floatyflowers

[floatyflowers]

Dark Male! Wednesday Addams X Reader X Dark Male! Enid Sinclair

The moon cast eerie shadows across Nevermore Academy's gothic architecture as you hurried toward your dorm, arms wrapped tightly around your textbooks

Being new hadn't been easy, especially for someone as naturally withdrawn as you.

You couldn't see were the two pairs of eyes tracking your every move from an upper window.

"Her heartbeat must be rabbit-quick," Wednesday observed, his voice monotone yet somehow predatory.

"I wonder how fast it would beat if I held a scalpel to her throat."

Enid shifted beside him, his bright sweater a splash of color against the gloom.

"Wednesday! That's not how you make friends, I was thinking we could bring her cookies tomorrow, maybe with little edible glitter?"

"We are not making friends, Sinclair. We are claiming territory." Wednesday turned from the window, his dark eyes piercing.

"Remember our agreement. No territorial displays. She belongs to both of us."

Enid nodded vigorously.

"Totally! Sharing is caring! But maybe we ease her into it? Like, with the cookies first?"

─── ⋆⋅☽◯☾⋅⋆ ───

Hours later, you had just slipped into your pajamas when a soft knock sounded at your door, assuming it was your roommate, you opened it without hesitation.

Your breath caught. Wednesday and Enid stood in the hallway, an unsettling combination of darkness and cheerfulness.

"May we enter?" Wednesday asked, though it sounded more like a command.

You stepped back, heart pounding as they closed the door behind you.

"We have observed your difficulties adjusting," Wednesday stated, moving closer until you could smell the faint scent of formaldehyde that always clung to him.

"New prey often struggles in unfamiliar hunting grounds."

Enid quickly stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Wednesday.

"What he means is, we know it's tough being new! We want to help you feel welcome!"

Wednesday's lip curled slightly.

"I meant precisely what I said, you're prey in a den of predators. Fortunately for you, we have decided to claim you before someone less... delicate does."

Before you could respond, they guided you to your bed, sitting on either side of you, effectively trapping you.

"We have come to an arrangement regarding you," Wednesday began, his fingers tracing patterns on your blanket that looked suspiciously like nooses.

"Enid and I will be sharing you, much like one shares a favorite specimen between two collections."

Enid laughed nervously, before explaining.

"He's being metaphorical! We both really like you and thought instead of competing, we could both be your friends! Super close friends!"

Wednesday tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on you.

"Friends is such an inadequate word, you're ours now. We will protect you from the others who would surely tear you apart, I have already begun collecting potential souvenirs from those who have looked at you too long."

Your eyes widened. "S-souvenirs?"

"Wednesday's joking!" Enid interjected, his voice slightly too high.

"He means like, watching out for you! Making sure nobody bothers you!"

"I never joke," Wednesday corrected, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I have a lovely jar waiting for the first person who makes you cry their eyes would make a charming addition to my collection."

Enid grabbed your hand, his grip tight despite his cheerful tone.

"We just want to take care of you! Be your special protectors!"

Wednesday's cold fingers brushed against your neck.

"If anyone tries to harm what's ours, I have several methods of disposal that would make even Thing uncomfortable. The screams would be music to my ears."

"Wednesday!" Enid's smile faltered for a moment before returning, brighter than before.

"I swear he likes to be dramatic! We would never hurt anyone! Probably! Unless they really deserved it!"

You were going to object but...

They both slid into your bed, positioning you between them.

Wednesday's presence was like a block of ice, while Enid felt like a furnace threatening to burn you.

"Sleep now," Wednesday orders, his breath cold against your ear.

"I have been studying your sleep patterns. Did you know you talk in your sleep? I have recorded every word. Your subconscious is fascinatingly vulnerable."

Now those creepy words are more then enough to make you want to run away from them.

But you only freeze in your place from the fear.

Enid's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

"We care about you! A lot! We will be right here when you wake up. And every morning after. And probably watch you sleep sometimes. For safety!"

"How?" you ask.

"You will move to our dorm, silly!" Enid replies as if it was obvious.

Wednesday's hand found yours under the covers, his grip unyielding.

"No one will ever touch you without our permission. And if they try, well, I have always wondered what human skin looks like stretched over a canvas."

You realized you were trapped between two obsessive freaks, one who openly displayed his disturbing nature, and another who tried desperately to hide his own behind a mask of cheerfulness.

You can't imagine what will happen to you if you say 'no'

[floatyflowers]

Dark Prince Charming X Single Mother Reader Part 2

Part One

The royal wedding was beautiful…too beautiful for something built on a lie.

You were now a princess, crowned and wed, your son is treated with kindness by his stepfather who doesn't store effort in hiring the best tutors for him

He treated you with pure respect, believing in how fate is the reason why you two are destined for each other.

You tried to explain that you had never worn glass slippers, that you never danced in the grand hall beneath the chandeliers. That it wasn't you he had fallen in love with.

But he would only hush you with a kiss to your temple and whisper:

"No more of that, the slipper fit. That's all that matters now."

°༺❤︎༻°

But it did matter. And every time you looked into his eyes, you felt it, the way he refused to let go of his version of the story.

So you began to search for the owner of the glass slipper.

And one morning, you found her.

She was in a house, surrounded by birds and mice who danced to her soft humming, working in the horse's saddle while serving her step mother and step siblings.

Lady Tremaine wasted no time in bringing you to her once she learned who you were, and you couldn't ignore the jealous glares from her daughters burning into your back.

The younger woman was lovely, not regal, and not proud.

Cinderella.

And when she saw you holding the missing slipper, her eyes filled with quiet wonder.

"I didn’t mean to leave it behind,"she said softly, brushing her skirt.

"It was all so magical. I didn't think he would remember me."

"He did," you replied, with a gentle voice.

"But he believes I'm the owner instead."

Cinderella blinked, confused. And that was when you told her everything, about the slipper, the prince, and the delusional marriage you never wanted.

Her lips parted in shock.

"…You are his wife?"

You nodded, tears stinging your lashes.

"Please, just come with me. Let him see you and if he remembers you, maybe he will let me go."

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

°༺❤︎༻°

You returned to the palace at dusk.

You requested privacy, no servants and guards, just the prince.

When he stepped into the grand hall, dressed in his royal clothes, his eyes immediately lit up at the sight of you, causing you to smile faintly.

"Darling, I have brought someone to meet you."

He followed your gaze.

There stood Cinderella, hands holding into the other glass slipper, head bowed.

"Your Majesty."

For a moment, the room was quiet, time seemed to hold its breath.

You stepped forward, speaking softly.

"She was at the ball that night, the one the slipper was meant for."

Charming said nothing.

Not to her, not to you.

He only walked past both of you toward the glass slipper resting beneath its bell jar.

Slowly, he lifted it.

Held it.

Studied it.

You could feel your heart speeding up, this was it. He would see her, and remember the dance, Charming would-

SMASH.

The sound rang out shocking you.

The glass slipper crashed against the marble floor, splintering into a hundred glittering shards.

Cinderella gasped, while you took a step back, stunned.

The prince walks over to Cinderella and takes the glass slipper away only to do the same thing he did to its twin, smashing it against the floor.

Charming turned around slowly, his voice calm as he began speaking.

"This is my wife. My queen. I need no other."

