#yandere male x mc

[fidesvirtusobsession]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋

Yandere prince x AFAB single mother reader

Chapter 1

Y/N’s life revolves around one thing—her daughter, Isabelle. Working tirelessly to make ends meet, she’s used to long hours, small joys, and the quiet strength it takes to raise a child on her own. The last thing she expects is for their ordinary trip to the mall to catch the attention of Lucien Laurent—the cold, calculating crown prince known for his sharp tongue and colder heart. But something about Y/N and her daughter cracks through the prince’s icy facade. Lucien has never been one to want a family, yet he finds himself drawn to the warmth Y/N radiates—the laughter she shares with Isabelle, the way she faces life’s hardships without flinching. For the first time, the crown prince, feared by many and admired by all, wants something more. What starts as curiosity spirals into obsession. Lucien doesn’t ask for things—he takes them. And now, he’s set his sights on Y/N and Isabelle, determined to claim them as his own, no matter the cost. But love born from power is a dangerous thing. Y/N must navigate the delicate balance between protecting her daughter, keeping her freedom, and surviving the suffocating luxury of palace walls. Because when a prince decides you belong to him… escape is never simple. How far would you go to protect the ones you love when the most powerful man in the kingdom refuses to let you go?

The crisp morning air hung heavy with the weight of duty and expectation. Outside the grand palace gates, reporters jostled for position, cameras flashing like restless fireflies. Royal appearances were rare, and when the crown prince himself was involved, the media swarmed like vultures scenting fresh prey.

Lucien Reinhardt stepped out of the towering marble archway, the sunlight catching on the gold trim of his tailored charcoal suit. He moved with the precision of a man who owned the ground beneath his feet—calculated, unyielding, and wholly uninterested in the spectacle before him. His face, carved from cold stone, betrayed nothing. No warmth. No irritation. Just a sculpted mask of aloof indifference.

Where his father, King Aldric, waved to the crowd with the practiced charm of a seasoned ruler, and his mother, Queen Victoria, smiled gracefully for the cameras, Lucien barely spared them a glance. The weight of the crown, though not yet upon his head, had long since shaped his demeanor into one of quiet, domineering authority.

“Lucien, at least pretend to be approachable,” murmured his younger sister, Adrielle, adjusting the lapel of her silk blazer as she stepped beside him. Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of nervousness. No one truly relaxed around Lucien—not even family.

He didn’t respond. He never did when the conversation was trivial.

The sleek, obsidian-black car pulled up to the curb, polished to a mirror shine. The royal crest glinted on the hood, subtle yet unmistakable. A uniformed driver rushed to open the door, bowing his head respectfully. Lucien stepped forward without acknowledgment, his strides purposeful, each movement economical and restrained.

Inside the car, the air was hushed, thick with unspoken tension. King Aldric slid in beside him, adjusting his cufflinks with the slow, deliberate movements of a man who valued appearances above all else. Across from them, Queen Victoria and Adrielle exchanged glances.

“You could smile once in a while,” the queen ventured, her voice soft but pointed.

Lucien’s sharp, emerald-green eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. “Smiling doesn’t win wars. It breeds familiarity. Familiarity breeds complacency.”

His father chuckled dryly, though there was little humor in it. “Always the strategist. But today isn’t a battle, Lucien. It’s a charity event. Kissing babies, shaking hands—the usual charade.”

Lucien turned his gaze toward the tinted window, watching the city blur past. Even the bustling streets of the capital, with their vibrant storefronts and bustling crowds, seemed muted through his detached lens.

“A charade,” he echoed, voice devoid of inflection. “That’s exactly what it is.”

It wasn’t disdain, exactly, that colored his words. It was something colder. Lucien Reinhardt didn’t waste emotions on things he couldn’t control, and the theater of royalty was one of them. His focus remained where it had always been: securing power, eliminating threats, and ensuring nothing and no one could ever undermine the empire his family had built.

To the world, he was the perfect crown prince—distant, composed, and ruthlessly efficient. To those who dared to know him beyond the polished surface, he was something far more dangerous: a man who didn’t need warmth to command loyalty, only results.

