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thewaywardwanderer · 5 days ago

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transmigrated in a novel i absolutely hate?!

summary:- you just read a novel from the famous "lygus", a popular novelist who quite literally everyone knows. you absolutely despise him. why? cuz of this damn novel he wrote which had sooo much potential but guess what? it had been watered down to no plot, only sadistic torture of the innocent main character, phainon. And now, you are stuck in it, taking the role as the main villain who is responsible for his suffering.

CW: female reader, non-canon au (historical), we are a little shit, phainon is lowkey insane (yandere-ish), aglanaxa are my parents, suggestive, obsession, violence and graphic mentions of torture

-> part 2 is here!

Phainon’s eyes were empty.

The once brilliant light that had burned in him, an unyielding will, a warmth that had once drawn people in—was gone. Now there was only ash where the fire used to be. His sword hung at his side, more a chain than a weapon, and the weight of countless lifetimes pressed into his shoulders until his back was permanently bowed.

Around him, the battlefield was silent. There were no corpses left, no ruins, no reminders of the ones he’d fought for—only the void. The void, and the cruel knowledge of every cycle he had lived and lost. Faces blurred and dissolved in his mind, the names of his companions vanishing one by one until nothing remained but a hollow ache he could no longer place.

And yet… the cycle would begin again.

It always did.

Phainon’s lips moved without feeling. “I… will carry out the sentence..for i, am the executioner.”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

"WHAT??" You scream out loud in frustration, slamming the book shut so hard the poor spine probably filed for abuse charges.

You stare at the cover like it was something terrifying (which it was). The Last Dawn of the Deliverer, by the “genius” himself—Lygus. Bestseller. Five-star reviews. And now, officially, the bane of your existence. What the hell is wrong with him?

“This is it? This is the grand ending?” you rant to no one, waving the book around like a flag, compensating on throwing it against the wall with full strength, but the book costs too much for it to be thrown around like that.

You flip it open again just to make sure you didn’t hallucinate it in some bizarre fever dream. Nope. It’s all still there. The endless misery. The memory loss trope. The eternal despair. You can practically hear Lygus giggling to himself while writing it, thinking he’s so deep and poetic while he rips Phainon apart piece by piece.

You flop back on your bed, groaning into your pillow. "Fuck this author, Fuck this book, Everything sucks!! AAAAAGH"

You’d been rooting for him from page one. He was everything a main character should be—resilient, kind, stubborn in the face of impossible odds. And then Lygus went and… executed him, in the most metaphorical and literal way possible.

You toss the book onto the floor. “Trash. Garbage. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend unless I want to ruin someone’s week.”

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You ignore it, still fuming. Honestly, if you could punch your way into that novel just to drag Phainon out of it, you would.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought lingers, half-bitter, half-joking: If I ever woke up in that world, I’d make sure none of this ever happened.

"WHAT THE FUCK??"

The words leave your mouth before your brain can catch up.

You’re no longer on your bed, no longer in your cramped apartment surrounded by snack wrappers and half-finished laundry piles. No, you’re in a throne room—because of course you are. And it’s exactly the kind of place a villain would be caught dead in: high arched windows bleeding in cold light, black marble floors that reflect your every twitch, and a ridiculously oversized throne that could seat three people but is apparently meant just for you.

The problem is, you recognize this room.

It’s the opening of Chapter 27—the point in The Last Dawn of the Deliverer where the "Tyrant of Humanity- Lycurgus” (aka the absolute bastard responsible for 90% of Phainon’s trauma) is introduced. And now? Yeah. You’re sitting exactly where that tyrant sat.

A cold realization slams into you like a freight train. You glance down at your hands, still your hands. No sudden delicate villain fingers with jeweled rings. You touch your face—still your face, familiar skin, same jawline. You’re not in someone else’s body.

But when you look up…

The guards lining the throne room bow stiffly, their armor clinking in perfect unison.

"Your Excellency," one says, voice sharp with discipline and one might even say, fear. "We’ve captured the rebel scouts you ordered us to find. They await your judgment."

Oh no.

You don’t have to ask who those “rebel scouts” are—you know. This is the chapter where Phainon first meets the villain. Where you—well, not you, but the villain or the author whose job you now apparently have orrders the execution of innocents to break Phainon’s spirit. Because, well, the author is the villain in this novel.

You open your mouth, about to scream “WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT PRANK IS THIS?!” but stop when you catch your reflection in the polished marble floor.

It’s still you. Same hair, same eyes. But here, in this world, everyone is looking at you with the kind of fearful respect reserved for people who could order your death with a snap of their fingers.

The guard shifts uncomfortably. “…Your Excellency?”

Your brain is doing cartwheels. You’re still you—but somehow, in this world, you are the villain. The tyrant. The architect of Phainon’s suffering.

Which means—

You swallow hard.

If you do nothing, Phainon’s story plays out exactly as you read it.

But if you act… maybe, just maybe, you can burn this entire plot to the ground.

You force yourself to stand, channeling every ounce of fake confidence you’ve ever used in your school classroom during project presentations. “Bring them to me,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake.

Because if you’re the villain now? Fine.

You’re going to be the worst villain Lygus has ever had the misfortune of creating.

And that is, by defying every single string plot that he created, you were going to make your own plot now.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The guards move in perfect formation, spears glinting under the cold light as the massive double doors creak open.

Bootsteps echo against the marble.

And there they are.

Phainon walks at the front, wrists bound in iron shackles that look far too heavy for any human, though he moves like the weight is nothing. His head is high despite the bruising at his temple, silver hair catching the light, eyes sharp yet it was still..gentle. Behind him follow Aglaea, Mydei, and Anaxa—each worn from travel but had the aura of authority, the kind of people who refuse to bow even when they should. Hyacine keeps close to the triplets, Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon—stare wide-eyed at the towering throne room. And, only Castorice had come without chains.

God. Seeing them in person—these people you’d only read about feels unreal. In the book, this was the point where Lygus twisted the knife: the villain making a cruel spectacle of their capture, ordering their execution to shatter Phainon’s last shred of hope.

Not this time.

The guards shove the group forward, forcing them to kneel. “We found them attempting to smuggle food and weapons to the rebel base in Amphoreus, Your Excellency,” one announces, voice dripping with satisfaction.

In the novel, this was where the villain sneered. Where they spat some venom about traitors and loyalty before making Phainon watch helplessly as the others were dragged away.

You lean forward on the throne, resting your chin in your palm. And then—

You smile.

A warm, genuine smile that doesn’t belong in this scene at all. “You protected Amphoreus?” you say, voice bright with approval. “Incredible work!! Truly inspiring :)”

Absolute, stunned silence.

The guards exchange bewildered looks. Aglaea’s head jerks up sharply, Mydei blinks like he’s trying to confirm he heard correctly, and Anaxa mouths something under his breath that’s definitely not polite.

Phainon’s gaze narrows, suspicion flickering there, as though he’s waiting for the punchline.

“You’re not… angry?” Phainon ventures cautiously.

“Angry?” you scoff, waving a hand. “Why would I be angry at people risking their lives to protect innocents from an invading force? That’s… admirable. The kind of courage I like to see.” You lean back in the throne like your personality didn't do a complete 180 flip. “In fact, I should be thanking you. Amphoreus has been through enough, it’s about time someone stepped up to defend it.”

The triplets exchange glances, then you throw a glance at the three, yet they didn't withdraw themselves, Classic Tribios. No wonder they were the leader of the group.

You clear your throat. “Right. Well. You’re free to go. Guards—untie them. Immediately.”

The room goes still again.

“…Your Excellency?” one guard asks, like maybe they misheard and you actually meant execute instead of release.

You meet his eyes. “Did I not make myself clear?”

Chains clatter to the floor, and your eyes return to the group.

"Host them a party, assign them their following rooms and clothing. Their headquarters will be in the royal palace from now on."

The guards looked more shcoked than you after the ending of the novel. Their expressions shifted from confusion, to disbelief, to the kind of internal screaming usually reserved for emergency war drills. One of them even opened his mouth, probably to remind you that these people were enemies of the crown, before thinking better of it under your glare. Phainon was the first to move. He straightened to his full height, chains gone, rubbing his wrists in silence. His eyes were locked on you, unblinking, and then, within a flash, his empty eyes changed to those of a fake saccharine facade. He smiled widely at you, bowing down towards you, thanking you for your 'gratitude'.

Girl, no, you were just saving your ass from the torturous death he was about to give you.

Aglaea exchanged a glance with Mydei, her lips pressing into a tight, mistrustful line, but then her alluring yet empty, turquoise eyes stared right at you, and she smiled at you. Full of elegance, as always.

The three triplets had the most maturity out of all of them, despite their appearance of an 8-year-old child.

“You’ll be given rooms in the west wing. Fresh clothes, proper food, and baths. The party will be tomorrow evening, make sure they’re not served the bland menu. I want them to be treated like actual heroes."

Your voice made the guards jump to action, bowing before hurrying out to arrange the chaos you’d just dumped in their laps.

Ah, money and power is the best.

“I’m… sorry, what exactly is going on here?” Mydei’s tone was as destructive as the power he was known for. “Last I checked, we were getting skinned alive for having golden blood. Now we’re getting royal hospitality?”

You smiled like you were enjoying an inside joke no one else was in on. “Consider it a… shift in policy.” You let the words hang in the air. “You fought to protect Amphoreus. That’s more than I can say for most of my so-called loyalists. So yes, you’ll be treated with respect. You’ve earned it.”

The group turned their back as the soldiers lead their way into the guest-area hallway of the palace.

"Y-your highness?! We can't possibly do that! This is against the law your father had passed down decades ago!"

"We'll just make a new one."

"YOU'RE MAJEST-?!" You glare at him, which means "Shut up before your head is displayed on the palace entrance."

The poor man’s mouth snapped shut so fast you were half-surprised his jaw didn’t break. He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the marble, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer to the titans before retreating with the rest of the stunned guards.

The grand throne room door groaned shut behind Phainon’s group, leaving you alone with the echo of their footsteps and the faint, suffocating silence of a palace that was not used to this kind of disruption.

You slumped back in the throne, running a hand over your face.

The door to the side of the throne creaked open, and in swept Chancellor Caenis—one of the chief advisors you vaguely remembered from the book. Sharp nose, sharper tongue, and a political backbone made entirely of stone. She looked at you as if you’d personally thrown the kingdom into ruins, (which you did but anw).

“Your Excellency,” she began, each syllable dipped in acid, “would you mind explaining to me why the most dangerous insurgents in the empire are not only alive, but being hosted in our home?”

“Because,” you said sweetly, “unlike most of my staff, I can recognize competence when I see it.”

“That competence,” Caenis snapped, “has burned our supply lines, toppled our outposts, and rallied half the borderlands to their cause. You’ve given them access to the palace, Your Excellency. Do you understand what that means?”

“Mind your tone, Caenis,” you said sternly, making her shrink down, stretching your legs out. “It means they’re under my watch, where I can keep an eye on them. It also means Amphoreus has a fighting chance at surviving the mess my father had made 50 years ago, purely because he hated the golden-blooded. I will not be the one who enables my father's cruel actions, not anymore.”

Caenis’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish gasping for water on land. “And the law your father—”

“I said,” you interrupted, leaning forward with the kind of slow, deliberate motion that made her stiffen, “we’ll make a new one. Or perhaps you’d like to argue with the tyrant herself? Do you want a miserable death, Caenis?"

She froze completely and a smile appeared on your face again.

“Didn’t think so,” you murmured.

She bowed stiffly and withdrew, though you caught the way her hands were clenched behind her back.

As the door closed again, you exhaled, heart hammering. God, that was terrifying. Your legs were shaking underneath the thickness of your dress, ugh as if the sun wasn't enough, you were wearing red velvet and 7 layers ontop.

HolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshit—

"I will be going back to my headquarters; do not summon me unless of absolute necessity." You said eyeing at your attendants before you pick up the floof of your gown and walk in a straight posture despite your legs feeling like jelly.

Your attendants bowed low, murmuring the usual rehearsed phrases of obedience, but you could feel their curious gazes burning into your back. No doubt, by dinner, the entire palace staff would be whispering about the insane turn of events in the throne room.

The hallway stretched ahead, sunlight spilling in through the tall arched stained windows, painting the marble floor in ribbons of colours. Every step made the weight of your gown sway against your legs, the distant echo of your heeled boots clacking in time with your pounding heart. You kept your head high, the picture of imperial composure, even as your thoughts ran in circles, screaming.

Okay. You survived the scene. You changed the outcome. No one died. Yet. That’s good. Great, even. But also, holy hell, you just declared open defiance against a law that’s been in place for fifty years, in front of half the guard corps and your most politically venomous advisor. But holy shit, that felt soooo good, You hated Caenis since the beginning, from when you saw her.

The deeper you walked into the west wing, the quieter it became—guards stationed only at the ends of the corridors, and the sound of court politics replaced by the distant cry of gulls from the sea cliffs beyond the palace. You didn’t stop until you reached the private antechamber to your quarters.

The moment the door shut behind you, the mask cracked.

You squeal out and immediately kick off your shoes, asking your maid to fetch the knight's uniform. The overweight gown and jewelry were far more than what you expected. But luckily, Lygus was an extremely good fighter, so people won't question much.

You close your eyes, embracing the silence and then you squeal and giggle again, thinking about Phainon. Oh god, he looked majestic.

It’s honestly unfair, the way Phainon exists normally. His face isn’t just handsome, it’s the kind of handsome that makes you forget basic functions. His silver hair falls in a way like that of moonlight shining, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut through your composure but warm enough to make you want to sink into them and never surface. His eyes truly were the ocean you wanted to sink in.

You smile yo yourself and bury your face in your pillow, screaming in it, relieving all your stress before your assigned maid knocks on the door, asking whether she could come inside.

You clear your throat, trying to smother the embarrassing little squeal that had just escaped into your pillow. “Enter,” you call, voice only, mostly steady.

The door opens, and your maid, Arnes, slips inside with the careful grace of someone who’s been navigating royal moods for years. She carries the folded knight’s uniform in her arms, the dark leather and gold accents catching the flicker of blue lamplight.

She sets it down on the low table by your bed and dips into a curtsey. “Your Highness, the uniform you requested. Shall I assist you in changing?”

You sit up, smoothing your hair like you hadn’t just been rolling around giggling like a lovesick idiot. “Yes. And quickly."

Arnes moves to help you, deftly undoing the fastenings of your gown. The heavy velvet slides away, layer by suffocating layer, until you can breathe again. You stretch your arms, feeling your muscles complain from hours of sitting still on the throne, pretending to be unshakable.

Once dressed in the uniform, the shift is immediate. The fitted leather plates, the loosened trousers, the weight of the sword belt at your hip. This was much what you were used to from your own world, compared to the heavy 7 layer gowns. Probably a sign to order more free dresses.

Arnes pauses before tightening the last strap. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Highness… but the palace is buzzing about your decision in the throne room today.”

Of course it is.

You glance at her through the mirror, one brow arched. “And what is it they’re saying?”

She hesitates, then meets your eyes in the reflection. “Some think you’ve gone mad. Others… that you’ve found a way to tame the untamable.” A faint smile touches her lips. “They don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed.”

You snort. “But, the commoners are most happy right?”

Arnes’s smile widens, just barely, like she’s trying not to look too pleased about delivering good news. “Yes, Your Highness. Word reached the market square before the hour was up."

"..I see"

The nobility will not appreciate it, though.

"I will be going for a short nap now. You may leave now, Arnes. Thank you."

Arnes simply bows and nods before heading out and closing the door, leaving you alone again, a little suffocated this time, though. But you head to your bed and lie down. Much more comfortable with trousers this time. And then you felt your eyes get heavy before one final thought runs as you fell asleep.

Phainon is going to break into my room when im asleep isnt he?

Phainon is shocked by how much you murmur in your sleep. You felt more human than the tyrant everyone knew. The air in your quarters was warm and faintly scented with something floral, a sharp contrast to the salt wind he’d grown used to. Moonlight spilled across the bed, illuminating the tangle of sheets and the steady rise and fall of your breathing. You were sprawled in the knight’s uniform, still—an odd choice for someone who’d spent the day sitting in a throne—and your sword belt lay within arm’s reach.

Phainon stepped closer, each movement deliberate. He studied your face in the dimness, the faint crease between your brows, the way your hand curled slightly as if ready to grab steel even in sleep. Not the same as the ruler from the book, he knew you should’ve been. You’d looked at him today with… something else.

“You’re not like..from before,” he murmured under his breath,

He crouched at your bedside, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes never leaving yours as if waiting for the moment you’d wake and catch him here.

It would be interesting to see how you reacted.

To his dismay, his hair accidentally brushed against your nose, and your hand instinctively slapped the softness of Phainon's cheek, still asleeep, thankfully.

“…die, Lygus… die—how dare you…”

The name hit him like a thrown dagger. Lygus. That name was awfully familiar; he never appeared in any of the cycles. His jaw tightened, his heart thumping loudly and making his head spin. Just.. who is Lygus and why does he deserve such hatred from you, the empress herself?.

He sat back slightly on his heels, frowning. Was it an act? A convenient dream to make him lower his guard?

Phainon studied your sleeping face, lit faintly by the moon. There was no mask here, or fake smirk. Just a regular girl sleeping and uhm...drooling on the pillow.

He wanted to chuckle a bit at the sight of you, but that unsettled him.

He leaned forward again, close enough to hear the quiet little huffs of breath when you exhaled. The floral, rrefreshing scent clung faintly to you, and it made him think of spring mornings long before the cycles had started. It made him relive the memories he swore to close off forever.

