your nanook fic is scrumptious 😞🤌, can I request another one? A continuation of it or a different one is ok
Golden Shackles
Yandere!Tyrant!Nanook x Reader
His march of ruin was almost complete, another world shattered in his wake, another civilization quaking beneath the shadow of his might. Nanook loomed over the devastation. The warriors at his back knelt as his mantle, thick with the remnants of fallen kingdoms, swept across the broken earth.
The air itself stilled, then shattered.
A blur of movement where there should have been none.
Pain erupted in your leg before you even registered the strike, an arrow searing through your flesh. You screamed as it pierced your calf then hit the ground hard, the impact driving the breath from your lungs.
He merely looked down, and in his eyes, you saw the end of all things.
"Persistent" he mused. His voice was the low crackle of a dying fire. "I do admire that."
A hand cupped your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheek bone, and for one delirious moment, you thought he might laugh.
Then his grip tightened.
"Pity it’s wasted."
You woke in gilded chains.
Not literal ones. No, your prison was far more elegant—high ceilings, silk sheets, the scent of something floral masking the iron beneath. Servants redressed your wounds. None spoke.
You waited. You healed. And when the silence became unbearable, you ran again.
This time, you almost reached the gates.
The air turned to syrup. Your limbs locked mid-stride.
"Tell me," his voice curled around you, "do you enjoy disobedience? Or are you simply incapable of learning?"
You couldn’t turn. Couldn’t speak. But you didn’t need to. He already knew the answer.
A snap of fingers. Suddenly you were facing him, close enough to see the golden-glow of his irises, the faint scar cutting through his brow.
"You amuse me." he admitted, as if confessing a weakness. "But don’t mistake indulgence for mercy."
The servants led you back. The doors sealed behind you.
---
Survival required more than defiance, it demanded strategy.
You studied your chamber. The guard posted outside wasn’t like the others. No hulking armor, just a quiet man who flinched when doors slammed too hard.
His name was Kael.
A scholar once, before the tyrant’s eye fell upon him. "The Mark" he called it, not a blessing, never that. A curse disguised as favor.
"You read people's mind?" you noted one evening as he adjusted his ill-fitting uniform.
"I used to read books. Maybe his blessing gave me such ability according to my skill."
"Why obey him?"
He smiled bitterly. "He’s not cruel without reason. His majesty believes this is how strength is earned. And… he enjoys it. Not many people receive his blessing and survive."
Your escape wasn’t an escape at all.
You waited until Kael’s watch waned, until the halls sighed empty. Then you moved.
The fortress unfolded like a living manuscript.
Then you heard the sound. It led you to a gallery overlooking a sunken coliseum.
The Tyrant lounged on a dais of fused bones, toying with a dagger. Below him, figures knelt in the sand.
A woman was thrust forward.
The onlookers roared with approval. Toasted. Threw coins.
You couldn’t look away.
Nanook smiled.
The performance began.
Your hands trembled against the railing.
His gaze lifted, as if he’d heard your silent horror.
You dissolved into the dark before he could see.
You never learned what gave you away.
Maybe it was the choked gasp you couldn’t swallow fast enough.
It didn't matter.
Nanook's head tilted upward with predator's grace, his attention peeling away from the bloodsport below like a man distracted by a particularly interesting moth.
"Someone's watching."
The arena fell silent.
Your bones turned to ice.
Pressed against the balcony's shadowed pillar, you became stone. The pounding in your chest threatened to betray you as you retreated one silent step at a time.
He didn't pursue.
But the damage was done.
That night, sleep abandoned you. Every rustle of fabric became approaching footsteps. Every breath of wind carried phantom laughter.
Dawn came with armored fists pounding on your door.
"You're summoned," the guard said. "For a walk."
They dragged you from bed, tossing a cloak over your shoulders as they marched you beyond familiar corridors, past the gilded cages of the inner palace into the raw expanse of the outer cliffs.
Nanook stood at the precipice, the morning wind playing with his hair.
"Come here."
Your feet refused.
With a flick of his wrist, a circlet of dark metal appeared in his palm.
"Put it on," he said, "if you value your next breath."
The metal seared your fingers as you clasped it around your throat. It settled against your skin like a living thing.
"Good." He gestured toward the cliff's edge. "Now run."
Your bare feet tore across jagged stone as you bolted, not toward freedom, but toward the massive sword leaning against a nearby boulder. His sword. The one he'd so carelessly left unattended.
The moment your hands closed around the hilt, power erupted through your veins, the blade's ancient hunger vibrating in your bones. It was too heavy, but when you swung, it moved with you.
