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love-toxin · 1 day ago

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Conrad Commission

a/n: another commission from one of my lovely commissioners! <3 cws: afab!plus size!darling, meet cute, pwp, stalking, intox kink, fondling, bruises, panty stealing, fingering, possessive sex, strangers to lovers. word count: 4.1k

If there was nothing else you could do, at least you could read.

Dostoevsky. Solzhenitsyn. Row after row of books awaited your perusal, and yet, this was still only one of the dozen aisles packed into the tiny bookshop you'd stopped inside.

The planes had been grounded for weeks, and after several attempts at getting a ticket to sail home instead, you'd arrived at the docks just to be turned around at the entrance. They wouldn't let you on because you didn't have the fees, but that was just bullshit–they'd tried to extort you and you just simply didn't have the money anymore. Not after spending the last month in a hotel and having to ration out your groceries so you didn't waste the cash for your eventual trip home.

At the very least, the little old couple who ran the shop showed you some kindness. The elderly wife would bring you a cup of tea when you sat down on their sofas to read, and although her husband seemed gruff he would pick through the collection and stack your arms with the true classics. None of that new-modernist trash and those plot hole-ridden novellas people churned out nowadays. Good, solid Russian literature that he insisted would show you the best of their culture, and in his words you sensed a firm if a bit stoic pride in their homeland. They never chastised you for spending the day reading, in fact they seemed to welcome you to bring some life to the shop that sorely missed its customers; the city wasn't nearly as large as others around it and just about on the outskirts of civilization itself. You could hear wolves howling in the night from your hotel room, and although people travelled through for the tiny airport and the port very few ever stayed.

But there was one who kept coming around, and surprisingly it wasn't you, but a local man who had just so happened to catch your eye.

“That one is Conrad,” The older lady had offered you the information when you caught a glimpse of him leaving one day, the bell tinging overhead as his long, black hair swished out of view into the street. “Such a kind boy. Very strong.”

He certainly looked like it. Tall, strength concealed beneath a thick coat, dark eyes and sharp features. The scar over his left eye gave him an intimidating aura; he looked alive but not quite warm, he was odd and said little, but he held your attention and snared it like a rabbit in a trap. Sometimes you noticed him walk in after you'd settled into your corner for the day, browsing through an array of titles with careful consideration. He would never pick up a book and set it right back down–he would read at least a few pages, humming and making a soft noise here and there under his breath, before he decided to re-shelve it or take it to the counter to purchase.

Conrad became a staple of your day before you knew it, despite the fact that you never exchanged words. He never seemed to even acknowledge you save for once; he turned the corner of an aisle and bumped right into you, mumbled an apology in Russian, and sidled past quickly with a hand grazing your shoulder on his way by. You'd felt a shiver of something then, but brushed it off and elected to leave the poor guy alone since he seemed a bit embarrassed. Maybe even shy. Of course, that endeared you more to him, and he started taking up your thoughts more, and more, and more still.

It wasn't until you moved from the bookshop to the bar after a long day that you came face-to-face with him at his most relaxed. Actually, he came to you–the bartender spoke enough broken English to tell you the drink he set down in front of you was bought by the guy across the room, and when you looked you spotted Conrad's quiet smile as he lifted his own drink to his lips. Figures that it would be a kind gesture of reader's solitude, but then he stood up and made his way towards your side of the bar, pulling the stool out next to you to sit his towering body into it.

“Privyet.” The sound of his voice soothed the soft clinking and murmured hubbub of the other patrons, deep, low and rough even as he tried to be gentler. He held up his glass to yours and clinked them both together, before holding his free hand to his chest. “Conrad. And you?”

Your name sounded even sweeter on his tongue as he rolled it around in his mouth, adjusting to the feel of it while he shook your hand with a tight, warm grip. You didn't have to tell him you were a foreigner, he could expect that much from your limited Russian if nothing else. But you went on to spill to him some of the details of your life, what city you lived in, what you did for work, and why you were here in the first place–you came to see a friend you had met online, only to arrive and find that they'd completely ghosted you the second you touched down.

Conrad showed sympathy for your story, nodding and following along with every word you spoke, just to offer small reassurances or ask questions here and there. For someone so intimidating and well-read, he was so effortlessly polite and tender with you, like there wasn't the cultural or speech barrier between you like there was with most other people you'd met. You couldn't even blame them because it wasn't like you were that familiar with their country in the first place, but Conrad just seemed to understand you right away even when you had to reword things or speak slower for him to pick up each syllable of your sentences. He was hardly anything like the men you were used to interacting with, nothing for boasts or pushy nagging to get you to do things, or just simply interrupting and talking over you with no regard for what you were saying. Conrad tried so hard to understand you, and the more drinks you shared, the easier it was for you to talk and talk and talk his ear off until the night was drawing to a close. It wasn't until your third or fourth drink that you even realized you barely knew anything about the man who had listened so patiently to you, and started prodding at him with questions that he seemed satisfied enough to answer.

In quick succession you learned that he was nearing 30, he lived in a rural village a couple hours north, he had a younger sister overseas and he got the scar above his eye from the backfire of a gun. He loved fishing and thrilling novellas and spent most of his time hunting or taking care of his community, and the more he talked, the more you admired his humble dedication and the more attractive he became, as if he wasn't already. He wouldn't let you put down any money for your drinks and gently pried your hand off the bartop when you tried, murmuring that a pretty thing like you should never have to pay when there's a gentleman with you. Those little gestures and subtle expressions of dominance sparked a thrill inside you that made you ache for more, and when the time came to leave and you stumbled off the stool just for him to catch you, there wasn't any resistance on your end when he suggested he take you back to your hotel room.

Despite the darkness creeping into the small town when he swung open the door to the bar, your arms wrapped around his neck and his biceps flexing as he hiked up your legs made for a smooth journey down the road to your temporary home. Conrad hadn't even asked if you wanted to be carried back, he just pulled you up on his back and started walking like you weighed nothing, you were as much as a backpack to his indomitable strength. He found the hotel with no problem, found your room on your key–he stepped inside, and after laying you down on your bed, you barely even noticed him shedding his coat or making sure the door was deadbolted before he came round to see that you were comfortable.

Your giggles, the innocence with which your plushy body squirmed on the bed…it fueled something in him. Something that had lain dormant for a very, very long time, waiting to be reawakened. With a glance around, he knew there was no risk of being intruded on–he didn't want you to cry and blubber over being discovered doing something naughty. You seemed like the type, as gentle and cutesy as you were. He liked that.

Conrad knew what you were about as soon as he climbed into bed with you, hoping to cuddle you a little bit while you were out of it, just to feel you rubbing back on him with a little sigh as soon as he touched you.

“So drunk, eh?” He chuckled under his breath and was pleasantly surprised when you nodded with a lovely little giggle. “Cannot hold your alcohol. Is’ bad for a pretty thing.” Conrad fiddled with the buttons on your jeans, hopeful but cautious, just for his heart to skip a beat when you wiggled back on him again. That slow zzzzzzip that followed rang so loud in your ears you could feel it buzzing, or maybe that was just the liquor brining your brain and making it all so unbearably fuzzy. Conrad's hands slipping beneath your waistband barely registered at first, but you couldn't writhe hard enough to bump him off anyways. You didn’t really want to.

“So easy, baby.” He purred. Just as you gasped at the feel of his fingers brushing right by your underwear, his hands retracted, and his laughter echoed softly off the dingy hotel room as he squeezed your hip over your clothes. “You know I like you, but I am gentleman.”

As he sat up on the bed, you reached out for him in a whiny plea of “Don't go, pleeeease?”. He just ruffled your hair and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Soon.” He answered patiently. But ‘soon’ couldn't be soon enough; you'd spent weeks alone in this strange country, bored, lonely, and depressed about everything that was out of your control. Your online friend had abandoned you and the authorities wouldn't let you leave–it felt more like a prison than a getaway, and Conrad was so handsome, so sweet, and so exciting…your fantasies swirled about your head and muddled it more. You pulled yourself up with your grip on his collar, and just as he was moving to slide off of you, you yanked him back down with your full weight and pressed him into a kiss. A sloppy, half-0pen one, but a kiss nonetheless. You just didn’t know that from that moment on, Conrad was hooked.

He let his hands wander under your top as you prolonged it, taking hold of the hem to tug it up and up until he could break off the tantalizing liplock to slip it over your head and toss it aside. He wasn’t altogether in his right mind either, he’d needed so much liquid courage before he even bought you a drink that it was starting to loosen his inhibitions even more. It was difficult to maintain his gentlemanly image when there was a beautiful, intelligent, and kind person that just so happened to be his first crush ever in front of him, his perfect type with that gorgeous figure, and their fingers were digging into his turtleneck to try and pull it off. He let you fumble with it for a bit before chuckling softly, and gently prying your hands off just like he did with your tab to yank it off himself. When he’d imagined this night in his head it was a bit more romantic with some candles and flowers, but this was just as good when he got to feel your lips latching on to his adam’s apple and nipping a light bruise into his fair skin. Even if it wasn’t intentional, you were marking him, and it drove his hands downwards to loosen his belt before he managed to help you get your own bottoms off. There was no doubt that he’d be taking your underwear for later, so he decided to pocket them now before discretely flinging his jeans down and kicking them under the bed.

In hindsight he really should’ve lit at least one candle, because the dim lighting of the hotel’s dingy lamp didn’t do your figure justice. He could hardly speak in the face of your tender curves, the softness of your legs, and your sweet face once you felt him staring. You squirmed and shut your knees but he shook his head and cooed for you to keep them open, for him to see you in all your glory like he’d always dreamed of. He just conveniently left that last part out for your sake and focused on lifting your legs over his hips, his gaze heated and shadowed with desire in the dark.

Mine. All of this was his, he wanted to own you in every sense and devote himself to you with every breath he took. Conrad shivered with delight at the sight of your folds glistening at his meager touches, just to glide his fingertips through them and barely hold back a moan at the sound of your sweet little gasp. He eased one in just to explore, and god, he’d never felt something so tight in his life before. You might actually break if he wasn’t careful. So he dragged it out and wetted both fingers with his tongue, before slipping them back in and teasing the edges of your sanity itself with the stretching and curling and prodding of his long digits right into your soft spots; places you never even knew existed and wouldn’t ever forget now that he found them.

With time, he just couldn’t wait any longer. He’d mapped you out but he needed to feel you, he needed to press your body against him and show you in no uncertain terms that he was everything you needed. The mattress shifted with the weight of his knees shuffling forward, but he still took caution and guided your arms to sling around his neck. The drink had done more to heighten your senses yet he needed to make sure you were still awake, still conscious, and he could tell just how needy you were with the whine on your lips as you tried to kiss him again. So cute. He swore to give you so many kisses you would never have to ask for them again.

“Ah-!” Your soft shriek as he tried to push in the first time startled him, but you clung harder to him with a whimper and he couldn’t stop now. The second time he slipped in and out, sliding helplessly over your clit, and he grunted in frustration. But it was all soothed on that third try when he angled himself in, and gasped himself at how easily you parted for him like he was a knife sinking into warm butter. Now it was really obvious how much the alcohol had settled in, as he slurred a foul compliment in Russian and gripped you hard at your head lolling back, your eyes beautifully glazed-over with his first rough thrust of many. The babbling of his name out of your mouth sparked something primal within him, and in an instant he snapped into his possessive side, tugging you up in his lap to lay back with your weight holding him down. His sizeable arms cinched around the small of your back, and with no hesitation he let his powerful hips do all the work with a sudden shuck, shuck, shucking echoing throughout the room.

On the other hand, you could barely decipher the slew of harsh words spilling from Conrad’s mouth with every thrust, your mind already muddled enough that you could scarcely believe you were really doing this–going back to your hotel room with a stranger and letting him screw you into oblivion. But no way in hell were you gonna stop him now, not when his mindless bucking was so raw and filthy you could feel the squelch of your walls surrendering to his brute force in your ears. And even so, Conrad’s sweetness still shone through in the protective squeeze of his hand on the nape of your neck, and the way he smothered your lips in desperate kisses that almost seemed to fuel his incessant chasing of your warmth. His arms encircled your body and dwarfed you by comparison; safe, tight, and devoted like no embrace you’d ever received before. He wasn’t concerned with preserving the image of you in his brain to get off to again later, but rather wanted you to remain protected and comfortable in his presence even when he was fucking into you from below like an animal.

Conrad’s fingers snaked lower to get a handful, but aside from copping a feel he gripped your ass in his palm to guide you down lower–not just to fit more of himself inside, but also to watch you writhe so cutely once his wiry hairs ground against your clit. Somehow he knew you would like it, but maybe not how much until you started to tremble under the onslaught. His hand shot up to grab you by the back of the head, and he pressed your forehead to his with his eyes wide open in an intense stare. The murmurs of a word you would soon recognize as “cum” reverberated throughout your whole being, over and over again like a prayer until your squirming ceased and he let slip a gasp at the spasming of your walls around him. Conrad’s head tilted back and he cried out in bliss that couldn’t be held back a moment longer, his plan to pull out and paint your face going straight out the window the instant he felt you cumming around him. A good, hard thrust plummeted his self-control to the ground, and with a groan he twitched and pulsed within you before soaking your unsuspecting cunt with a creampie you wouldn’t soon forget. He didn’t even know the word in English, but he could tell he had accomplished it with one glance down over your exhausted body to see the puddle he’d made between you.

“Ah…there, lyubimaya. Got you.” Careful as he could be with your lovingly battered body, he braced your weight against him while turning you over on the sheets, and reoriented you to let you lay on the drier side on a sea of comfortable pillows. It was the least you deserved, after all, especially after enduring his rather…intense manner of lovemaking.

Before you could babble anything intelligible you'd already slumped back against the bed, well on your way to being half-asleep with the afterglow of your orgasm, the exhaustion, and the liquor to boot. Conrad gently stroked your hair in the meanwhile, and as you drifted off you swore you sensed the softness of his lips on yours as he murmured one last thing you couldn't quite hear.

If not for the ache in your back and the bleariness of your vision, your slumber felt so brief you might've believed it lasted only a few seconds. Light shone in through the curtains to pass over your face and you paused, confused, before rubbing the sleep from your eyes and sitting up slowly. The sound of someone clearing their throat had your head whipping to your side, and a warm-faced man with familiar black hair stared back at you from his seat, a book laid over his lap and a smile tinting his cheeks.

“Good morning.” Conrad greeted you casually, and you were almost tempted to believe that this was all as normal as his even tone made it sound.

“Conrad?” With a shake of your head to clear the dizziness, you squinted, trying to discern whether this was all still a dream. But it was far too vivid to be anything but reality, so…did that mean that last night wasn't a dream, either? “Did you…have you been here all night?”

He nodded. The book thunked softly as he closed it and reached over to set it on the nightstand, his every movement just as poised and calm as you'd come to expect despite the puzzling circumstances. He stood with a soft grunt, slid the chair back against the wall, and when he turned back to face you his eyes glinted with a hint of something ominously thrilling.

“You like me too, yes?” It took you aback, but his blunt questions were somewhat refreshing. As shy as you were you managed to mumble an affirmative ‘yes’, and that was enough for him. “Good. We get to know each other–so lonely here, no? That is why I came to see you.”

To…see you? He chuckled and brought your attention back to him in a moment, with a hand perched on the buckle of his belt.

“Very pretty. You would be good match for me, and the sex is good. Fantastic. We have common interest–I will take good care of you.”