Of Aedes Elysiae

He exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over the sword belt within your reach. You weren’t careless. Even asleep, some part of you was ready to fight. That… he could respect.

Your hand twitched again, and your lips moved, the words softer this time. “…should’ve—burned him myself…”

Phainon felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in curiosity.

Maybe he wouldn’t kill you tonight after all.

He rose to his feet soundlessly, stepping back into the shadows of your room. His silver hair caught in the moonlight one last time before he slipped toward the balcony doors. And then, he's gone.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The first thing you were aware of was warmth. Not the gentle kind from a blanket, but the deep, bone-soaaking warmth that came from sinking into a bath.

Your eyelids fluttered open to sunlight streaming through the tall windows of your chambers. The scent of roses and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint steam that curled above the enormous marble tub you were currently reclining in. Two attendants knelt at either side, their hands deft and practiced as they poured water over your shoulders, the heat cascading down your back in soothing waves.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of them murmured, bowing her head slightly before taking up a silken cloth to scrub away the remnants of yesterday’s grime. The water shimmered faintly from the oils already mixed into it—orange blossom and something sweet you couldn’t quite name.

You let yourself lean back, the carved edge of the tub cool against your neck. If nothing else, being royalty had its perks. Your muscles loosened as the second attendant worked on your hair, combing fingers through to untangle it before rinsing it in the perfumed water.

“Careful,” you warned idly, “if you pull too hard, you’re walking out of here bald.”

They tittered nervously, but their pace didn’t falter. One reached for a small crystal vial and poured a rich amber oil into her palms, working it into your skin with gentle, sweeping motions. The oil warmed instantly, leaving your arms and shoulders with a faint, golden sheen.

By the time they were done, the water had cooled slightly, and you stood with their help, stepping onto the thick towels they’d spread at your feet. Another servant approached with your knight’s uniform, freshly pressed, the black-and-crimson leather polished until it caught the morning light.

Piece by piece, they dressed you—tightening straps, smoothing seams, fastening the heavy cloak at your shoulders. The scent of the oils clung faintly beneath the crisp leather, a reminder that under all the armor, you were still the Empress.

Your sword belt was buckled into place last, the weight of it grounding you in a way the gown never could.

“Breakfast will be brought to your study,” one attendant murmured, bowing low.

“Good, I will be going to visit the heirs in a while.” you replied, stepping away from the tub and toward the tall mirrors.

Man you look pretty.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The corridors leading toward the Chrysos wing (formerly the guest room wing) were nothing like the rest of the palace. Here, the air carried a faint warmth, tinged with something intoxicating. Not quite perfume, not quite incense but it was softer, subtler, like the lingering scent of someone you couldn’t forget.

Gold-veined marble stretched beneath our feet, and rose-hued glass panels along the ceiling filtered the sunlight into a perpetual blush. Everything about this section felt tailored to seduce the senses without overwhelming them.

Aglaea had been in this quarter for a day and yet it feels like you had been stepping into her domain rather than the opposite.

“They call her the demigod of romance,” one of the palace attendants murmured as she walked ahead of us, tone reverent.

You had to physically hold your mouth back from jsut ranting all about Lady Aglaea, she was truly something, beautiful, smart and etc etc (its 4 am im sleepy rn)

And then, you opened the door to her headquarters.

Her presence hit like the cold breeze during spring — radiant, warm yet cold at the same time, and utterly impossible to look away from. She was truly effortlessly elegant.

Her eyes flicked briefly towards you and looked at us dead in the eyes, before standing and doing a curtsy to show respect to us.

“Lady Aglaea,” you greeted, keeping your tone warm, but not dripping with the kind of calculated charm that she herself wielded so effortlessly. “I trust the accommodations have been to your liking?”

Her lips curved just slightly, the faintest smile, like she was indulging you. “They’re… adequate,” she replied, voice soft but measured. “Your staff is attentive. The space is comfortable. It is… awfully concerning, however, to find myself welcomed into the very palace that once sent knights to hunt my kin.”

There it was — her way of balancing courtesy with truth. Not an accusation, but a reminder.

You didn’t flinch. In fact, you stepped a little closer, careful to match her unhurried pace. “Then consider this my first step in amending a… rather unfortunate history,” you said, letting a bit of sincerity slip through. “You’ve earned your place here, Aglaea. I’d like you to feel that this isn’t just a guest quarter, but now yours.”

Her gaze sharpened ever so slightly, like she was trying to decide whether you were serious or just another ruler playing diplomat. “Possession is a dangerous word,” she mused, turning slightly toward one of the petal-strewn fountains. “It suggests permanence… and permanence suggests trust. I don’t give that lightly.”

You followed her movement, stopping just beside the fountain. “I’m not asking for your trust,” you said. “Only your time. The rest, I’ll earn.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the trickle of water and the distant flutter of the rose-colored drapes in the breeze. Then, she let out a small, almost imperceptible hum. Not quite agreement, but not dismissal either.

“You speak differently than I expected,” Aglaea said finally, her turquoise eyes studying you. “The stories painted you as… colder.”

The corner of your mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Perhaps the stories were written by people who never spoke to me.”

A faint laugh slipped past her lips, light, melodic, and short-lived, as if she hadn’t meant to let it happen. She shook her head slightly, the sunlight catching in her hair as she turned toward one of the tall windows.

“Very well,” she said, gesturing gracefully toward a side door. “Walk with me. If you wish to make my quarters feel like they belong to me, then you should see what I value.”

“I wonder,” Aglaea continued smoothly, “how you intend to keep the rest of us from perishing the nobility before your ‘shift in policy’ takes root.”

"Soon, don't worry, bearer of romance :)" You were cursing yourself internally again on how cringe you sounded in front of one of your favorite girl characters in the entire damn novel

"I would like to ask you regarding the other heirs," you said lightly, looking right at her.

She glanced over her shoulder at you, one brow raised. "Well then, let's start with Mydeimos, shall we?"

You smirk awkwardly. “Ah, yes, the one with the red tattoos?” you're actually quite proud of yourself on how you're acting so wonderfully clueless when you actually know each and every detail about these characters.

That earned you a hum of agreement. “Mydei is the demigod of strife, or what you people call destruction. He's like a furnace, always lit with bottomless fire. This fire will either be completely doused in a storm or melt down his own existence with it. He is one of the most respectful warriors.” She tilted her head toward you, eyes glinting.

"And...About the triplets, the three of them, they are the leader, are they not?"

Aglaea smirks at you before answering, “Teacher. They’re more ancient than they appear. The first demigod of Passage — leaders, truly. They were once the holy maiden of Januspolis, but then, after claiming the coreflame of passage, they separated into 1000 versions of themselves. Only three of them remain now.”

You nodded like a student taking mental notes from their favorite professor. “Hyacine?”

The smirk turned into something gentler. “The demigod of the Sky. She is soft as the lightest breeze and bright as the first rays of dawn. The world had been far too long dark; the time has come for her healing to be the new light.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide a grin. "She sounds like a sweetheart !” and she is a sweetheart, an absolute cutie yet...terrifying when angry. you wish to just squish her chubby cheeks!! and that fat unicorn of hers.

"She is like the sun's gentle rays after a storm," You nod to yourself, this is Aglaea of course shes poetic as hell.

"And about..Anaxagoras?"

"..I do not agree with the ideals of that blasphemer, but we are the same when it comes to the determination with which we seek our dreams. He is a respectable figure and certainly suitable as the Demigod of Reason."

Your lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. just kiss already bro

Aglaea straightened slightly, her poise flawless, and regarded you with that same unreadable half-smile and cold, empty eyes. “Why do you ask so much about us, Your Highness? Most rulers prefer to keep their distance from those who might eclipse them.”

You held her gaze, letting your own smile mirror hers. “Because I’d rather know the ones who might change my world before they do.”

You leaned forward slightly, as if the next name on your mental list was one you’d been waiting for. “And Phainon?”

"Your highness, I needn't introduce him to you; you already look at him as if you are familiar with him.

Heat rose, unbidden, at the implication. You forced your expression to remain perfectly neutral, though your fingers curled faintly in the folds of your pant pocket.

holy shit am i that obvious?

“That is because,” you said carefully, “I’ve heard his name enough times to commit it to memory." okay bro 🥀

The demigod’s brow arched ever so slightly. “Of course.”

As the words hung in the air, the double doors at the far end of Aglaea’s marble hall opened soundlessly, Aglaea wishes you goodbye as you head next to..Phainon's quarters.

Would he care? ugh what if he-

Your thought gets cut off by your servant, who opens the door to his headquarters. Revealing a tall, silver-haired man bowing down with an awfully sweet smile, yet an aura which could make even the strongest warrior fall down to his knees.

"Greetings ,Your highness!"

You inclined your head, mirroring the formality. “Phainon.”

“I trust you slept well?” he asked lightly, though there was a glint in his eyes that made the question feel far less casual than it sounded.

You allowed yourself the smallest of smiles. “Well enough.”

His gaze flicked, almost imperceptibly, toward the sword at your hip, then back to your face. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he said. “The palace can be… unpredictable at night.”

Somehow, you couldn’t tell if that was a warning, an observation, or simply bait to see how you’d react.

You decided not to give him the satisfaction of an obvious answer. “I imagine you’ve seen worse.”

“I have seen worse,” he agreed, stepping closer with an ease that made the hairs on the back of your neck stir. “And better. But rarely something quite as… interesting as last night.”

Oh, he was absolutely doing this on purpose.

Your heartbeat ticked up, though you managed to keep your voice steady. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not.” His tone was the picture of innocence, but the glimmer in his eyes told another story. “Still, I’m glad to see you safe and—” his gaze dipped, fleeting but deliberate, to the faint crease where your jacket met your shoulder “—well armed.”

You swallowed. Gods, he was exactly like in the novel—saying the nicest things in the most disarming way possible, making you feel like you were both being complimented and tested at the same time.

Phainon gestured toward the seating area beside the tall windows, his movements as precise as a blade’s edge. “Would you join me for tea, Your Highness? I promise it’s not poisoned.”

You almost laughed, but the little voice in the back of your head whispered but what if it was? Still, this was Phainon. The Phainon. And this man absolutely hates you whilst you love him. You even notice the red puffiness of his skin underneath his eyes, even his soft lips, scars, and just—everything.

he doesnt know that though.

Your escort peeled away to let you breathe in the courtyard’s evening air after the meeting with the Chrysos heirs. A few servants were already stringing lanterns across the archways in preparation for the banquet. Soft bells chimed overhead when the wind shifted, scattering the last of the petals from the garden paths.

By the time the sky deepened to midnight blue, the palace had transformed. The great banquet hall glowed with fireflies. A sea of silk, jewels, and gilded masks moved across the floor. The Chrysos heirs, some you’d already met that day, others yet to greet, were wandering around the banquet room, and well, uh Phainon was quite literally stuffing his face with food..

You chuckle to yourself and sit down on the throne at the middle top of the room, all the figures in the room turn towards you and bow to welcome you.

You smile elegantly before raising your hand. Your hand stays poised in the air for only a moment before the ripple of movement stills

"Please," your voice carries easily over the gentle hum of the banquet hall, warm but firm, "tonight is for celebration, not ceremony. Enjoy yourselves." There’s a faint murmur of relief, polite laughter, and then the room’s energy returns back to life. Music picks up again, lilting strings and soft percussion, while servants glide between clusters of guests carrying tons of champagne and trays of candied fruit.

From the corner of your eye, you watch Phainon— freeze mid-bite when he realizes you’re watching him. His mouth is still half-full, and he’s clearly debating whether to finish chewing like a dignified heir or swallow the entire thing and pretend nothing happened. A sly smile curves your lips. And he freezes up in terror.

He genuinely thinks you're going to humilate him but youre just loving him you just have a resting bitch face trust,

Before you can get too lost in thought, a more deliberate presence approaches. Anaxa. The very air shifts from a careless, free one to one filled with gas in the air, ready to be lit on fire any moment.

“Your Highness,” he says, voice smooth but direct with a mocking tone, “it is… illuminating to finally observe you in person, rather than through the filtered tales of the palace.”

oh that little shit-

You raise a brow, leaning forward just slightly

“Illuminating, hm? Please indulge me on the tales of the palace which you have heard, Anaxa."

your heart is drumming against your chest, stay calm. even a little slip up of your composure can make Anaxa realise everything and then you will die a torturous death just like—

Anaxa tilts his head, sharp silver eyes glinting like polished steel in the flickering candlelight. “Ah, where to begin?” His voice is smooth, yet there’s a razor’s edge to it. “They claim you’re… unpredictable. Mercurial, some say. Dangerous, to those who cannot keep pace with your whims, and even....brutal.”

You bite your lip, forcing a laugh that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Dangerous, hm? That’s flattering coming from someone who could ruin people's lives with a flick of the tongue.”

He arches an eyebrow, smirk twitching. “Flattery is unnecessary. But observation is essential, especially to their subjects, Your highness, you surely know that, right?”

You lean back in your throne, crossing your arms, heart hammering like a drum. “Subjects, you say? Surely you don’t consider yourself a subject, Anaxa.”

“Not a subject,” he says smoothly, stepping closer, the faint scent of old parchment and ink clinging to him like a signature, “but an observer. One who knows which pieces move the board and which are mere pawns.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes, feigning calm. “And where, pray tell, do I fall on your board?”

He pauses, considering, and that pause makes your pulse skyrocket. “You are… a player unlike any I have studied, you are far more cunning than what rumours suggest, but not..definitely not brutal.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to stay composedl, to not crumble at the soft but piercing edge in his voice. “Cunning, hm? Perhaps. But I’ve yet to see anyone match me yet… including you.”

man you're gonna die cuz of this bratty man, screw his intelligence

“Ah, Your Highness. That is exactly why I am present in the palace… to see if the tales are true, or...” the last part was mumured and you couldn't hear it well.

Your fingers twitch against the armrest of the throne. Every instinct is screaming at you: remain composed. Do not let him see how frustrated you are. And yet the sharpness of his words, makes you want to scream "Execute him" right this moment.

You straighten your shoulders, voice deliberate, keeping the teasing edge that masks the racing of your heart. “Captivating, you say? Then perhaps you’ll find I am worth the attention… but I do hope you can keep up.”

Anaxa bows slightly, that familiar edge of arrogance lingering, but there’s something warmer in the curve of his smile, and subtle acknowledgment. “Oh, Your Highness… I intend to, if only to see how far you will go before the game truly begins.”

This One-Eyed Bastard

Anaxa straightened from his bow, that same unnerving mixture of arrogance and amusement still dancing across his features. “Now then,” he said smoothly, voice carrying just enough to draw the attention of nearby guests without interrupting the flow of the banquet entirely, “thank you for your audience, Your Highness. I may return to my partner, Aglaea.”

With a fluid, almost imperceptible motion, he pivoted on his heel, cloak whispering against the floor, and began moving down the banquet hall. His light teal hair caught the eyes of many nobles, some admiring him and insulting his audacity.

You exhaled, straightening fully in your throne, fingers tapping lightly against the polished armrest. Eyes sweeping across the gathered Chrysos heirs, you allowed the smallest, genuine smile to slip through.

“Guests of honor, Chrysos heirs,” you began, voice firm yet carrying warmth, “your courgae and skill have already shown their value. Your actions have saved lives, protected humanity, and proven your unwavering dedication to the world, even in the face of centuries of misunderstanding.”

Heads lifted, some curious, some wary, as you continued. “From this day forward, let it be known that the Chrysos heirs are no longer considered refugees, criminals, or traitors. You belong here, within the imperial palace, under my protection. Any display of disrespect toward you will not be tolerated.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the hall, a mixture of disbelief and cautious relief. You held their gaze steadily. “You are the bearers of coreflames, wielders of powers meant to protect humanity. Your presence is not merely tolerated, it is honored. And for far too long, the worship of the Titans, a heritage unjustly forbidden by my father, was driven underground. Today, I restore it. Let the honor of the Titans and the rights of the Chrysos heirs be recognized again.”

The hall was momentarily silent, the weight of your decree settling into every corner. Then, soft exhalations, whispers, and finally a swell of nods and quiet expressions of gratitude passed among the heirs. Aglaea gave you a small, approving smile from across the room, eyes glimmering as if silently praising your audacity and justice.

Your eyes found Phainon in the distance, silver hair catching the lantern glow as he glanced toward you, expression unreadable but clearly attentive. Mydei, the triplets, Hyacine, Castorice—all subtly inclined their heads in acknowledgment, a rare mixture of respect and cautious trust forming in their stances.

Great, step one to not going through a torturous death!!

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The clinking of goblets and the fading music from the banquet hall gave way to the quiet hush of the palace corridors. Lanterns flickered against the marble walls as you made your way toward the courtyard, your steps light but slightly unsteady from the single cup of wine you’d gulped down.

From around the corner, a familiar figure came sprinting toward you—silver hair glinting in the lantern light, his black cloak fluttering behind him. Phainon, looking simultaneously regal and panicked, skidded (skibidi) to a stop a few feet away.

“I—uh, Your Highness… are you—” he started, but stopped, clearly unsure how to address someone clearly wobbling like a feather in the wind.

“I miss my phone,” you blurted suddenly, voice loud in the quiet hallway, gesturing vaguely toward… nothing, really. “Like… I really miss it. And Wi-Fi. I could really use some Wi-Fi right now...My yuri...my yaoi...” You hiccuped softly, swaying on the balls of your feet.

Phainon blinked, completely still and confused af, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something. “…Your Highness?”

