Like your fear had fed it.

He lowered his head until his forehead touched yours. “But you had to try and leave. Again.” “Jiji—please—” You could barely breathe. “You’re not well. This place is doing something to you. This isn’t—this isn’t you—”

His eyes slid shut, lashes brushing your cheek. “Yes it is,” he said. Then his lips brushed your temple. Slow. Warm. Reverent. “This is me without the mask. I’m tired of just being your ‘goofball friend’, [Y/N]...”

With that, he let your wrists go but only to wrap both arms around you and pull you against his chest again, burying his face in your neck like he couldn’t bear the distance any longer than a mere second. His entire body trembled against yours now, in a desperate way.

“I’m tired of waiting. Tired of pretending I’m okay watching you be his.” Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. “You know he doesn’t love you like I do. You know he would never choose you.”

He began to walk you backward—slowly—his hands still gentle, but unyielding. You felt the air behind you change, like stepping into water. And when you glanced over your shoulder, you saw another door. A new door.

A golden frame. No markings.

It hadn’t been there before. Much like many other things in this place, it had just…materialized. But just looking at it, you got a horrible feeling.

Jiji guided you through it. And the light shut behind you, as you were ushered into a new, even stranger space.

A room. Circular. Endless. With floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the two of you a million times over. Completely surrounding you, with no visible exit. Likely no way out at all.

Only a nest of cushions and fabric in the center, soft and welcoming. He brought you over, and sat with you contentedly.  “Just look, isn’t this perfect for us?” he whispered, tucking you into his lap as though you were a toy. “A place where time doesn’t pass. Where no one can pull you away.”

You shook your head weakly. “Jiji, you can’t keep me here…” “It’s the only way,” he breathed. “Trust me. You’ll forget him. You’ll forget everything.”

You looked into his eyes. They were glazed over, sharp-pupiled, delirious and dark. Nothing like the charming (if somewhat dense) gaze you were typically used to from him.

He’d been waiting for this moment. All he needed was the perfect chance. 

“You’ll thank me someday,” he murmured, arms tightening around you like a vow. “You’ll see. It’s not a prison. It’s freedom. From pain. From lies. From everyone who ever failed you. From anyone who would ever try to hurt you.”

Your head began to sink, tears welling, unable to bear looking at him. But he caught your jaw again, and forced your head up so you were looking sorrowfully into one of those many mirrors. Leaning in, he kissed your cheek, and you saw it reflected over and over again.

Nothing but you and Jiji. You and Jiji. You and Jiji.

You and Jiji.

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ESCAPE | YANDERE!SYLUS x READER | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Captivity | Non-con | Master/Pet A/N: Kind of alternative version/sequel to THIS. Lil' bit spicy, may make a spicier continuation at some point because Sylus a spicy boy 🌶️ (p.s. i know he's the one in cuffs but finding a good horizontal gif from a vertical mobile game can be a challenge sometimes ok T^T)

Stealing his bike seemed the best idea.

Still, the second your fingers closed around the ignition key, you felt it—that tickle at the nape of your neck, that glint of warning flashing like red sirens behind your eyes. 

Even this isn’t going to save me. It’s only going to make him angrier.

You ignored it. You had to. You were already halfway down the base’s exit corridor, boots thudding against metal grates, heart pounding, lungs burning with the hope of fresh air. The exit to the upper hangar was just ahead.

The Onychinus base was famously hard to infiltrate, notoriously hard to leave. But tonight, most of the guards had been rerouted to a skirmish on the southern perimeter. Sylus was with them. A rare opportunity, when he had actually left you alone.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie…”

Even rarer, the door to his quarters hadn’t sealed properly after he left. Something in the lock had jammed. God had finally shown you some kindness.

Luck. Pure, fragile luck. 

His motorcycle gleamed under the fluorescent lights—matte black, red-lined, like it had been dipped in blood. Reaching it now, you took a nervous glance over your shoulder.

One chance. That was all you had. You could still discard it, go back inside, put the key back where you found it and pretend you had never tried to leave.

But you knew that if you did, there really may never come such a valuable moment again. After being his prisoner for so long…wouldn’t you be a fool to deny this?

You threw yourself on the seat, straddled it, turned the key, and twisted the throttle. The engine roared to life.

So did every goddamn alarm in your body.

You didn’t look back. Couldn’t. 

You gunned the accelerator and tore down the tunnel that led out of the zone, wind biting your face, tears slicking the edges of your eyes—not from emotion. Just speed. The sound of your freedom roared loud enough to drown your guilt. To drown his lingering voice.