Nanook caught the strike barehanded.
The impact should have severed flesh. Instead, his fingers curled around the singing steel as if greeting an old friend, the weapon's fury dying instantly at his touch.
His other hand snapped out, twisting your wrist just enough to bring you to your knees.
For a breathless moment, you stared up at your captor, expecting death.
Nanook threw back his head and laughed, a sound both terrible and delighted.
"Oh, little mouse," he purred, prying his weapon from your shaking hands, "you do make this interesting."
As guards lifted you from the ground, the circlet at your throat pulsed warmly.
----
The crash of splintering wood shattered your fragile sleep.
Nanook filled the doorway, swaying ever so slightly, the sharp edges of his divinity blurred by wine. His usually immaculate hair tumbled loose over one shoulder, and in his grip—a man.
Just some trembling soul with a split lip and shackled wrists, dragged forward like an offering.
"Wake up, little one. I've brought you a gift."
The prisoner collapsed at your bedside, his chains clattering against marble. "M-mercy, please—"
Nanook kicked him silent.
Then he tossed a dagger onto your sheets.
"Here's the game," he murmured, crouching until his breath, warm and wine-sweet, fanned across your face. "You kill him... or I do it slowly."
The blade glinted in the low light.
You stared at it. At the prisoner's tear-streaked face. At the way Nanook's fingers twitched, already anticipating violence.
Your hand closed around the hilt and you moved.
Not toward the man.
Toward him.
The dagger flashed upward, biting deep into the meat of Nanook's palm. A brutal, messy wound. Crimson welled, dripped, splattered across your bare arms as you twisted the blade.
For one glorious second, you saw something foreign in his golden eyes—
Surprise.
Then the world flipped.
Your back hit the floor with enough force to steal your breath. Nanook loomed above, his bleeding hand pinning your wrist, his other arm braced beside your head. The scent of copper and expensive wine filled the space between you.
You expected fury.
Instead, he laughed, a low, breathless sound that vibrated through your chest.
"Clever little thing." he slurred, his weight growing heavier as the alcohol finally claimed him. His forehead dropped against your shoulder. "Should've known you'd... cheat."
Then, impossibly, the conqueror of worlds went limp atop you.
His breathing evened out.
The prisoner had fled.
The dagger lay forgotten nearby.
And you?
You lay very, very still beneath a sleeping man, his heartbeat steady against yours.
For the first time since your capture, you held the power.
The dagger gleamed in the moonlight, still wet with his blood. One quick thrust between those ribs would end it all. You could almost feel the moment.
But you hesitated.
Killing him now would be a death sentence. His generals would flay you alive before dawn. Worse—what if he didn't die?
You took the blade and carved two precise lines into his skin—one along his unmarked palm, another just beneath his ribs.
I could have killed you.
The dagger clattered to the floor as you returned to bed, pulling the covers over your still-trembling body. Let him wake confused. Let him find his own blood first.
Dawn came quietly.
You feigned sleep as Nanook stirred. Through slitted eyes, you watched him examine his new wounds with something almost like... amusement.
Just a quiet huff of breath that might have been laughter.
"You," he muttered to your sleeping form, "are going to be trouble."
Then he was gone.
You moved before the echoes faded.
No time for breakfast. No patience for guards. The collar at your throat hummed, but you ignored it, today wasn't about defiance.
Today was about escape.
The halls were quieter than usual, whether by chance or some drunken negligence among the guards, you didn't care.
Your pulse hammered as you reached the lower levels, further than you'd ever gone. The air changed here, damp and salty.
A narrow corridor ended at a rusted gate. Beyond it, sunlight glittered on water. The harbor.
Your fingers closed around the gate's bars, just as a familiar voice purred behind you.
"Looking for something?"
Nanook leaned against the wall, freshly bathed and annoyingly alert, his wounded hand bandaged in gold silk. The cuts you'd given him were nowhere to be seen.
"Air." you said simply.
He studied you for a long moment. Then sighed.
"Fine."
Before you could react, he wrenched the gate open with one hand, seawater wind whipping through the corridor.
"Run," he said, stepping aside. "Let's see how far you get before the collar drags you back."
"Or stay. And learn what happens to mice who bite gods."
The choice hung between you as the scent of salt and freedom called from beyond the gate.
----
You found a new path today.
The crack in the wall was barely wider than your palm, just another shadow in the maze of servant corridors. But when you pressed against it, the stone groaned and gave way to darkness.
Cold air rushed past you. A forgotten passage.
You slipped inside. The tunnel sloped downward, narrow enough that your shoulders brushed both walls. Your fingers trailed along the rough stone as you descended, counting steps.