“Wtf is going on, man,” you continued, throwing your arms wide as if the palace walls themselves had failed to answer that question. “One moment I’m like in some fancy hall, everyone’s bowing, wine everywhere, and now… now I’m just… cooked.”

He shifted slightly, glancing down the corridor as if the floor might explode with judgmental glares. “Cooked…?”

“Yes! Cooked! Like a… roasted chicken! Or maybe a marshmallow? Either way, I am fully… cooked. Somebody save me!” You flopped dramatically against the cool marble wall, leaning your head back.

Phainon, despite himself, let out the faintest exhale, lips twitching into a smile he tried—and failed to hide. “…You truly are… unpredictable, Your Highness.”

“Unpredictable?” You lifted a finger, wagging it like a teacher scolding a child, "No way that you're saying that!!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation battling amusement. “…I think… I’m supposed to escort you, yes?”

“Escort! That’s exactly it!” You flopped toward him, grabbing his arm for support. "Go samoyed!!"

you. His silver hair brushed your cheeks as you leaned ever so slightly closer, taking in the faint, clean scent of him—the mix of leather, a hint of smoke from the banquet torches, and something inherently… Phainon. You inhaled like it was air itself.

He tensed. Very much tensed. Every step toward your chambers, his grip subtly tightening on yours, subtle enough to keep you upright but firm enough to suggest he was calculating something. His sharp eyes flicked to yours more than once, narrowing slightly.

“…Your Highness,” he said finally, voice low and carefully measured, “are you… placing something on me?” His tone was stern like he would not hesistate to finish you off, but that undercurrent of suspicion made your stomach flip.

You blinked at him, panic spreading like wildfire. “W-what?! No! N-no! I swear, I’m not—” You froze, suddenly aware of how close you were to him, the scent of him filling your senses far too completely. “I… I just… I… like… your scent! Yeah, I have a… uh… scent kink… yeah! That’s it!”

He stopped dead in the corridor, turning to face you fully. His silver hair caught the lantern light, his eyes sharp and silver against the dark, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips—half amusement, half utter disbelief.

“…A scent… kink?” His voice was low, controlled, but carried that razor-sharp edge of incredulity he always seemed to manage.

“Yes! Totally! I mean, it’s not weird! Well… maybe a little weird, but I’m not… I’m not trying to poison you or anything, I swear!” You flailed one hand dramatically while clutching his arm with the other.

Phainon tilted his head, eyes blown wide and mouth left open like a concerned puppy.😨 and silently escorted you, he gave you to Arnes, and you went inside before looking behind your shoulder and smiling one last time as the heavy wooden door slammed shut.

Phainon stood in the corridor long after the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind you, the echo of your giggling and flailing still clinging to the air. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, or maybe on the mess of words and gestures you had left behind.

Cooked? Wi-Fi? Yuri? Yaoi? Samoyed?

His brow furrowed, the sharp, precise lines of his face tightening with thought. What kind of strange codes are these? Are these… instructions? Warnings? A declaration of war? Or… He shook his head slowly. Or is she… insane?

Every word you had said seemed like a puzzle, a string of unfamiliar patterns he was supposed to decode. “Cooked… cooked like a marshmallow… samoyed…” He muttered to himself, pacing lightly along the corridor, his polished boots clicking against the marble. “Do these words hold… some hidden meaning? Or is this… simply… madness?”

His next step was obvious, he needed perspective. He found Mydei first, lounging lazily in one of the smaller rest chambers. (manspreader)

“Mydei,” Phainon started, voice clipped, controlled, but tense. “A moment.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, lazily stretching, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Deliverer. What is it?”

He glanced around nervously before blurting, “She—Your Highness… she keeps saying… things. Strange things. Cooked. Wi-Fi. Samoyed. What does she mean?”

Mydei blinked once. Then twice. “…Phainon, has insanity finally peaked upon you?”

Phainon’s jaw tightened, frustration and confusion simmering beneath the surface. “I’m… I’m trying to understand! These words—perhaps they’re codes. Perhaps they signify a hidden plan. Or a… threat. Or… a test!”

Mydei chuckled, amused. “Phainon, she drank one cup of wine."

Shaking his head, Phainon moved next to the triplets. They were seated and talking to eachother.

“She said… words… and I—” Phainon started, but before he could finish, one of the triplets cut him off.

“Snowy!, you sound ridiculous,” Trianne said cheerily. “We heard them. We have no idea either, and there is no word ever created like that which your highness said, she's just tipsy!.”

Phainon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his silver hair, strands falling over his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling as if it might hold the answers, but no, only the flickering lanterns offered light. Unique? Not dangerous? That didn’t calm him. It only made his thoughts spiral further.

He muttered to himself again, pacing again, because of you.

You are kind of cute though, wait what?

Phainon finally slumped into a nearby armchair, black cloak pooling around him, and allowed himself a small sigh. “What am I… thinking? I am meant to observe… to guard… not…”

His eyes drifted toward the corridor where you had disappeared into your chambers, the memory of your leaning into him, the scent of you lingering faintly in his mind, still present.

This is… complicated. Very complicated. Everything is going against what happened in the past 2000 cycles. What..just what is going on?

Phainon leaned back, one silver eyebrow slightly raised, and muttered to himself, half in exasperation, half in awe: “What… is she even trying to do to us?”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Your head throbbed like a drum during a hardcore metal concert, and the faint metallic taste in your mouth reminded you of the banquet’s aftermath. You blinked slowly, trying to process the world, and immediately remembered, oh fuck.

Ugh.

You rolled over onto your back, staring at the ceiling with wide, pained eyes. Your thoughts were fragmented, fuzzy, and somehow still stuck on the way you clung to him last night. Do not think about that. Do not think about that. DO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT. But, of course, your brain refused to obey.

A faint knock echoed through the chamber door, and your stomach did a nervous backflip.

“…Yeah?” you croaked, voice breaking due to dehydration or pity, you don't know which one it was.

The door creaked open, and in stepped your maid, Arnes, carrying a tray with what looked like a whole full-course meal: water, tea, bread, omelette (?) and some other fancy meat which you are too sleepy to comprehend.

“Your Highness,” she said with a smile that was far too bright for how she usually is. “Time to get you ready for the morning audience.”

You groaned, pulling the blankets over your head. “Audience? Who’s getting audience-ed? Not me. I'm dead now.”

The maid did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she set the tray down, opened the curtains wide flashbang and began bustling about with brushes and fabric. You squinted against the sunlight like a vampire seeing daylight for the first time in centuries.

She had just started fixing your hair when the door opened again.

Revealing silver hair perfectly in place, black cloak flowing, a huge claymore against the doorways.

Why is phainon here?-

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, tone warm in a way that made you instantly suspicious. “I trust you slept well?”

You glared at him from under the comb your maid was working through your hair. “No.”

He stepped further into the room, boots silent on the carpet, and set the massive claymore against the wall.

“That is unfortunate,” Phainon replied smoothly, folding his hands behind his back with a cheeky smile. “You seem… functional enough.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, the motion making your head pound harder. “Functional? I’m hanging on by a thread here!''

“I will choose my words carefully then,” he said with infuriating calm, glancing at the tray Arnes had brought in. “Eat, Your Highness. You’ll need your strength.”

You frowned. “Why are you here? Don’t you have other business to attend to?”

He ignored the jab completely, moving to pour tea into a porcelain cup. “I was asked to escort you to the audience chamber. Apparently, some are concerned about your… stability.”

You nearly choked on air, remembering the events from last night.

Phainon handed you the cup, holding it just long enough that you were forced to meet his eyes. “Drink. Before you collapse halfway to the throne.”

You took it, glaring over the rim. “You’re acting all uh normal. Like nothing happened last night.”

His silver brow lifted ever so slightly. “And something happened last night?”

Arnes froze mid-comb, eyes darting between you two with utmost curiosity.

You gulped down the rest of your tea in one go, slamming the cup down. “NOTHING. Absolutely nothinggg, let’s go.”

The corner of his mouth curved, just slightly, before he straightened and gestured toward the door. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

The hallway air was cool, the kind that woke you up whether you wanted it to or not. You walked beside Phainon, trying to pretend the sunlight streaming through the high windows wasn’t stabbing you right in the brain.

His boots clicked steadily on the marble, a calm, almost lazy rhythm. Yours…uhm less so. Every few steps you stumbled just a little—whether from the hangover or the fact that you were still processing him standing there all cheerful this morning, he looked stunning omg.

The gates opened into a sunlit expanse of packed dirt and scattered weapons racks. The heirs were already there, practicing with blunted blades, calling out challenges, ignoring the etiquette of keeping voices dignified.

Phainon stepped aside to let you pass first, his hand brushing lightly at your elbow. “Careful on the step.”

It was one step. You took it perfectly fine, but your heart still did that stupid little trip it shouldn’t be doing.

“See?” you said, not looking at him. “Perfectly stable.”

“Mm,” Phainon hummed, gaze drifting down in that way that made you suddenly hyper-aware of the fitted knight’s tunic they’d shoved you into this morning, and the sword resting at your hip.

“I am,” he said slowly, “quite curious about your skills! :D”

You blinked. “…Skills?”

His silver eyes flicked back up to yours with a spark of mischief. “You wear a blade as though you intend to use it :)”

“That’s because I can use it,” you said automatically, even though the last time you actually sparred with someone, you may or may not have tripped over your own foot.

He stepped a fraction closer, voice dropping into something both polite and way too direct. “May I ask for a duel, Your Highness?”

You nearly laughed. “Right now? In front of the heirs?”

“In front of the heirs,” he confirmed, that faint smile deepening just enough to let you know he already expected your answer. “It would be fun!"

you muttered something incomprehensible, but his hand was already gesturing toward the open sparring ring, as though he were inviting you to tea instead of inviting you to be publicly humiliated.

“Unless,” Phainon said, just loud enough for them to hear, “you would rather decline.” you swore under your breath, you are too prideful to decline.

You stepped into the ring, the crunch of the packed dirt under your boots sharp in your ears. Someone tossed you a wooden practice sword, and you caught it with a little more flair than necessary, mostly to make a point.

Phainon picked up his own sparring blade, testing the weight with an idle twirl. Even holding wood instead of steel, he looked every inch the war hero. A few heirs had stopped their training completely now, watching with barely disguised anticipation.

You squared your stance, forcing your headache into the background. “Don’t go easy on me,” you said.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Your highness !!”

The first clash rang out sharp, wood striking wood. You moved fast—faster than most people expected when they saw the royal robes on you. Your footwork was tight, your strikes precise, and for the first few exchanges, you even had him on the defensive.

holy shit you weren't even in control of your body right now, its as if something possessed you.

“You’re holding back,” you said between breaths, pressing forward.

parrying your next strike and sidestepping with infuriating ease.

You gritted your teeth and changed tactics—feint to the left, twist, swing low—he caught it effortlessly, his blade meeting yours in a firm block.

And then—oh.

His pace shifted.

One second you were trading blows, the next, he was a blur—each strike of his was controlled but unyielding, pushing you back step by step. You blocked one, two, three attacks in quick succession, but the fourth—

Smack.

Your sword flew from your grip, clattering to the dirt. In the same motion, his practice blade rested lightly mockingly at your shoulder.

“Point to me,” he said softly, his silver eyes alight with something far warmer than mockery.

You exhaled, half from exertion, half from the way he was looking at you. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Phainon murmured, lowering his sword. “But you are extremely .”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

He stepped back, offering you his free hand to help you up from where you’d sunk into a crouch. “Again?”

…You took his hand

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

How did this even happen?

“No—here," Phainon stepped closer, the warmth of his presence brushing along your side. He covered your hands with his own, guiding the angle of your wrists with ease. His voice was light, like he was talking about something as casual as pouring tea, not swordsmanship. “Your stance is fine, but the moment you strike, your weight’s too far forward. You’d be easy to topple.”

You huffed. “So you’re saying I’d lose immediately?”

His laugh was bright, unbothered. “No. I’m saying you’d be easy to catch.”

It made you blink at him, but he was already adjusting your elbow, fingers brushing your arm just enough to be felt through your sleeve. Around you, the sharp clang of steel echoed from other sparring pairs, but you noticed a small group in the distance, the heirs were watching you both with the kind of smiles people wore when they’d caught onto something they weren’t supposed to.

They’re smiling again. Like they know something I don’t.

Phainon thought

Your sword swings are still clumsy, yet you listen. Really listens. He can see it in the way your brows knit, in the way your body shifts at every correction he gives. You're not afraid to be wrong here, in front of him, even if your cheeks flush each time Phainon steps in closer to fix your posture.

He adjusts your hands again, fingers curling over yuors, feeling the tremor in your grip, clearly focused. “Better,” He murmurs, softer than he meant to. You glance up, meeting his eyes for just a second before you try the move again.

There’s a warmth in hsi chest he hasn’t felt in a long time. Dangerous, because it’s comfortable. Dangerous, because he can already feel himself cataloguing the curve of your smile, the way your hair catches the light, the slight rasp in your voice after training.

Phainon catches himself smiling before he even realizes it. The heirs probably see it too

He shifted behind her again, leaning in so close that his breath stirs the hair near your ear. “One more time, Your Highness, and this time, don’t think. Just follow me.”

You laughed lightly, saying something about how you’d never be able to match his skill, but he just shook his head, saying a corny joke.

His hands hovered near your waist, not touching but close enough to guide if you faltered. He leaned in just a little, his voice lower now, the faintest hint of a smile in it. “Good… you’re catching on quicker than I thought. You might even embarrass me at this rate.”

The heirs’ muffled chuckles carried faintly over the sound of practice swords clashing in the distance.

And still, Phainon’s focus stayed locked on you.

Phainon didn’t notice when his hand slid from correcting your grip to simply holding it, his fingers wrapping firm around yours as if anchoring you in place. It wasn’t until you gave the slightest flinch that the moment cracked, reality bleeding in through the haze of focus.

You didn’t pull away sharply—just a small wince, quick enough that you might’ve thought he’d miss it. He didn’t.

“Ah—” he loosened instantly, brows knitting. “Did I—?”

Before he could finish, the pounding of light boots echoed from across the training ground.

“Your Highness!” Hyacine’s voice cut through the warm hum of practice. She jogged toward you, ponytials bouncing against her sides, her healer’s wand already in hand. “I saw that grip—Lord Phainon!! you absolute giant, you can’t manhandle her like she’s a sparring dummy D:”

“It wasn’t—” he started, then stopped. No use defending when Hyacine was already ushering you toward the edge of the ring like a storm in full force.

You glanced back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place—something between exasperation and… amusement?

Phainon stayed where he was, wooden sword still hanging loosely at his side, watching as Hyacine fussed over your wrist. The rest of the heirs had paused their own drills, mydei openly smirking, Aglaea exchanging looks like they’d been expecting this all along.

His chest felt strangely hollow without your attention on him.

You chuckle as Hyacine's wand bonked against your head, and you raise up your hands, rotating your wrists faster than a windmill's wings.

Phainon smiled at you, feeling his ears heat up.

He will make you his

The next few months blurred into a strangely warm routine.

It turned out that the Chrysos heirs were actually surprisingly easy to spend time with !! Hyacine was constantly by your side, dragging you from room to room to “show you important things,” which were, in reality, her extensive plushie collection, an entire cabinet of porcelain animal clay figurines, and a hidden stash of candied nuts she swore no one else knew about and play with her pet unicorn, Little Ica (fat fuck). You spoiled her without thinking, shes such a cutie!!, slipping her extra desserts at dinner, letting her braid your hair with ribbons she insisted would “bring good luck,” and tucking her in when she inevitably fell asleep mid-conversation.

Aglaea became your quiet partner in tea. The two of you would settle into the sunroom, pale light spilling across the table as delicate porcelain cups steamed between you. She spoke in gentle, deliberate words, always tilting her head slightly as if weighing your responses. Yet she would always make these weird remarks poetically, because you were still a Gen-Z person, of course, you were used to short abbreviations not long...poetic sentences.

Anaxa, uh well, you bickered with Anaxa as if it were a competitive sport or a habit more tbh. He’d make a smug comment about your “amateur understanding of politics,” and you’d fire back with a remark about his tragic inability to win an argument without pacing like an angry cat. Half the time, Hyacine had to intervene before you two could escalate into an actual physical fight.

Castorice was a gentle butterfly, always with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her expression unreadable, except for the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes when you said something outrageous. (her smiles are so cutee). She listened with perfect attention when you brought up the yaoi, even leaning in ever so slightly as you excitedly recounted a story about two male characters who had way too much chemistry for it to be “just friendship.” She'd even write for you and you would squeal and happiness before air-hugging her.

Mydei, on the other hand, was well, the opposite in energy. A beast on the battlefield, but when you sat beside him with a plate of honey bread, he was just a man with a soft spot for sweets and a habit of offering you half of whatever he had. You never pushed him to talk much; instead, you kept trading recipes and slipping him extra desserts, and somewhere along the way, it became your own not so secret. (everyone knows his insane baking skills and sweet tooth, even the royal chef)

And Phainon… He was always there, literally, looking at you with a smile.

Sometimes on the edge of your vision, leaning against a pillar like he had all the time in the world. Sometimes directly across from you at the dinner table, eyes fixed on you even when someone else was speaking. There was a certain dark amusement in the way his lips curved everytime you talk with him with a wholesome smile.

But there was something else, too.

A faint, prickling sensation under your skin when he was near, it felt suffocating, sometimes making you think that he might actually kill you with torture, leaving you with amputated limbs and gouged out eye sockets.