As the car glided through the palace gates and toward the city center, Lucien folded his hands in his lap, thumb brushing the crest embroidered into his glove.

He was already calculating the day’s itinerary. Meetings. Photographs. Public appearances.

The bustling mall echoed with cheerful chatter, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air. It was an event carefully crafted for good publicity—royalty mingling with commoners under the guise of generosity. Bright banners hung from the railings, boasting the royal crest alongside slogans of unity and charity.

Lucien Reinhardt stood at the edge of it all, a silent storm amid a sea of smiles.

His father, King Aldric, moved through the crowd with the ease of a man born into power, shaking hands and flashing a politician's smile. His mother, Queen Victoria, laughed softly as she crouched down to accept a bouquet from a wide-eyed little girl, her golden crown catching the light. Even Adrielle, ever the perfect royal daughter, posed for selfies with teenagers who squealed as they pressed close.

Lucien, on the other hand, stood near the marble fountain in the center of the atrium, arms crossed over the immaculate cut of his charcoal-gray suit. His emerald gaze swept the scene without interest, calculating and cold.

"Sir," a frazzled event coordinator approached, nervously adjusting her headset. "The children’s charity booth would love a photo with you. It would mean a lot to them."

Lucien didn’t move. His expression didn’t flicker.

"No."

The woman blinked, clearly thrown off by the blunt refusal. "B-But it’s for the press, Your Highness. It would—"

"I said no." His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.

The coordinator stammered an apology before scurrying away, leaving Lucien in the company of his own disinterest. He wasn’t here for pleasantries. He was here because the crown demanded it, and the crown always demanded sacrifice—time, autonomy, humanity.

"Do try not to look like you're plotting a coup, brother," Adrielle teased as she strolled past, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor. She waved to a group of college students snapping photos. "At least pretend you enjoy being adored."

Lucien didn’t spare her a glance. "Adoration is fleeting. Power is not."

"Gods, you're insufferable," she muttered, rolling her eyes before rejoining the crowd.

The event dragged on. Speeches, handshakes, forced laughter. Lucien fulfilled only the bare minimum of his duties—standing silently during his father’s address, posing stiffly for official photographs, ignoring the hopeful eyes of children who didn’t understand that royalty was nothing more than polished chains.

His mind drifted elsewhere—to reports awaiting his review, to negotiations that actually mattered. The world beyond this glittering facade.

But then, a glimpse of something—someone—caught his eye near the far end of the atrium. A woman, balancing a toddler on her hip while juggling grocery bags, standing just outside the cordoned-off VIP area. She wasn’t watching the royal family like everyone else. She was too busy adjusting the strap of her worn purse and wiping a sticky hand off her shirt.

Ordinary. Unremarkable. Yet, for the first time that day, Lucien’s gaze lingered.

He couldn't explain why.

And, as quickly as the moment came, he dismissed it. Just another face in the crowd.

Turning away, Lucien adjusted his cufflinks and waited for the day to end, unaware that the very life he found so mundane would soon entangle itself irreversibly with his own.

Lucien exhaled slowly, the forced smiles and rehearsed conversations grating on his patience. He stood at the edge of the bustling event, perfectly poised and yet entirely detached. His family, ever the picture of regal warmth, continued to charm the crowd. The cameras loved them.

No one was paying attention to him.

Perfect.

With practiced ease, Lucien stepped back, slipping past the velvet ropes and into the quieter, less glamorous corridors of the mall. These were the arteries of the building, where staff bustled with carts of supplies and cleaning crews worked unnoticed.

His polished shoes echoed softly against the tiled floor, the sound swallowed by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Here, away from prying eyes and expectations, Lucien found a sliver of peace.

He adjusted the cufflinks of his charcoal-gray suit, the crest of his family glinting in the dim light. His emerald gaze flickered over the rows of plain service doors and unremarkable signage. The world behind the scenes was stripped of pretense—functional, efficient, and refreshingly honest.

If only the rest of life could be so simple.

A janitor passed by, barely sparing him a glance. Lucien preferred it that way. Invisibility suited him far more than the hollow adoration of the public.