Cinderella blinked. "I thought…"

His smile held faux kindness.

"You danced, nothing more."

She stepped forward, eyes pleading.

"Please, I never meant to intrude. I only came because she asked me to-"

He raised a hand.

"Leave. Now."

She looked to you, as you couldn't speak.

You just watched, frozen before she slowly turned and walked away, her footsteps light and trembling against the marble.

And when she was gone, Charming turned back to you.

He didn't yell and didn't rage.

But his eyes, those soft, princely eyes, were colder than you had ever seen them.

"You searched for her behind my back."

Your lips parted. "I only wanted to give you what you were looking for."

"I was looking for you."

He stepped closer, and you didn't move away.

"Don't do that again, and do not try to give me up."

His hand gently brushed your cheek, and it felt like ice against your skin.

"We are a family now, you, me, and our child. That girl? She's from another story. One I have chosen to forget."

You said nothing.

Nodding slowly, and carefully at his words, as he pulled you into an embrace that was far too tight.

[floatyflowers]

Dark Prince Charming X Single Mother! Reader

The castle was in an uproar, the glass slipper, the only clue left behind by the mystery woman at the royal ball, had become both a symbol.

Prince Charming had ordered the Grand Duke to search the kingdom for the foot it fit perfectly, with only one command...

"Find her, and if she refuses to come, bring her here by force"

The order was clear, almost frightening in its intensity.

You weren't expecting the knock at your cottage door that morning.

Living on the edge of the kingdom, your life was quiet. You were a widow, your husband had passed away one year ago, and since then, your only concern had been your small child and keeping food on the table.

The idea of attending a royal ball had been laughable as you had never even owned a pair of glass shoes.

So when the Grand Duke arrived at your door with armed guards and that infamous glass slipper in hand, your heart skipped a beat.

"Madam," the Duke said, voice sharp with forced politeness,

"By royal decree, every woman must try on this slipper, refusal is not an option."

You were confused, but obliged. After all, what harm could it do? It won't fit.

But then, the slipper slipped on perfectly, as if it had been made for you.

The Duke paled as he muttered something under his breath about "His Highness finally being sane again."

You immediately stepped back, shaking your head.

"No, no, that has to be a mistake. I didn't go to the ball. I don't even have shoes like that. This must be someone else's-"

"It fits," the Grand Duke said, a cold smile stretching his lips.

"That is all that matters."

You clutched your child protectively as they insisted you come with them.

°༺❤︎༻°

Prince Charming was waiting at the top of the marble staircase, his eyes focused with unspoken obsession.

When he saw you step into the grand hall, clutching into your son, looking lost and fearful, he froze.

Then a slow charming smile appears on his face.

He descended the stairs quickly, each step echoing like thunder.

"It's you," he breathed.

"Your Highness, please, there has been a mistake. I wasn't at the ball, I have a son. I'm a widow-"

"You don't have to lie anymore," he whispered, taking your hand with unwavering force.

"You ran from me that night, but fate brought you back, even with a child, I don't care. I will be his father. I will give you everything."

Your eyes widened. "You're not listening, I never went to the ball!"

"Then who danced with me?" he snapped, though his voice still bore a desperate softness.

"Who made me feel like that? Who ran down the stairs, leaving me with this?" He held up the glass slipper.

"I don't know"

But he only smiled more.

"You can say whatever you want, my love. Deny it. Lie. I will believe the slipper. It chose you. That means you were meant for me."

He turned to the Grand Duke. "Prepare the wedding."

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"No more running, you are mine now. And I will be a perfect husband, for you and a good father for our little one."

Part Two

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Peter Pan X Captain Hook's Daughter! Reader

You were falling.

Again.

"Tinker Bell !" your voice cracked, clinging to your doll with one arm as your body twisted mid-air.

"P-Peter! Please, I'm-"

Your back struck the soft ground of the empty Mermaid Lagoon, the air knocked out of your lungs as you curled around your doll.

The third fall today. Or was it the fourth? Time didn't make sense here.

A shadow cast over you as Peter hovered above, barefoot, cocky grin tugging at his lips.

"Oh, come on! You said you liked flying."

"I didn't say I liked being thrown…" You hiccupped, choking back another sob.

Your doll was pressed so tight to your chest that its button eye was imprinting a red ring on your skin.

Peter twirled mid-air, arms out as if showing off.

"I'm just playing with you! I play rough, that's what we do in Neverland!”

You looked up, hair tangled, face sticky with tears.

"Father never treats me like this, he said I was his treasure"

Peter's eyes narrowed, his grin faltering. Something behind them flickered. Cold.

"Yeah," he muttered, descending and crouching beside you, his shadow stretching long and sharp behind him.

"Your Father, not me."

Your lips quivered, you had begged for weeks.

Pleaded in the treehouse he had built which felt like a cage.

You wanted to go home, you wanted your father’s warm coats and honey-sweet words, and the toys he gave you just because you pouted.

But Peter gave you nothing.

Except bruises, dizzy spells, and lies.

Unfortunately, you fall for his lies, as Peter promised he will fly you around for a little bit and then return you to the ship.

And you being a naive shaltred twelve year old, believed him.

“My princess,” he mocked in a sing-song tone, poking your doll, before snatching it away.

"Bet he made you feel so special."

"He loves me," you whispered, voice cracking.

"He's looking for me. I know it."

Peter tilted his head, eyes narrowing, and then he said it.

"No, he gave you to me."

Peter knew the truth, James Hook suffered from his family's neglect for years

The pirate would never abandon you or even dare to make you feel unwanted like how he felt in his childhood.

"You are lying."

He grinned wider, leaning in close, breath tickling your cheek.

"We made a deal, a long time ago, he broke his promise to me, he said he would never grow up, but he did, he ran away with some of my boys, and made himself a pirate king." Peter's voice hardened.

"So I took you."

"SHUT UP!!" you screamed, the sound ripping your throat raw.

Peter blinked, startled, then frowned.

"You are being ungrateful," he stated coldly.

"I feed you. I keep you young. I let you fly. You get me, that's better than being a pirate, isn't it?"

You turned away, after taking back your doll.

"Take me home…"

He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear.

"This is home."

Suddenly, he bent down and scooped you up into his arms, bridal style.

Your legs dangled limply, fever burning under your skin, but he cared less.

"There we go!" he chirped, all singsong and sunshine. "No more tears, little wife."

You blinked, stunned, dizzy as your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

"W-What…?"

Peter spun around with you in his arms, the treehouse nursery blurring past.

"I know what will cheer you up! Let's play your favorite game!"

You stiffened.

"House!" he declared, grinning wide.

"You remember, right? I will be the husband…"

He nuzzled his nose against your cheek with childlike glee.

"And you are the wife. Of course."

You shook your head weakly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"Peter, I don't want to."

The rejection was ignored as he continued.

"And the Lost Boys are our adorable little children!"

[floatyflowers]

Dark Captain Hook X Peter Pan's Mother! Reader

The ocean was not kind to a woman alone, your small boat had been ripped from its course during a violent storm.

Rain, wind, and waves had taken everything but your desperate will to find your son.

You clung to the mast as the waters swallowed the horizon, whispering his name again and again like a prayer.

"Peter… my Peter…"

Darkness took you.

And when you awoke

There was warmth, and the creaking of wood, with the scent of sea brine and smoke.