But you ignored it for the best, because of how he would hold your hand during sword practice, of how he would always invite you to watch him spar with Mydei.

You should've seen the face he made when he found out you and Castorice...made stories of him with Mydei.

him: 😨

Little did you know that, the more time Phainon spent with you, the more the idea dug into him like a thorn, except instead of festering, it bloomed. He’d catch himself in the middle of sparring with Mydei, distracted by the image of you leaning back into him, flushed and breathless, your laughter spilling into the hollow of his throat. He’d think about how small your hand felt in his when he adjusted your grip on a sword—how easily he could just keep it there, never letting go. The way you tilted your head to look up at him made his chest feel too tight, and somewhere deep inside, an ugly, possessive heat coiled, whispering that no one else should get to see that expression but him.

He imagined you on the throne, yes, but not alone. No, you’d be seated right on his lap, his arm resting across your waist, his chin on your shoulder as he murmured sweet, private words meant only for you. He’d hold you there in front of everyone, let them see that you belonged to him. Every smile you gave him, every laugh, every soft, fleeting touch, it all fed into the quiet obsession wrapping tighter and tighter around his ribs.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

ACHOO!!

You sneeze, confused, was someone thinking about you? strange. you dont even have a cold D:

You flop back onto your bed, arms spread out like a t-pose.

The ceiling stares down at you in judgement, and you stare right back, stubborn.

Except it’s not really the ceiling you’re seeing. It’s his stupidly perfect smile. His annoyingly flawless hair. The way his voice dips just slightly when he says your name like he’s been doing it for centuries.

Ugh.

You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket halfway over your face before groaning. "Phainon, the man you are!"

You can still hear his laugh from earlier, unbothered and warm in a way that makes your chest feel like someone lit a candle inside it. You hate it. You love it. You hate that you love it.

This man might kill (for) you any moment and you're giggling over him like a lovesick teenage girl.

You bury your face in your pillow. Yeah... If he ever found out you thought about him this much, you’d have to fake your own death and run off as a local outside the palace.

You let your eyes slip shut, letting the image of him linger in your mind—his gaze catching yours across a crowded room, the slight furrow of his brows when you’re not near, the faintest hint of possessiveness that sends a thrill down your spine.

Is he planning to kill me only for himself? man.

You curled deeper into the blankets, sighing into the soft pillow. The faint moonlight spilled through the curtains, lighting up your room.

Your chest felt warm just thinking about it. It was stupid. He was… well, he was Phainon. And you were just you..and well, you were the reason for his suffering, for his time loops.

Your eyelids grew heavier, thoughts smudging together as sleep pulled you under.

You didn’t hear the faint shift of the window latch. You didn’t see the pale fingers curl around the edge of the frame.

A shadow slipped into your room, noiseless except for the sound of silk fabric. The figure straightened, white and gold catching the faint moonlight, before his steps brought him to the edge of your bed.

Phainon knelt slowly, almost reverently, like a worshiper before their god. His eyes trailed over you, lingering on the slow rise and fall of your breathing.

“…So peaceful,” he murmured under his breath, voice low with a sound of. His gloved hand hovered above your face for a moment before he removed it, his bare, scarred skin tracing the curve of your cheek.

The contact was feather-light, almost hesitant, but the way his breath hitched made it feel anything but casual.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “Every look, every laugh, you don’t know, do you? How much I think of you. How much I…”

His lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t kindness. “I should be ashamed. I’m not...You are the reason for my endless pain yet why do i find myself lingering towards you”

He let his hand linger, stroking once more before leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear.

Phainon’s gaze dropped to your hand, half-hidden beneath the blankets. Slowly, he drew it out, careful not to wake you.

He turned your wrist in his palm, studying each delicate line, each faint pulse beneath your skin, as though memorizing it. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and then, without breaking his stare, he lifted your right hand to his lips.

The kiss was soft at first, almost reverent, the warmth of his breath soaking into your soft skin.

“…Perfect,” he murmured against your fingers, letting them rest there as if he couldn’t bear to release them. His voice dropped into something darker, “You have no idea how easy it would be to keep you. To never let you go.”

His eyes softened, but one who might see him in this state would call it, "insanity" or "obsession"

“Maybe,” he whispered, pressing one more kiss to the tip of your finger and nuzzling his cheek against your limped hand, “I’ll take you through eternity with me, all locked up and mine to look at.”

-> part 2 is here!

#yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #phainon x reader

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thewaywardwanderer · 10 days ago

Text

Love You so Bad

Satoru Gojo kinda likes it when you're toxic. He's kind of toxic, too.

tw: explicit content. toxic relationships, codependency, extremely unbalanced dynamics.

It's not like he's doing anything wrong.

You're a non-sorcerer. He can't just tell you about cursed spirits and everything. You'd freak out. Your whole world, your whole life, it would be scarier for you to go about your life knowing they were there when you couldn't see them.

Sometimes he remembers, though. That you have an ex. Options. A whole life outside of him.

Maybe it would be good if you were scared. Living in constant fear of an invisible terror you couldn't fight or detect in any way. Worrying over every shadow and creak in the night.

Wondering if something was really out there this time. If what he'd told you about was finally coming to get you.

Wishing, praying, wanting nothing more than for him to be here with you right in this moment.

It makes his chest feel warm, pants tight. The thought of you curled up in terror under your bedsheets, shivering and crying and waiting for him to come save you.

But he's good, so good. He doesn't tell you about any of that.

SLAP!

"FUCK you, Gojo! You lying piece of shit!"

Of course, it did lead to times like this. A mission running late - they were already ridiculous with their hours - and no good explanation from him on why.

"Babe," Satoru cups his stinging cheek as he speaks, "I swear, it's just work. There's no one else."

He'd long since mastered the art of a perfect pleading tone, of having big, wide eyes that draw you in. It's hard for you to look away from his face, even now, enraptured as you are infuriated.

"Then where the FUCK were you?!" It's a wet scream, full of raw-throated fury, and all the tears he knows you're swallowing.

He's so hard it hurts. The slap. The rage. The desperation. He's throbbing.

Satoru's never wanted to fuck you more. Never wanted to kiss away the tears he knows you're too proud and angry to cry. Never wanted to feel you slap him again, and again, even lower, on his dick -

SLAP!

"Gojo? Are you fucking listening?"

God, you care so fucking much. He's throbbing.

"Babe," His eyes well up, lip bitten, lashes lowered as he bows his head, "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry. I was wrong, I was bad. Forgive me, baby, I'll make it up to you..."

He closes in, step by step. And you let him. You do. It's intoxicating, makes his chest soar, how you stare daggers at him but don't back away.

SLAP!

This time when your hand hits his face he groans, lashes fluttering. There's a wet spot on his pants now, leaking precum all over.

If you hit him again he might just cum his pants. Whoops.

Your hand swings through the air -

Satoru catches it, though. Like he could have the first three times.

He knows how to placate you. Always does. On his knees, with big, wide eyes, sweet words. Whispered promises, swearing over and over again.

Wrapping his arms around your legs, nuzzling at your groin. Lurid eyes whispering for permission, fingers tugging at your hem.

Hands fist in his hair, and he knows to hurry. To sate you.

And he does. Mouth wide and ravenous over your thigh. Sucking and biting like he wants to claim you; see, I've marked you too. It's okay. Mark me up some more.

Satoru lurches into your cunt, just to feel your fist pull his hair harder. The unmistakable scent of your arousal on his nose - but then, at this point you were conditioned to it.

He makes you angry. You lash out. He rewards your bad behavior with his tongue on your sex, sucking and lapping loudly, enthusiastically. Moaning into it when you tug his hair, whimpering.

By heart he knows that special squeeze, the way you tense when you're close, how your clit seems to twitch against him. It's second nature to wrap his lips around it, soft, enveloping, suckle gentle pressure until you're shuddering and squeezing and panting out your release.

You always come down from your high at least a little placated. His arms cling to your hips like he's the one afraid of being left, like a man drowning at sea.

Like a lamb to the knife, eager and offering. You can't be satisfied with just that, right? He has to give you more.

Steps stumbling to the bed. Maybe he lifts you, maybe not.

There's words - so many words - how he loves you, how you feel good, how every moment without you is torture and he hates being apart as much as you do.

It's not even a lie. Not that you buy it, anyways.

None of it matters. All that matters is the feeling of your skin against his, hot flesh slapping against flesh. Sinking himself into the warm embrace of your cunt, wet and slick and welcoming him home.

This is where he belongs. You know it, he knows it, and better than knowing it - you feel it.

In every thrust, in every squeeze of his hands over your skin, in his roaming lips and biting teeth.

The heat, the sting, the pressure, the pull. His voice in your ears. His taste on your tongue. Every sensation that slowly drowns to the rising tide of pleasure, to clever fingers that play with your clit as he pumps in and out and in again.

Satoru knows your body like his own. Where to touch to get the loudest moans. How fast you like it, what angle. When to speed up.

He can always make you feel better. Make you feel good. Because he loves you, and while you'd doubt his words, you can't doubt his body.

Oh, yes. It's always so easy to distract you by slipping his shirt off, letting you stare at the same powerful, lean form he uses to make love to you.

No matter how mad you are - screaming, crying, slapping or hitting - you never tell him no.

You always accept him. You take whatever you can get, furious and desperate and oh so hungry for even scraps.

This is the love that Satoru Gojo recognizes. It fits in his heart like a lock in a key.

He knows it so well. The fear of being left behind. The daunting reality of a life without the one you love. A life where your loved one could even turn against you. Love someone else.

Your love is shaped so perfectly for him. He can't even bring himself to question it.

Every harsh word, every strike confirms it. Sometimes your eyes linger on his cheek. Where you've bruised him, or left his skin red. Heavy with guilt.

Satoru does his best to reassure you. It's not like it hurts. It's proof that you love him. His body belongs to you, anyways, you can mark it up however you want.

He says the words to you then, because he believes them, because what you need then is comfort, reassurance.

Later, you'll remember him saying it didn't really hurt and think it was a pity. You'll seethe. Because what is the point of striking him, in your rage, if not to make him hurt like you do?

You'll feel bad about that, too, he's sure.

That's what love is. Pain. Guilt. Desire. And the euphoric pleasure of knowing, despite it all, you'll still be waiting for him at the end of the day.

It's not his fault he only knows how to love this way. This is what love has always been like.

Anything less wouldn't feel real.

#satoru gojo x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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thewaywardwanderer · 19 days ago

Note

I honestly kinda wanna see the mike trio meet SOUL Mic. Like Tenna be like "Guys! Help Mic backstage would ya?" only for the three to look at each other and realize none of them are mic right now "SO WHO'S DRIVING THE CAR?!"

I'm not sorry

#HIT THAT DEER #also i hope that tenna figurine is infact a bobble hea #and every time you give it a smooch it says “IT'S TV TIME!”#mic!soul #tenna deltarune

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thewaywardwanderer · 20 days ago

Text

Yan!Incubus!Fyodor Dostoevsky x F!Reader

You sat in the middle of the circle for the hundredth time. Your throat ached from chanting syllables you didn’t fully understand. Smoke poured from the circle’s edges. You fell back, coughing.

He looked around your cramped room, his gaze landed on you.

“Ah,” he said, “It's an honor to meet you.”

“... It worked?”

“Mm. You...” He crouched, his face was inches from yours. His eyes flicked to the half-burned manga on your desk, the Dazai portrait pinned above your pillow. “were expecting someone else, weren’t you?”

“Oh.. that? I need to have a sample.. maybe I can summon someone like him. Maybe I expected too much haha...”

He nodded and took a good look around the room again.

“Who are you? Or.. What are you?”

“A demon, of course. You did call for one, didn’t you? Or did you think you were only playing?”

“I wanted help. I...” You cut yourself off. The words felt so childish now.

His grin widened. “You wanted revenge. Say it properly.”

He rose, glancing at the futon you’d pushed into the corner. “Is that for me?”

You nodded dumbly. “You can’t sleep in my bed.”

A soft, mocking sound left him. “How polite. Very well.” He stepped over the circle again, the chalk smudging under his heel.

The next morning you woke to find him sitting cross-legged on the futon, thumbing through one of your sketchbooks. He looked up when you stirred.

“Your sketches are charming. Monsters? I supposed?” he murmured, flipping a page. “Though not nearly as frightening as real ones.”

You sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Hey! That’s private-”

“Private? I am your demon. There is nothing called private between us.”

No one noticed him. He walked at your side, hands folded behind his back. When you boarded the bus, he slipped in beside you.

At school, you paused at the gate. “You can’t come in.”

He only smiled. “Oh, but I already have.”

No one saw him standing behind you at your locker as you fumbled with the jammed door.

“Which ones?” he murmured. “Point them out for me.”

You flinched. “No, not now.”

He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you like a parent to a restless child. “Hush. I’ll decide for myself, then.”

At lunch you sat alone. He sat across from you anyway, stealing fries off your tray, though his mouth never really seemed to move. He watched everything - the whispers, the sidelong glances, the giggles.

Once, a girl walked by and ‘accidentally’ knocked your lunch onto your lap. You were used to it. But he did. His eyes followed her across the cafeteria.

“Go home,” he said. “I’ll catch up later.”

You waited for him that night. You pretended to do homework. You turned your phone over and over in your hands.

When he returned, you immediately asked him a lot of things. He crouched beside your chair, pressed his cold fingers to your cheek.

“All done. Sleep well, Y/N.”

He laughed when you flinched, that gentle, terrible laugh that promised he was only just beginning.

---

You blamed the nightmares at first. The image of him, you pictured it even though you didn’t want to. He was standing on a pile of skulls.

The next few days, you went to school without him. Well, you didn't notice him following you. At school, the news spread. The teachers were pale, the principal’s voice cracked as he announced the ‘accidents.’

When the final bell rang, you found him leaning against your bedroom wall again. He got home first.

You didn’t look him in the eye as you spoke. “It’s over now, right?”

“Over?”

“They’re gone. So… you don’t have to stay. I can break the bond. I read there’s a reversal-”

For one tiny second, something ugly flashed across his face - primal disbelief. Then it vanished under a slow, mocking smile.

“Oh?” He pushed himself off the wall, closing the space between you in two unhurried steps. “And here I thought you’d want to thank me. Or do you think I came all this way just for your petty vengeance?”

You flinched. He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured. “That little ache in your bones.” His thumb brushed your lower lip “You keep me here.”

You didn’t understand, not really.

“You summoned an incubus. I feed on life. Your life.”

“You thought you could break it like a twig?” he whispered. “You are the twig, Y/N. Snap yourself, if you wish, see what happens to me when there’s nothing left of you.”

He stepped back, all polite amusement again, like you hadn’t just felt his hunger coiled tight inside your chest.

“But by all means,” he said lightly, flicking imaginary dust from his sleeve, “let’s see more of this human world. I’m curious. And you owe me a guide, don’t you?”

You nodded, too numb to speak.

Night brought no rest. Not for you. Those bullies may be dead already but you still saw them in your dream. You lay curled up on your bed, blankets tangled around your legs, sweat at your temples despite the cold air drifting through the window.

He liked this. He liked the way you twisted in your sleep, your pain drifting to him like perfume. He could feel it, the raw sting of your shame. When you woke half-sobbing, he was already kneeling beside you.

“Poor thing.” he murmured. He brought the tear to his lips, tasted it. He shuddered as if savoring fine wine.

“Make them stop....”

He leaned over you, his hair slipping like ink across your pillow. “As you wish.”

You didn’t feel him slip inside your dream, but you felt what he did to it. You dreamed of him standing over you then, your demon in the place where nothing could touch you anymore. He smiled.

You woke and looked across the room, he lay sprawled where you’d slept hours before. His hair spilled over your pillow, one pale hand tucked under his chin like a sleeping child.

You dressed quietly for school. He didn’t stir. You whispered thank you under your breath as you slipped out the door, though you couldn’t tell if you meant it.

----

Two years later. Two years of people whispering how lucky you were. How beautiful he looked by your side. How cold he stayed to everyone else but you.

You graduated. Got a job. And when you unlocked your apartment door after another long shift, there he was. Barefoot on your couch, eyes flicking from the TV to you like he’d been waiting for centuries.

“Welcome home.”

And when you turned your head to hide your exhaustion, he’d smile. Because you still didn’t see it: you were more his anchor than ever. His favorite meal. His only doorway between your world and the dark behind it.

Two years was enough time for him to become normal, at least on the surface. The quiet, polite boyfriend people saw only in glimpses. The one who never seemed to leave your apartment.

He cleaned, cooked, waited at the door when you dragged your feet up the stairs after overtime.

It worked. Mostly.

Until he saw it, that flicker in your eyes. So small anyone else would miss it. But he didn’t. He saw everything about you.

You came home late again. You talked to him about what happened at work. And him, the new hire who is younger than you.

Something cold flared behind his ribs. A hunger that had nothing to do with your life force and everything to do with ownership.

----

One night, you found him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wrist deep in soapy water. Your leftover dinner steaming on the table, your favorite drink waiting.

He greeted you with a soft, “You’re late” and you giggled it off, pressing your cheek to his shoulder like a sleepy cat. You didn’t notice the way his jaw twitched when you murmured the colleague’s name again.

“He said he might stop by tomorrow to drop off some files I forgot,” you said, halfway to your bedroom. “Is that okay?”

He turned to look at you then.

“Of course,” he said, “I’d love to meet him.”

[This section contains explicit content from here onward]

In the dark hours before dawn, he lay beside you, awake while you dreamed, his hand splayed over your stomach, thumb brushing the warmth under your ribs that kept him tethered here.