“What?” Your heart skipped at the mention of the word ‘match’. Did things naturally move this quickly on this side of the world, or was he just a strange case? Either way, you couldn't decide whether you were flattered or shocked. The bed dipped and squeaked with his weight as he sunk a knee into it, slowly crawling his way towards you like a panther until he loomed over you on all fours, elbows perched on either side of your head to cage you in like an animal. The way he grinned alone with all those teeth felt on the brink of feral, and caused a few memories from last night to flash into your head. Maybe all that really wasn’t a dream after all…

“I am your saviour. You would have been meat–that internet man was not your friend.” He shook his head to emphasize, though the way he fiddled with the covers to slowly tug them down didn't make him look any safer. “Pretty thing deserves a good man. I am a good man, my sweet.” As he said so, he leaned in, so close as to puff his warm breath over your skin…and finally, the kiss you shared struck a match inside you that melted away all your hesitation and self-restraint. The fact that he even knew about your online friend was daunting, but even so you couldn't help but believe every word he said. Perhaps he really did save you from a predator hoping to lure you into his trap…and maybe you didn't altogether mind repaying him for that unexpected kindness.

“Stay here with me,” He whispered, careful and soft like the lover he had always wanted to be. “And I will care for you until we rot, my baby.”

Things had spun out of your hands so quickly you weren't sure what to make of it. Conrad's breath puffed hotly from your ear down to your neck, he dressed you down with swift fingers that couldn't bear to be apart from your skin a moment longer. You might never know that it was him that had posed as your friend, and that he was the one who had spent time getting to know you until he could finally convince you to come to his country. How he knew exactly what books you liked and never needed to ask, because he'd staked out the village and predicted exactly where you would go, down to the room number you would pick at this very hotel and the bookshop you would while the hours away at. He knew everything about you for the simple reason that he loved you–and he desperately wanted you to be part of his life, even if he had to lie, and bribe, and steal to get it.

Either way, there was no way out now whether you knew it or not. Conrad had all your resources in his back pocket, but more importantly, he offered the safety and comfort of a life you never would’ve dreamed of back home. And with such a tender, yet protective man staring you down who vowed to be everything you wanted…well, could you really say no?

#conrad dmitriev #conrad dmitriev x reader #spicy writing #yandere ocs #ellie writes #yandere x reader #male yandere #4k

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yanderedrabbles · 3 months ago

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What would Yandere state-trooper, cowboy, and military officer react if y/n got sick or was trying to hurt themselves?

(I love your work btw❤️)

Thank you so much for this prompt!! It literally instantly inspired me

Yandere boys when you get sick/hurt yourself

Yandere! Cowboy isn't sure why you're curled up in bed when it's just a little flu. He's worked even with sprains and cracked ribs and stitches keeping him together. At first, he'll just snap his teeth in irritation and tell you to "get tough." But seeing the fever work a blush across your cheeks softens him up. He'll bring you some good old fashioned chicken soup, just like his mama used to make. He'll smooth the hair away from your face and press a cool cloth against your neck. When you thank him, he'll just huff and tell you not to get used to it. He isn't going to baby you. But secretly, he likes taking care of you. And the next time you slip and twist your ankle, he's right there to pick you up and fix it all.

"Quit being so damn clumsy, I ain't gonna kiss it better."

Yandere! State Trooper is the first one on the scene of the crash. It isn't too bad, a rough fender-bender at most. But you're bleeding from a nasty cut on your cheek and cradling your arm. He sees red and before he can even register what he's doing, he's hauling the other guy out of his truck and grinding his face into the tarmac. His cop buddies have to physically pull him off and cover it up, say the other guy was being belligerent. The second he calms down, he's kneeling next to you and practically shoving the paramedic out of the way. He cups your chin in his hand and cleans the blood off your face, telling you everything will be just fine and to let him take care of it. He insists on riding in the ambulance with you, even though he's still on duty. When you're finally alone, he'll kiss you and snarl just a little when he orders you to be more careful. You ask him why he cares so much and he gives you one of his vicious smiles.

"The only bastard that gets to rough you up is me, got that?"

Yandere! Soldier comes home to find bloody footprints all over the kitchen floor. He finds you in the bathroom, picking broken glass out of your feet and trying not to wince. At first, you won't let him touch you or even get near you. In growing irritation, he slams his palm into the wall next to you - you're a lot more docile after that. He kneels infront of you, his palm wrapped around your ankle to stop you pulling away. He's methodical and surprisingly gentle, picking out every single shard even though it takes the better part of an hour. When he's wrapped and treated both your feet, he carefully picks you up and carries you back to bed. You're still an unpredictable, hissing menace and he doesn't trust you to take care of yourself, so he calls in sick for a week. And for a whole week, he doesn't let you walk anywhere. He carries you around the apartment, complaining that you're too light and that he's going to lose his muscle mass. Eventually you can stand on your own feet again and you manage to mumble something that sounds like thanks. You don't see it, but he smiles.

мой долг заботиться о тебе

"It's my duty to take care of you."

#Yandere cowboy will in fact kiss it better #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #x reader #yandere oc #yandere ocs #the yandere boys

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thedarkestrivernymph · 1 month ago

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A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

-> part 2 here

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign yet, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to not stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.

#A Heart Of Gold #yandere #yandere story #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere royalty #male yandere x reader #female yandere #platonic yandere #yandere stories #yandere x reader #yandere x you #cw: abuse #yandere scenarios #long fic #yandere male

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i-cant-sing · 1 year ago

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Okay but I need yall to help me figure out the character(s) for the following scenario:

Imagine a romantic yandere falling for reader, and ofc reader isn't in love with yandere for obvious reasons like red flags. Maybe they did try dating, Yandere is a charmer, comes from a rich family, he's smart and hardworking and oh so head over heels in love with you. He's always taking you out on best dates, HAS to get you the largest fucking bouquets (excellent taste in flowers) and buys you expensive but well thought out gifts.

But for whatever reason, things dont work out and you break things off hastily and most likely over the phone before leaving the country. And yandere just- breaksdown. I mean my man does not have a good mental health as is, but you leaving, actually leaving him just breaks him down and he has a full blown panic attack.

I'm talking about yandere falling to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he screams your name like a mad man. His family, they love him, they adore their son/brother/grandchild sm, it pains them to see him in such a miserable state. Yandere man is so delirious that he has to be sedated, tranquillised by medical professionals because he's just losing his fucking mind, babbling your name over and over again like a mad man. His condition only worsens as time passes, and so his family decides to take drastic measures because they can't see their beloved son/brother/grandkid so fucking dead and depressed and a shell of a once bright man. They love him so much, they only want ti see him happy, so they use their money and influence to track you down and try to convince you to return and take yandere back. When you refuse, they take the high way and force you to come with them, dragging you kicking and screaming to their private jet and fly all the way home, where yandere is.

You're in a dishevelled state, tears running down your cheeks as you struggle to free yourself from their grasps as they take you to yandere. And when yandere sees you... for the first time in months, his family sees the light return in his eyes as the yandere reaches out for you, scared that you're just his mind playing tricks. When he finally touches you, he is immeadiately pulling you into a hug, arms tightening around your body like a gilded cage as he cries into your shoulder and thanks his family for bringing you back. His family only smiles with tears in their eyes as they lock the door behind them when they leave, so that you don't go running away. Meanwhile, yandere has pulled you into his lap and he's looking at you with such sad eyes, staring at each feature of yours over and over again as if to memorise it all again. He can't help the tears that continue to slip out of his eyes, maybe he's crying that you're finally here, or maybe he's crying for all the time that's been lost when you weren't here. You fall asleep soon due to exhaustion, but yandere doesn't sleep a wink that night because he continues to stare at you and play with your hair very gently, finally closing his eyes when morning comes and he wraps his arms around you and traps your legs with his.

By now, you guys realise that the yandere's family is not only yandere for their son/brother/grandson but also for you. They are yandede for you too, but they're not allowing you to leave them or their son or even make him unhappy ever again. Some members are willing to let all you "tantrums" slide, while others are not so kind. BUT one thing is for sure, you're ALWAYS safe with yandere s/o, no matter what.

Now, for the characters I've had in kind for this scenario are:

Halim Mehmet Shah and the Shah Family (my ocs)

Dabi/Shotou and Todoroki clan (I am the OG creator of Yandere Todoroki Clan)

I wanna say Naoya or Toji but the Zenin clan hates them both....

Dick Grayson/Jason Todd and Batfam

What do you guys think?

Mood board for this scenario^^^(I love Pinterest)

#yandere halim shah #yandere #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere x reader #yandere x #yandere x you #yandere dabi x reader #yandere dabi #yandere x darling #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere bnha imagines #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere todoroki clan #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk

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acosmicbee · 13 days ago

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Teddy Bear

(First time posting on Tumblr! This is a repost from my Wattpad, so hopefully, you enjoy it!

TW: Typical Yandere stuff, neglect from reader's bio parents, reader gets drugged with some sleep medicine, reader is a child)

You weren't the biggest fan of airports. They weren't the most child friendly, even to one so independent such as yourself. You, at the young age of 7, were already tasked with keeping track of your passport, boarding pass and any belongings.

While you felt proud that you hadn't lost anything important (to date) you were also rather sad. It wasn't fair that you were tasked with all of that while your little sister got all the help and attention from your parents. Not to mention that when you were her age they'd already started getting stricter about rules and chores.

The only good thing about airports, and traveling in general, was that you only ever traveled to see your grandma. You adored your grandma, and she adored you. While your parents would take your sister out to town to get souvenirs or see attractions, your grandma doted on you.

You didn't have to do chores at grandma's house. Instead she would let you sit at the kitchen counter and talk about anything you wanted. It was like she was trying to make up all of the attention your parents failed to give you.

It was from your grandma that you received your most beloved possession, a handmade teddy bear. She'd made it for you, from scratch. Even though he wasn't as perfect as the toys your sister got from the stores, you loved that bear. The imperfection added to the love and safety it radiated.

That was the reason you had hid the bear in your carry-on luggage, despite promising your parents to leave it at home. You didn't feel as safe without it, and you hated flying. Not to mention, your grandma had promised to knit the bear a sweater the next time you visited. Therefore, you totally needed it, even if your parents said no.

"Y/N. We're about to board. You'll be by yourself. Act appropriately." Your mother hissed. Your father never even spared you a glance, busy helping your sister with her bags. You patiently waited for your boarding group to be called.

You handed the gate agent your boarding pass, smiling up at him when he called you a big kid. From there it was a slow crawl getting to your seat. Thankfully, a helpful woman from the aisle behind your seat was nice enough to help you put your bag in the overhead rack.

You were seated next to a young couple, the woman trying to soothe her partner's fears. You tried to be good and ignore them, pulling your teddy out from your carry on, but you couldn't help it.

"I've flown so many times Stef. Look at me. I'm still here, yeah? Nothing is going to happen." The woman tried to joke. It was clear that 'Stef' wasn't soothed in the slightest as he nervously glanced around. You felt bad for him.

You remembered your first time you flew without your parents near you. It had felt really scary. You still hated flying, but you had gotten a little used to it. You debated with yourself for a minute before eventually turning to the couple.

"Excuse me?" They turned to look at you, the woman smiling.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Stef asked. He mustered up a nervous smile for you and you gingerly held out your teddy bear.

"You can hold onto Teddy if you're scared... he helps me when I feel like that." You offered. Stef gently took your bear, which made you feel a lot better about letting him borrow it. He was being so gentle with it, carefully inspecting it.

"Thank you so much. It's clearly a very special bear." He said, placing it on his lap. "I'm Stefan, and this is my fiancee."

"I'm Emma. It's a pleasure to meet you sweetheart."

"I'm Y/N." You introduced yourself. The safety video started to play on all the screens and you took that as an opportunity to double check your carry on bag was out of the way under your seat and that your seat belt was pulled tight.

Soon enough, the plane slowly rolled away from the gate, slowly moving towards the runway. Despite having watched you check your seatbelt, Stefan leaned over to double check it for you before checking his own.

Emma smiled lovingly at the both of you, gently taking Stefan's hand as she looked out the window. Stefan tucked your teddy into the crook of his arm before offering you his open hand. You took it, trying to push back a sudden rush of sadness. No one had ever held your hand during takeoff before.

As the safety video finished, there was another minute of tension as the plane finally pulled onto the runway. The plane accelerated, faster and faster, as it lifted into the air. You shut your eyes at the feeling, trying to breathe and not panic.

The plane soared over the airport and the city below. Stefan, who was holding onto you tighter than you were him, finally cracked open his eyes. Emma smiled at him, ruffling his curls before returning to looking out the window.

"Thank you Y/N. Your teddy helped me a lot." Stefan said, finally releasing the bear. You hugged it as you lay back in your seat. Your happy mood was squashed by the memories of being alone. After all, it wasn't like after this flight you'd ever see Emma or Stefan again.

"I don't believe I ever asked you where your parents are, sweetheart. Are you all alone?" Emma asked. You shook your head, frowning deeper.

"Not alone. They're sitting somewhere else. With Poppy." You muttered.

"Poppy?"

"My little sister." You hugged your bear tighter, trying to distract yourself. You missed the look Emma and Stefan shared with each other. Stefan took a deep breath before reaching under his seat for his carry-on bag.

From the bag he withdrew some snacks and some candy. He offered you some, giving you a gentle smile.

"You shared your bear, so it's only right that I share my snacks. Here." You gingerly took some of the candy, turning away so he couldn't try and take it back from you. It was something you had to do often around Poppy and your parents. If you had something and Poppy wanted it you were forced to give it to her.

Instead of questioning you further, Emma navigated the small TV in front of her. She decided on a show that drew your attention when you had finally turned back around. When she noticed you watching, she smiled, waving you closer.

Eventually, after a lot of coaxing and reassurance, you ended up in her lap. She wrapped her arms tightly around you, and your teddy bear, as you both watched.

Eventually, Emma soothed you enough for you to doze off, falling into a gentle sleep. When that happened, Stefan reached into his carry-on for the small blanket Emma recommended he pack for the plane.

They carefully tucked it around you, making sure you were nice and warm. You looked adorable with your teddy wrapped up like a burrito. But now that you were asleep, they began to talk.

"They're adorable." Stefan whispered, brushing some stray hair out of your face.

"Mhm. The most perfect child..." Emma trailed off, holding you a bit tighter.

"It's sad. They deserve better..." Stefan said. He was replaying what you'd said about your family in his mind.

"They'll get it." Emma said with a smile, gazing down at your peacefully sleeping face.

"How can you be so sure?" Stefan asked, adjusting the blanket.

"Because we'll give them better." Emma stated. Stefan had to do a double take.

"What?" He asked. "We can't take them! That's kidnapping!" He hissed quietly, glancing around to make sure no one else had heard that.

"Stef, you do remember who we're going to meet, right? My family. Trust me, we have many connections. We hold a lot of power. If I wanted to hypothetically adopt a child I saved from neglectful parents, I can in a snap of my fingers." Stefan nervously glanced between you and his fiancee.

He thought long and hard for a long time before sighing. He wanted to fight back and say it wasn't right, but more than that, he wanted to help you. At least with himself and Emma, you'd be in a nice and loving household. You'd never want for anything, and you'd have doting parents.

Maybe taking you would be for the best...

—⁺˖°ʚ🧸ɞ°⁺˖—

You woke up from your nap with a sleepy yawn. You still had a couple of hours before the plane would land. It was dark outside, and most of the lights in the plane had been turned off. Stefan was watching some show on the TV in front of his seat while Emma was scrolling on her phone.

It was quiet, minus the hum of the engines. It seemed almost everyone was sleeping or minding their own business. You yawned, snuggling further into the warm blanket. Emma noticed you were awake and smiled down at you, setting her phone aside.

"You must be hungry. Here, I couldn't finish the food I ordered." She whispered. She handed you the half eaten airplane food that had been abandoned on her tray along with a half finished can of Sprite.

While the food was lack luster the soda was entirely new. You'd never been allowed to have soda before. When you told Emma as such after your first sip she gave you a sad smile. You happily finished the soda before being tucked back in.

You let out a yawn, cuddling back into Emma's arms. It was so warm and you were still so sleepy. Besides, you had hours until the plane landed, it would be fine to sleep for a little longer.