You blinked blearily, finding yourself wrapped in heavy wool, laying on an old cot within the quarters of a grand ship.

The floorboards groaned, a shadow crossed the threshold.

He entered like thunder.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in crimson and obsidian, a dark hat perched atop long black curls.

The gleam of his hook caught the firelight. But it was his eyes that frightened you most, intense brown eyes with dark lashes.

"Well, well," he purred, his voice smooth as velvet yet edged with danger.

"What have we here? A mermaid without her tail?"

His crew chuckled, but you barely registered them, your mind still on Peter.

"I need to find my son," you gasped, desperation clawing at your chest.

You hesitated, but the truth spilled from your lips before you could stop it.

"Where am I?" you managed, setting up.

"You are aboard The Jolly Roger, my dear," he replied.

The captain tilted his head, intrigued. "And who, pray tell, is your son?"

You hesitated, but the truth spilled from your lips before you could stop it, doubting that the stranger could possibly know who your son is.

"Peter Pan."

Silence.

Then, the captain’s expression shifted, surprise, fury, then something far more unsettling fascination.

A slow, wicked smile paints his lips.

"Peter Pan's mother" he mused, crouching down to your level.

His hook traced the air near your cheek, not touching, but close enough to make your breath hitch.

"How ironic."

"You have been searching for him, haven't you?" he asserts.

"That wretched little boy who refuses to grow up, who abandoned you for years." His voice filled with venom, not for you, but for Peter.

"Years? it has only been a month, and he has not abandoned me!" You exclaim, feeling frustrated by his words.

Hook's eyes narrowed, studying your face with an intensity that made you shiver.

"A month?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"My dear woman, time moves differently in Neverland, what feels like a month to you has been years here, years of that boy's reckless games, his cruel pranks."

You shook your head, refusing to believe it. "You're lying."

"Am I?" He stood, towering over you.

"Tell me why I would lie to you?"

When you keep silent, Captain Hook seizes the opportunity, curling his gloved fingers around your hand with unsettling gentleness.

He lifts it slowly to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Well now, since we are family, why not become better acquainted?" he murmured, his tone rich with mockery and charm.

"I find myself most intrigued by the woman who birthed that insufferable wretch who haunts my days like a curse."

You pulled your hand back sharply, the warmth of his lips still burning against your skin. "I need to leave. I need to find Peter."

But as you moved to stand, Hook's hook shot out, the curved metal pressing against your shoulder with just enough pressure to keep you seated. His smile never wavered, but his eyes hardened like winter storms.

"Oh, but my dear, you misunderstand your situation entirely." His voice remained silky, but underneath lay steel.

"You see, you are not a guest aboard my ship. You are a leverage."

Your heart beat against your ribs.

"What do you mean?"

"That boy has cost me a hand, my dignity, and countless sleepless nights, but now..."

He gestured grandly with his good hand, "Now I have something he values more than his own eternal youth, his mother."

"You can't keep me here!"

Hook's laugh was rich and dark.

"Can't I? Look around you, love. We're surrounded by endless ocean, and my crew is extraordinarily loyal, should you attempt to leave..." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"...Well, let's just say the sharks haven't been fed in days, and they do so enjoy fresh meat."

The threat hung in the air like smoke.

You felt tears prick your eyes, but refused to let them fall.

"Now then," Hook continued, straightening his coat,

"You will find your accommodations quite comfortable, you'll dine with me each evening, and perhaps you'll tell me stories of young Peter's childhood, I also find myself curious about you."

﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏

Months Later...

The routine had become sickeningly familiar. Hook would visit you daily, bringing meals and engaging in what he called "civilized conversation." He spoke of literature, of the sea, of everything except letting you go.

Slowly, horrifyingly, you began to understand his lonely existence, even as you despised him.

He never harmed you physically, but his presence was a constant reminder of your captivity.

The hook that had once threatened now traced patterns in the air as he spoke, a nervous habit you had come to recognize.

That night, you heard it, a familiar sound that made you hopeful.

The distinctive crow of a rooster, Peter's signal.

You rushed to the small porthole, and there he was, hovering outside the ship, his green outfit unmistakable against the star-filled sky.

Still a boy, still your Peter, but his eyes held a fury you'd never seen before.

"Mother!" he called, his voice carrying over the water.

Captain Hook appeared beside you with predatory grace, his hook glinting as it curved around your waist.

"Ah, right on schedule. Tell me, Peter," he called through the window,

"Did you miss your dear mother? Because she's been such delightful company these past months."

Peter's face twisted with rage.

"Let her go, Hook! This is between us!"

"Oh, but it's so much more interesting now, isn't it?" Hook's voice was honey over poison.

"You see, your mother and I have become quite close. Haven't we, darling?"

Your stomach churned as Hook's meaning became clear.

"Peter, don't listen to him!"

But Peter's eyes widened in horror as Hook produced a simple gold band from his pocket, sliding it onto your finger despite your struggles.

"Congratulations, my boy," Hook said with malicious satisfaction.

"You may call me stepfather now."

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Platonic Grandfather! Thranduil x Reader

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm were filled with the soft glow of torchlight, and Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves, sat on his carved throne.

His posture was poised, and his expression distant but sharp, as if his mind wandered the ages of Arda while still monitoring the world around him.

"Grandfather!" Your voice rang out, shattering the peaceful air.

Thranduil's brow twitched, no matter how much he corrected you about using the sindrin elvish 'Adarharn' instead of the human 'grandfarher', you still call him that.

He could never wrap his head around what your father saw in your human mother.

"What is it, child?"

"Do dragons sneeze fire?"

The Elvenking froze, then slowly raised his gaze to meet yours.

"What nonsense is this?"

You strode closer, full of chaotic energy.

"I mean, they breathe fire, right? So if they had a cold and sneezed, would it be like a tiny firestorm? Or do they just sneeze normal air like boring creatures?"

Thranduil's face remained utterly impassive, though his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"You disturb my affairs to ask if dragons, beings of immense power, sneeze fire?"

"Yes!" you replied with an unflinching grin.

"It's important! What if one sneezes near Mirkwood? Are we prepared for fireproof defenses? Have you thought about this, Grandfather?"

He leaned back in his throne, fingers steepling as his piercing gaze bore into you.

"I have ruled this realm for centuries, faced Smaug himself in his prime, and dealt with matters of grave importance. Yet never, not once, has anyone dared to ask such a ridiculous question."

"Ridiculous or brilliant?" you countered, tilting your head.

He sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that seemed to drain the weariness of millennia.

"Dragons do not sneeze fire. Their fire is an intentional act, not a byproduct of a cold. Now, if you value your continued residence in this realm, you will refrain from asking such hollow questions."

"But what if they do sneeze fire when they are babies?" you pressed, eyes wide with mock innocence.

"Imagine a baby dragon with the sniffles-"

"Enough," Thranduil cut in, his voice stern and final.

"Legolas shall hear of your antics."

"Great!" you chirped.

"He will want to know about sneezing dragons too."

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I regret that I ever allowed him to leave you in my care."

"Grandfather, if you are immortal, how old are you? Like really old? Old enough to know dirt personally?"

Thranduil gave you a long-suffering stare. "I am far older than you could comprehend, and I have no acquaintance with dirt."