He turned a corner, pausing by a vending machine as his phone vibrated in his pocket. A message from Adrielle flashed across the screen:

"Where the hell did you go? Dad's looking for you. Stop brooding and smile for the cameras like a good prince."

Lucien scoffed, slipping the phone back into his pocket without replying. Let them look. Let them wonder. He didn’t owe them his presence.

As he moved farther down the corridor, the sounds of the event faded into a distant murmur. It was in moments like this, away from the weight of the crown, that Lucien could almost believe he was just a man. Not a prince. Not an heir. Just… himself.

But peace never lasted long.

A soft laugh echoed from around the corner, pulling his attention. It was light, unguarded—the kind of sound that didn’t belong in a place like this. Curious despite himself, Lucien rounded the bend and found the source.

A woman.

She was crouched down, balancing a toddler on her hip while fumbling with a reusable shopping bag that had clearly seen better days. The child, a little girl with dark curls and wide brown eyes, clutched a half-eaten cookie in one hand while the other tugged at her mother’s hair.

The woman muttered something under her breath, clearly exasperated but smiling nonetheless.

“Isabelle,” she sighed, adjusting the child on her hip. “If you get crumbs in my hair again, I’m selling you to the highest bidder.”

The toddler giggled, utterly unbothered by the empty threat.

Lucien froze.

There was nothing remarkable about them, not in the traditional sense. No designer clothes, no polished facade. Just a mother and child, navigating life with the kind of ease forged through routine struggle.

And yet, he found himself rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold like it was something precious.

Lucien leaned against the cold concrete wall of the service corridor, half-hidden behind the arch leading back into the bustling heart of the mall. The polished marble floors reflected the overhead lights, and the hum of idle chatter drifted through the air.

He had no real reason to linger. His family was still caught up in the fanfare of the charity event, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and smiling for the cameras. Lucien had long mastered the art of disappearing without notice—silent footsteps, a sharp turn, and he was gone.

Now, he stood in the quiet hallway between storefronts, watching.

Her.

The woman stood near the entrance of a small clothing boutique, balancing two shopping bags in one hand and a lukewarm coffee in the other. Her clothes were practical, worn but clean, the kind chosen by someone who had little room for luxury in her budget.

Y/N.

He didn’t know her name yet, but he’d heard one of her friends call out something that sounded like it.

Her daughter, a whirlwind of brown curls and boundless energy, darted between clothing racks with an infectious kind of joy. The little girl clutched a worn plush bunny in one hand, its fabric faded from too many hugs and washes.

Lucien’s gaze lingered on the woman’s face. There was a calmness to her, the kind of patience born from necessity rather than nature. She didn’t scold the child for running around, didn’t look irritated or rushed.

She simply waited.

One of her friends, a woman with a fussy toddler on her hip, chuckled. “Isabelle’s got energy for days.”

Y/N smiled, tired but warm. “She always does. I figure she’ll tire herself out eventually. It’s just a matter of waiting for her out.”

Waiting for her out.

Lucien tilted his head, intrigued by the quiet strength in her words. Most people—his family included—had no patience for waiting. Everything was rushed, scheduled, calculated. But this woman? She stood in the middle of a crowded mall, sipping cold coffee and watching her daughter spin in circles, as if she had all the time in the world.

Isabelle eventually slowed, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. She toddled back toward her mother, who crouched down, brushing curls from the child’s face and handing her a water bottle.

“Thirsty now, huh?” Y/N teased gently.

The little girl nodded, sipping noisily.

Lucien’s eyes flicked between them, sharp and calculating. They weren’t remarkable by societal standards—no designer labels, no glittering jewelry, no signs of wealth. Just a mother and daughter, living life quietly and without pretense.

It was… grounding.

The kind of life he’d never known.

Y/N stood, waving off her friends as they drifted toward the food court. “We’ll catch up later. I promised this one we’d check out the sale racks.”

Lucien followed, steps silent as he trailed them from a distance. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to the scene. Curiosity? Fascination?

Possession?

Y/N flipped through the clearance section with practiced ease, fingers brushing over price tags as if mentally calculating which pieces would stretch her budget the furthest.

