please more yandere james fics, i love it so much😍
TW: Yandere, Stalking, Kidnapping, Violence.
Please listen to this song while reading 🫣
It had become a rule, one you had agreed to yourself after that boy from college began stalking you.
James was no stranger to stalkers. If anything, he despised them more than anyone. So when you came home that evening, the first thing that greeted you wasn't James.
It was blood. The carpet was drenched in it.
You had told James that someone had been stalking you, but you never imagined he would deal with it so quickly.
And there was another man in the room as well.
"Hello, sweetheart. Welcome back." James smiled as he stood up from beside the bloodied body. "This gentleman here will take good care of this scumbag."
He walked over without hesitation and immediately wrapped his arms around you.
"You don't have to worry about anything anymore."
He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
Your palms were slick with sweat. Relief washed over you first...
What if this man talked? What if someone found out what had happened? You'd be expelled from college, and James' career would be over.
"This... this isn't right," you managed to whisper, gently putting some distance between yourself and James.
A small part of you was disturbed, not by the stalker lying half-dead on the floor, but by the fact that you couldn't find anything morally reprehensible about his condition.
After all stalkers did deserve punishment.
James gently cupped your chin.
"What exactly doesn't feel right?" he asked softly.
The warmth in his voice remained, but the light in his eyes had long since disappeared.
"Don't you see? That pest won't bother you ever again."
"I mean..." you hesitated. "If you just beat him up and let him go... won't he become a problem later?"
James understood immediately. "You're worried he'll come back?" he asked, cradling your face between both hands. "Do you think I'm that naive?"
"I'm not saying you're naive..."
You lowered your gaze. "Something just feels... uneasy."
Of course, you would never outright suggest killing someone.
James wondered if that possibility had ever crossed your mind.
He was angry at himself for making you feel uneasy in the first place.
"That's exactly why he's here."
James gestured toward the other man.
Changsu sat nearby, idly twirling one of his knives, seemingly debating which blade would finish the job fastest.
The moment James nodded Changsu got to work.
You instinctively grabbed James and buried your face in his chest.
Steel sank into flesh again and again. The stalker's screams were muffled behind the tape covering his mouth, reduced to pitiful whimpers.
It sounded less like a man and more like an animal being slaughtered.
James kept you pressed securely against him, one hand resting on the back of your head as though shielding you from a nightmare.
Oddly enough that comfort pleased him more than anything.
He had beaten the stalker himself. He had allowed Changsu to kill him instead.
He never wanted you to witness the ugliest parts of his life.
Did you even realize James was just as responsible for the violence unfolding behind you?
To you, James had simply protected you. His arms had become your refuge.
And perhaps without realizing it they had also become your cage.
That day cemented the rule.
If any man—anyone who wasn't James—made you uncomfortable this would happen to him.
At the time, you didn't fully understand the weight of that promise. Not until the next morning.
Your college held a prayer meeting.
The boy who had been stalking you had been found dead. You stared at the framed photograph placed at the front of the auditorium.
There had been a loss of life.
No professor had taken your complaints seriously while he was alive. No one cared when you said he followed you home. Now everyone mourned him.
You felt sick. You felt relieved.
There was nothing wrong with what he'd done.
As Changsu left your house later that evening, he paused beside you while James wasn't looking.
"Girls like you," he muttered with a smirk, "always become the object of desire for crazy men like James Lee."
His eyes flickered toward the bloodstained carpet.
"Must be a privilege, Miss."
Was he mocking you...or warning you?
The bodies kept piling up. The convenience store clerk who catcalled you. Dead from sudden organ failure.
The man at the mall who wouldn't stop staring. Killed in a drunk-driving accident.
Eventually James began saying the same thing over and over.
"The world is dangerous."
One night, while holding you in bed, he whispered into your ear,
"If you don't feel safe outside... you can always tell me."
"Then teach me how to fight." You said.
James smiled faintly. "I did."
"You were the one who complained about how sore you became after training."
You frowned. You didn't remember that.
The only lesson you could recall was James correcting your stance while showing you how to throw a proper kick.
"Then teach me again during summer break."
The conversation ended there.
Teach you how to fight? James would.
But if you became stronger...
Wouldn't you get involved in even more dangerous situations?
James had been away for several weeks. Changsu had taken over guarding you.
You hadn't even realized he had been watching you from a distance every day.
Then one afternoon you disappeared.
Even Changsu couldn't track you down.
Knowing James' wrath would be far worse than any punishment, he made the call immediately.
"You can cut my pay in half—"
James hung up before he could finish.
The room smelled of rust and old metal. .You had been kidnapped because word had spread throughout the First Generation.
James Lee had a weakness.
And what better way to draw blood from a legend than through the person he loved?
Perhaps loving you had been James' greatest mistake.
One of the men slapped you hard across the face. Another stepped forward, preparing to strike again.
Then screams erupted outside.
Everyone shouted his name.
One by one their voices fell silent. The door burst open.
James looked at you. Just once.
The bruise blooming across your cheek. Your tangled hair. Your trembling body.
You had seen James fight before.
Every movement was normally precise, elegant and almost effortless.
Today, he was a raging bull.
He picked up an iron rod from the floor. The first man's skull caved in. The second had the rod driven straight through his face. The third never had a chance to run.
One after another until no one remained alive.
When it was finally over, James stood in the middle of the room. His white shirt was soaked crimson.
For the first time you were afraid of him.
What if he turned that violence toward you?
Without a word, he untied the ropes binding your wrists. He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before brushing his thumb over the bruise on your cheek.
Instinctively, you leaned into his touch. James closed the remaining distance and kissed you.
As though reassuring himself you were still there.
Only when he finally pulled away did he rest his forehead against yours.
"...you're not setting foot outside the house."
You blinked at him in confusion.
James leaned closer until his lips brushed your ear.
"Babe... It's dangerous outside."
Was it really the world that had become dangerous...
Or had the danger always been James...
a man so desperately, obsessively in love with you that he was willing to turn the entire world into a pile of corpse just to keep you safe?