You drifted off to sleep once again, content and warm. Emma took a quick selfie of the two of you together before peeking over at Stefan. He was also dozing off, something that made her smile. She had such an amazing family...

She was also very happy Stefan had decided to bring along his heavy-duty melatonin for the trip.

—⁺˖°ʚ🧸ɞ°⁺˖—

"We hope you enjoyed your flight!" Finally the plane had landed, just after 4 in the morning. Emma yawned as she stood up, cradling you in her arms. You were due to be out for a while longer. She passed you onto Stefan once he had a good position with his own bags.

She took your carry on from under your seat as well as your suitcase from the luggage rack. She only had her carry on, as both hers and Stefan's suitcases were checked. They both exited the plane, easily walking right past your old family. After all, your parents were looking for a child by themselves, not one being carried by their parents.

Emma led Stefan over to where a few people in suits waited by the gate.

"Stefan, these are some people my parents sent to escort us. They'll be expiditing our way out of here." She explained. As they were led away, two of the individuals stayed behind. They were the ones tasked with staying behind to deal with your old parents, either with bribes or with force.

It was after a fast tracked security process that the three of you were escorted to a fancy car with a waiting chauffeur. Emma took you back from Stefan as the car took off, weaving out of the airport pick-up area.

By the time the car arrived outside a large home, the sun was beginning to rise. An attendant opened the door for them, leading them to a medium sized bedroom upstairs. There was a small air mattress set up on the floor, but it was covered in expensive and soft blankets.

"Your parents apologize for not being here to greet you and your fiancee... and child. They also send their condolences for being unable to procure a bed of adequate size for the child." The maid explained. "Their flight arrives around lunch time. Your siblings will also be flying in later today."

"It's alright Tracey. Tell mom and dad we're fine, okay?" Emma smiled. "I think we'll probably be sleeping for a while, so please keep it quiet."

"Of course, Miss Emma. Welcome home."

—⁺˖°ʚ🧸ɞ°⁺˖—

You woke up warm once again. At first, you thought you were still on the plane, cuddled close in Emma's arms. After all, you were still surrounded by soft blankets, and your teddy bear was held tight in your arms.

But the only sound you could hear was the faint chirping of birds, not the hum of an airplane. Something was wrong here. You slowly uncurled from the blankets, trying to untangle yourself enough to sit up.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you looked around an expensive, unfamiliar bedroom. Where were you?

The room was spacious. The mattress you were on was tucked away in a corner, next to a larger bed. You were covered in the softest blankets you'd ever felt and your teddy was there too. A few stray rays of light streamed in through a crack in the curtains.

You stood up as quietly as possible, shaking off the remaining sleepiness. The mattress wobbled a little under your weight and you had to lean on the wall to steady yourself. Your mind felt a little foggy as you stumbled off the air mattress, taking your teddy with you.

You, somehow, managed to stumble out into the hallway without waking up Emma or Stefan, who were asleep in the bed. It was sunny, but the kind that happens in the late afternoon. The hallway was grand, lined with artwork and smaller pedestals of art.

Your sleep addled brain hadn't quite placed where you were yet or what happened, mostly due to the melatonin you had been drugged with. Your brain was working slow, and some signals were being processed too late. It was why you found yourself being picked up before you registered you weren't alone.

"Aren't you just the most adorable little one?" A man's voice said. The first thing your brain was able to process was that he looked similar to Emma. He had the same eyes but his hair was blond while hers was black. He gently carried you further down the hallway, smiling down at you.

"When Emma texted telling me she was adopting a kid, I didn't think you'd be this adorable. Then again, Emma has always had an amazing eye for sweet things." The man seemed content just talking to you, even if you weren't responding.

"Ah! But where are my manners? While I know you, you don't know me. I'm Alexi, Emma's father. You can just call me grandpa." He said with a smile. He stopped walking in front of an open door. The room inside was a fancy living room with a grand fireplace. He sat down on the couch, letting you rest on his lap.

The drugs must not have worn off enough because soon enough you fell asleep again, holding your teddy close.

—⁺˖°ʚ🧸ɞ°⁺˖—

It was half an hour later when Emma burst into the living room, looking around frantically. Her hair was messy and her clothing was disheveled. When her eyes landed on you, peacefully dozing in her father's lap, her entire body relaxed.

"Good afternoon father." She said, her breathing starting to even out from it's anxiety induced pace.

"I found this little one wandering the halls looking half asleep. The poor dear was out like a light within five minutes." Alexi said with a smirk. He didn't protest when Emma plucked you off his lap, holding you close. "Your siblings should be home a little before dinner, so try and have the little one up for that."

"I'm sure they'll be awake by then." Emma said, gently bouncing you in her arms. You let out a sleepy groan at the movement, waking up a little. You glanced around the room with squinted eyes before resting your head back against her shoulder.

"Your mother has stepped out, and she's probably buying some toys and outfits for them." He warned.

"They'll be one of the most loved and spoiled kids on the planet, that's for sure." Emma said, adjusting your head with a smile. "But they'll deserve it after what they went through to get here."

—⁺˖°ʚ🧸ɞ°⁺˖—

That evening you met your new family for the first time. That evening marked the start of a new chapter of your life, one you tried to resist at first but felt too good to fight against. Everyone loves to be loved, right?

Who knew it would all start with a very very loved teddy bear?

#platonic yandere #yandere ocs #platonic #yandere platonic #platonic yandere x reader #kid reader #yandere

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queenie-the-court-jester · 11 months ago

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Morning, Queenie. I saw you rebloged the thing about a Cowboy's hat and I can't stop thinking about how big daddy might do that..teehee

Love,

🐁 anon

🐂How did you end up like this. Big daddy's hat nearly falling off your head as you cling to the hay bale you're getting fucked on for dear life, trying to stay quiet.

🐂 You were making conversation with him during one of the farm owners annual spring festivals. You teased him about his hat, trying to knock it off and squaring up. But he mistook it as something completely different.

🐂He plopped his hat on you, and you being the none the wiser, happily ran around with it. After a while he asked you if you liked wearing his hat, and you said yes. He asked you again if you'd like to see another hat, but it was much bigger. You hesitantly nodded

🐂Next thing you knew, you were picked up like a sack of potatoes and taken into one of the more isolated barns. He gently took off your overalls and coerced you onto a hay bale. You tried wriggling away but a firm slap against your ass made you stop

🐂Wasting no time in ripping off your undies and prepping you open (he didn't wear any clothes, mainly because he was stubborn and so hairy.) You let out a gasp, feeling his wet tongue wiggle into your tight hole and working his way in. You were so thankful you shaved that morning.

🐂He didn't let you leave that barn until your legs were turned to jelly and his body covered in your fluids. Mrs.bené gave you a knowing smile as you made your way back to the party. You're never going to live this down.

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2-dsimp · 7 months ago

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Since URIEL isn't ready Seraphi is off limits and Azrael isn't a good father figure.... *👹 UMPS ON JERICHO👹* "👹👹GIVE ME UR BABUIESSS 👹"

𝚌𝚠: 𝙽𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

𝙿𝚘𝚟: 𝙹𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 𝙶𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

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darkbluekies · 1 year ago

Text

Make things right? Or make them worse?

Yandere!doctor husband (platonic to his children) x twin daughters ocs x female!reader

Summary: Dr Kry’s children finds out their fathers dark secret, and he's determined to silence them.

Warnings: toxic household, yandere, favoritism, guilt, poison, mentions of murder (things along this way)

A/N: I have created my own poison for this story, so I choose the effects. Lol.

Word count: 6.2k

“Bye, dad”, Lydia says and closes the car door.

Her twin follows out of the car, almost hides behind her like a shadow. Lydia frowns confusedly. She’s been more silent than usual this morning. They turn to walk into school.

“Girls”, Dr Kry says through the open car window, catching their attention. “I want you here at three sharp, okay? I’m not in the mood for waiting.”

“Yes, sir”, Lydia answers.

“Good. Have a good day, girls, I’ll see you later.”

With that said, he drives off. Lydia turns to Nadia who finally raises her gaze from her feet.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asks and fixes her backpack. “You’ve been acting off all morning.”

“I have to talk to you about something”, Nadia says hesitantly and looks at her with uneasy eyes.

Lydia blinked and frowned. “What?”

“I was meaning to talk to you earlier, but I didn’t want to do it when dad was around.” Nadia glanced at the other students swarming around the school grounds. “It’s about mom … and her sickness.”

For as long as they can remember, their mother has been bound to her bed by a rare disease. Thankfully, their father is a remarkable doctor and has been caring for her ever since the twins' birth. He works at a hospital in the city and travels forty minutes back and forth every day, dropping the twins off at school on the way there, and picking them up on the wayback. When they were young, they were put in a private school carefully chosen by their father — who has been very active in the administration.

Their father is a complex person. Although they’ve been by him their entire life, they still feel like they don’t know him. He rarely talks about himself, and seem to have a human side for their mother only. Very rarely, there’s a soft side for the girls … often they’re met by a doctor, rather than a parent. Despite that, Lydia has always been a daddy’s girl, while Nadia has clung to their mom for love and comfort.

“What about it?” Lydia asks carefully.

“I heard something …”, Nadia starts and licks her lips nervously. “I heard these noises, from mom and dad’s room-”

“Don’t tell me you heard them have sex”, Lydia grimaces.

“No …” Nadia shakes her head, eyes shaking. “They were talking. Mom was crying and daad was standing by the bed, holding her cheeks in his hands like this …” She cups her sisters cheeks in demonstration, “...while saying: ‘you’re never going back there, I’ll never share you like that again’.” She shivers. “I-I don’t know what that was, but it made me feel really weird.”

Lydia frowns, trying to picture the scene in front of her.

“Are you sure that it wasn’t just dad’s weird love language?” she asks carefully.

“I don’t know”, Nadia sighs defeatedly. “Mom seemed … scared. She looked up at him with eyes full of terror. She could have had a nightmare or something, but dad’s voice- … it was awful. I don’t know how to describe it, but it sounded extremely dark.”

“We could try to ask her.”

“What if dad hears?”

“I could distract him while you ask, if that helps you ease your worry.”

Nadia smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Lyd.”

Lydia gives her an unsure smile and grabs her hand and they walk into school.

Like Dr Kry had asked them to, they stand by the gates at three sharp. His white car rolls over and the two of them jumps in, Lydia in the front seat and Nadia in the backseat.

“How has your day been?” he asks and drives off.

He always asks about their classes, teachers and friends. If there’s a small detail he doesn’t like, he makes sure to contact the school and let them know his thoughts. More than one friendship has ended thanks to his overprotectiveness and the twins has learned to dilute the truth enough for him to be able to swallow it. So once again, they answer in the way he wants to hear it.

The car drives from the city, gets off the highway and enters a countryside road. The dirt road is divided in the middle with grass, creating enough space for the wheels of his white car to roll forward. Here, nothing can be heard except the sounds of distant birds. Their white, edwardian villa is surrounded by a deep, dark forest, close to a gigantic sparkly lake with the closest neighbor being a kilometer away. Despite the isolating upbringing the twins have had, getting away from the noisy, stressful city to the empty forest always cleanse their brains.

The white, Scandinavian, edwardian aged, wooden villa appears behind the trees like a castle. The house has two floors with a green atticroof, and a bushy, blooming garden in the same color, two glass verandahs on either side of the house and a white fence around the garden.

The twins get out of the car. Nadia gives her a look and Lydia nods.

“Dad”, she says. “I’ve been feeling a bit weird these last days … I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Really?” Dr Kry asks and frowns. He closes the trunk of the car. “Who have you been around? Are any of the other students sick?”

“A few.”

“Nadia, are you feeling bad too?”

“No”, Nadia replies.

“Could you please give me a check up?” Lydia asks.

“Alright, come with me”, Dr Kry says and nods at her to follow him.

While they walk inside, their father and Lydia walks to the living room and Nadia sneaks off upstairs. She moves carefully to their parents’ room and knock gently on the door before entering. Their mother, you, is lying in bed with a book in her hand. You look as weak as ever. Nadia shivers.

“Hi, sweetheart”, you smile and puts down your book on your chest. “Did you have a good day in school?”

“Yes …”, Nadia mumbles and sits down on the side of the bed, unsure on how to start this absurd conversation.

“What’s wrong, Nadia?”

“What happened yesterday? WIth you and dad?”

You flinch. Your smile disappears for a moment for it to appear quickly again, but this time in a fake manner.

“Why did he say that?” Nadia asks carefully. “Why did he say that he wasn’t going to share you again?”

“O-Oh, that …”, you mumble with an embarrassed smile. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it. It was just some adult stuff that me and your dad were talking about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, honey. Why? Did it make you worry?”

Nadia nods slightly. Y/N gives her a smile and takes her hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, there’s nothing to be afraid of”, you reassure Nadia. “Whatever happens between me and your dad is nothing you have to be afraid of. We will always put you and your sister first, okay? There’s nothing you have to be worried about. I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, mom …”

You hug her, and Nadia hugs back, but she can’t help but feel that her heart sinks. Something isn’t right.

The very next day when they’re left off at school, Nadia grabs Lydia’s arm.

“Let’s go to the hospital”, she says the second their father’s car disappears behind the corner. She holds up a metallic key. “I have the key to mom’s old room.”

“What?” Lydia asks in confusion. “Why?”

“I have a feeling that mom isn’t really sick and I have to take a look around in her old hospital room. Something isn’t right!” She clears her throat and lowers her voice. “Mom and dad met at the hospital and that he was her doctor, that much we know, right?”

Lydia nods, trying to follow along.

“Isn’t it weird that a doctor as professional as our dad decided to start a relationship with a patient like that?” Nadia asks, sounding unsure. “And wouldn’t he have done everything he could to make mom feel better? Shouldn’t she be better now? I just … I want to know if he has done something.”

“Do you really think he has?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. But something isn’t right, and I feel that. Mom seemed to be put on the spot when I asked her about the interaction I had overheard. She seemed scared.” Nadia grabbed her hand in hers. “Please, Lyd, can we go there and just take a look?”

Lydia hesitates and glances at the private school behind them, contemplating the consequences.

“Please”, Nadia repeats. “If mom is getting hurt, I want to help her.”

“Okay”, Lydia nods.

With that said, they hurry past the school gates before a teacher has the time to catch them. They take the first bus to the state hospital their father works at and hope that he’s with a patient while they sneak around.

They hurry inside the hospital and keep their heads down to make sure that none of the working receptionists would recognise them and report to their father right away. They stay silent until they get into the elevator.

Once out, they sneak over to the door. Lydia stands guard as Nadia presses the key into its lock. The click from the key opening echoes in the empty corridor. Nadia’s hand hovers above the door handle. Her heart twirls around uncomfortably. In a moment, she will be in the room where their parents met, where something happened that made their dad take the decision of stepping over the professional line. If that was good or bad is yet to be known, but she can’t help but feel worried.

The room is empty, in more than one way. The spirits of old memories haunt the room and they leave a sour taste in the twins’ mouths. Lydia looks towards the bed. Their mother has been lying here for months with a sickness that has kept her bed bound for years. But what happened while she was here?

“What are we looking for?” Lydia wonders.

“Anything”, Nadia shrugs and looks around. “Whatever that can help us is fine. Journals, reports, notes — anything.”

They start to rummage through drawers, in binders and notepads. Lydia finds herself holding a yellow paper binder with their mother’s name written on it, in their father’s handwriting.

“Nad, look at this”, Lydia says and holds up the binder.

They put the binder on the desk and start to pull out papers. Every paper is written from the top to the bottom in ink.

“He has documented her every day …”, Lydia says, perplexed. She shakes her head in denial. “Every single day, every single hour. Obsessively. Look, every little detail is written down. ‘12:35, eaten an apple’, ‘16:52, took a shower’, ‘22:30, called for me on the telephone’. What is this?”

Nadia picks up another paper, a smaller, clearly supposed to be hidden between the other sides. She puts her hand over her mouth as her eyes widens.

