It's disappointing that my old Yandere Book Oneshot is no longer available. However, this new collection presents a perfect opportunity to showcase the growth in my writing skills.
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IU's PoV
Rain lashed against the windowpane, mimicking the frantic rhythm of my heart. Every downpour amplified the world around me - the flickering streetlight bleeding onto the slick asphalt, the skeletal branches clawing at the stormy sky. But tonight, the only thing that mattered was the image glowing on my laptop screen: Y/n.
His messy brown hair framed kind eyes that seemed to hold a universe of unspoken stories. An ordinary barista, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me. We met, purely by chance, at a cozy coffee shop tucked away on a quiet corner. He was lost in the pages of a well-worn Kafka novel, a furrow etched between his brows as he navigated the protagonist's existential despair. Me? I was captivated by the furrow itself, the way his lips moved silently as he read.
It began subtly. A misplaced coffee mug, its position a cryptic message only he could decipher - placed beside a book titled "Possession," a desperate plea to understand the lengths love could drive one to. Then came the anonymous texts, each a glimpse into my growing infatuation. "The bitterness of your espresso echoes the sweetness of your smile," one read. Another, "Do you ever feel trapped, like you were meant for more?"
The fear in his voice during his calls to the police was music to my ears. "There's a stalker," he'd stammer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Creepy texts, messages left on my doorstep..." The dismissal in the officer's voice, the nonchalant "Just a fan," only fueled my fire. They didn't understand. This wasn't fandom. This was a twisted possession.
One night, emboldened by a potent cocktail of obsession and audacity, I broke into his apartment. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon buns hung in the air - a tangible manifestation of his normalcy, the life I craved to be a part of. As I traced the worn spine of a Hemingway novel, a picture on the mantle stopped me cold. Y/n, his arm draped around a woman with a smile that could rival the summer sun. Jealousy, a venomous serpent, coiled in my gut. She didn't deserve him, not with her sunshine-filled life and her ordinary love.
On his kitchen counter, I left a single red rose, its pristine petals stained with a single drop of my blood - a warning, a chilling promise. He belonged to me now, and no one, not even a glimpse of a normal life, would take him away.
The following days were a delicious dance of anticipation. I watched his every move, the growing wariness in his eyes a perverse thrill. Then, one evening, a text arrived that sent a shiver down my spine. "I know who you are," it read. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo in the symphony of my obsession.
"Who is this?" I replied, a tremor in my hand as I typed the message. The answer came a minute later, another chilling word: "Lilac." Lilac, the little coffee shop where we first met. He knew.
But instead of fear, a morbid sense of excitement bloomed in my chest. The game had just leveled up. This wasn't just about possession anymore. It was about proving my devotion, however twisted it may be. I had to show him that my love, no matter how unorthodox, was the only security he needed.
The plan unfolded with a horrifying precision. A dark van, a secluded back alley, two men hired for a single, gruesome purpose - to disappear, and take Y/n with them. But before they could grab him, I materialized from the shadows, a single red rose clutched in my trembling hand.
"Y/n," I said, my voice a sickly sweet melody. His eyes widened in a mixture of terror and... something else? Was it recognition? "Don't worry," I continued, stepping closer, the rose brushing against his cheek. "I'll take care of everything."
The men, initially stunned, lowered their weapons. I flashed them a smile, a promise of both reward and oblivion. As they bundled Y/n into the back of the van, a single tear escaped his eye.
"Jieun?" he whispered, his voice laced with fear, but also... a flicker of something else? Perhaps understanding? It didn't matter. He was safe now. Safe from them, safe from the world. Safe with me.
We drove for hours, the rain a constant, drumming symphony. Finally, we reached a secluded cabin nestled deep within the woods. A luxurious prison awaited him, complete with a roaring fireplace, a bookshelf filled with his favorite authors, and a state-of-the-art coffee machine. He would have everything he ever needed.
Everything except freedom.
The first few days were the hardest. Y/n jumped at every creak of the floorboard, his eyes flitting around the room like a trapped animal. He barely touched the gourmet meals I prepared, the silence broken only by the relentless drumming of rain against the cabin roof.
I tried everything to soothe him. I read aloud from his favorite novels, brewed him his perfect cup of coffee, even lit a crackling fire in the hearth. But his fear remained, a tangible presence in the air.
One night, I sat beside him on the plush couch, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows on the walls. The silence was suffocating. "Why, Jieun?" he finally choked out, his voice raw. "Why are you doing this?"
I took a deep breath, the scent of woodsmoke and pine filling my lungs. "Because you deserve better, Y/n," I said, my voice gentle. "That boring job, that empty apartment... you were meant for more."
His eyes narrowed. "More like this?" he spat, gesturing around the opulent cabin. "This is a prison, not a dream come true."
"It can be," I countered, reaching out to touch his hand. He flinched, but I held on. "Think of it as a chance to start fresh. To focus on what truly matters - art, literature, spending time with someone who understands you."
The fear in his eyes flickered, replaced by a flicker of something else - was it desperation, or a glimmer of acceptance? I squeezed his hand, my touch a spiderweb ensnaring him further.
The days that followed were a twisted dance of comfort and control. I read him poetry by moonlight, shared my favorite movies, even attempted to bake him his favorite childhood cookies (with more success in the chilling department than the comfort food realm). Slowly, the fear began to ebb, replaced by a wary curiosity.
One evening, as we sat by the crackling fire, a book of classic horror stories open on my lap, Y/n spoke. "You know," he began hesitantly, "this isn't so bad. It's actually kind of...peaceful."
A triumphant smile bloomed on my face. "See?" I cooed, leaning closer. "This is where you belong, Y/n. With me."
He didn't respond, but he didn't pull away either. His gaze drifted to the fire, a strange glint in his eyes. Was it resignation? Stockholm Syndrome? Or something more sinister?
It didn't matter. He was mine now, body and maybe, just maybe, a twisted part of his mind.
I leaned in further, our faces inches apart. His breath hitched, a flicker of fear returning to his eyes. But before he could pull away, I closed the distance, my lips meeting his in a rough, possessive kiss.
The taste of fear and coffee lingered on my tongue, a twisted aphrodisiac. As I pulled away, I whispered in his ear, my voice laced with a chilling promise.
"Don't worry, Y/n. This is just the beginning. Our future together will be brighter than you ever imagined."
He stared back at me, his expression unreadable. But a single tear escaped his eye, and it wasn't fear that glinted in his eyes this time. It was something else entirely. Something dark, something possessive.
Perhaps, in my twisted way, I had succeeded. Perhaps I hadn't just trapped him - I had created a monster of my own.