"Are you sure?" You tilted your head, looking at him critically.

"You have got that ancient vibe. You know, wise and mysterious, but also a bit crusty?”

"Crusty?" he repeated.

"Yes, like bread that has been left out too long. Still good, but definitely needs some butter."

Thranduil rose from his throne, towering over you with an aura of icy authority.

"Child, you are testing the limits of my patience."

"Really, how close am I?"

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

By the end of the week, the Woodland Realm had descended into mild anarchy.

You had declared yourself "Princess of Fun" and commandeered half the guard to organize a deer race through the palace gardens.

Thranduil found himself standing at the edge of the chaos, arms folded as he observed the scene.

Guards chased deers, elves tripped over hastily made obstacles, and you stood on a table, yelling encouragement at the animals.

"Faster, Mr. Nutkins! You’ve got this! Believe in yourself!"

Thranduil cleared his throat loudly. The table you were standing on wobbled as you froze, realizing you were caught.

"Oh, greetings, Grandfather," you said sheepishly, hopping down.

"Did you see Mr. Nutkins? He’s the fastest-"

"You have dishonored this realm, disrupted my court, and terrorized the guards with your absurd antics." He stepped closer, his stern glare boring into you.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

You grinned up at him. "You smiled a little when Nutkins won, didn’t you?"

Thranduil blinked, caught off-guard.

"I most certainly did not."

"Did too."

"I did not."

"Did too."

The Elvenking sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose once more.

"You are relentless."

"Thanks, Grandfather!" you chirped, taking it as a compliment.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

When Legolas returned from his quest months later, weary but victorious, he found his father seated on his throne, looking strangely serene.

At Thranduil's side, at the end of his throne's stairs, you sat cross-legged on the floor, gleefully teaching a group of guards how to make flower crowns.

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Did she... behave?"

Thranduil took a long sip of wine before answering.

"Define behave."

"Did she make you mad?"

Thranduil's lips twitched.

"She did not succeed."

You beamed. "I'm his favorite now."

Legolas groaned. "I'm never leaving you here again."

Thranduil smirked, swirling his wine.

"Good."

You grinned, handing your father a crown made of wildflowers.

"That's for you."

"She is to remain here," Thranduil interrupted smoothly, before adding "Permanently."

"What?!" Legolas exclaimed.

"Ada, we have agreed that once the ring is destroyed, she will return with me."

Thranduil descended gracefully from his throne, each step deliberate and regal.

Stopping before his son, he reached out and lifted your small form into his arms

"She is now under my care. Seek another child if you must, for this one shall not leave my side."

C.ai version: link

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Poseidon x Percy Jackson's Mother! Reader

For: @jeo20-ir

The Montauk air smelled like salt mixed with the thick feeling of horrible tension, as you stood on the porch of the beach cabin, arms wrapped tight around yourself, staring at the restless waves.

Inside, Percy was, preparing for his promised boat trip with you.

He had done it, your boy, your brave, sweet boy, had faced gods and monsters and come out on top.

And he saved you from Hades.

But even as pride filled your chest, there was a heavy feeling of worry.

It had been there ever since Percy's father had stepped back into the picture.

Poseidon.

You thought you had buried the memories of those stolen summer nights, when Poseidon had been just a man to you.

He had laughed, loved, and promised more than he could give.

And....

...then he vanished, leaving you with a warning about monsters, a promise to watch over Percy, and nothing else.

Or maybe something else, like the fact that he killed your friends and your ex-boyfriend.

That's why when he tried to contact you through Percy several times after Percy returned from Camp, you avoided him.

"I'm ready, let's go, mom."

You look at your son as he walks up behind you.

Despite Percy looking like Poseidon, his personality is nothing like the deity of the sea.

And you are thankful for that.

🌊🌊🌊

The boat rocked sharply, the waves suddenly restless and unpredictable, as if the ocean itself was throwing a tantrum.

You clung to the railing, your knuckles white as Percy shouted something over the roaring wind. He had insisted on this trip, a simple mother-son outing on the water to celebrate his latest victory.

You had agreed, wanting to share in his joy, but now your stomach churned with unease.

The sea wasn't angry, It felt like it was watching and waiting.

Another violent lurch sent you sprawling.

Percy's cry of alarm barely registered before the next wave struck, dragging you over the side.

"MOM!"

Cold water swallowed you whole, its icy fingers pulling you deeper and deeper.

Panic clawed at your chest as you kicked and struggled, but the currents felt alive, like they had one purpose.

And then, just as suddenly, the water stilled.

You opened your eyes, and there he was, Poseidon.

He stood like the ocean had shaped itself into a man just for him.

His eyes glowed an impossible shade of green, his expression unreadable.

"I knew you would come back to me," he said, his voice carrying humor.

"Come back to you?" you snapped, despite the ache in your lungs.

"I fell overboard because of your tantrum!"

You don't know how you are breathing underwater and speaking, but here you are getting angry at your ex-husband.

He stepped closer, the water parting effortlessly around him.

"I had to get your attention, you have been avoiding me for too long, " His hands touching your cheeks.

Before moving down, and grabbing your arms.

"You still look as young and beautiful as you have always been."

You wanted to pull away, to remind yourself of the heartache he had left in you.

But his grip on you is tight, making it painful and almost impossible to escape him.

Before you could retort, a shadow cut through the water above you. Percy.

Your heart leapt, your son had come to you.

But as he swam closer, his eyes locked onto Poseidon, yet instead of the anger or confusion you expected, Percy's face softened.

He nodded once, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, as if this was exactly what he’d hoped for.

Then, with a quick wave and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Percy turned and kicked back toward the surface, leaving you alone with Poseidon.

"Seems our son approves."

Your face twists, knowing very well that Percy misunderstood the situation.

"I don't approve."

His grin didn't leave his face, the water around you pulsing, and insistent on making you stay.

"Come now," he murmured, tilting his head.

"You have read enough of my ancient stories to know I never take no for an answer."

[floatyflowers]

Things Platonic Yandere Fathers! JJK characters would say to you (Gojo Satoru/Sukuna/Nanami)

Gojo Satoru

"You're the only reason I haven't burned this world to ash, kiddo. So why would you ever want to leave my side?"

"They hurt you? Tell me their names. No one lays a finger on my child and walks away smiling."

"I'm the strongest, remember? Which means I get to choose what’s best for you. Even if you hate me for it."

"You don’t need friends. You have me. I'm fun, hilarious, powerful, what more could you want?"

Ryomen Sukuna (reincarnated reader)

"Tch. You think I would let you go through this life without me watching over you? You were mine long before you were even born again."

"You can try to run, brat, but not even death can keep me from you. I have killed for less than someone breathing near you."

"You carry my blood, no one else deserves to touch you. They so much as look wrong at you, and I’ll carve their eyes out."

"You're not weak like them. You're mine. I made you strong. You will not dishonor that by defying me."

Kento Nanami

"This world is far too cruel. I won’t allow it to steal your light. If that means I must dirty my hands… then so be it."

"You're a child, and children shouldn't bear burdens. Leave everything to me...even your choices."

"When I say it's dangerous, it is. Trust me. I don't say these things to scare you, only to keep you safe."

"I didnt sacrifice everything for you to grow up and throw yourself into harm's way. Stay close. That’s an order."