You belong to me, he thought, You’ve always belonged to me.

He’d spent years perfecting this. Making you lean on him, need him, love him in ways you didn’t dare question. But now? Now he’d remind you why you shouldn’t look anywhere else.

You were asleep when he crawled over you, his cold hands brushing under your shirt.

You’d grown used to him, to the way his weight pressed you into the sheets, to the cold breath he let out as he tasted the pulse at your neck. But this time it felt different.

When he pulled your clothes away, it wasn’t gentle.

He kissed you then, but the kiss was a lie, masking the growl in his throat as his hands slid lower, parting your thighs like he owned them.

His fingers pressed in, filling you so suddenly your hips jerked up. He watched your face, the corner of his mouth twitching when you gasped out his name, half a protest, half a plea.

“Quiet now.”

His fingers curled, searching. There. You felt your muscles clench, your back arch off the bed as heat splintered up your spine.

When you came, he swallowed your whimpers with a kiss, his tongue tasting the ragged sound you made. He didn’t stop until he felt you shudder limp under him, boneless and pliant.

Only then did he draw his fingers out. He licked the taste from his knuckles.

And then you felt him press forward, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You barely had time to gasp before he pushed in, one deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs.

He didn’t pretend to be gentle this time. He wanted you to feel every inch, wanted you to know who you belonged to.

You clung to him, out of instinct. He caught your wrists, pinned them to the pillow as his hips rolled into yours.

You could feel something else then. The sigil bloomed where his hips met your belly. He felt it too, the surge of power coiling under his skin, his horns flickering into existence like a crown reborn.

“This is better, isn’t it?”

When he spilled inside you, he pressed in so deep you felt it everywhere - the warmth. The symbol under your skin flared bright. You felt the world tilt. The taste of him in your mouth, your chest, your veins.

Now you’d crave him. Just as he craved you.

He pulled back just enough to see your face. His horns glowed faint in the dark.

You woke to the sound of faint humming, the smell of something warm and sweet drifting from the kitchen. For a moment, you didn’t remember why your body felt so heavy.

The blankets were twisted around your hips, your skin sticky with sweat. When you sat up, a faint ache bloomed deep in your belly. But there was nothing.

You glanced at the clock - 9:04. Your heart jumped in your throat before you remembered: It’s Saturday. No work for you.

You wrapped yourself in your robe and padded down the hall, bare feet cold on the floor. He was there, of course, exactly where you always found him.

He looked up the second you entered.

“Good morning,” he said softly. “You’re up early for a day off.”

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I… Can I have some warm water?”

He nodded. You jolted as his hand brushed yours while handing over the cup.

“You alright?”

You gulped it down anyway, trying to ignore how your knees trembled when he leaned in.

“Strange dream last night?”

You didn’t remember, not clearly, but flashes stung the back of your mind: your own voice crying for something you couldn’t quite piece together.

---

You hadn’t planned to stay out so long. But the moment he stepped into that shop, you realized how strangely bare he looked in the same old clothes you’d first found him in. Almost like he never really belonged to this world at all.

So you picked things out for him: sweaters, dark coats, a simple suit that made him look human in it. He let you fuss over him. You told yourself you were just being kind. Just helping him blend in. But the part of you that thrilled at the thought - him looking like a normal man beside you - made your throat tighten.

Dinner out, too. You barely tasted the food, too distracted by the way the waitress lingered when she asked for your order, eyes flicking to him, pink flush on her neck. He only gave her that polite, distant nod.

When you got home, he sat cross-legged on the floor while you blew his hair dry. You combed it out, careful not to tug, your pulse quickening every time your knuckles brushed the warm skin at his nape.

He turned slightly then, eyes catching yours in the mirror’s reflection. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

That night you fell asleep before you even realized. Office lights on, the dull hum of a copy machine somewhere far off, your desk scattered with half-finished reports.

And him.

Not in his usual bare feet and loose clothes, but in a dark suit. Tie perfectly knotted. You dreamed you were bent over your own office desk, papers sliding to the floor as he pressed into you from behind, his breath hot against your ear, one hand firm on your hip, the other tugging at the buttons of your blouse until it gaped open, exposing the soft swell of your chest to the flickering ceiling light.

You moaned his name into your forearm, your nails scraping the wood while his hips rolled against yours.

He hovered above you, drinking in every tremor of your body, every soft whimper that slipped past your lips. The warmth in your belly flooded through the bond, the hidden sigil flaring under your skin with each pulse of your heartbeat.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Even here, you want this so badly.”

Your dream-self moaned, his name tumbling off your lips in a breathless chant as he thrust harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the office walls.

His hands found your breasts, kneading roughly as he rutted into you.

He could’ve left your dream alone. But where was the thrill in that?

So he added visitors.

The vague shapes of coworkers, blurry at first, then sharpening as they stepped into the room. The manager, the shy girl from the break room, the colleague you mentioned.

They watched. Pretending they didn’t see the way you clutched the edge of the desk, half-naked, skirt bunched at your waist, his hips snapping against you over and over.

“Oh? You like that?” he whispered, lips brushing your shoulder as his fingers pinched your nipple harder. “Being watched while I ruin you?”

You tried to twist away, your hands scrabbling for something to cover yourself, but he only caught your wrists, pinning them to the desk as he thrust deeper.

When you woke, it was with a muffled cry against your pillow, your thighs pressed tight together, a feverish flush creeping up your neck. You remembered hearing your name on his tongue, your own voice begging, the heat of shame that made you feel sick and alive all at once.

You turned your head just enough to see him, stretched out on the futon at the foot of your bed.

Why did I dream of that? you thought.

He acted like nothing had happened.

When you made breakfast, he drifted behind you, his fingers brushing the small of your back by accident as he reached for the kettle.

Every touch jolted through you like a spark, a hot flush burning your cheeks as you remembered the way he’d pinned you down.

When your breath caught the third time, he tilted his head just so, his mouth curved in that soft, polite smirk.

“Are you sick?”

You swatted him away, mumbling some excuse about work calls, errands, anything but the truth. But he could feel the way your skin quivered under his touch.

He bit back a laugh as he turned away, hiding the satisfied gleam in his eyes.

---

You lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Sheets tangled around your legs, your skin flushed and slick with sweat. You’d tried everything, counting your breaths, burying your face in the pillow, even slipping out of bed to splash cold water on your cheeks.

None of it worked. That heat coiled low in your belly refused to fade.

You glanced at him sprawled so peacefully on the futon. His chest rose and fell in that perfect mimicry of sleep. You swallowed, guilt prickling under your skin.

He’s helped you so much, you told yourself. He’s always here for you. He won’t mind.

So you slipped from your bed and crawled over him. He didn’t move, not at first. But the second your trembling fingers brushed over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up, you felt it, that faint hum under his skin.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your thighs shook as you lowered yourself onto him, the stretch was sudden but so slick, so warm it made you cry out softly into your palm.

No pain? you thought, half-dazed.

You rocked your hips, slow at first, biting your lip to keep the soft, broken gasps from spilling out too loudly. The drag of him inside you hit something that made your vision blur, your nails scraping weak lines over his chest.

You didn’t even notice when his eyes flicked open.

You felt your walls flutter, the edge so close you couldn’t stop the desperate whimper: I’m gonna...

And then his hands clamped around your hips as he slammed you down to the base. The sigil under your belly flared up brightly.

“Since you volunteered, the seal is complete.”

You didn’t even have time to ask what he meant, he rolled his hips up, hard, knocking the last word from your mouth. You collapsed forward, draping your arms around his shoulders as he shifted, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss was greedy, his tongue claiming your gasps as your hips rutted helplessly against his. The mark beneath your skin burned with each thrust, the need flooding you until your head spun.

“Fyo...Fyodor... I’m...!” you sobbed against his mouth, the heat snapping inside you so violently your whole body seized around him.

You trembled in his arms, clutching his shoulders as the last waves crashed over you - shame, heat, relief all tangled in a haze that left you gasping for air.

He pulled back just enough to brush his lips over your tear-damp cheek.

Now you’ll need me too. Just as you should.

#yandere x reader #fyodor x reader #bsd x reader

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thewaywardwanderer · 22 days ago

Text

Tethered by Omen

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader

So far, you claimed you’d saved him from certain death. 'Several times', you said. Jing Yuan didn’t remember dying once, let alone repeatedly.

“If you’re going to spin tales, at least make them interesting.”

You only said, “You’ll see.”

And so Jing Yuan let you stay, half out of curiosity, half out of caution. He knew better than to ignore strange omens, or stranger people. Just in case, he asked Fu Xuan to dig up every scrap of your history.

“Nothing out of place.” she said. “You’re not getting soft, are you?”

He’d only hummed. “Depends on who you ask.”

After that, he watched you closely, just as you watched him, never more than a shadow apart.

When he rose, you were there, sweeping the steps before he even touched them. When he dropped a brush, you caught it. When he reached for a sword, you’d already wiped the blade clean.

One evening, he found you crouched by the main door, inspecting the lock for the third time that night.

“You know,” he drawled, folding his arms, “if an assassin wanted me dead, I doubt a loose latch would be my undoing.”

“Locks buy time. Time buys life.”

“Whose life?”

“Yours, general.” You shut the latch with a soft click, then stood. “Do you know how many things in this house could kill you?”

“Enlighten me.”

You turned, sweeping your gaze across the room, the drapes, the hanging scrolls, the ornamental spear by the window. “That spear could be a projectile. The drapes could hide someone. The inkstone on your desk is heavy enough to crush a skull. The rug at your feet could trip you if someone needed you to fall fast enough.”

He let out a low laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Remind me whose side you’re on.”

Yours was the same answer as always: “You’ll see.”

----

You often saw it before it happened, the image of Jing Yuan crumpling where he stood, or an arrow catching him at just the right angle, or poison slipping through the wine. You never knew when or how exactly, only that if you ignored it, the vision always came true.

So you stayed close.

You’d carved out a peaceful little life for yourself - a small room, warm food, the hush of your own thoughts - and you wouldn’t let anyone ruin it by killing the general.

For some reason, you linked the clues together and found out that his life matters. In order to protect this peaceful life of yours, you had to make sure he lives. Maybe changing the general matters? What if the next one is not as good as Jing Yuan?

Days passed with nothing.

So, finally, you let yourself rest. Just a few hours at home.

Then the vision hit you - spilled tea, blood.

You were up and gone before the image even cleared.

By the time you reached the grand study, Jing Yuan was lounging behind his desk, cup in hand.

“General!”

The guards jumped.

He raised the cup. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You strode forward, snatched the cup from his fingers, and sniffed the rim. A thin bitterness under the scent of oolong. You glared at the trembling attendant by the side table, the only one close enough to swap the pot.

Jing Yuan watched the whole thing. When the guards dragged the attendant away, he leaned back.

“You were right.”

You set the poisoned cup aside, careful not to spill a drop. “You should be more careful.”

He chuckled. “I should just hire you.”

“I’m not interested.”

That caught him off-guard.

You only bowed. “I have another matter to handle. You’ll be fine now.”

----

The next morning, you reopened your shop for the first time in weeks. You’d just finished sweeping when you heard the bell over the door jingle. You looked up, and there he was - General Jing Yuan. He ducked his head a little to fit through the doorway meant for humbler guests.

“Good morning.” His gaze slid over the shelves of charms, the soft cushions, the lacquered counter. “Business back to normal, I see.”

“What can I help you with today?”

“You protected me so thoroughly, I’m curious if you’ll be just as thorough with my heart.”

“You want to know about love?” you asked, deadpan.

He smiled. “Isn’t that more dangerous than assassins?”

You sighed, motioned him to sit. The cushions sank under his weight. By then, people were already peering through the windows, word spreads fast when the General is seen visiting a little fortune shop. A line formed before the tea was even steeped.

Still, you focused only on him. You set the incense, shuffled the cards, let your sight settle in that half-place between now and not-yet. The vision flickered. A glimpse of a silhouette, soft laughter behind a curtain. But the details refused to settle.

“It’s… unclear..” you admitted at last. “There’s someone. Close to you, very close.”

“So I’ll see them soon?”

“If you’re patient.”

“I have all the patience in the world.”

You lowered your eyes, shuffling the cards back into the deck. Behind him, the door opened again, another guest, then another. The line curled out into the street like a festival crowd.

“Next” you called gently, and the next client stepped forward.

Jing Yuan lingered longer than he needed to. He watched you guide an old woman to the cushions. When you finally stood to light the lanterns for closing, earlier than usual, he was still there by the door, leaning against the frame.

“You should rest” he said. “You look tired.”

“I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me.”

He huffed a laugh. “I’ve never been rid of you. And I don’t think I ever will.”

You said nothing, only turned the sign back over, Closed, the little squeak of its hinge the last word between you.

That night, long after you closed the shop, you sat alone with a cup of tea you didn’t plan to drink. The leaves floated on the surface. You narrowed your eyes at the shapes, reaching for the faint line of the General’s fate that still tugged at you like a stray thread caught in your sleeve.

At first, there was only darkness, then the swirl of steam parted, and you saw it: a great wolf, silver and massive, its shape tangled with shadow. You couldn’t read if it was threat or guardian. Just the wolf, watching you back through the cup’s reflection.

You didn’t sleep much after that. By dawn, you’d decided you’d rather risk looking a fool than keep something like this from him.

The gates to the Seat of Divine Foresight were already open when you arrived. The Cloud Knights at the door recognized you now.

You found Jing Yuan where he always was at that hour.

You dropped to your knees so fast your bag tipped over behind you.

“General?” You touched his shoulder.

He stirred, lids fluttering open. “Mm…? You’re early... I must look terrible.”

“You look..” You bit down the word dead. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead instead. “You- have a fever...”

He smiled weakly, half-turning his head into your palm.

“You’ve never..”

“First time seeing me like this huh..” he murmured. “Maybe I should’ve let you lock me in my place instead of working.”

“I saw something last night.”

He cracked one eye open. “Oh? Did it tell you I’d get sick?”

“A wolf.”

“A wolf...” he repeated.

“Does it mean something to you?”

But his mind was already drifting. You sat with him, then the physicians came.

When he woke later, propped up in bed, you sat at his side.

“You’re staying here tonight?”

“You need to rest.”

He caught your wrist. “I’m starting to think I always needed you.”

You let him hold your hands a moment longer. But when you pulled away, you didn’t leave.

By dusk, an attendant came bowing at your door. A room prepared for you, just down the corridor. By the General’s orders, they said, with a respectful tilt of the head. So you stayed. Drifted at last into an uneasy sleep.

You didn’t wake when he came in. The door didn’t so much as creak. He paused at the foot of your bed, gaze moving over the calm rise and fall of your breathing, the small lines of fatigue that never left your face.

“I don’t think I like being pampered.” he murmured, “At least, I never did, not until you came along.”

He sank down beside you, careful not to wake you. One hand lifted, then traced a single lock of your hair where it spilled across the pillow. He caught it between his fingers and bent low to press a kiss against it.

You shifted in your sleep but didn’t wake.

He stayed there a while longer. When he finally stood to go, he let the lock of hair slip through his fingers, slow and reluctant, as if leaving it behind cost him more than he cared to admit.

---

You hadn’t meant to check on him, but your feet carried you down the familiar corridor anyway.

You found him outside, in the garden. He sat on a bench. Beside him sprawled his great lion.

“Come to watch me nap?”

You ignored him, your gaze drawn instead to the lion. You’d seen it from afar before. It tolerated everyone, you’d been told. So you stepped closer. The lion raised its massive head, its eyes meeting yours. You reached out.

The growl rumbled up before you even touched its mane. A low, resonant warning that made Jing Yuan’s smile falter.

“What’s gotten into you?”

You tried again and this time, the lion lashed out. A clawed paw, quicker than you expected, raked across the back of your hand.

You jerked away. Jing Yuan was on his feet in an instant, one hand pressing a cloth to the cuts.

“Easy,” he murmured to the lion, “You’ve never done that before.”

Later, a healer bound your hand with clean white bandages. You didn’t feel the sting, your mind was elsewhere.

As you crossed the corridor, so lost in thought that you nearly bumped right into HuoHuo, who squeaked and dropped half of whatever she's holding.

“Ah- You should be careful!” she said, “Mr. Tail says you… um…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You have a dark shadow clinging to you.”

You stared at her.

“It’s not just misfortune.. it’s following you. Be careful!”

You managed a nod, mind already drifting elsewhere. That night, you sat again with the tea cup. You willed the shapes to show you the wolf again. But this time, the shape was clearer. The mane flared out, not a wolf, a lion. The tea cooled in your hands. Outside your door, you thought you heard footsteps.

----

If someone had hexed you, then they’d have to answer for it.

You found your old shaman friend in a narrow house. She took one look at your pale face, your bandaged hand, and ushered you in without a word.

The ritual dragged on through the night. The shaman’s chants tangled with your half-waking dreams until you couldn’t tell what was real and what was the shadow clinging to your back.

“Whoever cast this thread on you will find it snap back at them.”

You staggered home, half-delirious. Somewhere in the city that same morning, the guards found an escaped prisoner. Dead. Some said his face was twisted in terror. You were already drifting into a fevered sleep you couldn’t wake from.

In it, you felt the brush of a cool cloth at your brow, the faint smell of fresh ink. A low voice, murmuring to someone, but the words blurred and scattered like mist.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, you found yourself not in your own bed but tucked into a wide couch lined with soft pillows, draped in a heavy robe that smelled faintly of him.

You shifted, and felt it then, the rise and fall of someone’s breath beneath your head.