“If you ever try to escape me, [Y/N]...”

…

They caught you near the N109 outskirts. 

Near the checkpoint that marked the edge of unregulated territory, where even the clouds looked like bruises. You had been lost in thought, lost in foolish hope, as your imagination conjured up images of the happy life you perhaps stood a chance of leading again.

I can escape the N109 Zone. I can make it back to Linkon, I can have a normal life again. I can see my friends, and my family. I can…be happy.

Shame…

It wasn’t to be.

Luke.

Kieran.

You had no time to prepare as they materialized suddenly side by side on the road ahead, you only panicked and swerved, the bike toppling beneath you mid-curve, and your body thrown sideways onto the dirt.

A sharp pain cracked up your hip and elbow. You rolled once—twice—gravel scraping your skin raw, until everything stopped. Heaving, shuddering with pain, you curled up feebly and clutched onto yourself. 

When you opened your eyes, Luke was standing over you, boots planted wide either side of your body. His face was masked like always, but you had a feeling he was smirking. 

“Told him you'd try it,” he muttered, almost like a melancholy sigh. “Didn’t think you’d get this far.”

Despite the rough state you were in, you tried to scramble backward, but another black boot slammed down against your chest, knocking the wind out of you, pressing you hard into the ground below.

Kieran.

“You almost made it, I’m impressed!” he clapped mockingly a few times, then let his hands drop. “Guess you forgot who runs this place.”

Slowly, Luke crouched down, head tilting. Again, you were sure he was smiling, smug.

“That wasn’t your smartest move, [Y/N].”

“Yeah.” Kieran lowered himself too, putting all his weight on the foot keeping you trapped. 

“...You’re really in for it now…”

…

They brought you back with wrists bound and head pounding. Dragged like prey back into the predator’s den. At first you had kicked up a lot of fuss, thrashing and struggling, wanting your brief taste of freedom back like you had never wanted anything so badly before.

But eventually you gave in, going limp, practically hanging between them. You already knew it was pointless. You may have known how to ride a bike pretty well, but you weren’t capable of fighting these two off. 

The corridors of the Onychinus base felt colder when you were returned to them. It was no warm welcome.

They led you back to his personal quarters. Your cage. A beautiful one, mind you. Sylus’s quarters felt like a throne room. The scent of polished leather and expensive cologne hung in the air, a sleek fireplace crackled low against one wall, casting flickers of amber light across dark marble floors and gilded paneling. 

Two high-backed chairs flanked the hearth like sentries, their clawed legs gleaming, upholstery black as midnight. There were nights when he would sit in one of those chairs, sipping wine, while you prostrated yourself on the floor at his feet, like some pet. Nights when he would attempt to strip away whatever dignity you still had left.

Then, there was the canopied bed which dominated the space, veiled in sheer black drapes and bedding rumpled from recent use (which you remembered too well). Beyond the wall of glass that lined the far side of the room, the eerie landscape of the N109 zone stretched out. For all its dangers, it was a far safer place than in here…

This wasn’t a bedroom. It was more a lair. One built for dominance. One that warned: You are not welcome here unless you belong to him.

Shoved to your knees in the center of the wine red carpet, you were left kneeling, bound, and waiting for your ‘master’ to return.

It didn’t take long. Just long enough for you to get over some of your numbness, and begin truly feeling the fear as you realized just what a grave mistake you had made. How badly you wished you could go back in time and undo it all.

The door opened, and in he walked. Tall, broad, moon-haired and blood-eyed. Smiling in a measured way.

“…That was a bold move, sweetie”

You clenched your jaw. There was nothing you wanted to say, nor could you think of anything even if you did. All you could do was stare down at the carpet before your knees, getting lost in the deep red.

His footsteps echoed behind you as he circled slowly, like a panther scenting blood.

“Were you planning that for a while?” He crouched just in front of you. “Or…did you just suddenly decide to be foolish?”

Then his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward until your eyes met his. Up close you could see some blood on his sharp cheekbone, probably from the skirmish, and definitely not his own.

His touch was deceptively gentle. As if he hadn’t sent Luke and Kieran to drag you back bruised and gasping like an animal. He must have caught on pretty quick, and considering who you were dealing with, that’s something you should have expected.

I really am a fool…

“You’ve always been so pretty when you’re desperate,” Sylus murmured, eyes half-lidded with something far too close to pleasure. “But this? This was a new kind of desperation.”