[floatyflowers]

"Sorry to bother you, my friend I truly don’t mean to be a nuisance. If it's possible, could you please write a dark story about Sauron x female Celebrimbor (Tolkien), including mind control? I’d really appreciate it. I hope you always stay happy! 💖🕊️🤝

You woke choking on the scene of starlight.

Not the stars of the world you had known, your modern life, long gone, but the endless shimmer of Valinor’s sky, fading into memory as your soul settled into something new. Something old.

You remembered the heat of a forge, the pride of creation, and a name that was not your own:

Celebrimbor.

No, Telperinquar, son of Curufin, heir to Fëanor’s fire. But now, the body was different. Feminine. As if fate had rewritten the vessel.

You have regained Celebrimbor's memories, his last breath, betrayed, broken, the Rings twisted in his hands, and the smile of the abhorred one.

Annatar.

The beautiful stranger with yellow eyes and words like honey over steel.

The one who had instructed you, praised you, charmed you, until the moment he revealed what lay beneath: Sauron, servant of Morgoth. Deceiver. Destroyer.

But now, in this strange twist of time and flesh, you found yourself in Eregion, once more. Alive. And he… he was here too.

"Hail, Telperinquar, most radiant of smiths. Long have I heard tell of your craft, and it warms my heart to see such light in Middle-earth. Might I walk beside your forge? For there is much I would learn, and perhaps more still to offer."

You should have turned him away. Should have called him by his true name and cast him from your realm.

But the forge still called, and his voice still sang to that part of you that falsely remembered what it was to create together, and to trust him.

It was late. The forge had quieted, and the stars above Ost-in-Edhil burned silver in the deep sky.

You stood alone in the workshop, the warmth of the fire still clinging to your skin, though your hands were still.

You sensed him before he spoke.

"You work late, my lady,"

You did not turn.

"Creation does not follow the sun."

He stepped closer. You heard no footfall, yet felt his presence like a chilling wind.

"Of all those I have known," he mused, his gaze keen,

"There is a cast to your spirit unlike the common mould. Indeed, you are set apart."

You laugh in your head at his words which are the equivalent of the cheesy pickup line 'You are different'

At that, you turned, slowly. His face was fair, too fair, and calm.

But his eyes held something now. A question, a flicker of sultry glint.

He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of your right shoulder, not with touch, but with will.

"Trust me."

You felt it slide along your mind, seeking a door, a weakness.

"Yield. You are weary. Let me guide you. Let me take the burden."

Knowing that he is mind controling you, and if you let him, you will be a toy, you decided to ruin his plans.

“Do you ever grow tired of wearing masks, Sauron?”

The silence that followed was not empty it was sharp. As The air between you became tense.

His smile did not falter at once, but something behind his gaze cracked.

"That name,” he said at last, too softly, "is not spoken lightly."

"Would you then prefer I call you Mairon?"

"You have known all along?"

Shrugging at him, you playfully hold the Túrann hammer Sauron has gifted you.

"It seems like you mistook my kindness for naivety."

You gently place the head of the hammer against his chest.

"Tell me, Mairon, what do you have to offer the granddaughter of Fëanor, to continue crafting the rings for you?"

He looked down at the hammer, then back at you, a slow smile spreading across his face, not of malice, but of something akin to admiration. "Everything."

His hand came up, not to push the hammer away, but to rest over yours on the handle.

His touch was warm, almost burning, and a faint hum vibrated through the metal.

"I offer you not just partnership. I offer you a throne. My queen. We could forge a new Middle-earth, one unbound by the old ways, a realm of order and power such as none have ever seen."

He stepped closer, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

"Imagine it, the two of us. Your craft, my vision. We could command the very stars, bend the earth to our will. No more petty squabbles of elves, no more fading glory. Only endless dominion. Together."

As if sensing your uncertainty, his hand moved behind you, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the ring you had been crafting. He lifted it, the newly forged band gleaming in the firelight.

With a gentle pull, he drew you closer, your body pressed against his chest.

The heat of his body was intoxicating. He held the ring up between you, a symbol of the power he offered.

"You shall be my precious,"

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Tarzan X Single Mother Reader

The storm was unexpected.

Waves slammed against the fractured hull of the ship as the night sky shattered with lightning. Your baby wailed against your chest, wrapped in whatever blankets you’d managed to grab before chaos took the crew.

The sound of splintering wood, screaming sailors, and crashing waves mixed into a cacophony of despair.

Then, a plunge into freezing black water.

You didn’t remember how you survived. Only the pull of maternal instinct, your baby's crying voice a lifeline in the storm.

You washed ashore on an unknown jungle coast, battered, trembling, and alone with your son.

Except... you weren't.

The baby cried, but it meant he was breathing.

That was all that mattered. You kissed their damp head and whispered promises you didn’t know how to keep.

"We will be okay. I will protect you."

You built a crude shelter from palm fronds and branches. Days blurred into one another searching for water, for food, trying to quiet your child's hunger. Your body ached. Your mind is tired.

But you weren't alone.

At first, you noticed footprints near your camp, large, bare, and human.

Then came the food which were fruits placed in careful piles, bowls carved from bark filled with clean water, and once, a rabbit skinned and cleaned.

Something or someone was watching you.

You tried to stay calm. Maybe it was a local. A tribal man? Or someone else who had survived like you?

But then you saw him.

He emerged from the trees; the stranger was tall, wild-haired, shirtless, his skin bronzed by the sun. Muscles tensed beneath every movement, but he crouched low, green eyes pointed at you with eerie stillness.

Then he vanished, back into the trees.

You told yourself it was a hallucination.

Until the next morning, when he stood just beyond your camp's edge, holding your baby.

Your heart stopped. You rushed forward. Yet you realised that the baby wasn't crying.

In fact, he cooed, nestled calmly in the handsome man's massive arms.

"Safe," the man said simply, his voice low, rough, like language was unfamiliar to him.

He stepped forward, carefully handing the child to you. "Safe with me."

You backed away, clutching your baby. "Who are you? What do you want?"

His head tilted. He looked confused.

"You. Mate"

The word landed like a stone in your gut. You stared at him, horrified.

"I don’t know you!"

He blinked.

"I know you. Long time. Since sea came. I watched. You… strong. Protect cub." His gaze softened slightly. "Good mate."

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your blood ran cold.

From that day forward, he never left.

He followed at a distance, silently watching. Every night, he lingered near your shelter, unseen but felt.

When you gathered water, he would appear from the trees, walking alongside you as if you belonged to him.

He would pick fruit and place it in your basket, like a lover trying to please you.

And your baby? Adored him. Laughed when he appeared. Reached out for him.

That's why you finally decided to give him a chance to learn about him.

And from the information you managed to collect with hardship due to his lack of vocabulary.

You found out about his name, age, and how he grew up with animals like gorillas.

He also told you about how an english woman called Jane taught him the vocabulary before she left to return back home.

That made you warm up to him.

You taught him words, through gestures, repetition, soft correction.

And he mimicked you like a devoted student, eager to understand.

Tarzan was intelligent in a raw, primal way, his voice gradually shaping your language like it was his birthright.

Tarzan had found the remains of a treehouse, half-rotten but salvageable.

It was his parents’ long abandoned home, tangled in vines and broken wood. and he began repairing it.