Then you saw light. A rusted iron grate blocked the exit, but beyond it, you could see the cliffside tumbling down to the city below.
You committed every turn to memory before retreating. Not today. But soon.
----
The scent hit you first, blood and charred meat.
You froze in the doorway.
Bodies littered the kitchen floor like discarded puppets. Some still twitched. At the center of the carnage stood Nanook, idly wiping his blade on a dead man's tunic.
His head lifted.
"Perfect timing." he said.
A guard shoved a goblet into your hands. The wine inside smelled faintly of almonds.
"Drink." Nanook commanded.
You hesitated only a second before swallowing.
Nanook watched your throat work with clinical interest. When you didn't collapse, he smiled.
"Congratulations." he said. "You're my new taster."
That night, they brought you roasted pheasant and honeyed figs. You ate slowly, waiting for the poison to take you.
Nanook watched from his throne.
Nothing happened.
Morning revealed the price of defiance.
Six heads adorned the outer gates. The seventh prisoner hung crucified above the banquet hall, still breathing when they brought in the first course.
Nanook sipped his wine, eyes never leaving yours.
"Tell me," he murmured, "do you still dream of running?"
You took another bite of your food.
The meat tasted like ash.
----
The scent of charred rosemary still clung to your fingers when you woke to find Nanook crouched beside your pallet, his shadow swallowing the candlelight.
You reacted before thinking, your hand lashed out, catching his wrist as he reached for the half-eaten fig on your tray.
"Still alive, I see."
You released him like touching scorched iron.
You decided to pass through the kitchen today.
The scent of blood had been scrubbed away, but something lingered.
The way your reflection in the soup cauldrons looked strangely blurred. The atmosphere was gloomy.
You made yourself useful.
Small comforts. You can perform magic tricks, so why not. You cheered them up, well temporarily, but it was better than nothing.
"They say the Tyrant's pet can charm snakes..." "I heard they turned a guard's sword into flowers..."
Nanook's summons came at dusk.
His private chambers sprawled across the palace's highest point, all obsidian arches and windows open to the stars. The bed he indicated for you stood opposite his own.
"Having fun?" he said, pouring wine you wouldn't dare drink.
You flexed your still-tingling fingers. "They look sad, I don't like that."
He swirled the dark liquid. "I won't have you making allies in my own house."
That night, as the twin moons rose, you gave him a different kind of show. Well, you were forced to. Fire blossomed between your palms.
Nanook watched from his chair.
When the last ember died, he said only:
"Again."
You obliged.
This time, the flames took his shape, looming and terrible, until with a flick of your wrist, the figure's head tilted back in silent laughter.
Nanook went very still.
Then he stood, crossed the space between you, and caught your smoking hands in his.
"Clever mouse," he murmured, thumb brushing your scorched knuckles. "But remember—" His grip tightened just shy of pain. "I like my toys flammable."
----
The arena stank of sweat and fear.
You watched from the high balcony as the prisoners were herded into the pit, some weeping, some snarling, all doomed. Nanook lounged on his throne, fingers drumming a lazy rhythm against the armrest.
"Last one standing earns my blessing." he announced, as if offering salvation rather than damnation.
A lie wrapped in gold.
You slipped away before the first scream.
Phainon, someone called for his name, sat apart from the others in the holding cell. When you appeared at the bars, he didn't flinch.
"You are.. ?" he observed.
"You must've known the king's pet. That's me." You pressed closer. "There's a way out."
His gaze sharpened. "For who?"
"The dragon. The challenge for tomorrow. Its throat softens after the first fireburst." You slid a knife between the bars. "Make it count."
Phainon tested the blade's edge. "Why help me?"
You smiled. "Every distraction helps."
Nanook caught you returning to the tower, your clothes reeking of prison straw.
His grip on your arm was deceptively gentle. "Naughty pet."
He carried you back like a misbehaving cat, dumping you onto the fur-strewn floor.
----
The arena roared as Phainon faced the fire dragon.
You watched from the shadows as he danced between claws and flame, waiting until the beast's chest glowed molten.
Then he struck.
The knife found its mark.
Ichor gushed black as the dragon collapsed, its death throes shaking the stadium. Nanook leaned forward, intrigued rather than angered.
"Bring me that one." he commanded.
But Phainon was already gone, vanished through the chaos you'd engineered.
Nanook found you polishing his armor that evening.
"You," he said, catching your chin, "are far too clever for your own good."
You met his gaze without flinching.
He laughed then, before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
"Run again tomorrow." he murmured. "It's more fun when you try."