“Oh no”, she gasps and drops the paper. “No, no, no, no …”

Lydia frowns, bends down and picks up the paper. Her heart sinks as she reads the note. It’s a single word, but they’re familiar with it. They’ve found bottles of it in the cellar and the attic multiple times, and when they asked Dr Kry about it, he answered that it was a substance to kill vermin.

“He’s poisoning mom”, Nadia whispers in horror and looks at her twin with wide, terrified eyes.

Lydia feels the air disappear from her lungs. Suddenly, she feels nauseous. She sits down on the rolling stool and tries to control her breathing. Nadia sinks down on the bed with her head in her hands.

“What the fuck do we do?” Lydia breathes out with her eyes staring dimly in front of her. She has never felt this empty before, this helpless. “What the fuck do we do now, Nadia?”

“W-We have to call the cops”, Nadia gulps.

“The cops? Nad, he’s our dad!”

“But if he hurts mom …” Her voice dies out. “We can’t let him take more years from her.”

Lydia nods and wipes the few tears that have begun to run down her cheeks. With shaking hands, she unzips her backpack and shoves the binder down. They will need evidence if they have to prove to the cops.

The door behind them opens. Both girls fly up from their positions and scurry over to each other. Dr Kry walks in and stops abruptly in the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asks quickly.

He’s trying to force a smile, but the red eyes of his daughters and the trembling bodies of theirs are all he needs to see, to know that they know.

“How fucking could you?!” Nadia screams.

Dr Kry hurries to close the door as she continues to shout through sobs.

“What’s your deal with mom?!” she screams. “How can you keep her like this?! Where’s your fucking conscience?!”

She thinks that she’s going to explode in pure fear, anger and sorrow. Dr Kry clenches his jaw and sighs heavily.

“Your mother is a very, very special person”, he says slowly, as if he is talking to a ticking bomb. “It is all a misunderstanding, girls, I will tell you everything at home. Come, we’re going home now.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you”, Nadia spits and stands in front of her frozen sister.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Dr Kry rolls his eyes when they don’t answer. “You’re my daughters, and you are not yet of age, you have to come with me.”

Nadia wants to refuse again, but she doesn’t want to leave her mother alone with him, not when he knows that they know.

“Now”, Dr Kry decides.

Nadia picks up Lydia’s bag and gives it to her sister. It looks like Lydia is going to throw up any second now. Nadia takes her hand and they follow their father out of the room, and out through a back door. For the first time, Lydia sits down in the backseat together with her twin. They hold each others hands tightly and keep silent the entire car ride home.

“Girls, I never wanted you to see that”, Dr Kry sighs and tries to meet their eyes in the rear view mirror. “I- … It’s hard to explain. Your mother is a very special person who I’m very lucky to have met.”

Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, but she can’t keep him out of her head.

When they come home, Nadia drags her sister into the house.

“Girls, don’t go upstairs”, Dr Kry says in that same dark voice Nadia had heard him talk in a few days ago. “I want you to stay down here.”

They halt, suddenly too scared to move.

“I want you to help me with dinner”, Dr Kry says. “Come on.”

The twins glance at each other. Lydia starts to drag her sister to the kitchen. They help in complete silence. Lydia’s hands are trembling while she cuts cucumber and it slips, cutting a slit in her finger. She yelps and drops the knife.

“Oh, honey”, Dr Kry breathes out and grabs her hand. “You have to be careful.”

She doesn’t look at him as he washes her hand under the kitchen sink and puts on a bandaid. Her entire body is in fight or flight mode.

When Dr Kry takes care of the final touches, the twins scurry up to their mother. Your face drops when you see them.

“Why is he doing this to you?” Nadia asks thickly as she tries not to cry. “We found out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, girls”, you say sorrowfully. “I wish that you never had to know.”

“Why do you let it happen?” Lydia asks quietly.

“I have no choice … I can’t do anything.” You lower your gaze and voice to an ashamed whisper. “I don’t have the energy to run away, and if I managed to, you’d be in danger and I’d be dead. Your father has the only antidote to his self made poison. It’s safer for everyone if I stay here.”

“But mom …”, Nadia whimpers, “... he’s hurting you.”

“I … I know, dear.”

The door opens behind them.

“Girls, dinner”, Dr Kry says shortly and nods towards the corridor. “Go downstairs.”

The twins turn to you, wanting you to make their decision. You give them a reassuring smile and they leave. You look at the man who has become your husband, much to your dismay.

“Why did you let them find out?” you whisper with tears in your eyes. “You promised that they would never know!”

“I didn't think that they would.” He wipes the tears that roll down your cheeks. “I’ll fix this mess. Don’t worry, darling.”

With that said, he tucks you in and leaves to go downstairs. The twins have sat down by the dining table with their blank, staring eyes turned down into the table. Dr Kry sits down and start to eat, without seeming to care at all about the incidents that happened earlier. Nadia stares down into her plate with disgust roaring in her stomach. If she eats, she’s going to throw it all up in a matter of thirty minutes. She closes her eyes and sighs sadly. Lydia tries to eat a bite, forcing it down her throat.

“Nadia, eat a little”, Dr Kry says.

“I’m not hungry”, she mumbles.

“You need to eat a bit. I won’t allow you to leave the table before you have eaten. Look at Lydia, she’s eating.”

Lydia feels her cheeks heat up as the attention turns to her. She’s suddenly embarrassed over obeying. Feeling exposed and naked under Nadia’s look of disbelief, as if she’s just broken a silent pact. But instead of saying anything, Nadia picks up her fork and takes a bite of the white rice. The twins can agree that this might have been the worst dinner they have ever experienced.

Nadia puts her hand over her heart and clears her throat. There's a heavy feeling over her chest, something almost suffocating. She looks to the side, seeing how Lydia is frowning as well, trying to clear her throat. Nadia think that she looks like she’s going to faint. She wants to ask her how she’s feeling, but doesn’t dare talk in front of their father, afraid to start a conversation.

After dinner, the twins decide to go upstairs, but their legs suddenly feel weak enough to break apart.

“What’s going on?” Lydia whispers and grips the staircase railing.

“I think that he put something in the food”, Nadia whispers back.

“I feel really sick …”

She falls down on her knees in the middle of the staircase, still holding onto the railing. Nadia hurries to pull her up again and drags her over to her bedroom, lazily tucking her in.

“Don’t leave me”, Lydia whimpers and grabs her hand before she can leave the room. “Stay … please. Don’t go. I'm scared.”

Nadia agrees, not wanting to leave. She climbs down under the covers of Lydia’s bed. They lay in silence and look up at the tilted, wooden ceiling. For every minute passes by, they’re growing more and more sick. Every muscle in their bodies seem to ache, twist and turn.

“He’s doing it to us too”, Nadia whispers.

They hear the lock on the door click and give each other terrified looks. Nadia stumbles out of the bed and feel the handle. She gulps in horror and turns back to the bed.

“It’s locked!” she says and breathes out in shock. “He actually locked it …”

“Come back …”, Lydia begs and reaches for her.

Nadia returns to the bed, crawls down under the covers and hugs her. She wraps her arms around her sister and rests Lydia’s head on her shoulder.

“I’m scared”, Lydia whispers.

“It’s going to be okay”, Nadia replies, although she doesn’t believe it herself. “We’re going to be okay.”

Dr Kry removes his tie, about to go to sleep.

“I can’t believe you …”, you whisper from the bed, with her eyes down at her trembling hands.

“Darling …”, Dr Kry sighs and turns around.

You raise your tone, but keep it hushed enough not to exceed the bedroom walls. “You promised that they would never get hurt! You promised that they would never get exposed to this fucking substance!”

“They haven’t … yet.”

“Yet?! Don’t fucking tell me-”

“They figured it out, okay? They heard our conversation and decided to check out the hospital for themselves. I underestimated their intelligence … and their love for you.” He sighs annoyedly. “I’m not going to let their lack of understanding break apart our family — that I have fought so hard for. I put something in their food to keep them still for a while. It’s nothing dangerous, little one. I promise you that.”

“If I knew that you were going to break your promise-”

“I had to.”

He is about to caress your cheek, but hears sounds coming from next door. One of the girls is banging on the locked bedroom door, and calling for him. Dr Kry excuses himself and gets out of the room. He walks over to Lydia’s room, where the noise is coming from. Quickly, he unlocks, finding Nadia leaning on the wall right next to the door. Her eyes are full with tears.

“What’s going on?” Dr Kry asks.

“Lydia isn’t waking up!” Nadia cries.

Dr Kry feels his body turn cold. He runs over to the bed where his other daughter is lying on her side, and he soon finds out that Nadia is right — she isn’t waking up. He shakes her, gives her gentle taps on her cheeks and lifts her up. Nothing wakes her. He has to take her to the hospital.

“Wait, where are you going?!” Nadia screams after him as Dr Kry carries her sister down the stairs. “She doesn’t want to be alone!”

“You have to stay here with mom”, Dr Kry says over his shoulder. “I’m taking care of Lydia.”

He hurries out of the house and quickly places her down in the back seat. Dr Kry’s usual forty minute drive to the hospital took only twenty five minutes this time. He picked her up in her arms and ran inside through the backdoor, and didn’t stop until their reach the room you have spent many, many months in. Dr Kry places his daughter down on the very same bed you have laid in. He placed an oxygen over Lydia’s mouth and nose, turning on the machine. He hasn’t felt this scared in a long time.

Finally, after an hour, Lydia opens her eyes with a small moan. Dr Kry hurries over to the bed and removes the mask.

“How are you feeling?” he asks her and brushes the hair out of her face.

“I feel really sick”, she whimpers.

“Do you need to throw up?”

Lydia nods. Dr Kry picks her up again and moves her into the bathroom where she hovers over the toilet for ten minutes. Dr Kry holds her hair back and grimaces sadly. He does feel bad for putting her through this, but he has to.

“There you go”, he says and puts her down on the bed again.

“Why am I here?” Lydia asks weakly.

“You weren’t responding when anyone tried to wake you up. I got worried, so I decided to take you here.”

“Am I going to die?”

Dr Kry scoffs out a smile in a weird sensation of deja-vu. He has heard that question a lot, in the exact same tone and manner, but from the generation before her.

“You’re not”, he reassures her and strokes her hair. “You know that I would never let anything happen to you.”

“Why am I feeling like this?”

“I put something in your food to make you and Nadia calm down, but you seem to have reacted badly to the substance … weirdly enough. Since you’re identical twins, i thought you’d react the same, but it seems like you are a bit more sensitive than your sister.”

“Nadia ate less than me.”

“Yeah, you might have gotten more substance in your body, which is why you feel worse. It’s going to be okay, I will not let anything happen to you.”

“But you hurt me.”

His smile drops and his hand stops stroking her hair. He knows that Lydia shares half of her mothers genetics, but he didn’t know that she would sound exactly like you. She has never heard you use these phrases, and yet Lydia has chosen the exact same wording that you have tortured Dr Kry with years ago.

“I didn’t mean for you to end up here”, Dr Kry sighs and continues to stroke her hair. “That was my fault, I admit that. However, I had to keep you and Nadia a bit sedated because of how scared you were.”

“Why did you use so much?” she whimpers.

“I was a bit shaky myself, I wasn’t meant to hurt you, Lydia.”

Lydia sighs shakily and sinks down in the mattress. She wants nothing more than to go back home, to Nadia, but at the same time she knows that if she goes back home, she will be locked in her room again. Continuing with life now that they know their father’s secret will be difficult.

“How long do I have to stay here?” she asks quietly.

“Until you’re feeling better”, Dr Kry replies and stands up. “For now, I think that you need to sleep. It’s late.”

That’s the last thing she wants to do. She has always been Dr Kry’s (not so subtle) favorite, and she has always had a preference for her father … but for the very first time, she’s afraid of him. She can’t trust him anymore, especially about her health. Being unconscious is the last thing she wants to do.

“I don’t want to”, Lydia says pleadingly. “I’m not tired … please don’t make me sleep, dad.”

Please don’t make me sleep. Your voice echoes in his head, in the exact same tone. Dr Kry knows that he did a million things wrong when he kept you here, and now he has a second chance to fix things.

“Okay”, he breathes out and sits down on his stool. “You don’t have to sleep, darling.”

Lydia gulps and looks around in the room, trying to imagine how you had felt while being here. She feels a heavy sensation over her chest, like a heavy stone. She couldn’t see the poisoned air purifier that was mentioned in the journal.

“Did mom lay here?” Lydia whispers.

“Yes”, he answers quietly.

“How long?”

Dr Kry looks down at his nails, eyes faltering. “A, uh … very long time. Many, many months.”

She starts to look around again. “Where is the air purifier?”

“It’s not here … it broke, a long time ago. I had to throw it away.”

“Do you still use that kind of thing on mom?”

“No, I don’t. Not often.”

But he has his new way to make sure you stay.

Nadia runs her hand through her hair. Her poor sister. What should she do? Dr Kry left the rooms unlocked, which means that she can move around. She drags herself into your bedroom. You look at her with wide, nervous eyes.

“Is she okay?” you ask and take Nadia in your arms.

“I-I don’t know”, Nadia responds shakily while shaking her head desperately. “She wasn’t waking up and …”

“She’s going to be okay. I know your father can all of those medical stuff … maybe a little too well.” You sigh and caress the seventeen-year old girl’s face. “It’s going to be okay.”

Nadia shakes her head. “No fucking way things are going to be okay! He’s a madman, mom.”

“I … I know.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Where are we supposed to go, Nad? We have no car, nearest neighbor is a kilometer away and we have poison in our blood. Sweetheart, we can’t walk far.”

“Mom, we have to leave. We can’t stay here with this psychopath!”

“Nadia …”

Nadia sighs frustratedly and hides her face in her hands. Something has to work. The farthest she has seen you walk is out to the garden when they’ve had picnic evenings. You take her hand, removing it.

“Sweetheart … you know dad loves you, right?” you ask carefully. You don’t want her to hate her him, after all he is her father … but you have to let her know the truth, no more living in the shadow.

“Fucking doubt it”, Nadia mutters.

“He does. In his … own little way. But I need you to understand that he has sides that he hasn’t shown you … a-and I don’t want you to see those sides.”

Nadia’s face goes blank. You’re trying your best not to get swindled back into old memories, but thinking about that murderous side of Dr Kry brings you back to a time you much rather would want to forget.

“Mom?” Nadia asks blankly and almost shouts in panic. “Mom! What sides?”

“He … He is a very patient man, but he can't take as much as possible, so please, whatever you do … cooperate.”

“What does that mean? Mom?”

Nadia goes cold. That’s it, she thinks, they have to leave.

“Mom, get up”, she says and grabs the blanket before ripping it off. “Now. Before he returns.”

“Nad-”

“We have to try, at least. Please.”

You hesitate before getting out of bed. Nadia grabs your hand and try to pull you out of the bedroom, but everything around you seem to spin. Your entire body is heavy and aching in all the wrong places.

“Nadia, wait”, you groan. “If I’m going to move, I have to move slowly.”

“Alright”, Nadia agrees. “I’ll go get some stuff and then meet you by the stairs.”

Nadia runs to her room to collect her wallet and hoodies for herself and her sister, then runs to get your jacket. She meets you by the stairs, helps you put your jacker on and then start to lead you down. You’re terrified of falling.

“Nadia, I don’t think that this is a good idea”, you mumble and think back of your numerous escape attempts, all ending with someone losing their life.

“We have to, mom”, Nadia pleads. “I can’t leave you here.”

“What about Lydia?”

“I’ll figure something out afterwards.”

Nadia unlocks the front door and leads you out on the glass verandah. You’re filled with fear. What if you can’t walk? What if you hurt yourself? What if Dr Kry finds out? Your body won’t be able to take his anger. Besides, you have barely left the house in eighteen years — apart from a few car rides here and there — what if the world has changed to something you don’t like?

“Mom”, Nadia says slowly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m terrified”, you admit.