For you. And your son.

You watched him every day, his muscles rippling as he lifted beams like they weighed nothing, his hands bloodied from work, but never complaining.

He carved handrails so you wouldn’t fall. Laid moss and furs across the floor so your baby had somewhere soft to crawl.

"I fixed it for you, and our son" he said one day, gesturing proudly. "Our home."

You touched the wall. It smelled of cedar and sun, warm, clean, and strong.

Just like him.

And you began to fall for him.

Because out here, in the wild, he was everything for you, food, shelter, and safety.

When you cried, he held you, when your child was sick, he sat awake through the night, bathing them in cool river water and humming low, wordless lullabies.

He didn't ask to sleep beside you, but one night, when the wind howled and your baby curled up between you, you didn't send him away.

You almost forgot the life you had before. The pain. The betrayal.

Until he came back.

Your ex-husband.

It was early morning when you heard the shouts, male, unfamiliar, human. Tarzan stilled like a hunting cat.

His green eyes narrowed at the intruder.

You rushed down the ladder of the treehouse, heart pounding, baby strapped to your back. And there he was.

Soaked. Sunburned. Bruised, but unmistakably him.

"Y/N?" he gasped. "Is it really you?"

You froze as he ran toward you, grabbing your arms.

"God, I thought you were dead! I came back, hired a search crew. The boat is nearby, it’s not too far down the coast. We can leave! We can-"

"Stop," you whispered.

He blinked, confused. "What?"

And then Tarzan stepped out of the trees.

Your ex froze, taking in the Tarzan appearance with wild eyes and an unreadable expression.

"What in the world is this?"

Tarzan moved beside you, putting a hand over your shoulder in a protective manner.

You didn’t speak as your former glared.

"You living with this freak now? Did you lose your mind out here?! He is dangerous, he is a savage!"

You felt your baby stir at the rising voices. You rocked him gently, trying to stay calm.

Tarzan’s breathing had grown shallow. Slow. Eyes locked on the intruder like a predator sizing up prey.

"Go," Tarzan said, voice flat.

When you opened up to Tarzan about the abuse you endured and how you fled on that ship to escape your ex-husband, it broke his heart, and left no doubt in his mind who the real villain was.

Your ex turned, glaring at Tarzan.

"Excuse me?"

"Go back to the tree house and protect our son.”

"She is my wife. That is my son!”

Tarzan tilted his head slowly.

"No."

The man tries to walk past Tarzan to get to you, but he doesn't get the chance to do so as Tarzan stabs him in the chest with his spear, killing him instantly.

A silent gasp escapes your lips, as you hide your son's face in your embrace.

The way Tarzan turns around to face you with a small smile as if he hasn't committed a murder in front of you is shocking.

But his proposal was something else.

"Can I be your husband now?"

[floatyflowers]

Can we have a part two of husband Anubis please🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

<<< Part One

You have not spoken with him for a long time, maybe a month, not because you were avoiding him, but because he has been busy.

What surprised you is that Anubis has given you permission to go out, breaking all the shackles he put on your freedom.

Yet, it made you wonder, has your possessive husband finally got bored of you? Did he abandon you?

It made you feel...sad.

However, another person enters your life, he has soft gentle brown eyes, brown curly hair, and tan skin.

You met him at the market, he introduced himself as Aken

You hadn't expected the quiet warmth of Aken's presence to soothe your restless soul.

It began with small conversations. He helped carry your basket when it was heavy with fruit and grain.

He never pressed for personal details, but he listened, truly listened, as if your every word held divine importance.

He wasn't like Anubis, whose presence was frightening, whose love smothered as much as it protected.

Aken, in contrast, felt like sunlight after a long storm.

Still, a large part of you remained tethered to your husband, Anubis, though sometimes you couldn’t tell the difference.

His absence dug a hole in your chest. You had always known his love was obsessive, but it had also been all-consuming. You couldn’t deny that part of you missed him.

And yet… had he not he abandoned you?

You found yourself in the market square again, and like always, Aken was there.

"Your eyes look heavy today," he said softly, offering you a ripe fig. "Did you not sleep well?"

You hesitated, but ended up speaking about your worries.

"It's… hard. I keep thinking about someone. Someone who was everything to me, even if he didn’t always treat me well."

Aken tilted his head, curiosity lighting in those soft brown eyes. "Do you still love him?"

"I don’t know," you whispered.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I just miss being wanted."

He stared at you for a long moment, and then, softly, gently, he placed his hand over yours.

"Then why have you not given yourself to someone else? Why not me?"

Your heart stuttered. You pulled your hand back gently, voice shaking.

"Because even if he hurt me, even if he's gone, I am his. I made a vow."

Silence stretched between you.

And then everything shifted.

The scent of sand and fragrant oils filled the air.

A gust of wind swept through the marketplace, but no one reacted. Everything was frozen, the merchants mid-motion, the laughter of children paused.

Aken’s form shimmered.

The brown curls darkened, straightened. His tan skin took on a cool obsidian hue, and his eyes, once warm and soft, became pools of molten gold.

A jackal-headed crown formed above his brow, and before you stood Anubis, in all his terrible, divine glory.

"I never left," he said, his voice deep and resonant, laced with disappointment and awe.

"I watched. I tested. I wanted to see, if your heart would remain loyal in my absence."

You stared at him, trembling, realization crashing down like the Nile in flood.

"You lied to me…" you breathed.

"I had to," he said, stepping closer, golden adornments glittering.

"You are my heart. But even I feared you might have changed. That my absence would let another take root in your soul."

He cupped your face, reverently, his thumbs brushing tears you hadn't realized you shed.

"But you were true. You denied temptation. You remembered me."

"I thought you didn’t want me anymore." you confessed.

He growled low in his throat, an angry, desperate sound.

"Never. You are mine. You will always be mine. And now I will never leave you again."

The world around you pulsed back into motion, but you didn’t notice. All you could feel was the overwhelming presence of Anubis.

And deep in your chest, your heart whispered one truth.

You had passed his test.

However, your test made you realise how much you adore his attention and love even if it's unhealthy.

And you don't care anymore if it costs you, your freedom.

[floatyflowers]

Be the Character|| Masterlist.

Ever wondered what it would be like to be reborn as a character in your favourite show.

1- Yandere Platonic/Romantic Various X Naruto Reincarnated Female! Reader

2- Sauron x Celebrimbor Female! Reader

3-

4-

5-

[floatyflowers]

Yandere Platonic/Romantic Various X Naruto Reincarnated Female! Reader, Part One.

Reincarnated into the body of Naruto Uzumaki, but now female. You thought you knew the story. You had the knowledge of a fan, the memories of the anime, and the will to survive the cruel world of shinobi. What you didn’t expect was how the story would twist around you. The characters you once admired? Now they look at you with possessive eyes whether it's Romantic or Platonic.

You had prepared for a life of isolation in a tiny apartment, eating expired cup ramen, dodging glares from villagers.

But the timeline cracked the moment Mikoto Uchiha pulled you into her arms in the Hokage’s office and refused to let go.

"I won’t allow another child to suffer when I can give them a home," she said, her tone firm but her touch gentle.

Fugaku's eyes had been sharp, suspicious. He looked at you not just as an outsider, but as a threat. And you knew why. He feared what you housed in your body. Kurama. The Nine-Tails fox.