He tilted your head just a little more, his thumb brushing the side of your neck. His gaze dropped to your throat, to the flutter of your pulse beneath skin. He could feel it, surely. How fast your heart was beating. It delighted him, the effect he always had on you. Especially in a moment like this, where you knew you were in trouble.

“But what were you hoping to find out there, hmm?” he continued, voice as smooth as the velvet canopy above the bed. “Freedom? Safety? A hero to come rescue you?”

His tone curled mockingly at that last line.

Your throat burned. “I don’t belong to you.”

It was said so feebly it was laughable. The words escaped before you could stop them though.

His eyes glowed, just faintly—like a predator stirred from its play into something darker.

“No,” he agreed softly. “It seems you don’t. Not yet. But you will.”

And then he stood.

He took his time removing his gloves, one finger at a time, like he had all the hours in the world. The leather landed with a soft sound on the table beside the fireplace. Not even looking at you, he flicked his hand, and with a flash of red aura, the cool metal shackles around your wrists cracked and fell apart, dissipating. 

Still, you didn’t move. There simply wasn’t any point. 

Sylus eventually walked back over to you, corner of his lip lightly curled. He stopped just in front of you again, but you kept staring at the floor, at his polished shoes.

“Get up.”

You didn’t budge.

“Sweetie.”

That warning tone was enough, and you did what he said. He then guided you, slowly, toward the bed. The sheer black canopy was shifted aside by his free hand.

When you bumped the edge of the mattress, already shaking, he turned you gently to face him. 

“You should be grateful,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “Anyone else would’ve had their body dumped in the wastelands for what you did.”

“I wish you had,” you said, voice trembling. But again, your words sounded unconvincing, and weak. No, you didn’t wish that. As tempting as death might have seemed, you knew Sylus would never make it so easy. It would never be gentle.

He smiled again. But it wasn’t cruel this time. It was reverent. 

“You’re allowed to hate me,” he said, leaning in, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But don’t lie to me.”

The shove that came was sharp and fast, and you hit the bed with a gasp, sprawling weakly against the mattress. Trembling, you looked up at Sylus, watching as he loosened the tie of his dress shirt. Towering over you, casting you in his shadow.

Slowly, he knelt on the bed with one leg, climbing over you smoothly, until his hands were against your wrists, and his nose was brushing yours. He pressed a chaste kiss to your neck, cheek, the corner of your lip.

Then finally, he kissed you, properly, and passionately.

When he pulled back, you were flustered red. You hated yourself for it too. Despite knowing how wrong it all was, despite how badly you wished you could have managed to escape, this man still had this effect on you.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. Sylus truly was like no other.

“There’s no need to be frightened.” he assured you, kissing your other cheek, his breath hot and close as he talked, “I can forgive it, just this once.” A little whimper left you, as you felt his tongue run against your skin in a smooth, seductive motion, catching some of the tears that had started to trickle. You might have feebly tried to push up against him, but again, it was pointless. Useless. You were helpless.

Provoking him any further wasn’t wise either. Tonight you really had been lucky. There had been times before when Sylus had punished you, truly punished you, when you had really seen his rage, and it had been over far lesser things.

Mercy. You’d take it.

Still, when he pulled up just enough to look you in the eye, as his hand slid down the front of your neck and towards the buttons of your shirt, there was something in his expression that chilled your blood. As if for a moment, he wasn’t looking at you with all the love he professed to have, but rather, as an enemy.

“But just remember…sweetie…”

He stared down at you as he purred his words. His eyes were lightless.

“Next time, I won’t be so forgiving...”

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PALACE | YANDERE!JINSHI x READER | THE APOTHECARY DIARIES

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | ATTEMPTED/DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE | Captivity A/N: ANGSTY BOY. SOOO MUCH ANGST IN THIS ONE. Also, some serious themes, please take note of the content warning!!

It was a gilded cage.

Soft lanterns diffused light through carved wood panels, casting the illusion of warmth. The Inner Palace was beautiful, yes—but it was anything but welcoming. It was a stage, a perfect stage, designed for silence and obedience.

Tonight, for the first time in weeks, you were alone.

Jinshi had left hours ago, summoned unexpectedly to a late audience with the Empress Dowager. He hadn’t wanted to go. You could tell. His hand had lingered too long at your cheek. His voice had been too soft when he said, “Rest. I’ll return before the candles burn out.”

And now you stood before the ornate side door, the one he thought you didn’t know about. It had been hidden behind a cabinet, but left alone, with a little effort, you were able to push it aside. Of course, it was locked too. But that was something you had prepared for.