“We will be okay.”

They start to walk along the dark countryside road. There are no streetlight this far out in the forest, but the moon lights up enough for them to see where the road is heading.

“It’s been years since I was outside last”, you say. “I think the last time I was out walking was in the garden, last summer when we had that picnic.”

“Have you ever tried to run away from dad before?” Nadia asks.

“I have”, you answer quietly. “A few times.”

“Did you ever succeed?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘succeeding’, because I’m still here, aren’t I? But I got away a few times … the only problem was that he found me again.” You sigh, realizing that perhaps you shouldn’t have this conversation with your underage daughter. “Forget that. Where are we going?”

“We need to go to our neighbors. They have to help us.”

Nadia has only spoken to the neighbors a few times, because of how rarely they run into each other.

They only manage to walk a hundred meters before bright, beaming headlights light up in front of them. Nadia wants to flee into the forest — in case it happens to be her father behind the wheel — but can’t seem to pull you with her. The car stops and to Nadia’s horror, her father gets out.

“What the Hell are you doing?!” he shouts, sounding both angry and terrified. “Y/N!”

You freeze in your spot and seem to crawl together like a hurt dog, sounding like one too. Dr Kry runs over to you. Nadia watches in horror and starts to panic, wondering what she should do. Stay here with you and get caught in Dr Kry’s claws … or make a run for it to try to get help.

“I’m sorry”, you shriek in fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Dr Kry hugs your shaking body in his arms and strokes your back, hushing softly.

“I know you didn’t come up with this stupid idea”, he reassures you. “Don’t cry, my dear, I'm here now. I know this wasn't your fault. I'm not mad at you. I’ll get you back home and I'll take care of you. It’s going to be okay.”

He helps you into the front seat. You don’t fight back in the slightest. Nadia looks back at the dark forest and gulps. Her eyes glues onto something in the backseat and realizes that he has come back with her sister!

“Nadia, get in, we've had enough of these childish outbursts”, her father tells her. “Get in. Now.”

“Is she okay?” Nadia almost stutters and points at her sleeping sister.

“She’s okay. If you don’t get in now, Nadia, I’m taking them both with me and you’ll never see them again.”

His favoritism has never been clearer, Nadia thinks. She can’t leave her sister … so she gets into the backseat. Nadia wakes her sister up and caresses her cheek.

“Are you okay?” she whispers quickly. “Did he hurt you?”

“I feel okay”, Lydia whispers back. “Just … tired. I had tro throw up a lot and I think that he gave me some sleeping pills or something. I insisted on going home … so he let me.”

Nadia breathes out. She glances over at the front seat. Their father holds the steering wheel with one hand and yours with the other.

“Please don’t cry”, he wishes.

Nadia watches on in disgust.

When they get back to the white villah, Nadia pulls her sister up to her own room and lays her down on the bed while Dr Kry takes you into the master bedroom.

“Here you go”, Nadia says and tucks her in. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“Some water”, Lydia says quietly.

Nadia disappears downstairs to get a glass of water. She meets her father in the stairs.

“Nadia, I’m not sure your sister will be able to leave her bed for a while”, he says warningly. “I wouldn’t try to leave, if i were you. If you do, I will take both of them with me, and you’ll never see them again.”

“Do you like to hurt your family?” she spits back. “What kind of sadist are you?”

“One to make sure my family stays with me. If you don’t want to end up in the same physical state as your sister and mother, you’re going to continue living as if everything is normal, got that? Go to school, come home, study, continue everything. No talking to anyone about this. Is that clear?”

“So everything as normal … but without Lydia?”

“Exactly.”

“Why aren’t you healing her?”

“Because I’m not going to let you, or anyone, take my family from me. Be glad that I’m still letting you live normally.”

Nadia glares at him and continues up the stairs. She holds the glass to Lydia’s mouth, watching her sip.

“What now?” she whispers.

“I’m allowed to continue living like normally … and you don’t”, Nadia says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“But … but I don’t want to live like mom!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Lyd.”

The girl in the bed sighs sadly. Naida takes her hand and gulps.

The coming weeks seem normal. Nadia goes to school, studies, returns to the villah, but nothing is the same. Without Lydia, there’s no use in being on top. She has no one to impress anymore. Her father is dead to her, and sucking up to him makes her sick. She barely talks to her friends anymore. They’re always asking her about Lydia, and why she’s not in school anymore. Nadia can’t come up with countless excuses … it’s easier to distance herself.

Life doesn’t seem that bright and colorful anymore. Nadia can’t bring herself to be excited about things that used to interest her badly. Now, every day is a chore, something she wants to get done, until something happens … but she doesn’t know what it is. A death in the family? Someone saving them? Someone killing someone?

Nadia walks out of school, seeing her fathers white car parked outside the gates, and him inside … waiting for her.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #yandere doctor #platonic yandere #yandere ocs #female reader #yandere oneshot #the younger generation

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 9 months ago

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A Changed Future (1): Yandere Isekai

When you woke after an especially tiresome day the last thing you’d expect was to reawake in a room that looked nothing like your own

The house, the neighborhood, your job everything was not your own

Instead, it’s resembling a webtoon you remember seeing the marketing, edits, and spoilers for

And if it was all adding up right you’d find the horrifying truth behind the controversial protagonist of the story would be incredibly true

“Look I’m sorry I yelled…I love you…I’m really hungry. Can I eat today?”

The beautiful and practically perfect protagonist was the one who trapped their love interest inside their–now your basement

Chained to the floor on a chair in the dark with unfinished surroundings was the poor victim of the yandere protagonist

Haruko, is an average guy who previously caught the protagonist’s attention by standing up to one an influential pair of elitists in defense of their crush but that’s hearsay

In the former protagonist's atmosphere the children of the rich were victims to their family’s whims often protecting their wealth rather than their children

Which caused Haruko to defend his friend from their overbearing parents

That is when the protagonist suddenly fell deeply in love with the average fellow

Obsessively stalking him and eliminating their rivals by any means necessary

finally snatching their love and running to a small little home where they planned to have their dreamy life

Of course, after breaking his spirit and having Haruko develop some kind of stockholm syndrome

To find that you’ve been isekai’d is jarring

But being a protagonist that had the internet raving for years about how unhealthy they were is awful

But it was nothing when you were standing at the top of the stairs and watching the malnourished man call out to you

“Yeah….sure.”

Naturally you calm down, enough to make the poor guy something to eat and drink

Excusing yourself to have a breakdown in the bathroom before coming up with a plan to fix it all

“Y-you’re letting me go?”

“Yes, I won’t stop if you want to go to the police…but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t.”

You felt so selfish

But you weren’t the one who imprisoned him

Now that you were though you were going to turn a new leaf

After feeding him, clothing him, and giving him a hefty sum from the protagonists savings

You go to their place of work where they’re in line for a promotion

“I quit.”

“E-excuse me (L/n)?! But your about to become the vice president of the company!?”

“I know. Sorry?”

You almost feel bad turning down the CEO who visits to try and reason with you

In your opinion, the protagonist didn’t deserve any of their success

They technically didn’t need it because they were stacked

Same could be said for the detective thats been constantly asking the protagonist questions

“You are actually agreeing to talk with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you hit your head?!”

With the knowledge from spoilers and ads you’d seen, you knew that the worst part of this story is that the protagonist is doing just fine while Haruka continues to struggle with his captivity and manufactured feelings

You want to do this right, whether you were meant to live in this world from now on or would one day return to your own

But in the meantime you’d do what you felt was right

Turning their life—now your life around to somehow try to condone for all the crimes they’ve done

Unfortunately, though things don’t seem to want to go your way

“Please Please take me back!”

“What?”

“You heard me! You were right you’re the only one who loves me! I love you! Please! Please! Take me back in your basement!”

“Okay?”

It seems that once you released the poor guy he returned to society

Expecting to be welcomed by his friends and family upon being missing for years

Who instead had moved on or had benefitted from him being declared dead

He tried to go back to working but he couldn’t get you out of his head

Not the one that ranted about adoring him and the one that would go days without feeding him

But the one that cried when you saw his skin bruising in his chains

The one that fed him a hot meal

The one that helped him relearn to use his weakened legs

The one that keeps apologizing for every little thing you do

That’s the you, he likes

And he’d much prefer he turn back to being a victim trapped in your basement if it meant having you back in his life

“I don’t mind if you stay here if you need but I’m not keeping you trapped here. I won’t do it anymore.”

He cries and bangs his hands on the floor when you officially tell him

But he’ll take you up on your offer to move in with you

“Good morning (Y/n)! Since you quit your job you’re getting up so much later now. You’ve got to be careful waking too late.”

“Uhm how do you know I quit my job?”

“Unless you're locking me in the basement you don’t need to know!~”

He’s like a weird roommate who occasionally asks that you restrain him in some way

Purposefully rummaging in your storage to find ropes that you haven’t thrown away yet or buying them himself and leaving them out

“Ooops~! I did leave a chain out while cleaning! I’m so bad, being so careless even though you’ve been so against it. I should be punished! I know, you should tie me up! Right? Right? Right?”

He’s going insane everytime you refuse his demands to be locked away

You’re even sweeter now that he’s not locked away and that’s not helping

He’ll ultimately decide he should try it

“Hey (Y/n)?”

“Yes?”

“You still feel guilty about what you did to me right?”

“...Yes.”

“Then how about you do something for me? To make up for it?”

Even if you know you’ve done nothing wrong

The guilt doesn’t stop you

Letting him lock you in the basement as he repeats some of the same punishments he remembers

Or rather tries to

“I just can’t seem to stand being away from you for a day, let alone not feed you then. I have no idea how you did it.”

You couldn’t be sure either

Which is why you don’t protest as his actions tend to get a bit more…wild

“Like you suggested I did try going for that new job again.”

“Uh that’s good.”

“I know since you’ve left they seem to be desperately searching for extra hands. I’d feel bad for them if you weren’t with me!”

“Right…”

“But being away from you all day is killing me! Maybe I should look for a more remote position.”

He treats you better than the former protagonist did

Quickly moving you up to your old room and just chaining you there

But he wants more from you

More Kisses

More Cuddles

More Romance

More Touching

More Quality time

He takes up so much of it, that the same problems that happened in the webtoon were happening again

Except this time it was related to you

“I’m Revmere the CEO of the Revere Co. I’m wondering is (Y/n) home? I’ve been trying to reach them by phone but it hasn’t been going through.”

“And I’m Detective Cape. Thomas Cape, I also need to speak with (Y/n) and you too if that’s alright Haruko.”

Part 2: Coming Soon

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fidesvirtusobsession · 2 days ago

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Echoes of a Thousand Nights

(Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader)

Prologue || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9|| 10 || 11

Description: For centuries, Alaric has walked the earth, bound by the cruel hand of fate. A vampire of old blood, he has seen empires fall, lovers turn to dust, and the world reshape itself around him. Yet, through the endless nights, one thing remains constant—her. The woman who haunts his past lives, slipping through his fingers with every rebirth. She never remembers, never knows who he is, yet he finds her, lifetime after lifetime, only to lose her again.Now, in the present day, her scent resurfaces in the most unlikely of places—an underground auction house where humans are sold like cattle. But Alaric will not let fate steal her away this time. This time, he will keep her.

The evening sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the drawing room was quiet, save for the soft sound of the wind rustling outside and the occasional clink of silverware from the distant dining room. Alaric paced slowly in the hall, his thoughts still tangled with everything that had been weighing on him—the constant worry over (Y/n)’s safety, her relentless training, and the overwhelming emotions he fought to keep hidden.

He needed to do something. Something to remind her that she wasn’t just a weapon, that she wasn’t always going to be under the heavy burden of protection, of training, of the looming shadows that followed them.

The door to the study opened, and there she was—(Y/n), with her gentle smile, her eyes bright and full of energy despite the long days she’d been putting herself through. She looked like she needed a break more than anything.

Alaric took a breath, walking toward her with his usual composure, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

She was absentmindedly flipping through a book, her head tilted slightly to the side as she absorbed the words. Alaric, however, was watching her, his fingers lightly tapping against the armrest of his chair, his mind racing. He had been thinking about this all day, weighing his options, but now that the moment had come, there was an unsettling feeling in his chest.

Finally, after a long pause, he cleared his throat, drawing her attention. She looked up, her eyes meeting his with a soft, curious gaze.

“(Y/n),” Alaric’s voice was steady, though there was a faint tension underlying his words, “I was thinking... we should go out tomorrow night.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “Go out?”

He nodded slowly, his usual composure shifting slightly as he leaned forward in his seat, a rare hint of vulnerability slipping through his facade. He hesitated for a moment, then let out a small breath. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone. I’ve seen it. The late nights, the exhaustion... You deserve a night to relax. To just... be yourself, without all the responsibilities hanging over your head.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I mean that I’ve arranged something for us. Just you and me. A break. A night where you don’t have to worry about the next fight, the next lesson, or anything else. Just us, having some time to ourselves.”

“There’s a ballet performance tomorrow evening. It’s supposed to be quite... exquisite. I thought it might be something you’d enjoy. It’s a chance for us to relax, get away from everything for a night. No business, no concerns, just... us.”

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone. I’ve seen it. The late nights, the exhaustion... You deserve a night to relax. To just... be yourself, without all the responsibilities hanging over your head.”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise, her heart warming at the thought. She hadn’t expected Alaric to suggest something like this, a night of culture and elegance instead of his usual reserved demeanor. “A ballet? That’s... unexpected. But I’d love to go with you, Alaric.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into the faintest of smiles. “I thought you might.” His gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world lifted, as if the night out could offer some kind of escape from the complexities of their lives. “It’ll be a night just for us—no distractions, no interruptions.”

There was a brief pause, the air thick with unspoken emotions, before he added in a quieter tone, “I promise, it’s just a date. No hidden agendas. Just you and me.”

(Y/n)’s brow furrowed as she looked at the card, but her heart gave a flutter at the gesture. “You’ve... arranged this? For us?”

Alaric nodded, his expression unreadable but with an underlying sense of determination. “Yes. I’ve taken care of everything. It’s just a small night out—nothing extravagant. I thought you could use the time to unwind, to have fun. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, (Y/n).”

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to process his words. Slowly, she nodded, her lips curling into a small smile. “I didn’t expect this... but it sounds nice.”

(Y/n) smiled again, her expression warm and genuine, not sensing the tension in his words. She hadn’t picked up on the layers that lay beneath his suggestion, only focused on the sincerity in his voice. “I’m looking forward to it, Alaric. Thank you.”

Alaric’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. He felt a twinge of something deep within him—possessiveness, protectiveness... and a quiet anticipation. He wanted this night to go perfectly. He needed it to. As he nodded slowly, his eyes hardened with determination, though his smile remained in place, fragile but sincere.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, though his mind already swirled with thoughts of the upcoming night, and of the man he knew would be there—Valen. But for now, he could ignore it. For now, he would keep his focus on her.

She was his, and he would make sure nothing would ruin their time together. Not now, not ever.

“You deserve it,” Alaric said, his tone softening further. “You've earned a moment of peace, away from all the weight you’ve been carrying. Consider it a break, a reward for all your hard work. You don’t have to think about anything except the night ahead.”

For a moment, the usual walls between them seemed to dissolve, and Alaric allowed himself to show just how much he cared for her. His hand gently brushed hers, and for a fleeting second, he hesitated, wondering if he should say more. But then he shook the thought away.

"I'll take care of everything. We’ll have some time alone, just the two of us. You can relax, enjoy yourself—there’s no need for anything else tonight.”

(Y/n) smiled, a mix of gratitude and confusion in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Alaric. This is… unexpected.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and inviting. “You don’t have to say anything. Just come with me. Let me give you a night to forget about everything else.”

The intensity of his gaze softened as he looked at her, and despite the storm of emotions he was hiding, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace knowing she would be with him. For tonight, at least, nothing else mattered.