Jing Yuan, hair unbound around his shoulders, a stack of paperwork balanced across his knee as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have you curled up in his lap while he worked.

You jerked up too fast, the blanket nearly slipping to the floor. “General—?”

He didn’t look surprised at all. If anything, he sounded amused. “Finally awake?”

“Why am I here?.. You could have put me in my own room. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You do bother me,” he said mildly, setting the scroll aside at last. He brushed a hand over your hair, as if testing your temperature. “Stay for dinner. I insist.”

Your protest died on your tongue.

“…Fine. Just dinner.”

You’d barely settled on the cushion across from him when your gaze caught the polished wooden bowl on the tray - a small pile of uncooked rice.

“What is it?” Jing Yuan asked, leaning forward, elbows on the low table.

You gestured to the rice. “There’s a way to read fortune with this.”

His eyes glinted with sudden amusement. “Oh? Show me.”

You hesitated, but before you could say no, he was already scooping the raw grains into a clean bowl, setting it gently in front of you. Then, absurdly, he picked up a single grain between his long fingers, held it out to you like an offering.

You stared at him. “That’s not how it works..”

“Eat it. Maybe it’ll sweeten your words about my future.”

You shot him a look, then took the grain from his hand. You closed your eyes.

When you opened them, he was still watching you.

“Well?” he asked, “Will I see the love of my life soon?”

You rolled your eyes. “You have enough charm to ruin the market for the rest of us. Breathe the air, everyone within ten paces would fall over themselves.”

He huffed a laugh but leaned closer, “But I want details. Is it someone I already know?”

You flicked your gaze away, tracing idle circles on the rim of the rice bowl. “It’s… not clear yet.”

He was quiet for a heartbeat.

“You speak like you’ve no stake in it.” He cocked his head, smile thinning just slightly. “Is that because you already have someone in mind?”

The room seemed to press in. His eyes searched yours, glinting cold even through the gentle curve of his mouth.

“If you do,” he said softly, “I hope they know how fortunate they are. Who is it?”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by how tightly his hand was curled around the edge of his cup. Slowly, you shook your head.

“There’s no one.”

The air shifted. His shoulders eased, the tension melting so quick you’d almost think you imagined it.

The rest of dinner blurred pleasantly. Occasionally, your gaze drifted to the pile of raw rice left untouched. He kept glancing at it too, as if half-expecting you to pull another vision from the grains.

“Rest here tonight.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already standing, smoothing out his robe. He picked up a stack of scrolls from the side table.

“Rest well.” he said at the threshold, glancing back once.

You slept poorly, a restless half-sleep, visions flickering. The warmth of the guest room couldn’t keep them at bay: the smell of smoke, the sickening jolt as your own blood bloomed red against your palms. Someone’s hand at your throat.

You woke with a sharp gasp, only to feel something rough and warm dragging over your cheek. You flinched back so violently you hit the head board. Jing Yuan's lion stared down at you, tongue flicking out to lick your face again like it was greeting you.

You pressed your palms to the sheets, trying to push yourself further back, but the lion shifted forward.

Then a hand cut through, slipping between you and the lion’s massive paw. Jing Yuan’s voice came right after.

“Enough.”

The lion backed off with a rumble, settling obediently at his side. Jing Yuan turned to you, brushing your temple with the back of his knuckles. “You're alright.”

Before you could say a word, the vision struck you so violently it bent you double. The lion’s mane flashing like a crown of fire behind someone else’s eyes - his eyes.

You staggered out of his reach. “What is this?” you rasped. “Why.. Why?”

“Oh? Did you see something?” he murmured.

“Why.. General?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Because I love you.”

“That’s not love.”

He stepped closer, so close you could see the shadow flicker behind his calm gaze, something vast and hungry wearing his patient smile like a mask. “Don’t say that. You always worry so much. Let me make it simple for you.”

You tried to run, but his hand caught your wrist before you reached the door. There was no pain, not really. Just the sudden weightlessness as darkness crashed over you like a wave.

You woke to the hush of your own ragged breath. You were on a low bed. The door was thick wood, the lock an iron bolt sunk deep into the frame. No windows.

You sat up, hand throbbing where lion's claw had once raked across your skin. On the small table by the door sat a single folded scrap of paper.

Rest. I’ll be back soon. Don’t think of running.

#yandere x reader #hsr x you #yandere hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader

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thewaywardwanderer · 22 days ago

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@cheschesterpossum I saw the original post and just felt like drawing this.

#transformers #transformers animated #sparkling

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thewaywardwanderer · 28 days ago

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Unfortunately with new changes implimented into itch.io my game has now been delisted from the site (as if it wasnt hard enough for us indie devs).

So I'm sharing the link and asking that this post be liked, reblogged, etc. so its known that my work is still out there, it can still be discovered, and it can still be enjoyed.

Thank you.

#yandere male #yandere game #you and him #yandere visual novel

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thewaywardwanderer · 28 days ago

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A prize just for me

#pulling me out of a gachapon machine #i cost 200 yen #tenna deltarune #ant tenna

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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Dr. V and His Three Lovers - By Dagama (8.5/10)

It's a chilling horror to look upon the beautified corpse of the one you love. A man who adored you, smashed to pieces by carriage wheels. Pasted back together in a suit with flowers. Neat and tidy, for the end. The corpses lover drinks himself into a stupor at the sight, and in his mania he brings back the only parts that aren't rotten.

A heart.

A head.

A...

Ah...

Ahem.

A nether bit.

That's all that is left of Victor's perfect beloved. Henry.

Here is the corpse. Presented to him beautifully. So he my grieve and have a funeral without letting his memories be tainted by rot and ruin.

Victor is used to it though. He himself works with corpses for a living. Sometimes he does unholy experiments. He loved Henry. The sight of the corpse affects him, and he loses his mind while sloppily drunk.

When he crawls into the coffin his mind begins to fade. A madness seizes him. He says he won't let go, as if Henry is still alive. Even though the evidence lies before him, and the carefully preserved puppet is merely pieces of his great love.

In his tears he swears it. He finds a solution of sorts in the depth of his addled mind, where it takes root like a curse. The only way to bring Henry back is in another form. It's vile. It won't heal his heart. It won't BE Henry. It's entirely a fit of madness caused by the sight of the corpse. The undeniable ending that he must deny.

He remembers nothing when he wakes up.

Henry's Heart is there by his side. Victor played with some spare corpses while drunk, and he implanted Henry's remaining pieces within them. The heart is loyally by his side in the morning because well...aw...he loves Victor.

He came into existence fully in love with his creator.

The Heart awkwardly confirms that yes there are two other men....who do not love him. One of which recived Henry's face and head. The other one has two dicks I am not elaborating.

The Heart makes an offer. Come with me. I love you the same. I am a beast made of flesh and I will not leave you the way my mortal self did.

Victor is not satisfied with his creations, and he doesn't love The Heart in return.

He also claims The Heart isn't his type, and Henry was way more handsome.

This absolutely crushes The Heart, but he stays with Victor anyways, and the two go on a trip to hunt down the others.

I highly recommend this one for a couple of reasons. A decent hook. A grieving protagonist is always nice but the character design choices really are top tier.

The...Nether part of Henry isn't epically handsome. Neither is The Heart compared to Henry. It's a really great change of pace because I personally am very tired of Generically Handsome Men.

The Nether part guy is also extremely confident, brash and dominant. I mean, hey. He was a corpse yesterday. Now that he's back he wants to enjoy life to the fullest. So he's totally willing to sleep with Victor and go on an adventure.

There doesn't seem to be any love involved this time.

The last man, The Head, is the hardest challenge. A Monster, according to The Heart. Who is The Head? Does it matter? Is it just Henry without a heart? If it is Henry's Head, which it is....why did it leave Victor's side? The Heart clearly adored the other man. Why would his brain choose to run off into the night and act monstrously?

Hmm.

Victor has gone insane. Henry's death threw him off the deep end, and I can imagine that he will try to control all of Henry's parts.

They're all he has left.

The only thing he cares about.

The one thing left to love.

#male yandere #recommendations #Dr. V and His Three Lovers

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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a love most supreme

#gaster x player #corestrings #deltarune

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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#corestrings #wd gaster #player x gaster

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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Yandere Bunny that you rescued from a lab.

Yandere m. x gn. Reader

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! Tw. Dubcon, Yandere, Nfsw themes, Implied animal abuse, codependency

2.2k words

He was small. His bones jutted out under his skin, his frame shrunken and his red eyes empty and wide: he looked like he’d been locked in a box and had only been let out seldom. His arms and legs were covered in small, tiny scars that looked far too precise to be done by himself. He was like a ghost, sitting there in a tiny room while not focusing on anything.

You were an intern, only supposed to be there for a few weeks at most. Your tasks usually boiled down to running files all over the various halls and floors and helping whenever a spare hand was needed. You weren’t meant to do more than pass through and get a recommendation before leaving never to speak of what you saw ever again.

But you didn’t. No, you took one look at the bunny sitting on the edge of a medical table and felt the urge to get him out of there no matter the cost. You begged your supervisor to let you take him home that evening.

“Who? Him? Number 23? I suppose he’d been here for a while… well, there’s always more of them I guess.”

You got the go ahead almost immediately. They didn’t ask if you had the space back home, or if you even had any experience owning a Demi-human. They just handed you a bunch of papers that would absolve them of all liability as he sat there, staring at the ground as you signed quickly. The whole decision was impulsive, utterly unplanned, and you hardly blinked before you were standing in your apartment with the rabbit standing there.

“Uhm so…. So this is your new home!” You said nervously, spreading your arms out wide. He didn’t react. You flinched at that, your smile faltering a bit. You didn’t know what you had expected in all honesty.

Yandere Bunny who is quiet and withdrawn for the first couple weeks you have him.

You hadn’t figured out what to call him yet. You asked for his name once, but based on how the lab was run, he didn’t have one to begin with. You hoped that he would eventually choose one if only to make things a bit easier.

He didn’t really like to be in the same room as you if he could avoid it from what you noticed. He would hardly eat if you were watching him, so you made a habit of leaving his plate out (All healthy, steamed veggies with some fruits on the side. He seemed to really like the latter.) before walking to another room under the guise of some random chore. It was the same for sleeping. He seemed to not like the idea of you finding him when he eventually succumbed to his tiredness, nor did he seem to really be comfortable anywhere out in the open. You would find a little nest of blankets and pillows in different cupboards, closets, and tucked away corners from day to day. He would never pick the same place twice in a row. Honestly with how small your place was, you were impressed that he even managed to do so at all.

Yandere Bunny that only seemed to open up when you assured him that he wasn’t going back to the lab.

It was an odd conversation. Meaning, it wasn’t a conversation at all. It was mainly you doing the talking; you explained that yes, this was his home now, and no, he wasn’t going to return to his old one. His eyes had widened, and he parted his chapped lips as if to say something before he cut himself off and turned to the side. It was about a week after that when you heard him speak for the first time.

“Thank you…” He mumbled quietly, his ears perked up and twitching in alert as you set down his meal on a nearby table. You blinked. He was halfway across the room, peeking up at you from behind the back of the couch.

“You’re uh… welcome,” You said before turning to leave, your heart filling with a bit of hope.

Yandere Bunny who started to become more interested in you as time went on.

It started small with him starting to stay in the rooms you were in, or with him coming out of his hiding spots more often. He liked to watch you do your daily routine, and you started to leave the bathroom door open when you were doing your skincare so he could see what you were up to. It was a silent thing, with him becoming more and more comfortable with being around. The day he sat down on the couch with you, you nearly jumped out of your skin in surprise. It had taken everything to not jump up with joy.

He even followed you into the living room while carrying his meal, almost as if showing off that he was eating. From then on, you lingered after leaving food out, and he would start to dine while you were there. It even got to the point where you could eat in front of him as well. He’d gained a healthy amount of weight ever since he started living here, and his skin and fur looked more shiny and bright now too. It brought a smile to your face knowing that he was getting better, and he always blushed when your gaze settled on him for too long.

Yandere Bunny that likes to have his hair brushed.

Not his ears. Never his ears. He was shy when he asked you for help one day, holding out the comb as he stood sheepishly. You both sat on the bed as you gently worked the teeth of the brush through his powder white locks, his little cottontail twitching happily while he stayed facing away from you. He was making a habit of grooming himself around you more, being more vulnerable. You didn’t want to push him when he was finally settling in, but you couldn’t help how excited you were.

It didn’t help that he was starting to build little nests on the couch and on the bed. You asked him if he would like to have his own place to sleep, but he just shook his head.

“I like how it is… it smells like you,” he mumbled and fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweater. You didn’t press him on it. It was nice to wake up with someone snuggled up besides you, anyways.

Yandere Bunny that gets upset when you leave for the day.

After he was used to being around you, he would stamp his feet when you grabbed your keys.

“Please?” He said anxiously as he followed you from room to room. He had been more nervous now that you had gotten your new job, and this begging routine had been a fairly recent development. “Why do you have to go with them? It’s safe in here…” he pouted, looking nearly in tears. He hovered near the door like it was going to stop you. You felt bad, you really did. Especially because your absence during the day really seemed to stress him out.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured him. “I’ll be back later tonight. You know this is just for a little bit, right? I’ll be working from home soon enough,” you smiled, but he frowned and kept silent.

Having to actually leave him alone for most of the day made you feel bad as well. He was extra clingy and touchy when you would come home. It was a huge leap forward compared to how he was before, so you couldn’t exactly complain even if it was just a bit suffocating.

Yandere Bunny who becomes excited to tell you his new name.

“It’s Vasco!” He blurted out when you walked through the door. He had gotten all dressed up, brimming with excitement. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, glancing around as he tried to hide how eager he was. “I’ve been able to think about it while you were gone and… and I want you to call me Vasco,” he repeated with a little nod. You were tired from work, but his bashful demeanor had you relaxed and in a good mood in no time.

“That’s a perfect name. I’m glad you shared it with me,” You beamed and walked into the kitchen. You pulled out a little container of food from your work bag and placed it on the counter. It was a little box of strawberries, his favorite. “It’s a good thing I got these then,” You smiled, practically grinning from ear to ear. “Guess I just had a feeling that today was gonna be special.”

Vasco, as you now knew him, suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, his face buried against your shoulder and back. You could feel his soft ears brushing against your scalp, and you blinked before you relaxed and reached back to gently pet his head. The sun filtered in through the window, casting everything in a hazy, perfect glow.

“You’re the only one who knows it…” he whispered, his long lashes fluttering against your skin. He was practically melting against you, and you hummed softly to comfort him. After a while there, you realized he wasn’t going to move from your side. You reached forward and grabbed the fruit, running it over with water before holding it up from him to nibble on.

Yandere Bunny who’s very dramatic when you actually start to work from home.

When you sat at your desk, he made it a point to shove himself into your lap and whine for your attention. It was slightly exhausting, but he was so damn cute that you couldn’t say no.

“You’re such a brat,” you teased, no real malice in your words. You really had been spoiling him to no end. He got everything he wanted, whether it was either your affection or food, but you didn’t mind. Not that you didn’t like Vasco when he was skittish, but it was a relief to know that he felt safe and comfortable enough to even be demanding of you in the first place. Your hand settled on his lower back, rubbing circles into his skin while you worked with your other.

Yandere Bunny who steals your clothes in order to snuggle with them.

You didn’t really know why he did it. After all, you’re usually right there, but it’s like he needs more somehow. He rubs his cheeks against the sleeves of your jacket when you actually have to focus on your busywork. You tried to put your foot down and take them back on occasion, but you let him have what he wanted. If it made him feel comfortable while you're not paying attention to him, then what's the harm?

Yandere Bunny who has… certain tendencies that become harder to ignore as time goes on.

You really didn’t want to think that Vasco would ever do anything to hurt you. Not when you had done so much to help him and understand what he was going through, but he was doing things when he thought you weren’t looking. At night, he would wrap himself around you and make odd, breathy noises before falling still.

During the day, he didn’t act any different from what you could tell, but for all you knew he was being sneaky. It felt odd to suspect your beloved rabbit, but you couldn’t deny your stomach twisted oddly when you found a little stash of your underwear in one of the cabinets one day. You said nothing. How could you when he was looking at you with those big, trusting eyes?

You found white stains on your sheets and blankets all the time now. It escalated to the point where you had to buy another couple of sets of bedding in order to not have to wash them every day. If Vasco noticed your growing unease, he didn’t choose to mention it. In fact, he only seemed to be emboldened by your lack of reaction. His cheeks started to become flushed nearly constantly, and he liked to nibble on your fingers and shoulders whenever he could. It was cute and relatively harmless, so you let him and just kept petting him while his little tail bobbed happily. He would smile and snuggle up against you while begging for fruit or for you to brush him once again.

Yandere Bunny who you just can’t refuse.

You were honestly hopeless. Every time he looked up at you with those big, needy eyes, you were reminded of how he looked back when you first rescued him. Back then you had promised to do everything you could to make him happy and to get him to trust you. You wanted him to feel like this was his home, and that you would always be there to give him what you needed. So when he was pulling at the waistband of your pants, his ears all perked up and eager, you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no.