You reached into your sleeve and withdrew the hairpin.

It was clever. When you had been dressed perfectly for him, you had taken note of this little addition. It had taken you days to file the end to a crude point, stolen moments with your back to the servants, feigning sleep while you worked it down on a stone.

Now, with shaking hands, you pressed it into the door’s lock. One twist. Another. 

Click. The door creaked open an inch.

Air hit your lungs in a gasp. The cool scent of the outer halls, tinged with night jasmine and river fog. Freedom. Even just a sliver of it.

You pushed it open farther, shaking with anticipation and early relief, tears already welling in your eyes. It actually worked—

“Going somewhere?”

Immediately, you froze, halfway out the door. The hairpin slipped from your fingers, landing with a traitorous ping on the polished floor. Turning, slowly, those tears had already spilled down your cheeks.

Jinshi stood in the corridor, framed by the golden glow of the lanterns. Jinshi, with his long hair and handsome face, violet eyes that you were so used to. He had a gentle smile on his face, but those eyes were sad, betrayed.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he stepped forward, and with one swift and ruthless motion, he shoved you hard by the chest, sending you stumbling backwards into his chambers again. You landed with a thud, ornate robes strewn around your quivering body.

Jinshi calmly stepped inside the room, closing and locking the door behind him again. Silent as silk over marble, he bent down and picked up the hairpin, turning it in his fingers with a faint frown.

“Ah…that’s how you did it…” His head tilted slightly, and something wild flashed in his eyes. “Were you hoping to stab me with it if you didn’t manage to escape?”

“Jinshi, please.” you whimpered, struggling to your feet, “You…you know I can’t live like this anymore. I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

The mask slipped.

He stepped forward and grabbed you by both your wrists, and suddenly you were against the wall, breath punched out of your lungs, the door at your back, his body warm and close. 

“You were going to leave me,” he murmured, voice low and trembling. No rage, just hurt. “After everything I gave you. A life most could only dream of.”

You pushed at him feebly. “You took everything! I can’t even see my family anymore! I have nothing left except this room, and it’s all because of you!”

His forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed, breathing hard through his nose. “Stop…” You tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip, and pulled back to glare at you angrily, eyes wild.  “Don’t be so selfish. You have everything you could ever need here, more than most could dream of—”

“Except freedom.”

That landed. His jaw twitched and his hands finally slipped away. 

Not wasting your chance, you bolted across the room to your desk—where the small bottle you’d prepared days ago was hidden in the third drawer down, behind your calligraphy practice sheets. You had no illusions about how fast he was. But you could be faster.

I never thought I’d have to use this, but if he’s not going to let me go— Your fingers closed around the tincture, and you lifted it before your lips.

You popped the cork, and it bounced and rolled across the ground, reaching the toe of his finely crafted shoe.

“...I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of being a prisoner, and if you’re never going to set me free, then this is the only choice I have…” Jinshi was just staring at you. You stared back, trying not to look as scared as you felt.

There was a sudden blur of blue. SMASH!

The bottle flew from your grip, shattering across the lacquered floor in a spray of bitter-smelling herbs and alcohol. Jinshi stood before you again, his hand outstretched, trembling. His eyes wide, his face pale. 

You stared at the fragments. Then at him.

He was…shaking. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t ever…do something that reckless again.”

You swallowed thickly. It surprised you…how desperate he looked.  “...What else am I supposed to do?”

“I never meant to make you feel that way!” he snapped, and you flinched as his fist thrust out and thudded against the wall by your head. “You think I don’t know what this looks like? You think I don’t see what I’ve become?” Chest heaving, eyes wide and tearful, he stared at the ground between your feet in a manic way. “I…I was going to wait. I was going to let you love me on your own. I assumed it would just take time…”

Jinshi’s eyes met yours, deep purple in the dim chamber light. “But even still, even after everything I do, you still despise me so much?” He cut himself off. Swallowed. “I’ve never begged for anything in my life. I’ve never yearned so fiercely…” he whispered. “Not before you.”

And then, he suddenly dropped to his knees. A man unraveling right before you, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. All you could do was watch him, bewildered, pressing your back and your palms tighter against the wall behind you.

“Please,” he murmured, not looking up again. “Stay.”

Your eyes slowly ventured over to the sight of the broken bottle on the floor. Your final chance lay devastated there. A fleeting opportunity to finally be free, that had quite literally slipped from your fingers.

His hands reached out, and you flinched as they touched your legs, slipped up the backs of your thighs beneath your robes.