“Let’s get you ready. It’s going to be a night you won’t forget.”

And as he turned to leave the room, (Y/n) stood in the soft light of the room, still processing his words, her heart thudding a little faster in her chest. There was something deeper in his words—something more than just a night out. She just didn’t know what it was yet.

The room was filled with soft candlelight, and the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. (Y/n) sat in front of the vanity mirror, her hands nervously twisting the fabric of her dress. She had been in the process of dressing for what felt like an eternity. The gown was beautiful, but it wasn’t the clothes that made her anxious—it was the overwhelming uncertainty about the night ahead.

She had no idea what Alaric had planned, but she could tell it was something important. He had seemed insistent, even more than usual, about her attending the event tonight. She could feel his gaze on her whenever they were in the same room, a kind of unspoken pressure weighing on her shoulders. But she trusted him, and somehow, that made the unease easier to bear.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Elera’s voice followed. “(Y/n), are you ready? I was told you might need some help getting ready.”

“I’m fine, Elera,” (Y/n) called back, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. She couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in the extravagant outfit, even though it was meant to make her feel special.

Elera didn’t wait for a response before entering, her usual confident smile gracing her lips. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve already seen your battle wounds from the training sessions. Let me help.”

(Y/n) didn’t protest as Elera approached, sitting beside her and running a careful hand through her hair. “You look beautiful already,” Elera said with a grin, her eyes softening. “But we both know Alaric won’t let you out looking anything less than perfect.”

“I don’t know, Elera... I feel a bit... out of place in all of this.” (Y/n) gestured to the dress and the mirror, feeling unsure in her own skin. The thought of the night ahead only made the butterflies in her stomach worse.

Elera chuckled, her fingers moving expertly as she began to style (Y/n)'s hair, pulling it back into a soft, elegant updo. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’ve earned this, (Y/n). Alaric isn’t exactly the type to let anyone be anything less than perfect, especially you.”

As she worked, (Y/n) glanced at her curiously. “I don’t really know what’s going on tonight. Alaric was a little... secretive about it.”

Elera smiled, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Well, it’s not really my place to spoil the surprise, but I can tell you that you won’t be disappointed.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Ericsson asked me to the ballet, actually.”

(Y/n)’s heart skipped a beat. “Ericsson?” She couldn’t help the surprise that flashed across her face. Alaric had mentioned something about a potential political ally, but she hadn’t connected the dots yet. “I thought Alaric said we were going somewhere?”

Elera laughed, adjusting (Y/n)’s hair gently. “I’m sure Alaric has his reasons, but don’t worry. You’re the one getting the most out of tonight. He’s taking you to the ballet as well—although I can’t say he’ll be as pleased with the whole idea as you will.”

(Y/n) blinked, the news sinking in. “Wait, so this is a date?”

“More or less,” Elera answered with a playful smile. “I think Alaric wanted to surprise you with a bit of time away from all the... shall we say, usual activities. He wants you to enjoy yourself, even if he’s the one who’s overly protective about it.”

There was something in Elera’s voice that made (Y/n) pause. She couldn’t quite place it, but it was like there was something more she wasn’t saying. “What do you mean by ‘overly protective?’”

Elera grinned as she finished styling (Y/n)’s hair, giving her an appraising look in the mirror. “You’ll see soon enough. Just relax and have fun tonight. Trust me, it’ll be good for both of you.”

(Y/n) studied Elera’s face, sensing that there was more to her words than she was letting on, but decided not to press the issue. There was something about Elera’s easy confidence that made her trust her. Maybe she didn’t know exactly what Alaric had planned, but she was beginning to feel a little more at ease. A night to relax, away from all the tension and uncertainty, was something she could definitely use.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the elegant, polished version of herself that Elera had created, she felt a flicker of excitement. Perhaps, just for one night, she could forget about the heavy burden of her past and just... enjoy being (Y/n).

“You look stunning,” Elera said with a soft smile, her eyes lingering on (Y/n)’s reflection. “Now, go enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

For the first time that evening, (Y/n) smiled genuinely, a sense of calm settling over her. “Thank you, Elera.”

With that, she stood up and walked toward the door, where Alaric was waiting, his gaze intense as ever but tinged with something softer—a quiet anticipation. As he extended his arm to her, she hesitated for only a moment before taking it, ready for whatever night had in store.

The hum of the city softened as the sleek black car pulled up in front of an elegant restaurant, its golden lights casting a warm glow onto the cobblestone street. Alaric stepped out first, his sharp suit molding perfectly to his frame, exuding the quiet dominance he carried so naturally. The driver opened Y/N’s door, and Alaric was already there, extending a hand to help her out.

“Dinner first,” he murmured, lips curling into the faintest smile. “You deserve more than a rushed evening.”

Y/N glanced at the restaurant, blinking in surprise. It wasn’t just any place—it was the kind people booked months in advance for special occasions. The name glowed in elegant cursive above the entrance, a place she’d only heard about in passing. She hesitated.

“Alaric… this is too much.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding hers. “Nothing’s too much for you.”

There was no arguing with that tone—the kind that brokered no disagreement, but it wasn’t sharp. It was soft, deliberate. As if this evening wasn’t just a date but a promise.

Inside, the atmosphere was intimate, candlelight flickering across white linen tablecloths. A quiet melody drifted from a pianist in the corner. Alaric led her to a private corner booth, away from prying eyes. It was clear he’d chosen the spot deliberately—where he could see everything, where nothing could sneak up on them.

“You’ve been working hard,” he said after they ordered, his gaze never leaving her. “Training with Elera. Exhausting yourself.”

Y/N shrugged, tracing the rim of her water glass. “I don’t mind. I want to be ready… just in case.”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. “I won’t let it come to that.”

She sighed, meeting his gaze with quiet determination. “And what if you can’t always be there?”

His hand reached across the table, covering hers. The warmth of his skin was grounding. “Then I’ve already failed.” His voice softened, almost pained. “Tonight isn’t about that. No training, no worries. Just you and me.”

The waiter arrived with their first course—something delicate and artfully plated. Y/N picked at it, while Alaric barely touched his. His focus remained on her, watching the way her expression shifted with each passing thought.

“You’re hovering,” she teased, finally breaking the silence. “Like you expect me to disappear if you blink.”

Alaric’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Can you blame me?”

Her chest tightened. She knew the truth behind those words. The shadows that clung to his past, the enemies that circled like vultures. But tonight, she didn’t want to think about that.

“Tell me about the ballet,” she asked, changing the subject.

He leaned back, finally sipping his wine. “It’s an old production. Classic. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You’re not exactly the ‘ballet’ type, Alaric.”

His smile sharpened. “No. But I’m the ‘you deserve a night of peace’ type.”

The courses came and went, though Alaric barely touched his food. His focus remained on Y/N—how she smiled at the delicate dessert, how her eyes brightened when the waiter mentioned the wine pairing. She was glowing, and for once, there was no tension lining her shoulders.

As they finished, he stood, extending his hand once more. “Shall we?”

“To the ballet?” she teased, slipping her fingers into his.

He chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “To the rest of the night you deserve.”

But beneath his composed exterior, Alaric’s mind churned. He’d promised her a perfect evening, but the ballet was more than just a date. It was a trap—one he was walking into willingly, with her at his side.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air kissed Y/N’s cheeks. She shivered, and without a word, Alaric shrugged off his coat and draped it around her shoulders.

“You always do that,” she murmured, fingers brushing the soft fabric.

His gaze softened. “Because you’re always cold.”

They walked side by side to the waiting car, Alaric’s hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The city lights blurred past as they drove toward the theater, but Y/N barely noticed. She was too focused on the rare calm that settled over Alaric’s features.

He looked… content. Almost peaceful.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, not just for dinner but for everything he never said aloud.

Alaric glanced at her, his hand finding hers once more. He squeezed gently.

“Anything for you.”

And for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that tonight could be just that—a night of peace, untouched by the shadows of the past. Even if it was fleeting.

The grand theater was bathed in soft golden light as Alaric guided Y/N through the towering arched doors. Marble floors gleamed beneath their feet, the chatter of the well-dressed elite echoing through the expansive foyer. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen raindrops, casting fractured light over the plush crimson carpet leading toward the main hall.

Y/N couldn’t help but pause, her eyes widening as she took in the elegance around her. “Alaric,” she breathed, “this is… incredible.”

Alaric, standing beside her in his perfectly tailored suit, allowed a rare smile to tug at the corner of his lips. “You deserve incredible.”

He didn’t let her linger long, guiding her forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back. Heads turned as they passed—partially because of Alaric’s commanding presence but mostly because of Y/N herself, wrapped in a gown that shimmered subtly under the light. Elera’s doing, no doubt.

“Box seats,” Alaric murmured as they ascended a private staircase, avoiding the crowd below. “I prefer to watch from above. Less… crowded.”

Y/N hid a smile. Less crowded, yes. But more importantly, easier to protect. She knew Alaric’s habits by now.

Their private box overlooked the grand stage, the velvet curtains still drawn as the orchestra warmed up. The theater was breathtaking—golden filigree decorating the balconies, painted cherubs gazing down from the domed ceiling.

“Do you take all your dates somewhere this fancy?” Y/N teased as they settled into the plush seats.

Alaric glanced at her, one brow arching. “No. Just the ones that matter.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, pretending to examine the program in her lap.

Soft footsteps sounded behind them, and Elera swept into the box like a shadow, effortlessly graceful in an emerald dress that set off her sharp features. Beside her, Ericsson followed, looking far too comfortable in the lavish surroundings.

“Well, don’t you both look like a painting,” Elera drawled, sliding into the seat beside Y/N. “Alaric, you clean up nicely. Almost like you’re trying to impress someone.”

Alaric didn’t rise to the bait, his gaze fixed on the stage. “Ericsson,” he greeted coolly.

“Alaric,” Ericsson replied, equally smooth. His gaze flickered to Y/N, lips quirking in amusement. “I see you finally found a reason to leave the house for something other than bloodshed.”

“Careful,” Alaric said, voice deceptively calm. “I’m in a generous mood tonight. Don’t spoil it.”

Y/N glanced between them, sensing the undercurrent of tension but choosing to ignore it. The lights dimmed, saving her from the need to mediate.

The theater hushed as the conductor raised his baton. A breathless moment of silence hung in the air before the first note drifted from the orchestra pit—a delicate, haunting melody that wrapped around them like mist.

The curtains parted, revealing a moonlit forest painted in ethereal blues and silvers. The prima ballerina glided onto the stage, her movements fluid and otherworldly, as though she were a spirit dancing between worlds.

Y/N leaned forward, captivated. The way the dancers moved—light as air, perfectly synchronized—was nothing short of mesmerizing. She glanced sideways at Alaric, expecting him to be bored, but his gaze was fixed on her instead.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured.

His eyes softened. “Yes. It is.”

She flushed, looking away quickly.

The story unfolded gracefully—a tale of love, betrayal, and sacrifice. The ballerina, dressed in shimmering white, danced with her partner beneath an artificial moon, their bodies weaving together like threads of silk.

Elera, surprisingly quiet for once, watched with sharp eyes, though Y/N suspected her mind was elsewhere. Ericsson leaned back, arms crossed, more interested in the audience than the performance itself.

Halfway through the first act, Y/N noticed Alaric’s hand resting lightly on the armrest between them. Without thinking, she reached over, her fingers brushing his. He froze for a moment, then turned his palm upward, inviting her hand into his.

“You’re tense,” she whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

He didn’t deny it. “Habit.”

The lights dimmed further as the scene shifted to the tragic climax—the ballerina, betrayed and heartbroken, collapsing to the stage as her partner reached for her too late. The music swelled, strings trembling with emotion.

Y/N’s breath caught. The vulnerability in the dancer’s performance struck a chord deep within her, stirring memories she’d rather leave buried.

Alaric must have sensed the shift in her mood. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, grounding her.

As the final note hung in the air and the curtain fell, the theater erupted into applause. Y/N clapped along with the crowd, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“That was…” she began, searching for words.

“Intense?” Elera supplied, stretching languidly. “Tragic love stories always are.”

Ericsson leaned over slightly, voice low but firm. “A moment, Alaric?” His gaze flicked toward the upper balconies, where the dim glow of chandeliers barely touched the shadows. “He’s here.”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. He’d felt it too—the oppressive weight of an old, familiar presence. Without a word, he stood, smoothing down his suit jacket as his eyes swept the room. The ballet continued, dancers twirling in perfect synchronization, oblivious to the predatory game unfolding above them.

Elera, sitting next to Y/N, caught the shift immediately. “You’re leaving?” she asked quietly, her sharp gaze darting between the two men.

“Stay with her,” Alaric muttered, eyes softening for the briefest moment as they flicked toward Y/N. She was watching the performance, blissfully unaware. He hated keeping her in the dark, but this wasn’t her fight. Not yet.

Ericsson was already moving, weaving through the crowd with the ease of a man who’d stalked prey for centuries. Alaric followed, his steps silent but purposeful.

Up the grand staircase, past velvet curtains and gilded mirrors, they found him.

Valen.

Perched on the edge of a private balcony, wine glass lazily dangling from his fingers, he looked down at the crowd like a king surveying his court. The faintest smile played on his lips, cold and calculating.

He didn’t turn to face them. He didn’t need to.

“I was wondering when you’d come find me,” Valen drawled, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’re predictable, Alaric. Always chasing ghosts.”

Ericsson’s hand twitched toward the knife hidden beneath his coat. Alaric didn’t move, eyes locked on the man who’d haunted his nightmares for centuries.

“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Alaric growled.

Valen chuckled, finally turning to face them. His eyes gleamed crimson in the dim light. “You had your chance. You wasted it.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “And now? I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

Alaric’s blood ran cold. Instinctively, his gaze flicked down to the main floor, where Y/N sat beside Elera, still laughing at something the other woman had said.

Valen’s smile widened. “Tick-tock, Alaric.”

The moment Valen’s words left his lips, something inside Alaric snapped. A raw, primal instinct surged through him, drowning out reason, drowning out centuries of carefully restrained rage.

Before anyone could react, he moved.

A blur of darkness—too fast, too sudden. The very air seemed to shudder under the force of his movement. One second, Valen stood smirking, and the next, he was slammed against the cold stone wall with a force that cracked the surface behind him.

The wine glass slipped from Valen’s fingers, shattering against the marble floor. But he barely had a chance to care—Alaric’s hand was already at his throat, crushing, suffocating, pinning him in place like a predator tearing into its prey.

For the first time, Valen’s amusement flickered, replaced by something sharper. Wariness.

“You,” Alaric snarled, voice low, guttural—inhuman. His fangs bared, his eyes burning with a furious, molten glow. “You don’t say her name. You don’t breathe in her direction.” His grip tightened, nails pressing into flesh. “Or I swear to every god that still listens, I will rip you apart until there’s nothing left but dust.”

Ericsson took a slow step forward. “Alaric—”

“Stay out of this.” The growl that tore from Alaric’s throat was not meant for negotiation. It was the voice of something feral, something ancient and unforgiving.

Valen let out a strained chuckle, despite the pressure threatening to crush his windpipe. “Touched a nerve, have I?” His eyes gleamed, even as his fingers twitched at his sides, no doubt calculating an escape. “Didn’t take you for the possessive type.”

Alaric slammed him harder against the stone, making the entire balcony tremble. “She is mine.” The declaration was absolute. Unyielding. “And if you so much as look at her wrong, I will make what I did to Marquis look like mercy.”

Valen’s smirk wavered.

For the first time in a long, long time—he looked at Alaric and saw death staring back at him.

The tension shattered like glass as Valen slipped into the shadows, but Alaric was already moving. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Instinct screamed, and centuries of suppressed fury roared to life, drowning out reason.

“Alaric—” Ericsson’s voice barely registered as Alaric followed the faint trace of Valen’s presence, weaving through the opulent corridors of the opera house like a predator on the hunt.

Valen had underestimated him. They all did.