----
The cup shattered before you hit the ground.
Fire raced through your veins, not the clean burn of liquor, but something else. Your vision tunneled. The banquet hall swayed. Somewhere beyond the roaring in your ears, you heard Nanook's chair scrape back.
His face swam above you.
Obviously someone has poisoned you.
For one terrible moment, you thought he might let you die.
Then his hand closed around your throat.
You woke up. No collar, you could no longer feel it on.
The servant girl bowed low. "You have received His Majesty's blessing."
You touched your chest. Where your heartbeat should have been, there was only a slow, steady pulse.
---
Phainon's name echoed through the halls like a prayer: The Golden Victor. Nanook's Favorite.
Wait, what did you miss? How long was you out for?
You pieced together the story from whispers:
How he'd slain the drake with a single strike
How the Tyrant had draped his own cloak around the boy's shoulders
The court adored him.
You wondered if he still remembered the knife you'd slipped him.
Nanook's visit came at midnight.
"You'll fight in the morrow's games." he said, as casually as ordering wine.
You stared at the canopy above your bed. "To prove what?"
"That I don't keep broken things. Unless they're interesting."
The rules were simple:
Twelve champions
One victor
You turned your face away.
Nanook caught your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "You've tasted my power now. Let's see what you do with it."
Dawn painted the sands gold as you entered.
The other champions circled like jackals, each bred for battle, each marked with their master's sigil. You wore Nanook's colors: black and gold.
No one cheered for you.
High above, Nanook lounged in his box, Phainon seated at his right hand.
The horn sounded.
The blessing guided your hands. When the first champion fell, his neck snapped clean as dry kindling, you felt nothing.
The crowd roared.
Nanook's smile widened.
By sunset, the sands ran red.
Only you and one other remained, a hulking brute with a general's mark burned into his chest. He spat blood at your feet.
"Pretty little pet," he sneered. "Let's see how your master likes you broken."
Then, in a blink of an eye, he died.
They dragged you before Nanook's throne.
Phainon's face was pale.
"Well?" he asked the assembled nobles. "What do you think of my pet?"
His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your face up.
The kiss he pressed to your forehead burned worse than any poison.
"Well done." he murmured, for your ears alone.
----
You found Phainon in the ruins of the old temple. The moonlight cut through the broken pillars, casting jagged shadows as he turned to face you.
"You're alive," he breathed, relief flashing across his face before his expression hardened. "But not for long if you stay here."
"I need your help."
"There's a ship at the eastern docks. It leaves at dawn. If we can get you there—"
A slow clap echoed through the ruins.
Both of you froze.
Nanook stepped from the shadows.
"How touching," he murmured. "A rebellion of two."
Nanook flicked his wrist, and the speed in your veins burned away like paper in a fire. You gasped, stumbling as your limbs turned leaden. If he is able to give you his blessing, he can take it back.
Phainon drew his blade, but Nanook was already upon him. A single strike sent him crashing into the stone, his sword skittering across the floor.
Nanook didn’t even look at him.
His gaze was fixed on you.
"Did you really think," he said, "I wouldn’t notice?"
Back in the palace, the air was thick with fury.
"You were mine," he said. "And you threw it away."
You didn’t back down. "I was never yours."
He moved first.
The fight was brutal. You were slower now, stripped of his blessing, but you knew his patterns. You dodged, struck, twisted—until his patience snapped.
A backhand sent you reeling. You hit the table, rolled—and grabbed the nearest heavy object.
The impact of the bronze decanter against his skull echoed like a gong.
Nanook staggered.
Then collapsed.
You didn’t think. You just moved. Dragging him was harder without the speed, but desperation lent you strength. Through the hidden passages, past the unsuspecting guards, into the cold night beyond the palace walls.
You made it to the edge of the cypress grove before he stirred.
A groan. A twitch of fingers. His eyes fluttering open.
"Who...?" His voice was rough, disoriented. He looked at you like he’d never seen you before. "Where am I?"
You tensed, ready to run.
But then his hand—weak, unsteady—reached for yours.
"Don’t leave."
The most feared tyrant in the world had no idea who he was.
And for some reason, he trusted you.
"Can I come with you?"
You exhaled sharply. "No."
He flinched. Just slightly.
You cursed under your breath.
"Fine. But if you slow me down, I’m leaving you behind."
A slow, hesitant nod.
And just like that, he followed you into the dark—barefoot, bleeding, and utterly, terrifyingly helpless.
You have no idea what's waiting for you both ahead. But you can't stay here any longer.
----
[To be continued?]