His voice was suddenly lower. Rougher. Still, he didn’t look at you. “I’ll give you anything, [Y/N]. Anything you ask. The key. The gate. The world outside—if you swear to return. But if you walk out that door and never look back, I’ll tear the capital apart trying to find you. I will.”

The desperation in his voice turned your stomach. More terrifying still, was knowing he was fully capable of that.

You stood still. Chest heaving. Trapped between terror and tenderness. A sharp gasp escaped you, body squirming, as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, exhaling shakily and desperately.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not by decree. Not by force. But because I know you are. I knew it the day I first saw you. And I’ll keep knowing it until I die. Even if you’re the one who ends up killing me…”

Finally, Jinshi rose slowly. His body slid up tight against yours as he did, reaching chest to chest. “We belong together…” he whispered against your throat, and you felt the dampness of tears drip onto your skin.

“We’ll die together, if that’s what it takes…”

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TEASER: HEART THIEF

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Hey everyone~! 🌸 Firstly I wanna say a HUGE thank you to all the people who recently subscribed to my PATREON. Your support really means a lot to me! I hope all my Patrons have been enjoying the EARLY ACCESS uploads, and I hope all my followers here have been enjoying them when they've been posted publicly!

For those of you in the LEVEL 2 tier of my Patreon, and higher, I have some extra exciting news. I've begun working on an EXCLUSIVE story, available specially for you guys to read.

I was partially inspired by the recent release of Kpop Demon Hunters to start working on this. But, while it does take some inspiration, it's actually an idea I've had in mind for quite some time now. When I was living in Korea, I was pretty fascinated both by pop culture and history/mythology, and the idea of combining the two has always appealed to me.

So, now seems like the perfect time to make it a reality!

-----

HEART THIEF is the story of you—descended from a bloodline tasked with protecting Seoul from all manner of monsters. Raised to be strong, so far your efforts have been a success. So far...

You weren’t supposed to be working that night. You just wanted to have fun. To go to a concert. To feel normal for once.

But when the hit boy group, HEX, took the stage, and when his eyes met yours...you knew.

He wasn’t human.

-----

You can check out the teaser below, FREE to read for everyone! Future chapters will be uploaded weekly and exclusively for LEVEL 2+ members!

TEASER: HEART THIEF

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DEBT | YANDERE!ZHONGLI x READER | GENSHIN IMPACT

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. Content Warning: YANDERE | Stalking A/N: zhongliiiiiiii

A golden mist fell like silk over Liyue’s emptying streets, turning lantern light into fogged halos. 

You’d taken shelter under the narrow awning of a shuttered apothecary, clutching a bag that held more broken hopes than coin. 

You had lost too much already—your footing, your safety, your future. The gods hadn't answered your prayers. You were starting to understand they never would. The little hope in your heart had long died. 

He arrived without sound. You looked up and found a tall man in black and gold standing before you, a dark parasol held overhead. His eyes glowed gold in the shadow it cast. 

Slim, tall, handsome. Slightly ghostly.

“You look troubled,” he said, voice deep and patient.

You blinked, startled, already half-shivering. “I—I didn’t mean to be in your way.”

“You aren’t,” he replied. “In fact…I believe we may be of use to one another.”

The man didn’t smile. He was pensive in a way, and his aura dominated the air around you. 

He withdrew a scroll from his sleeve and held it out to you. Blank, until he whispered a phrase in a language you didn’t recognize. Then golden ink spiraled into existence. Clean, curved lines and delicate flourishes. You recognized your own name among the symbols.

Your throat went dry when you did.

“What is this?”

“A contract,” he said simply.

“I haven’t agreed to anything…”

“Not yet.”

The storm seemed quieter now. Or maybe it had stopped altogether. All you could hear was your own breathing and the sound of rain sliding off his parasol.

“What would I be agreeing to?” you asked cautiously.

“I offer stability. Protection. Coin, if needed.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “In return, when the time comes, you will give me something of equal value.”

“And what would that be?”

He paused for just a moment. Then spoke:

“I’ll decide that when the time is right.”

That should have stopped you. It didn’t. 

You were tired. Your desperation outweighed your reason. This had gone on for so long, and you were so worn down, that you just didn’t feel like you could keep going any longer. After enduring so much, any chance of escaping this life was a welcome one.

And so, with numb fingers, you signed.

When you handed the scroll back, he rolled it up slowly, carefully, and placed it back into his sleeve.

Then he smiled.

“I always keep my promises. I assure you.”

…

Weeks passed.

Things changed.