But this wasn’t just another political maneuver. This wasn’t about power or territory.

This was about her.

The moment Valen hinted at touching her—at taking her away—it was as if every lifetime of failure, of watching her slip through his fingers, came crashing down at once. Every scar, every moment of helplessness, ignited a rage so pure it burned away the centuries of restraint he'd built like armor.

Never again.

He burst through the side entrance, the cold night air slicing across his skin as he hit the dimly lit alley. Shadows danced across wet cobblestones under flickering streetlamps. Silence hung thick, save for the distant hum of the city.

Then—a whisper of movement.

“Tsk.” Valen’s voice drifted from above, lazy, arrogant. He stood on the rooftop’s edge, silhouetted against the moon, one hand adjusting his cufflinks like this was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Really, Alaric? Are we resorting to street brawls now? I expected more civility from you.”

Alaric didn’t answer. He was already there, faster than Valen anticipated, boots slamming onto the rooftop with enough force to crack the tiles.

Their eyes met.

And Valen finally saw it—the storm brewing within Alaric.

This wasn’t the cold, calculating tactician he’d known for centuries. This was something feral. Unrelenting.

“She’s not yours to take,” Alaric growled, voice rough with unfiltered wrath.

Valen chuckled, but there was an edge to it now, a flicker of uncertainty. “You’re acting like I’ve already stolen her away. Possessiveness doesn’t suit you, Alaric. Love makes you sloppy.”

Sloppy?

Alaric moved—blink and you’d miss it.

The first punch connected with bone-crushing force, sending Valen flying across the rooftop. He barely caught himself, boots skidding against loose gravel. The smirk vanished from his lips, replaced by something colder.

“Ah,” Valen muttered, touching the corner of his mouth where blood now trickled. His expression hardened. “So, it’s that kind of fight.”

He lunged.

Ancient strength met unyielding fury.

They collided like titans, each blow shaking the rooftop. Fists, elbows, knees—centuries of combat experience distilled into brutal efficiency. Valen fought with the grace of someone who’d lived too long, his movements precise, elegant, almost bored.

But Alaric?

Alaric fought like a man with nothing left to lose.

Every strike was fueled by lifetimes of failure. Of watching her die. Of holding her lifeless body. Of hearing her screams and being too far away to save her.

He wasn’t fighting for dominance.

He was fighting for her.

Valen’s defenses began to slip. He was fast, but Alaric was relentless, every movement a calculated assault, pushing him further toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Valen hissed between ragged breaths. “You can’t protect her forever. She’s mortal. Fragile. It’s only a matter of time—”

CRACK.

Alaric’s fist slammed into Valen’s jaw, sending him sprawling. Before he could rise, Alaric was on him, boot pressing down on his chest, pinning him like an insect under glass.

“I will burn the world to ash before I let you touch her.” Alaric’s voice was ice, his face twisted into something dark and unforgiving.

Valen coughed, eyes narrowing. “You think this changes anything?” he rasped, blood staining his teeth. “You’re fighting fate, Alaric. And fate—”

Steel flashed.

Valen froze.

Alaric had drawn the dagger from his coat—a vampire’s dagger, ancient and deadly.

“…fate dies tonight,” Alaric finished, pressing the blade to Valen’s throat.

For the first time, true fear flickered in Valen’s eyes.

It wasn’t just about power. It was the realization that Alaric would do it. He would cross any line, break any rule, damn himself to the darkest pits of existence if it meant keeping her safe.

“Go near her again,” Alaric growled, his hand steady despite the fury burning through his veins, “and I’ll make sure you never walk away.”

Silence.

The city buzzed faintly in the distance, oblivious to the war waged in the shadows.

Then, slowly, Alaric stepped back, releasing the pressure on Valen’s chest but never lowering the blade.

Valen coughed, sitting up with a wince. His arrogance was gone, replaced by cold calculation. “You’re a fool, Alaric,” he muttered. “She’ll be your downfall.”

Alaric didn’t flinch. “Better my downfall than her grave.”

He’d tear it apart with his bare hands.

The streets were eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the city and the rasping sound of Valen struggling to catch his breath. Broken tiles and splintered wood littered the ground, evidence of the raw violence that had just unfolded. Blood—dark and glistening—pooled where Alaric had pinned Valen down moments ago.

Valen, the ancient, the untouchable, now leaned against a crumbling ledge, wiping the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. His usual smugness was gone, replaced by something colder. Calculating.

And standing at the edge of the destruction, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in disbelief, was Ericsson.

He had followed the trail of chaos—the shattered balcony railing, the dented cobblestones in the alley below—and arrived just in time to see Alaric sheathing the vampire dagger, his face carved from stone.

“Gods above…” Ericsson muttered under his breath, boots crunching over debris as he stepped forward. His sharp eyes flickered between the two men. “What the hell happened here?”

Alaric didn’t answer immediately. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, fists still clenched at his sides, knuckles bruised and bloodied. The rage simmering beneath his skin hadn’t cooled yet. It wouldn’t cool—not while the scent of Valen’s threat lingered in the air.

Valen chuckled bitterly, wiping more blood from his jaw. “Your friend here seems to have forgotten the fine line between possessiveness and madness,” he sneered, though there was no hiding the slight tremor in his voice. “All because I dared to mention the girl.”

Ericsson’s brows shot up. “Yn?” His gaze snapped to Alaric, and understanding dawned like a thunderclap. “…By the gods, Alaric. What did he say?”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look away from Valen. “Enough.”

“More than enough,” Valen muttered, pushing himself to stand. He winced, clearly favoring one side. “You should leash your hound, Ericsson. Or at least remind him that wars have been started over less.”

Ericsson ignored him, stepping closer to Alaric. His voice dropped to something edged with rare concern. “You lost control.” It wasn’t a question.

Alaric’s eyes flickered toward him, the crimson hue slowly fading, replaced by piercing, predatory gold. “I don’t care.”

Ericsson blinked, momentarily taken aback. Alaric was always composed, always calculating, the one who strategized ten steps ahead while others fumbled through the first. But now?

Now, he looked like a man standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to leap without caring about the fall.

“Alaric,” Ericsson tried again, voice firm but not unkind. “You nearly killed him.”

“I should have.”

The weight of those words hung in the air, heavy and final.

Valen scoffed, shaking his head as he straightened his collar. “You’re blinded by love, Alaric. It’ll be your undoing.”

Ericsson’s hand shot out, grabbing Valen’s shoulder and yanking him back before he could provoke Alaric further. “Enough. Walk away while you still can...”

Valen’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. Not this time. He knew when the odds had turned against him.

“I’ll enjoy watching this crumble around you,” Valen muttered as he stepped past them, disappearing into the night like smoke on the wind.

Ericsson waited until the last trace of his presence was gone before exhaling sharply. He turned back to Alaric, studying his friend—the tension in his shoulders, the wild look that still hadn’t fully faded from his gaze.

“You’ve fought wars,” Ericsson said quietly. “Killed kings. Faced down entire armies without flinching. But I’ve never seen you like this.”

Alaric finally looked at him, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes made Ericsson’s breath catch.

“She’s not just another mortal passing through my life, Ericsson,” Alaric murmured, voice rough and low. “She’s the only constant. Every lifetime, every cruel twist of fate—she’s always the one taken from me.” His throat bobbed with the weight of the confession. “I won’t survive losing her again.”

Ericsson was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded, once.

“Then we make sure you don’t.”

Alaric didn’t wait for more words. He was already moving, boots striking the rooftop with purpose as he headed toward the edge.

“Where are you going?”

Alaric paused, glancing back. The answer was obvious.

To her.

To the only thing that kept the monster inside him from consuming what little of his soul remained.

Tags: @yune1337 @mybones537 @yourhornysister @lilyalone

#yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere oc #yandere x mc #yandere #yandere ocs #yandere male x reader #yandere male x you

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kachowden · 5 months ago

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I know I should be posting my drafts but I literally can’t get the idea of a yandere or obsessive crush out of my head.

Like he’s Mr Cool Guy, Mr Popular whatever. He’s a model student, kindhearted, athletic, smart the whole package. Perfect Goodboy type right? He’s literally Mr.Perfect.

And I’m personally biased to the narrative of having a crush on him, just like half the campus. Maybe the only difference being, he actually gives a damn about you. Mr.Perfect could be a facade, or maybe you just bring the crazy out of him, but he cannot stop thinking about you. You’re different. Manor y/n moment.

Everyday it’s always wandering eyes, and quick smiles. He always seems to linger somewhere nearby, and you think he’s none the wiser. And you’re not gonna complain right? You’re just some kid in the halls, another face in the crowd. And now you get to enjoy seeing the guy you’re in love with on a regular basis.

Despite your own thoughts though, he never fails to call out to you, or greet you in passing. If there’s an empty seat beside you, somehow he always ends up in. If there’s a snack you wanted from the vending machine, suddenly he has an extra.

You just think it’s good luck. But it’s not. Mr.Perfect plans it all. You’re never too far from him, never too out of reach. His schedule aligns with yours almost flawlessly. Almost. Maybe there’s one class you don’t share. And it’s the one class where his friends/clique notice a significant change in behavior. Still polite, still perfect. But more reserved. Less outgoing. They think it’s just a simple dislike for the subject, or maybe the teacher.

But it’s just you. His perfect little crush.

Mr.Perfect might become a recurring character tbh..

#yandere #yandere x reader #x oc #x reader #yandere oc #Yandere Popular Guy #Yandere Mr.Perfect #oc #yandere ocs

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cozymoko · 5 months ago

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Wild, Wild West 𐚁

Introduction fic for my cowboy OC idea. I hope you guys like this. This was in my drafts for at least half a year, haha.

Pairing: Yandere Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

Format: Short fic; 1.4k words

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, possessive, minor insecurity from reader.

Synopsis: Jealousy, Jealousy, read all about it! When in a new environment, insecurities are bound to surface. Why don't you go get you a drink to simmer down a bit?

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

The old Texas sun was relentless, harsher than usual, beating down on the skin of those poor townspeople just going about their day. Its temper reminded you of your late grandmother, always nagging and pestering like there was no tomorrow.

You found refuge near the large clumps of hay by the stables. The smell was familiar—unpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Why the hell were you out here? Damn you for wanting to tag along, keeping that big oaf company. He couldn’t stop poking fun at you, pushing you past your limits. It was like he knew you inside and out, from the surface of your pampered skin to the depths of your fluttering heart. For a man who wasn’t too fond of school, he sure seemed to study you a lot.

And speak of the devil. He wiped dirt and grime off the worn denim that hung low at his waist. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “You don’t look too hot.”

Hell, that was an understatement.

He sauntered over, slipping his hat off his head. His long strides had him at your side in moments, staring down at your seated position. Pushing his deep auburn hair from his damp skin, he squatted next to you. “What’s the matter?” he asked, placing the hat back on his head.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, torn between telling him and keeping your annoyance to yourself. You weren’t even doing any heavy lifting, just spectating, but somehow, that made the heat even worse.

“It’s hot,” you mumbled, swallowing your pride.

“Then take your shirt off.” He grinned, raising a brow. “It’s just you ‘n me today, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you without it anyhow—”

“Stop!” you shouted, hugging your knees to your chest. If not for the heat, you’d have flushed even redder.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jamie smirked, planting a kiss on your temple before rising to his feet in one swift motion. He turned back to his polished truck, the one he treated like gold. Sometimes, you swore he loved that hunk of metal more than anything, but you’d soon learn that his world revolved around you.

Your eyes followed his back, tracing the way his muscles moved with each twist of the wrench. Jamie was a tease, but damn if he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Your gaze drifted to the tattoos scattered across his tanned skin, lingering on the intricate, slightly faded markings near his jugular—your name, carved right there. The sight of it made you hot all over, and you found yourself popping open a few buttons.

You had told that stubborn fool not to get it, warning him that tattoos were permanent and took hours of pain to remove.

“Why’re you sayin’ something like that?” he’d chuckled back then. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get this baby removed, sugarplum.”

The memory made you want to laugh. Jamie was as stubborn as a bull—and as big as one too. Too bad all that stubbornness would be the death of him. Not literally, of course.

“You wanna help me with the cattle? Think they need some lovin’, too.”

You tilted your head, a spark of hope flaring up. Maybe he was serious about wanting your help, about spending time together—maybe he was letting you be part of this place, tending to your shared home. But then he shrugged.

“Or I could get Mary Anne to come by. She’s always good with ’em—knows her way around horses like she was born with ’em.”

Mary Anne. Just the mention of her name made your blood boil. You’d seen her—all soft curls and sweet smiles, the kind of girl who fit right in here. Unlike you.

Your lips thinned, the jealousy rising like a rattlesnake. “Oh, is that so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the bitterness creeping in. “Mary Anne this, Mary Anne that—why don’t you just go on and ask her, then, since she’s not a ‘city girl’?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey now, what’s got you so riled up, sugar?”

“What’s got me riled up?” you snapped, rising to your feet. “You know damn well, Jamie. You think I don’t notice how you bring her up every time it’s my turn to help?”

You took a deep breath. “I know I’m not as capable as the others, but this is my home too. I’ve been here for over a year, and you still don’t ask me to help.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he straightened up, towering over you. “Aw, hell, [Name]. You actin’ like this ’cause you’re on the rag or somethin’? Ain’t no need to get all hot ’n bothered over nothin’.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, disbelief turning into a wave of fury. “You think that’s what this is about?” you hissed, your voice sharp as a knife. “You think that just because I’m upset, it’s gotta be because of that?”

Jamie shrugged, unfazed, and that was the last straw. You spun on your heel, the dusty ground kicking up beneath your boots as you stormed off. “Go on and call her, then!” you shouted over your shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just itching to help you!”

You didn’t wait for his response. You marched across the sunbaked field, fists clenched tight. You needed to get away—somewhere he wasn’t. The barn blurred into blobs of red as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But you weren’t about to let him see you cry. Not now, not ever.

This is not where you wanted to end up. An old, run-of-the-mill saloon on a Friday night, surrounded by drunkards and divorcees, the air thick with the stench of stale tobacco. Voices murmur, glasses clink, and the laughter around you is harsh and grating. To hell with it all. To hell with them.

The whiskey settles in your veins, warm and familiar as you lean against the sticky bar. Neon lights flicker, casting a red glow across your half-empty glass, and you blink to clear your vision. You know you’ve had too much, but the night’s long, and the noise makes it easy to drown out everything.

"Fuck," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

You’ve never been much of a drinker. After moving to the countryside to be with Jamie, life on the ranch demanded your focus. Jamie hated liquor, practically despised it.

Dammit, [Name], forget about him. You shake the thought away.

“Now, darlin’, looks like your glass is ‘bout empty,” a smooth, slow drawl cuts through your thoughts. The man tilts the brim of his hat back just enough for you to catch a glint in his eyes—cold, calculating, like a snake. “Why don’t you let me get you another?”

Oh, right. You weren’t exactly alone.

“Sound good?” he asks again, his voice dripping with intentions you’re too drunk to untangle, coaxing you with the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

You hum. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you try to recall his name—Michael? Richard? Ashton? Danny? None of them sound right. Nothing about him feels familiar. Just another face in the blur. You decide he’s irrelevant.

"You don’t want it to get cold now, do ya?"

A voice in your head tells you to stop, to head home before you cross a line. Something about him makes your stomach churn, but you blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t take much persuasion before you reach for the glass.

The liquor is bitter but good. But once it slips down your throat, the room spins. You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.

The barstool creaks as you sway, gripping the counter for balance. The stranger’s grin stretches wider, eyes watching you like a hawk. You know you shouldn’t have taken that drink, but it’s too late. The world starts tilting.

You turn, ready to brush off the man beside you, when you hear the heavy boots. They echo on the old floorboards, slow and deliberate, each step sending a chill down your spine. Then, a hand rests on your shoulder, the grip firm, possessive.