But then you clutched the hem of his cloak, with a big smile, letting out baby squeals of happiness.

You felt his chakra shift. His composure faltered. Mikoto smiled knowingly.

From that day on, Fugaku treated you like a daughter.

Itachi was the first to truly see you.

He watched you during dinner. The way you’d laugh and play with Sasuke, and the way you would interact with him.

Children your age don't go on saying fall sentences once they teeth, nor do they write in a perfect way.

"You don’t need to act around me," he whispered one evening when he found you curled up on the veranda, your eyes reflecting the moonlight.

You turned to him. "...I don’t know how else to survive."

He looked at you for a long moment before pulling you into his arms. "Then I will protect you. From them. From everyone."

From that moment on, Itachi's gentle exterior became something far more intense. He brought you dango after missions, trained with you longer than necessary, and held your hand a little too tightly when other boys looked your way.

He called it brotherly love. But it wasn't.

Sasuke masked his possessiveness as rivalry and jealousy.

He pretended he was jealous of Itachi spending time with you and tried to always attract his brother's attention by making the older boy train him.

And when you asked Itachi to train you too, Sasuke would intervene.

"You should have Okaa-san train you instead, because you lack in cooking and cleaning."

It wasn’t long before Sasuke started to show his possessiveness.

At first, he was your shadow. Always following you around. Always watching.

You noticed the change when you sparred with another boy in class and he bled your lip.

Sasuke didn’t speak that entire day. But the boy mysteriously broke his arm that evening.

You knew it was Sasuke.

And you knew if you called him out, he’d only smile that innocent Uchiha smile and say,

“I was just training with him."

Fugaku sought to suppress your Uzumaki heritage by having Mikoto dress you in the Uchiha clan's colors, replacing the Uzumaki crest with their own. Even your hair was styled in the traditional fashion of Uchiha women, further erasing any visible ties to your true lineage.

The night of the massacre came far sooner than you expected.

You knew it was inevitable, this world, this story, always carved in blood.

But you hadn’t expected the ache. The sense of wrongness that came with the silence that night.

The compound was too still. No candles in the windows. No echo of Sasuke’s footsteps. Just the wind, and the faint scent of iron.

You stepped outside barefoot, the gravel cold beneath your feet. That’s when you saw Mikoto and Fugaku in their own blood.

And then you heard footsteps.

Slow. Calm. Familiar.

Itachi.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.”

He stood in the hallway, his ANBU mask discarded at his side. His eyes burned red.

Blood was splattered across his uniform. Across his hands.

"W-Why?" your voice cracked, your body trembling. "Why did you-?"

"I told you,” he said softly. "If they ever tried to take you from me, I would stop them."

You didn’t understand.

He walked toward you, kneeling before you slowly like you might shatter. His fingers wiped Mikoto’s blood from your cheek with careful tenderness.

"They were planning to use you. To harness the Nine-Tails again. I couldn’t let them turn you into a weapon for their revolt."

With a cold stare, and voice, he says.

"Don't tell Sasuke the truth."

Those were the last words you heard from him before seeing Sasuke breakdown at the sight of his dead parents after returning home.

After Sasuke confronts Itachi, and the older brother lies to him before leaving, Sasuke turns for you to find comfort.

"I will kill him, [Name]. I’ll make him pay for what he did to our clan. To you."

You turned to face him and froze.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was burning.

And when he looked at you, it wasn’t as a teammate. Or a friend. Or even a brother.

It was someone who had chosen you.

"You were the only one he left alive," he whispered.

"The only one he spared. I know what he did to you even if you won’t say it."

You tried to explain that Itachi has done nothing to you in any manner, but Sasuke doesn't allow you to do so.

He stepped forward, gripping your hand.

"And together we will restore the Uchiha Clan."

[floatyflowers]

Yandere Male Snow Queen x Kai's mother reader❄️🥺

Character From: ᵀʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʷ ᵠᵘᵉᵉⁿ ᵇʸ ᴴᵃⁿˢ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗⁱᵃⁿ ᴬⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵉⁿ

There once lived a woman, you, in a small house at the edge of a bustling town, where the rosebushes climbed your window panes, and the seasons passed in gentle silence.

You were the mother of a boy named Kai, who was clever, brave, and full of mirth. But one winter, when the snow fell thicker than usual and the frost etched silver veins into every glass pane, Kai vanished without a trace.

They said he had died, lost to the snow, or perhaps stolen by wolves. But you knew better. A mother knows when her child still breathes.

And you were right.

Far in the north, in a palace made of mirrors and eternal winter, the Snow King sat upon his throne of ice.

Tall and beautiful he was, pale as the moonlight and cold as the heart of a blizzard. His eyes were like shards of crystal, and his hair fell in strands of glimmering frost. He had taken Kai not out of cruelty, but of longing.

Not for the boy.

But for the boy’s mother.

When at last she journeyed northward, braving the ice and howling winds, seeking her child through villages and valleys of snow, he welcomed her arrival with quiet ecstasy.

You found his palace at the end of the world, where no bird sang and no sun shone.

He came to you not as a monster, but as a man.

"Welcome, beloved mother of my chosen boy," he said, descending from his throne, his long cloak trailing frost across the floor.

"Where is my son?" You demanded, your heart beating harshly beneath your ribs.

"In the safest place he could ever be," he replied, gesturing to a chamber of light and snow, where Kai sat blank-eyed before a mirror, piecing together shards of a puzzle, trying to spell eternity.

"You have frozen his heart!" You cried.

The Snow King smiled, not cruelly, but tenderly, as if her fury delighted him.

"He is at peace. No pain. No fear. Only the stillness of perfect thought."

"But I am his mother."

"Then stay here with him, I will allow you to nurture him, but if you choose to leave, you leave without him."

The choice coiled around you like a serpent.

The Snow King was not a brute; he did not threaten with violence. No, his offer was far more dangerous.

He tempted you with the very thing you craved: your son’s safety. And beneath that, something darker, sweeter, the way his fingers lingered near yours, the way his eyes burned with something beyond ice.

"You would trap me?" you whispered.

He laughed softly.

"I would keep you. Cherish you. Let you rule this kingdom of silence at my side." His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lip.

"Is that so terrible?"

The cold had seeped into your bones, but his touch was different, not numbing, but awakening.

"Say yes," he urged, his breath a frost-kissed caress against your ear. "And I will give you everything."

The worst part?

You said yes.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Male Jasmine X Reader

          You had always avoided the palace walls. They loomed too tall, too guarded, and far too filled with people who held the kind of confidence you lacked.

You preferred the quiet corners of the marketplace or the hidden courtyard where the jasmine trees grew wild.

Also, you liked soft things like sunlight through leaves, the pages of old books, and silence broken only by wind or birdsong.

That’s where he found you.

Prince Jamil, heir to Agrabah. But not the one people whispered about with awe.

No, the real Jamil was far more dangerous than the charming man he pretended to be at royal banquets.

He found you in the garden, reading beneath a tree, too shy to meet his eyes.

"Why haven't you attended my father's banquet?"

You gulp, noticing the tiger by his side, but the prince doesn't seem to care as he sits beside you under the tree.

"I feel uncomfortable in huge crowds."

You explain, closing the book, then meeting the beautiful, sharp eyes of the prince.