“Please, please [name],” he whined, tears dotting his eyes. He pressed his nose into your crotch as he let out a little sob. You jumped at the sudden contact, your hand flying down to stop him before his breathy pleas reached your ears. “It hurts… I realllyyyyy wanna put it in you,” he panted and tugged down your clothes. You stumbled back, falling onto the couch with a little gasp. He crawled forward, the flat of his tongue dragging along your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered. “You’ll help me, right?” Vasco’s mouth hovered over your pelvis, a bit of drool slipping from his pink tongue. He didn’t really need to ask. Not when he knew you’d spoil him no matter the cost.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere hybrid #male yandere

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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At the End of the Hidden Spring - By Calx (9.5/10)

The perfect possessive, sweet yandere harem. A myth. A legend. Is it really real? Yes, it is. I received a pleasant surprise every chapter. This is a pure fantasy isekai with defined lore, high stakes, and blood. Our protagonist marries 30 elf men who are willing to devote their lives to serving her. Good writing ties it all together with a bow.

Akarna

The Saintess.

She who must bleed to purify the land. The peasantry do not know or understand how dirty the position actually is. You see the Akarna can easily be replaced. If she dies natural forces will eventually push another strong spirit into their world. Those who cross over dimensions, The Akarna, are like the wind or the rain. Another part of nature in this world.

Akarna doesn't know that. She believes the religious fervor. Like everyone else she believes her powers are a holy responsibility. Shackles, bound in duty. She's afraid to run from the safety of the temple. There are people itching to take advantage of her everywhere. At least the temple must treat her well in public, for appearances sake.

The Crown Prince was supposed to save her.

By sheer coincidence the Crown Prince, Aleph, became her lover. For five years they flirted in between harsh battlefields. Akarna traveled for months over barren terrain, to heal demonically cursed lands and people. Aleph, on the other hand, valiantly defended the nation's borders. He soaks himself in blood too.

Akarna isn't alone in her suffering, or her devotion.

They can save this country together.

It doesn't matter if the temple sees her as disposable.

He loves her, and his word is law.

Oh, Akarna. So foolish. You thought marriage would save you. Marrying a prince, at that? How naive are you? Do you think life is a fairy tale? The Akarna cannot give birth. Their bodies serve the land. (They aren't human)

The prince cannot choose you, for he is a good man. One who knows a true blood heir is the best way to ensure the future. To bring peace.

Love cannot do that.

I hope you become happy, as a beloved concubine.

You'll never be Empress. Of course not. You have no fucking money. Your symbolic title only matters to useless pea brained farmers.

The prince loves you, but you'll have to watch him raise up another woman's child.

Oh, and by the way.

After you formally sell yourself to him for cheap....you dont get to retire.

You will spend the rest of your days on the battlefield, serving the screaming needy, while the noble-blooded Empresa drinks tea at home.

In her castle.

The place you will visit occasionally to fuck her husband with her permission.

Her prince won't even dance with her. Public appearances like that are for his fiance.

One day, on the way to another muddy battle, she gives up. When a landslide sweeps her carriage away she doesn't fight it. She wakes up confused, next to a man more miserable than her.

He's been infected with demonic energy.

Akarna spills her blood in buckets to save him.

She wants to die, and she might as well do the deed while helping another.

To her shock the gorgeous man waits on her hand and foot. Her skinny, scarred body heals under his care, and after some accidental flirtation on her part they sleep together.

She does it selfishly, in order to briefly forget the prince she loved for 5 long years.

The man is awash with only joy, and he asks if he's one of many. An odd question. He asks her where he lies in her lineup, and how he will be prioritized in the future.

She's confused.

The temple has kept her among humans. She knows absolutely nothing of other species.

She thinks he's maybe asking about her past. So she says he is her second man.

He's overjoyed, and he offers to take her to his village.

A small and cozy place occupied by thirty siblings, born from the same tree.

It's awkward sometimes, but Akarna...no...Jiwoo falls into a dream come true. The magic men with pointed ears barely interact with women. Females of their race are rare. Most of the men of the woods remain "unchosen" (virgins) their entire lives. Their species is on the wane. The white trees that bore them, in a land across the Maelstrom, are dying. They fled their corrupted land to hide in human forests, and slowly go extinct.

Females are usually in charge, and groups of males of the same tree usually serve one. If a female is born she leaves to take over another group, so in essence Jiwoo has been brought to an empty nest.

She is horrified to learn the true nature of Akarna, which is not a god at all.

She offers to help the men that are suffering under demonic influence.

The second one she saves, Helck, is one thousand years old. The eldest sibling with the most magic. After she saves him she gains the respect of many, and her hosts are eager to reward her.

Her blood is absolutely out of the question. They insist that she use...other body fluids...or they will not accept her help. How could they be so shameless, when she's been so generous?

Jiwoo slowly and painfully learns how broken she actually is, when she struggles to accept what they see as basic kindness.

Before, she never received feasts for her hard work. Only the "honor" of quietly existing as a symbol for a religion that hides away reality.

How does jealousy fit in when the men are naturally submissive? Simple. It's not the woman's problem. Envy and vying for marriage are the war of men with this species. Also, groups are not violently jealous. It's common for groupings of siblings to share one wife. Anything outside of that circle....does cause fighting and assassination attempts to break out.

When Prince Aleph pursues Jiwoo one of the men, Trevor, breaks his arm....and he reports that "competition that could take Jiwoo away" is in the forest.

For context, I should let you know that the men caring for Jiwoo smell like flowers. They're also super handsome and willing to use sex to keep Jiwoo's attention. They're built that way to attract a rare mate and keep her eyes from wandering.

If she chooses Aleph, her former lover, they will not stop her. Forced marriage is barbaric after all.......but that doesn’t mean it isn't open season on the male in their territory.

Of course the messy conflict eventually reaches Jiwoo, and she must accept that blood will follow her hand in marriage.

The cultural stuff is just very fun along the way.

Kalan, one of the thirty, is the biggest indicator of the "men's war". He tries to use his lost virginity to convince Jiwoo to "take responsibility" and marry them. His siblings also know he has a nasty personality, and his pursuit of Jiwoo is far from relaxed.

Behind closed doors the men try to think of ways to seduce her, so she doesn't choose the prince again.

They're shameless and cute, and Jiwoo's blood stays inside her damn body where it belongs.

Little do that know that's what slowly melts her heart.

She needed to hear that she matters, and know she gets to hear it 30 times a day minimum.

What a nice ending!

Nope. Aleph steals her back, while she panicks and screams for him to spare the new men in her life. She's not sure if she loves them, but they don't have to die for her. She would never ask that.

It's too selfish but her heart does pound when Trevor says they will find her.

She doesn't believe it though.

Aleph says he was wrong. He doesn't need Akarna. He loves Jiwoo. He cries and begs and kills the people who tormented her....but it doesn't reach her heart. When she hears he broke up with his fiance, and he's all hers, and the battlefield isn't her problem anymore, and he loves her...it just hurts.

He decided to treat her right AFTER he thought he lost her. Only when her unconditional support left his side. That was when she became someone worth his sacrifice. Not just empty sweet love.

She tells him the truth.

I did love you, but I'm ready to leave now.

I want to get married.

Her lovers have been watching, with their keen ears and some magic. With their proposal accepted Jiwoo is saved from her grim temple wedding. Helck raises her into the sky, and he disobeys her. When she says she doesn't want to destroy the temple, or the country, he smashes her old prison. He leaves the people, and even the priests, at her request. She cries, and laughs. Thankful. Watching the walls fall is a cathartic moment for her.

Helck asks her for a dance, and they glide over the wreckage while the prince watches on.

Only then does he realize how important it is to show off and adore the one you love.

#male yandere #At the End of the Hidden Spring #dark fantasy

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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tw - non/con touching, threats of violence, and unbalanced power dynamics. a drabble for dana, @meo-eiru's newest oc and the latest character to inflict me with brainworms <3

For the first time in your life, you couldn’t fall asleep.

Some of it was because of Dana. Alright, most of it was because of Dana. She’d—He’d, you would have to get used to that, he—always stayed until you found it in yourself to lay down, sometimes staving his own exhaustion until the early hours of the morning simply because you had no desire to succumb to yours. Before, you’d keep yourself awake with pastimes and games, pick away at one of your countless embroidery projects or goad Dana into a round of gin rummy. Tonight, though, you could only lay rigid and motionless on your side, eyes clenched shut and jaw set. Dana sat by the fireplace, humming softly.

He was watching you. It felt like he was always watching, these days. It was his face you woke up to in the morning, his hands that helped you dress, his voice that dictated your schedule throughout the day. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, pictured the far-off look he tended to adopt when he thought you weren’t looking. You had half a mind to ask your father for a change of maid, but the memory of the knife in his hand was still so fresh, so vivid. You knew he kept another strapped to his thigh, and a vial of poison in his belt. Attempting to distance yourself from him would lead to one of either fates, you were sure.

And so, you measured your breathing and counted the seconds until sunrise. You might’ve been able to stay in that paralyzed un-sleep until morning that you not heard Dana’s skirts shift, his heels click against the floor as he made his way toward you. The mattress dipped, and then, his chest was against your back, one arm loosely draped over your midriff. This close, you could smell the lavender soap and cigarette smoke that seemed to hang over him like a shroud. You thought he’d kicked the habit, but he must’ve picked it up again.

“I know you’re awake.” It was all you could do not to stiffen against him. He sighed, resting his forehead against the nape of your neck. “You’re more restless when you sleep, always tossing and turning. As if you’ve ever had to worry a day in your life.”

His tone was cold, pointed, but you didn’t move, hoping your paralysis would be enough to bore him. Instead, he sat up, leaning over you to see your face. “You haven’t kissed me at all today,” he muttered, threatening to dip into a whine. “Why is that? The other servants caught me with lipstick stains on my collar so often, they thought I was having an affair with one of the noblemen. What changed?”

Fury raged deep in your chest, hot and indignant. You’d kissed him, sure, pecked his cheek while he was doing your make-up or pulled him into an empty room to kill time between your daily lessons, but that was a joy you shared with your friend, your maid, your sole confidant. The man who bent over you now was just a voyeur, the warden to the prison that he made of your home. Being tied to someone who could kill you – who had planned to kill you – was no way to exist. The stress was constant, a never-ending salt that kept the wound of betrayal open and raw. Had your captor not also provided the bittersweet comfort of a familiar face, you might not have been able to stand it.

Your anger boiled over too quickly, too violently to be choked back down. You snapped up and moved to speak, but Dana’s mouth was on yours before you could spit a word out. It was difficult to remember how careful he used to be with you, all grazing fingertips and soft smiles, like he thought anything too rough, anything too forceful would shatter you. Now, his teeth bit into your bottom lip and his grin was sharp enough to cut.

Rather than let you go, his embrace only grew tighter. An arm found its way to your waist, another to your legs, dragging your body against his. His mouth fell from your lips to the crook of your neck, settling into place as if guided there by instinct. You could feel the cold steel of his knife through your nightgown, and although he had yet to draw it, you took the threat to heart. No running. No trying to escape.

No way out.

“Let’s spend every night like this.” Dana didn’t seem quite so disturbed. “We’ll say that you’ve started having nightmares. That you can only sleep when I’m with you, and you don’t feel safe with anyone else.” He pulled back abruptly, beaming. “Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

His dull eyes caught the moonlight, shining a metallic grey. You used to find it comforting, fortifying, like an overcast sky on a hot summer day. You used to wonder what you would do without him, how you’d ever survive.

Now, you could only force yourself to smile and try not to imagine how you were ever going to get away.

#yandere x reader #yandere oc

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thewaywardwanderer · 1 month ago

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The most beautiful pearl

That was the day I met Dana, a maid with commoner blood.

It wasn’t common for maids from lowly backgrounds to work directly for me, but apparently she started working in the estate years ago and slowly rose up in the ranks thanks to her diligence and determined personality.

Dana was nice, she would always pay attention to my needs and work extra for my comfort. Personally delivering all my meals, helping me dress up and preparing my bath all by herself, staying by my side until I fall asleep…

“I really appreciate you Dana…” I say sleepily, my body engulfed in the soft blanket Dana prepared for me as she sits by my side.

“You do my lady?”, I nod.

“I don’t have many people I’m close with, but you’ve been so nice to me for the past 3 months…”

“I’m your handmaid, my lady. That much is to be expected.”

“But you’re so much more attentive than any of my other maids. It has barely been 3 months but I don’t know what I would do without you…”

“…I’m glad to hear that my lady.” She stops for a second as if to think. “Don’t worry I will always be by your side…” Dana answers me gently. My tired eyes fail to read her face in the dimly moonlit room, but I go to sleep with a smile on my face, imagining her doing the same.

I look down at her, watching her slowly breathe in and out with that foolishly innocent expression on her face. The suffocating uniform I had to wear to hide my adam’s apple and chest is unbuttoned to let me breathe. A sharp knife shines in my hand, reflecting the moonlight decorating her fancy room.

516 times. I’ve tried to kill this woman exactly 516 times. I raise my knife. “This time I will do it” I think to myself. You shift in your sleep, probably deep in your happy dreams. You don’t sense anything, unaware of the danger I hold.

“I will do it… I will…” I repeat in my head yet my hand won’t stop shaking.

“Damn it…”

“She has so many openings, does she have no survival instinct? It feels like she could die if she fell down tad too hard” I think to myself as I pick up her dinner. A small bottle of poison I’ve failed to use so far and my knife are tucked deep in my apron. There are a few servants around chatting but no one seems to suspect anything from the lady’s personal handmaid.

“Hey did you see what Lady y/n was wearing today? Haha is she trying to catch someone’s attention going out like that?”

“Right? If she bent down a bit we could even see her cleavage!”

Huh?

Those two… are they new recruits? I did hear that despicable man hired a new batch. What do they think they are doing spouting such nonsense?

“She already looks so naive, I bet she wouldn’t be able to do anything if I just cornered her right?”

…

“Dana, did you get some of the tomato sauce on your sleeve?” you ask innocently, happily enjoying your lavish dinner.

“It seems so my lady. I will clean it tonight don’t worry.” I quickly answer with my usual smile.

“Haha don’t tell me you wanted to try some! You could’ve just asked me, here.”

“I-I couldn’t possibly my lady-“

“My arm will get tired if you don’t take it~”

I sigh and lean down to eat the bite you so graciously offered, it doesn’t have poison anyway…

It truly is delicious, enough to drive a commoner to tears, but this quality is just the norm for you.

I once again stand above you. “This time… this time for sure…” repeats in my head as I raise my knife. This is the 520th attempt.

You sleep peacefully under me as I clench my teeth, my hand refusing to go down.

It’s always the same thing. I stay by your side until you fall asleep, I get up and raise my knife, I watch you sleep without a worry in the world and go back to my room after another failure.

I sigh and prepare to get up, I’ve despised you for longer than you know for making me feel this way.

“Dana…?”

“!?” You’re awake? Why are you awake!? You never wake up at this hour!

…What are you looking at?

My eyes follow your gaze and land on the knife I’m holding up.

“W-what are you doing Dana!? N-no someone help-!”

My free hand quickly covers your mouth as I whisper yell “Be quiet!”. You continue flailing your arms and legs, trying to push me off. Since my other hand is still up I can’t hold you down properly.

“Stop fighting me! You don’t have the right to-!”

You manage to push my hand off your mouth but your nails catch my open collar, accidentally ripping a button. For a second your eyes widen and before I can register what’s going on you grab my clothes.

“!!”

In a moment of panic I throw the knife and pull away to cover myself.

“D-Don’t look!”

If you do they’ll take you away from me.

“Y-you are a man?” You ask while sitting up, clearly on guard but you make no motion to run away. Maybe seeing my panicked state made you feel less scared.

I don’t answer and just stare at you. I wonder what my expression looks like? My panic and anger must reflect on my eyes as I cover my chest. My knife… is at the other side of the room, tsk.

“B-But why…? A-and that knife… were you trying to…? I… D-did I do something to offend you…?”

Your voice is shaking as you ask questions after questions, tears slowly spilling out. I’m sure you must feel so scared and betrayed. Good, that’s what I wanted.

Yes, what I wanted…

What I wanted?

Anger boils inside me. A part of me feels satisfied for making you experience such betrayal, but the other half feels anger. A privileged person like you who lives life without a single worry doesn’t deserve to cry like a victim.

“Stop crying!” I lunge forward to grab your neck and push you down. You look up to me, clearly scared but my hand doesn’t squeeze your neck.

“You don’t know anything!” I bite my lip, wanting to scream but also not. I hate this, once again my body refuses to listen to me.

“You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know what your family has done! You don’t know what you have done to me!!”

My hand presses down harder.

“I already had nothing but you ruined me beyond repair!” I try to keep my voice low to not alert the other servants yet I can’t prevent it from shaking as I let my anger out.

“You don’t know anything…”

“Dana”

A name unfit for a boy, and this disgustingly beautiful face that resembles hers were the only things that wench left behind with me.

I didn’t know anything about her. All I knew was that she treated me like the girl she always wanted to give birth to and that I must never leave the wooden box she called “home”.

She hated me, it was only obvious. Even when I was barely able to speak it wasn’t hard to understand she actually wished for a girl. Although, maybe thanks to this face of mine, she enjoyed putting me in dresses and forcing me into the life she dreamed of.

“Dana, mommy has to deal with some surprise visitors so stay in this closet and don’t make a noise just like how I taught you before alright?”

Those were the last words she uttered before kissing my forehead and closing the rusty closet doors. Then it was arguing, screams, red and silence.

The fact that she used to work in your estate because she was in debt to your father, that she ran away pregnant without actually paying it back and was being hunted down were things I only got to know later in life.

It seems they were unaware she was even pregnant and didn’t notice the child she so hurriedly tucked inside the old compact closet.

Such sad excuse of a life, at the end she wasn’t able to accomplish anything. All she had was a son who believed she hated him and thus hated her back. A son who didn’t even care about the effort she put into keeping him hidden and safe.