“Takin’ drinks from strangers now, sugar?” His voice is low, a whisper against your ear. “Why’d you go and do that for? You know better.”

Jamie.

His breath is warm, almost too close, as his fingers dig into your shoulder just enough to keep you anchored. The stranger’s hand pulls back, and you catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Jamie’s fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Ain’t polite to drink without me, darlin’.” His tone is calm, but there’s a tension in it, like a leash pulled too tight.

You look up at him, the soft light catching the curve of his grin. The cowboy hat sits low, loose curls brushing the nape of his neck, his button-up shirt hugging the broad stretch of his shoulders. His forearms, tanned and strong, are exposed as his sleeves are rolled up. His eyes, though—dark and unreadable—pin you in place. There’s a hunger in them, one that makes your skin prickle.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping off the smudge of your lipstick. His grin widens, revealing sharp canines that peek between his lips. It’s friendly enough—too friendly. Like the way foxes smile when they’re circling prey.

“Mm, you’re drunk.” He says it like it’s a fact he’s already known for hours. “How much you had tonight, sugarplum?”

You stare at your glass, pretending you don’t know. You don’t want to admit to your carelessness.

Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “So, quite a bit, huh?”

His laugh is loud, and it feels like a warning. He leans in, his hand settling on your hip, fingers curling possessively. “And flirtin’ with some nobody at the bar. That’s new.” His eyes narrow. “So, you gonna tell me who he is?”

The stranger shifts uneasily, glancing between you and Jamie. His bravado fades, and he mumbles, “Look, I didn’t mean no harm. Just thought she could use some company.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, sharp and unyielding. “Ain’t that sweet?” he says, his voice soft, but his grip on your hip tightens, like he’s claiming a prize. “But I think she’s got all the company she needs.”

The man hesitates, looks like he’s weighing his options, then backs off with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

The world tilts again, and you’re struggling to stay upright. The bar fades around you, the noise drowning in the back of your mind. The room swims, and your vision blurs, the faces blending into nothing but shadows.

Jamie’s presence feels suffocating. His eyes linger on you, dark and intent, like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s testing you. And you know, deep down, that he doesn’t just hate you drinking—he hates you here, surrounded by people who aren’t him.

“Let’s get you home, darlin’.” His tone is almost gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it, something possessive and unyielding.

Before you can protest—before the room spins again—he’s there, pulling you into him, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. His arms wrap around your waist, and the world blurs as you’re hoisted over his shoulder, carried out the bar like a prize he’s claimed.

The night air bites at your cheeks as he strides through the darkness, the cold wind cutting through the haze in your mind. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath you, and his fingers grip your thigh, possessive and unyielding. He’s not letting you go.

Everything in you says to fight back, to push away, but he smells like home—like honey and oak. The world narrows down to him, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his touch.

“Man, you’re gettin’ heavy. Eating too much pumpkin pie, huh, sugarplum?”

“Fuck you,” you manage, but it’s weak, and the smile he gives you is sharp and satisfied.

You close your eyes, the world tilting again, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be.

⠀⠀𐚁

⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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kikyoupdates · 6 months ago

Text

Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟷

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

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“...you can do what now?”

“Hire someone to date you,” your friend, Ava, repeats. She chuckles and waves you off dismissively. “Come on, [Name]. It’s the modern age. People are always coming up with new things these days. I’m willing to bet there’s an app or website out there for practically anything.”

You blink in disbelief. Granted, there is all kinds of crazy shit going on in the world, and you’ve heard of companionship services before—like escorts or sugar baby arrangements—but to hear that something like this is trending nowadays is still undeniably a shock.

“Here, look,” Ava gestures, pulling out her phone. “I was curious, so I downloaded the app the other day just to check out.”

“Uh, don’t you already have a boyfriend?”

“He knows I was just browsing. I showed him too, and we scrolled through some stuff together. A lot of the profiles on here are wild,” she laughs. “It’s crazy what people advertise they’re willing to do. Get a load of this guy. He says he’s down to meet your family and make a total ass out of himself just so that he lowers your parents’ standards and the next real boyfriend you get will look way better by comparison.”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. “I can’t tell if this is actually real, or just some new meme template.”

“Of course it’s real! I think you’re underestimating how lonely people these days are. There’s definitely a lot of money to be made in this industry. Just look at how much people are willing to blow on their favorite streamer, even though they’ve never met them a day in their life. Dating’s gotten a lot more complicated lately, so I guess some people just want to skip past the troublesome parts and experience what it’s like to be with someone.”

You furrow your brows. The whole thing sounds incredibly sad when you think of it that way. People would rather pay for a fabricated relationship than put in the time and effort towards building something real? Loneliness is starting to sound like an actual epidemic nowadays.

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t judge people without understanding where they’re coming from,” you acknowledge. “It’s not like I know what they’ve been through. Times are changing and all. It sounds like this is actually starting to become pretty mainstream.”

Ava nods chipperly. “Yep! I mean, I love my boyfriend, so I’m definitely not the target audience, but maybe it’s what some people need to gain a little boost of confidence and get back into the dating scene. I doubt everyone uses it in a romantic sense too. There are people out there that just want a bit of company every now and then. Isn’t it nice that they have someone to spend time with this way?”

“Yeah… I guess that’s true.”

Honestly, you’re still struggling to fully wrap your head around this. You understand the premise well enough, but you can’t really get past the part about accepting payment just to provide someone with a fabricated experience. Then again, you suppose that’s the case for most things nowadays. People are willing to spend the brunt of their earnings on in-game purchases for video games and other things that aren’t tangible in the real world, because even though they aren’t necessarily organic, it still provides them with some satisfaction.

Long story short, it’s not up to you to decide what does or doesn’t make someone else happy, and you suppose as long as it’s executed in a professional manner, there’s nothing wrong with meeting new people this way.

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” Ava suddenly perks up. “You should join this app! You’re super pretty, smart, and nice. I bet you’d have loads of guys lining up to hire you as their girlfriend!”

“Me?” You blink repeatedly, shuffling backwards the closer she leans in. “I mean, I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job. If it makes people happy, then I support it, but deep down, I worry I’d feel like I’m exploiting someone’s feelings just for a few extra bucks. Morally speaking, I’m not so sure I like the idea…”

“It’s not exploitation,” she insists. “People know what they’re signing up for. At the end of the day, it’s a buyer-seller relationship. Someone pays for the service being advertised, and they receive it. As long as you’re not ambiguous about what you’re willing to do for the amount that you’re charging, people know what to expect. Of course, I’m sure there might be the occasional asshole here and there, but if they do anything inappropriate or violate the terms, you can report them through the app and they’ll be banned from using it.”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that. Some extra money would be nice. You’re a university student with all sorts of loans, so it’s not like you’ve got excess cash lying around. And it’s also true that you’ve been looking to apply for a new job lately, since your old manager was a total ass and you ended up quitting.

Still. A girlfriend-for-hire? Someone like you? It’s just really difficult to imagine.

“I actually think it’d be a good experience,” Ava goes on. “You’ve never really put yourself out there before. I know everyone dates at their own pace and stuff, but you shouldn’t have to be afraid. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet some cool people and want to date them for real. And even if you don’t end up going for them, you still make some money, so either way, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

You chuckle weakly. “Yeah, I just don’t know. I feel like I’m better suited for traditional jobs. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m glad you think people would actually be willing to pay to date me.”

“Girl, you seriously need to believe in yourself more,” Ava sighs. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. But at the end of the day, it’s your call. You shouldn’t force yourself into anything if you feel uncomfortable.”

You smile and nod in agreement, and sensing your discomfort, Ava decides to change the topic.

But for some reason, you feel a twinge in your chest, and it’s hard to keep your mind from wandering.

Later that same day, you’re lounging on the couch, mouth agape, having just downloaded the app on your own phone.

“What the hell am I doing…?”

You tell yourself that it’s just simple curiosity. Yeah. That’s all it is. Ava piqued your interest earlier, and now you just want to scroll through in more detail to get a better sense of what kind of people use this platform.

The app is called ‘Partner For Hire’. The name isn’t particularly inspired, you have to admit, but you suppose it communicates its point rather effectively and leaves no room for ambiguity. Ultimately, this is a transactional relationship, and it’s probably for the best that clients know what to expect.

You can use the app as either a buyer or seller. Meaning that you can create your profile and advertise your services, or simply list yourself as a prospective client and what your hobbies and interests are. In that sense, it’s kind of similar to most dating apps, since you have to take a flattering photo to go along with whatever blurb you’re providing. Of course, just because you try to solicit someone’s services doesn’t mean there’s any guarantee they’ll accept. This is an app where you can run everything yourself, and of course the company takes a cut of your profits, rather than an agency that matches you with a client regardless of whether you want to accept the job or not.

There’s definitely a lot of flexibility, and you can easily choose who you want to pretend to date. If someone is interested in hiring you, they submit a request to be able to contact you, and once you accept, you can message them directly and establish the terms of the dating contract, such as the length and what particular services will be provided.

You scroll through the list of boyfriends/girlfriends being advertised on the app, and honestly, it seems like there’s a decent amount of money to be made. Of course, a lot of that comes with building a good reputation and improving your ratings and visibility so more people will want to hire you, but it actually seems like a decent amount of people are able to make a living off this sort of thing.

You bite down on your lower lip. Should you really go ahead and just do it? Like Ava said, there’s probably not much to lose. All the transactions are managed on the app, so you can easily report people who try to skip out on paying. Clients have to link their banking and personal info, so they’d be taking on a big risk by trying to scam people. You’re sure it might happen from time to time, but based on the reviews you’ve read, the company is really good at enforcing their policies and making sure everyone gets paid.

The money seems good, and it would definitely help take some pressure off your student loans, but ultimately, the biggest thing you’re struggling with is your moral compass.

People are willing to spend money for this kind of thing, and that’s entirely their choice to make, so it’s not like you’re extorting them or anything. Still… you wonder if it’s actually okay to profit off of someone else’s loneliness. You’ve never worked the kind of job that requires you to cater directly to another person’s emotions, and it kind of freaks you out.

But maybe Ava is right. There are all sorts of people in this world. Maybe some of them are just curious to try the app out. Maybe others just want to get their families off their back by pretending like they’re dating someone for a little while. There’s no way to discern everyone’s motivations, so perhaps there’s really no point in thinking about it at all.

Most importantly, this could be a good thing for you. Life has been stagnant recently, and it’s true that you usually hesitate to put yourself out there. You’ll never learn what you do or don’t like if you keep on avoiding everything. This could be a chance to learn a lot about other people, but also, to learn more about yourself.

Yeah. It’s time to stop overthinking for a change and just try something new.

Thus, feeling unusually determined, you spend the rest of the day setting up your profile (finding nice selfies was the longest part of the whole ordeal), and with a resolved huff, you post it and officially go live on the app.

You’re not really sure what you were expecting, but needless to say, there isn’t any immediate feedback. It probably takes a while for people to stumble across your profile, and even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll want to go out with you.

I guess I was getting worked up for no reason. Certain people might find success with this kind of thing, but it’s probably not as easy as it looks.

You scratch your cheek, suddenly sheepish over how needlessly excited you got earlier. You’re not used to stepping out of your comfort zone, so you must have gotten a bit carried away.

For the rest of the evening, you set your phone aside and come back to reality. You get some homework done, make dinner, and by the time you’re ready for bed, you’ve pretty much forgotten about the whole thing altogether.

That is, until you check and see that you’ve missed a notification.

“Huh? Someone viewed my profile and wants to message me?”

You’re undeniably taken aback. Not just because it’s happening a lot sooner than you expected, but also because it means that contrary to what you first thought, people are interested in you.

Having minimal experience when it comes to dating and romance in general, you have to admit, the thought of being viewed as desirable is immensely flattering.

Curious to see who wants to hire your services, you click on the user’s profile.

His name is Isaac, and he’s twenty-one years old, set to complete his undergraduate studies at the end of the year. He goes to a different university than yours, thankfully, because you can’t help but feel like it would be incredibly awkward to bump into him on campus after pretending to be his girlfriend. He’s studying to become a doctor, which means he’s still got a lot of school ahead of him, but you’ve always had a lot of admiration for people who are willing to commit to their goals and work hard.

Also, even though you don’t want to sound shallow or anything… he’s really, really attractive.

You frown. Granted, there’s more to a person than their appearance, but based on how he comes across in his profile and what his future career is, he doesn’t strike you as the type of person who would struggle to date someone.

But again, you can never know what’s going on in a stranger’s life. And there’s no real way to find out why he decided to join the app.

Apart from speaking to him directly, of course.

[𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

After a momentary delay, the screen loads into a messaging interface, allowing you to see what Isaac sent you and respond to him directly.

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times.

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling.

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now.

[𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞]:

You’re admittedly a bit nervous, especially since you want to do a good job and avoid letting him down, but mostly, you’re feeling excited. All of this is uncharted territory for you, after all. Never in a million years would you have imagined taking on a job like this.

And you really shouldn’t have.

You don’t know it yet, but this will be the cause of many, many regrets.

Shit. I’m starting to have second thoughts.

Even now, you still can’t believe you’re really going through with this. After talking to Isaac and ironing out the finer details, you agreed to join him for a family gathering and pose as his girlfriend. You expected for him to have quite a few requests, but luckily, he seems pretty laid back about the whole thing. The better portion of your conversation was spent on getting your stories straight so as not to incur any suspicion, and since you’ve always been a good student and a hard worker, you promptly memorized everything there was to know.

And now, it’s finally time to put this plan in motion.

“Hey,” Isaac greets. “[Name], right?”

It’s the evening, since his parents are hosting a dinner party. The event is supposed to be pretty casual, but you still dressed up semi-formal in the hopes of making a good impression. He never explicitly mentioned how strict his parents are, but since they’ve been on his case about getting a girlfriend, it never hurts to go the extra mile.

"Hi, Isaac,” you smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” he nods. He’s considerably taller than you, and every bit as handsome as his picture suggested. Unless his personality is god-awful (which you probably would’ve picked up on after messaging him for so long), you’ve got a good feeling that most girls would be interested in him.

Still, everyone is different. He might have really high standards, or maybe he wants to focus on his studies, or perhaps it’s just a case of having never met the right person. Whatever the reason may be, his parents shouldn’t be pressuring him to date someone, and if you have the means to help him out, you’ll happily do it.

“You look really nice,” Isaac says. He tilts his head to the side. “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to dress up to impress anyone. The most important part is that they believe I’m seeing someone so that they finally ease up a bit.”

“Oh, I just did this for my own peace of mind,” you reassure. “I made sure to memorize everything you told me in advance, so I’m confident I can convince them that we’re the real deal. Even though this is technically my first day on the job… I promise not to let you down.”

You blush, feeling rather flustered. The idea of being someone’s hired girlfriend is still a lot to wrap your head around, and you certainly don’t want to make empty promises, but you have every intention of giving it your best shot. Isaac is in a stressful situation, and you’re resolved to do whatever you can to fix it.

“Can’t wait to get this over with,” Isaac sighs. He opens the passenger door and gestures for you to step inside the car. “Don’t worry. I know you might be feeling a bit uneasy, but I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. I won’t hold it against you if you have 911 ready on speed dial until we get to my parents’ house.”

“I trust you,” you insist. “I’ve heard good things about this app, and it sounds like they take safety seriously. They’ve got your information in their system, after all. Plus, I can tell that you’re a nice guy. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“I appreciate it,” he smiles. “Anyways… I guess I’ve stalled for long enough. You can probably tell that I really don’t feel like going. But the sooner I get them off my back, the better.”

“I’ll be the best girlfriend you can ask for,” you beam.

It’s a promise to him, but also to yourself. You are committed to taking this new job seriously, and for the rest of the evening, you will do whatever it takes to blend into the role that’s been thrust upon you. There’s no reason to get worked up. At the end of the day, all of this is pretend. It won’t be anywhere near as complicated as a real relationship.

Right?

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