You found coin in strange places. Your landlord abruptly halved your rent. A job offer appeared out of nowhere, a position you hadn’t even applied for. Liyue favored you in quiet, uncanny ways, like it never had.

Suddenly, life was on the up-and-up. Finally, you could sleep easy at night, knowing you’d be able to eat in the morning. 

And you never saw that mysterious man again. The more time passed, the more you wondered if you ever would.

Then, one day, a letter came.  Left on your pillow in a thin silk envelope. No name. No seal. Just a note, handwritten in gold:

“Your contract term has matured.

You will be collected before sundown.”

Reading it again…and again…and again…the words still didn’t register properly.

“Collected.”

In all those moralistic fairy tales you were told as a child, a person’s foolish greed was often their downfall. Their willingness to accept a deal that was simply too good to be true, was often their undoing.

That seemed to now be happening to you, and it struck a fear you couldn’t shake. An urge to run.

You packed in a frenzy and fled Liyue. Hid in a fishing village halfway up the coast that few people lived in. You didn’t even tell your friends, and you had your name changed when you were at the local inn. You kept the lanterns lit all night, and rarely left save to get necessities. 

For a time you made every effort to stay out of everyone’s eye. To stay hidden. To stay safe.

To somehow wangle your way out of the morbid trade-off you knew was coming…

Yet still—when the sky turned amber and the moon bled into the sea—he was already inside your room.

Standing by the window with his hands folded. Looking as calm as he had that night.

…

If you had already run this far, worked so hard, what hope did you really have? Even so, you tried to bolt, hoping you could seize your bag of coin, and make a beeline out onto the beach.

You bolted for the door.

It was pure instinct—your mind barely registered the movement, only the primal urge to flee. Your fingers grasped the handle—

A golden sigil flared across the doorframe, geometric and ancient. You froze, eyes wide, as golden veins of Rex Lapis’s sigils etched themselves across the wood, sealing the frame in a glowing lattice of geo energy.

Then the floor beneath you…shifted. Like the earth itself was no longer on your side.

Stone pillars burst from the ground in front of you—seamless, elegant, crystalline—forming a wall between you and the exit, surging up through the ceiling and breaking it open. Shrieking, you stumbled backwards, falling over yourself.

“Running,” Zhongli said calmly from behind you, “is beneath you.”

You turned your head, heart pounding, and saw him standing over you. Too scared and shocked to stand, all you could do was sit there helplessly.

“I won’t seek to harm you. That isn’t the deal we struck.”

His gaze held yours, fathomless and ancient in the dark.

“You don’t need to fear me,” he murmured. “Only the consequences of forgetting who you belong to now.”

You weren’t physically restrained, but you may as well have been. It was clear what he could do, what he was actually capable of. 

Rather than seize or overpower, though, Zhongli helped you to your feet. As he did, and you were pulled slightly up against him, and you felt his knuckle brush your cheek chastely.

The touch was featherlight and reverent. It caused you more fear than if he would have tried to hurt you.

“You’ve forgotten the nature of contracts,” he said, voice dipping into something silkier. “It isn’t just law. Or even obligation. It’s devotion. An offering. A sacred bond.”

You flinched as his thumb brushed the hollow of your throat. But his expression was patient. Almost gentle.

“You came to me desperate, empty-handed, trembling beneath a storm. And I opened my hand to you. You asked for a future. For protection. For your life to matter again.”

His eyes darkened. “I gave you all of it.”

His touch left your skin, only to return in a more possessive way—his palm flattening over your ribs, just above your heart. You froze.

“You offer this so freely to others,” he said, not quite accusing. “Your words, your smiles, your softness… I watched you waste them on people who do not understand their worth. Do you not understand this is how you ended up in such a dire situation to begin with?”

His hand shifted upward, long fingers now cradling your jaw. “But I understand.”

Zhongli leaned in, letting his thumb brush your bottom lip.

You tried to lean back, but his other hand shifted, and you let out a little gasp as you felt stone encircle your wrists, binding them together.

“I understand just how precious you are. Worth more gold than I could ever offer.”

Those hooded eyes had become lustful, seductive in a way you almost had to stubbornly resist. 

“I gave you everything you asked for,” he murmured into your skin. “You ought to give me what is mine.”

Your voice trembled. “I didn’t agree to—this.”

He tilted his head. “But you did. Do you not recall? You offered yourself, in exchange for a future. That is what I took. That is what I honored. My side of the bargain.”

A rare, twisted smile.

“Now it is time you honor yours.”

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