A son who returned to the estate she once escaped from.

It wasn’t too hard to get registered as a maid with such face and height. My plan originally was to slowly go up in ranks until I reached that filthy man and stab his chest the same way his henchmen stabbed that wench’s.

But then I met you.

The precious young lady of the estate, loved by all the workers and her parents. A lovely person who was sailing through life with no hardships, a being sure to be missed if lost.

I thought if I killed you the same way they killed that wench, that filthy man would experience so much pain he wouldn’t be able to forget about it for an entire lifetime.

So I started working to be your handmaid instead, and you quickly inflicted another type of anger into me.

I hated that you were oblivious to the pain others felt, I hated that all you knew was comfort and love, I hated that you never experienced what a broken heart felt like.

I hated how you smiled at me like you couldn’t do without me, I hated how your hair felt so soft in my hands as I brushed it, I hated how you happily ate the sweets I secretly took from the kitchen just so you could have some more, I hated how good you smelt right after I washed you, I hated how soft your skin felt against my fingertips as I helped you dress up-

“UGH!”

I gasp, sitting on the bathroom floor. Looking at the toilet seat filled with my insides and wiping my mouth with a shaky hand before flushing it down.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

You look up to me with shaky eyes, body barely moving.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Don’t pity me! I’m not someone who needs your pity!”

You flinch as I raise my voice. I feel so disgusted, my voice shaking with anger.

“At least I still had control over myself when all I had was hate… At least I was somewhat “normal”…”

My eyes never leave yours, your gaze only making me feel more agitated.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel like this… why did you have to wake up now…”

A tear threatens to fall from my eye.

“If only you just continued sleeping… then I could’ve continued staying next to you… I could’ve continued being good for you…”

“Dana I’m sorry-“

“I said I don’t want to hear it!”

I lower my head, not wanting to see the face you’re making.

Then an idea comes to my mind.

“Are you really sorry? Do you want to make up for it?”

I grab your face before you can answer.

“!?”

I slowly pull away to speak, your taste lingering in my lips.

“Then don’t report what happened today and let me continue staying by your side.

I lean in closer and look into your eyes.

“The only way you can atone for your sins is by accepting this twisted love of mine”

#yandere maid #yandere femboy #yandere x reader #yandere male

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thewaywardwanderer · 2 months ago

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ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴀᴇʜᴜɴ sᴇᴏɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yandere taehun who you met originally through school, simply when you were sleepy, as always.

The air inside the classroom was loud, filled with chaos, and the humid heat only made everything feel heavier. You weren’t exactly new to this school—but you might as well have been with the way you minded your own business. You liked silence, naps, and peace.

Too bad you were enrolled at a school with one of the most short-tempered guys in the district.

“Hey, you beat me in the arcade once. You think you're better than me? How about you give me your expensive jacket to make up for it, huh? How does that sound?"

You opened one bleary eye from your spot on the desk, cheek smushed against your hoodie sleeve. Just outside the classroom in the hallway stood a tall guy—tall like a brick wall—with shaggy brown hair and a temper written all over his clenched fists. His voice shook the walls, barking at some poor kid who looked two seconds from bursting into tears.

Taehun Seong, the infamous bully at your school who used taekwondo as an excuse to beat people up.

You'd heard of him in whispers, something about breaking a dude’s ribs because he stepped on his shoe, or using a back kick on someone because they didn’t apologize fast enough.

But right now, none of that registered. All you knew was: He. Was. Loud.

You groaned, barely sitting up, rubbing your eyes as the classroom froze in tension.

“can you shut up?” you muttered, voice hoarse with sleep. “You’re so damn loud...”

The air stilled and a second later, the classroom door slammed open.

You blinked blearily as a looming figure blocked the light above you.

You looked up.

He looked down.

“…The hell did you just say?” Taehun’s voice was low now—dangerous, sharp. His teeth were grit, his brow twitching, vape in his hand (the bitch was an addict)

You blinked again. “I said shut up."

Taehun’s eye twitched harder.

He stepped even closer, standing at your desk like a shadow ready to pounce. “You’ve got guts. Big mouth for someone with eyebags like a damn raccoon, always lazing around.”

You raised an eyebrow, not scared, but not exactly trying to make an enemy either. You weren't looking for problems—but your mouth apparently didn’t care.

He reached back slightly, maybe about to grab you by the collar or slap your desk off the floor. His hand flexed.

But then—he paused.

He really looked at you. The groggy expression, the dull blink in your eyes, the way your hair was slightly messed up from laying down. You weren’t defiant like someone trying to challenge him.

You were just… tired

“…Huh?” he muttered again, expression slightly warping into confusion. Then something shifted in his gaze—something a little amused, a little annoyed, a lot interested.

“Eh? Hey… you got 500 won?”

As he waited for a reply, he realized that your dumbass was already asleep, mid convo.

Your head was laid down, rubbing your cheek against your sleeve and your eyes slid shut.

That should have gotten you killed.

You were basically asking to get your head slammed into the table.

His hand actually twitched in the air, hovering over your shoulder—like he was about to slap you awake for daring to dismiss him like that.

But… he didn’t.

He lowered his arm, gritting his teeth.

“Tch.” He huffed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stormed out of the classroom—leaving you completely untouched

Everyone stared at you like you’d just defused a bomb by snoring at it.

“Holy crap,” someone whispered. “He just… let them go?”

“Did he hit his head on the way in?!"

yandere taehun who after that first encounter, he started watching you. Not in the creepy-stalker-from-the-bushes way (okay, maybe, but he wasn't ever gonna to admit it)—but in the "you moved your seat two inches, and he noticed immediately" kind of way.

He learned your routine. When you leave for class. What snacks you buy. Where you nap. If you so much as change your drink order, he glares at the bottle like it personally insulted him.

“Why’d you get strawberry milk instead of banana?” he asked, staring at your drink while you just raised an eyebrow

“…because I felt like it?”

“…Don’t do that again. It threw me off.”

Honestly him hanging around you started small—him showing up at the front gate the same time you did, saying it was a “coincidence.” before calling you an asshole for not complimenting and noticing his brand new shoes he bought. (He didn't even buy it, he stole it from some random dude in the arcade)

Then he started showing up in the library when you went to nap during free period, lounging two tables away, flipping through a manga he didn’t even read.

Then he started showing up outside your club room, pretending he was “just walking by” even though he was sweating from sprinting across the building to get there first.

And soon enough, it started to become everyday where, no matter how much you tried to dodge or reroute or disappear, he’d follow you and bug you.

yandere taehun who honestly to you was a complete weirdo. That was the only real word you had for him, a weirdo with shaggy brown hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of a brawl.

A weirdo who had a black belt in Taekwondo and once broke a guy’s front tooth, a weirdo who followed you around like some cursed shadow that insulted you every five steps and then stared at you like you were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

yandere taehun who was obsessed, and not the fun kind, either. The pathetic kind, where he memorized your class schedule, knew your locker combination (he swore it was just coincidence), and made sure he stood close enough to you during fire drills just so no one else could.

Still, he kept the act up. Kept calling you annoying. Kept pointing out your dark circles, calling you “a droopy raccoon” whenever you yawned too hard.

“You dress like a grandpa,” he said once, pulling at the oversized hoodie you wore to school. You deadpanned, “You follow around a grandpa every day, then.”

He stared at you for a second, flushed red down to his collar, and then shoved his hands into his jacket, grumbling, “Shut up.”

You smirked.

He hated that.

He really did.

(Except he didn’t. He really, really didn’t.)

No matter how much he tried to talk shit, he always stood a little too close.

yandere taehun who even when school ended, was already leaning against the front gate, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you.

“Oh, look who finally showed up,” he muttered as if you specifically asked him to stay after school to walk you home.

“You could’ve gone home.”

“Eh.” He stretched lazily, hands behind his head. “I wanted to walk my ugly little grandpa home.”

“…Stop calling me that.”

“Make me.”

You didn’t.

You just sighed and started walking, and like always—he followed.

You could feel his eyes on you every few seconds, like he was memorizing the curve of your back, the rhythm of your walk, the way your head dipped when you were quiet, the way you fumbled to get your phone out of your pocket.

yandere taehun who soon even began dragging along to play at the arcade, the arcade became a weird part of your routine. Or well-his routine that he dragged you into.

Sometimes, he'd show up behind you in class, lean down and whisper, "Don't make plans after school."

You didn't even ask why anymore.

You just sighed, grabbed your bag, and let yourself be dragged off to another 45 minutes of him bitching about not winning and you cheating.

"You cheated."

"You mean I played better."

"No, you distracted me. Your stupid hoodie sleeve brushed my arm and threw me off. Also your face was in my peripheral and it's annoying."

you grinned, "are you saying I'm pretty?"

"I'm saying your face structure is distracting," he barked, ears red.

You laughed.

That only made his blush worse.

Taehun slammed another coin in like it personally insulted him and barked, "Rematch. Right now."

yandere taehun who when he won? Oh. You had to suffer. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he’d say, standing up like he was giving a damn press conference, “We’ve done it. I have once again proven that I am, in fact, your superior.”

“You won one round.”

“That’s all I needed.”

Then he’d grin at you, dumb and wide and so obviously proud of himself that you had to hold yourself back from beating the fuck out of him

yandere taehun who it became habit for him—dangerously so to cling onto you. He started leaning into your space like it was his.

Started pulling your hoodie strings, started walking behind you and messing with your hair until you smacked him away.

“God, you’re clingy,” you muttered one day, after he looped an arm around your shoulders for no reason at all.

“I’m not clingy,” he said, voice muffled as he leaned on your back.

“You’re literally clinging.”

“I’m strategically anchoring myself to my favorite girl”

“…?”

He looked up, blinked.

“I said ‘my favorite asshole’ You misheard.”

Uh-huh.

But still… when you rolled your eyes and tried walking away, he grabbed the back of your bag.

“Oi. Where are you going?”

“Home?”

“I didn’t say you could go yet.”

“really dude.”

“You still owe me another round. Best of five.”

"You lost the last three.”

“So I need redemption. Duh.”

yandere taehun who only got worse over time, inviting himself over to your house.

What started with Taehun walking you home "by accident" turned into him casually slipping his shoes off at your front door like he'd lived there all his life.

"Where's your mom?" he asked once, already halfway down the hallway.

"Not home."

"Perfect. I hate being polite." He made a beeline for your room, flopped onto your bed like gravity summoned him there, and spread out like he owned the place.

“This is comfortable,” he muttered, patting the sheets with approval. “It’s mine now.”

You stood by the door with your arms crossed. “What do you want, Taehun?"

He didn’t even look at you.

“Company. "

“I didn’t invite you.”

“You never do."

You sighed.

He really didn’t care about permission anymore. He just picked up your plushie, tossed it in the air, caught it. “You sleep with this? What are you, five?”

You snatched it back. “What are you, still in my house?” He rolled onto his side, smirking as his brown shaggy hair fell over his eyes.

“Yep. Got snacks?"

Asshole.

And worst of all? Whenever your phone was vulnerable (you would step out the room to get some water ), he’d started going through your phone.

One moment he was busy going through your cabinets, and the next, he had your phone in his hands like it was some security threat.

"Who's this guy?" he muttered, scrolling through your messages, not caring that you were back, that you knew he was going through your phone.

"Why’s he got a emoji next to his name? Huh? Who's ‘Minwoo’? Sounds like a loser."

You lunged. “Taehun, give me my phone—!”

“Don’t worry, I’m blocking him for you.”

“Give—”

“Wait, who’s this one??”

You finally snatched the phone from him, glaring as you locked the screen. “Do you want to get kicked out?” you asked, deadpan.

He crossed his arms, furrowing his eyebrows like a little kid disciplined as you glared at him, “Do I go through your phone?"

“no but thats ‘cause mine’s boring. Yours is suspicious.”

You stared at him, completely unamused. He kicked your foot lightly.

“Come on. Let me see it. I won’t block anyone.”

“…You blocked someone last week.”

“He had too many vowels in his name. I don’t trust that.”

You sighed again and sat on the floor, pulling your phone back out. He immediately narrowed his eyes.

“Are you seriously going back on it? After that whole tug-of-war?”

“Yeah,” you said plainly, scrolling. “You talk too much.”

“Unreal. I should dump you.”

“We’re not dating.”

“We would be if you stopped texting other people.”

yandere taehun who even when you were slightly quiet, would interrogate you.

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Think about me.”

You stared at him.

“…You’re not that interesting.”

He scowled. “You wound me.”

You turned your head. He immediately poked your cheek.

“Still mad?”

“I said I’m not.”

“Okay, but your face says you hate me.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Fix it.”

You didn’t. So he sighed—loudly, dramatically—then slung his arm around your shoulder and leaned all his weight on you like a dramatic cat who decided you were his.

“Whatever. I forgive you.”

“I didn’t ask for forgiveness.”

“Shhh. I’m a bigger person. You’re welcome.”

yandere taehun who at some point, just gave up pretending. He didn’t even bother hiding the way he followed you everywhere anymore. Didn’t hide the clinginess, the comments, the hands always somewhere on you—ruffling your hair, dragging you by the sleeve, throwing an arm over your shoulder like he had a claim.

yandere taehun who even started bringing you with him to taekwondo practice. Not because you showed interest. Not because you wanted to go. But because he decided your presence was mandatory.

“You need to build discipline,” he said one afternoon, already dragging you along by the wrist. “All you do is lay around like a depressed cat.”

“Because I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

“Because you waste my energy.”

He ignored you.

By the time you got to the gym, you’d already made peace with your fate—your body going completely limp the second you saw the mats. He tossed you a towel. You used it as a pillow and lay flat on the floor while he did warmups.

“Are you seriously just gonna lay there like roadkill?” he asked, already doing perfect stretches with his jacket tied around his waist.

You grunted in reply. “Unreal,” he muttered, launching into a roundhouse kick that probably could’ve decapitated a dummy.

“I’m a masterpiece, and you’re not even watching.” Another grunt from the floor.

“Oi,” he barked. You cracked an eye open. He stood there, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising with practiced breath, gaze sharp—but somehow still smug.

“Did you see that kick?” he asked.

“Mm.”

“Rate it.”

“Out of ten?”

“Duh.”

“Two.”

His face froze. “Excuse me?!”

You yawned. “Had no flair.”

“I almost broke the goddamn dummy.”

“You didn’t even sparkle.”

He stomped over, crouched beside you, towel slung around his neck, breathing hard but still managing to look like a bratty gremlin.

yandere taehun who had the ego of a celebrity and the attitude of a sleep-deprived delinquent. He walked into school like everyone should clap, like the hallways were a runway and he was the show.

And honestly? The worst part was? He was stupidly good at everything.

He fought well. He kicked even better. He had enough natural charm to make people love him—or fear him—and enough arrogance to act like he deserved both.

“I’m the best,” he’d say without irony, leaning back in his chair with that smug smirk on his face. “Objectively. No bias.”

"definitely not humble,” you’d mutter from your desk.

He clicked his tongue. “Can’t have everything, right?”

He bullied literally everyone. Students, upperclassmen, even teachers if they looked at him funny.

No one was safe.

Except you.

You were the one person he insulted with a filter. He’d still poke at you, sure. Still call you lazy, annoying, boring. Still grab your collar when you tried getting away from him, still made fun of your lack of motivation to do anything.

But when it came to real teasing? He went soft. That one time a guy in your class made a joke about your handwriting being messy, Taehun practically teleported across the room, eyes narrowed and mouth tight.

"Say that again,” he said, tone flat and dangerous. The guy laughed. “Dude, chill, I was just—”

“I’ll break your fingers so you can’t write either. Wanna match?”

You blinked, confused. “Taehun—”

“Shut up, I’m defending your honor.”

“I don’t need—”

“Shut up.” And then he turned to you and muttered: “…Your handwriting is still ugly, though.”

You deadpanned. “and you're still a bitch."

yandere taehun who over time, grew softer with you, even when his face still looked blank and unreadable to others.

He started becoming handsy without realizing—resting his head on your shoulder during study periods, curling beside you on the floor during movie nights, brushing his fingers through your hair when you looked tired and pretending it meant nothing.

He still insulted you. Still mocked you. Still had that signature bratty glint in his eye when he called you names.

But it was different now. You two became practically inseparable. Like best friends, but not. Something closer, something messier.

You bickered and teased and called each other names, but you never drifted far. He knew your routines by heart—knew where you’d be, when you’d leave, how fast he had to walk to catch up.

“Don’t go,” he’d mutter when you tried to leave him early.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll miss you. Dumbass.”

yandere taehun who at some point, things shifted. Not all at once, but slowly—like gravity pulling you closer without warning. Taehun had always been in your space, hovering around like a storm cloud with too much attitude and not enough boundaries. But now? He was practically glued to you.

yandere taehun who treated you like you were his personal comfort zone, his stress relief, his person.

He’d whisper jokes against your temple during long lectures, trace your hand with his finger under the desk when he was bored, and randomly pull you into his chest so tightly they almost knocked you off balance.

And if you ever gave him even the tiniest bit of affection back—like touching his hair or letting him nap against you? He’d act all smug about it for the next week.

“See? You’re getting attached,” he’d whisper, watching you with that slow, half-lidded gaze that made girls all over from the school fawn over him.

“You wish."

IM BACK YALL!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! BTW THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

WHAT ELSE CHARACTERS SHOULD I DO? OR LIKE ANY REQUESTS?? SHOULD I REWRITE YAN LIGHT ?? IDK GIVE ME IDEAS !! :33 👅👅

#yandere x reader #yandere taehun seong #taehoon x reader #male yandere

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