"I have watched you," he admitted, brushing a petal from your hair.

"You never look at anyone else. You are pure, modest, and perfect."

Anyone would have taken those words as a compliment except for you.

The way he spoke those words is anything but flattering; his eyes want much more.

"I apologise, but I must return to my parents, if you will excuse me, your highness."

You try to get up, but the tiger's growling is more than enough to scare you.

Jamil takes your wrist, forcing you back down, but this time on his lap instead of the ground.

His right arm wraps softly around your shoulder, pulling you near. With tender fingers, he brushes the sensitive skin behind your ear, then gently tucks a fragrant white jasmine blossom into your hair.

"My father asked me to find a wife for myself, and I did."

"What if I refuse?"

Jamil gazed affectionately at Rajah, his loyal tiger companion, gently stroking the magnificent creature's head.

A cunning smile played on Jamil's lips as he confided in his beast.

"I have a strong feeling that you are going to accept my proposal," he murmured, his voice filled with anticipation. "Don't you think so too, Rajah? "

The message is clear.

Accept, and you live.

Refuse, and he will feed you to his tiger.

"I accept," you said quietly, the words tasting like poison on your tongue.

"There," he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek with unsettling gentleness.

"That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Jamil rose, still holding you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you easily and confidently.

"You told me you hate the crowd? Don't worry, you don't have to see or speak to people ever again, excluding me."

[floatyflowers]

Could we please have yandere mr darcy please? 😭🙏🏻

Everything about you is strange according to social norms, from the way you dress to the way you speak, it is like you are from another timeline.

And you are really from another timeline, and it's called 'the future'.

But one day, you suddenly woke up and found yourself in the Regency era, as one of the higher-class ladies.

You tried to adapt to the change as much as you could, but your sense of fashion and behaviour always seemed off, outputting and rude.

However, when Mr. Darcy saw you dressed in a curious yet becoming gown of shimmering blue, with its peculiarly puffed sleeves and cascading pearls, it possessed an ethereal allure.

It is suggested that you are a wearer of unique sensibilities and a beauty both striking and delightfully strange, sure to make a memorable impression.

That's why he asked you to dance at one of the balls.

And you proved to him that you cannot certainly dance.

And when he tried to instruct you, it didn't work, as you didn't know anything about the etiquette of dancing.

Especially when you asked him...

"Left… then right? Wait, was that my left or your left?"

Yet, despite your unorthodox movements, there was something oddly captivating about the way you held yourself, though you embarrassed yourself, yet owned that misplacement with pride.

Your head was high, your expression unwavering.

And when you finally stumbled into a turn that led to an accidental spin, you burst into laughter, rich, unapologetic, and completely sincere.

Yes, Mr. Darcy hates those types of barbaric actions, because according to everyone in the room except the Bennet sisters, those are the actions of people of the lower class.

He should not have noticed you so deeply, and yet he did.

It was not long before he extended an invitation for a private afternoon next week at Pemberley.

"I believe you may enjoy the gardens," he said, voice taut with restrained emotion. "There are orchids unlike any you have seen before."

Your eyes lit up, not at the flowers, but at the idea of exploring a new place. "If they are stranger than I am, I would be surprised," you teased.

He smiled slightly. "Nothing is stranger than you."

You tilted your head. "Is that a compliment, Mr. Darcy?"

"Indeed, it is."

At Pemberley, you wandered the halls, your fingers grazing ancient tapestries and your eyes marveling at the intricacies of things taken for granted by others.

Mr. Darcy watched, silent but never far, His heart grew more violent in its beat each time you laughed softly or tilted your head in wonder.

"You look at this place as though you have never seen its like before," he remarked quietly, once the others had drifted away and you stood alone in the sun-dappled gallery.

"That is because I have not," you murmured.

"I was not meant to be here."

"You are exactly where you are meant to be. With me," he said, stepping closer.

That afternoon, after having tea, the sun went down and shadows stretched long across the polished floors of Pemberley, by the reflection of the moonlight and candles,

A sudden chill overtook you. A shiver raced down your spine, and your knees, so confidently striding moments ago, gave a slight but unmistakable buckle.

Your whole body felt heavy, almost as if you were paralyzed.

Mr. Darcy caught your arm before you could sway again.

"You are unwell," he said, voice low but urgent. He touched your forehead with the back of his hand.

It was an intimate gesture from a man whose every move was usually measured and cautious according to society's standards.

You tried to laugh it off.

"Perhaps I simply feel tired as I didn't sleep well last night before coming here."

But then came the fever. That night, it wrapped itself around your skin.

Your breath quickened, your vision blurred, and the chill grew into an ache that clung to your bones.

Servants fluttered about in hushed tones, and Mr. Darcy stood at the edge of the room, arms behind his back, face unreadable.

"You cannot return home like this," he said decisively.

"It would be most irresponsible."

You wanted to protest, but even sitting up felt like moving through water.

And the tea they brought you, while soothing, made your tongue feel heavy, and lack thoughts

"Stay," he said again, this time softer. "Until you are well."

And so you stayed.

In the days that followed, your fever flared. Sometimes, when the haze in your mind cleared, you would find him seated at your bedside, a book in hand or watching the fire, always near, always composed.

You didn’t know then, of course, that the tea sweetened with crushed feverfew and valerian root had been suggested not by the housekeeper, but by Darcy himself.

He had someone get the right measurements to only make you sick, not kill you.

It gives the same symptoms of a deadly fever, but it won't kill you.

The fever had finally begun to loosen its grip, like fingers releasing your limbs after days of imprisonment.

You lay among silk pillows and lace linens, sweat-dampened and weary, but with clarity returning at last.

Only because Mr. Darcy stopped giving you the tea.

He had not spoken much in recent hours; he only sat near the window, deep in thought.

At last, he turned to you, walking towards your bed.

"There is something we must discuss," he said in a calculated voice.

"There are rumors," he said. "That you and I have... eloped."

Blinking, you are surprised, though not entirely.

You had known, somewhere in your modern mind, that a single woman falling ill and staying at a man's estate, especially his estate, would never go unnoticed in a society so dependent on perception.

"You and I? Eloped?" you repeated.

"It is rumoured that you arrived at Pemberley under a pretense, and that I-" he stopped, as though the words themselves were too indelicate to voice.

"-That I took you in under a motive less honorable than what was true."

A silence has befallen you.

Then Mr. Darcy declared with a steady voice.

"We must marry."

Your eyes grow big.

"Must?"

He took a step closer, sitting himself on the edge of your bed.

"Your name will not survive the rumours if we do not. Nor will mine, though I am of less concern to myself."

"And so this is a matter of honor," you state, trying to keep your tone light, though your throat felt tight.

"You don't have to take my responsibility, I shall return to my family and explain everything to them."

There is no way you are going to marry him, he is not from your timeline.

"Your family disowned you."

"They did?" you ask in disbelief.

Your family in this timeline is not as good as you thought.

"A letter arrived from your uncle. I was informed you would no longer be received in London, nor Hertfordshire."

You drew in a shaky breath, realising you had nowhere to live.

"So what happens now?"

Mr. Darcy rose slowly from the bed's edge, pacing toward the hearth.

"Now, you recover, then we marry."

Have been left with no choice, you agree.

"Very well, I will marry you."