Nearby, Isabelle tugged at her mother’s sleeve, pointing excitedly at a rack of costume jewelry. Tiny, sparkling charms dangled from the display, each priced low enough for a child’s allowance.

Y/N chuckled. “We’ll see, Isa. Clothes first, remember?”

Lucien leaned against the edge of a column, half-hidden in shadow.

He could leave. Should leave.

But he didn’t.

He stayed, watching as Y/N found a lavender dress tucked between mismatched tops. She held it up, smiling faintly before glancing at the price tag. Her smile dimmed.

Too much, even at a discount.

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

He’d seen his mother drop more money on a single glass of champagne at last night’s gala. Yet here stood this woman, weighing the worth of a child’s dress against her next grocery run.

It wasn’t pity that rooted him in place.

It was something colder.

Sharper.

I could fix that.

The thought slid into his mind unbidden, smooth as silk and just as dangerous.

Y/N placed the dress back on the rack with a resigned sigh and turned her attention to more practical finds—plain shirts, sturdy jeans, nothing frivolous.

Isabelle didn’t seem to mind. She had already moved on to inspecting tiaras, giggling as she tried one on and admired herself in the mirror.

Lucien stayed there for a long while, unmoving.

Watching.

Waiting.

And when they finally left the store, arms full of carefully chosen bargains and cheap trinkets, Lucien followed—not close enough to be noticed, but near enough to keep them within his sights.

He didn’t know what he was planning.

But he knew one thing with certainty.

He wasn’t done watching them.

Lucien's footsteps were silent as he trailed behind the mother and daughter, weaving through the bustling crowd without drawing attention. Years of carefully cultivated discipline ensured that no one spared him a second glance. His family’s presence at the charity event had drawn enough focus to the main atrium of the mall—no one would expect the crown prince to slip away unnoticed.

And yet, here he was.

Y/N walked ahead, one hand clutching her shopping bags while the other kept a gentle hold on Isabelle's wrist, guiding her through the throng of shoppers. The little girl bounced with each step, practically skipping as she chattered about the sparkly tiara she’d admired.

“Maybe next time,” Y/N promised, voice soft and patient. “We’ve already got plenty today, Isa.”

Lucien’s gaze flicked down to the bags in her grasp—practical clothes, sturdy fabrics, and a small bag from the discount jewelry stand.

Nothing extravagant.

Nothing unnecessary.

Efficient. Responsible.

He shouldn’t have cared. Shouldn’t have been intrigued by the way she balanced indulgence and practicality so effortlessly.

And yet…

They reached the heart of the mall—an extravagant, multi-level playground built to entertain restless children while parents lingered nearby. Vibrant slides twisted around faux tree trunks, rope bridges connected platforms painted like canopies, and a soft, cushioned floor mimicked grassy terrain.

Isabelle squealed with delight and tugged at her mother’s hand.

“Go on,” Y/N laughed, letting her daughter go. “I’ll be right here.”

Lucien drifted to the shadows beneath the second-floor balcony, leaning against the cool glass railing. From here, he had a clear view of everything—the child scaling a plastic rock wall, the mother finding a spot near the coffee cart, and the clusters of other women exchanging quiet conversation.

The mothers gathered in loose circles, sipping overpriced lattes and sharing stories in the universal language of parenthood—sleep schedules, picky eaters, school gossip.

Y/N, however, didn’t isolate herself.

She approached the group with an easy smile, seamlessly slipping into the conversation without hesitation. One of the other women, balancing a fussy toddler on her hip, gestured toward Isabelle, who was now chasing another child across the padded floor.

“She’s got energy for days, huh?”

Y/N chuckled, brushing loose hair from her face. “Like a wind-up toy that never runs out. I keep thinking she’ll crash, but she just keeps going.”

Another mother sighed dramatically. “I’d kill for that energy. Meanwhile, mine starts whining the second we hit the parking lot.”

There was laughter—soft, tired, but genuine.

Lucien watched, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable.

This was a world foreign to him. He’d seen mothers before, of course—at charity events, galas, carefully staged photo ops for magazines. Polished, perfect, children dressed like porcelain dolls and just as fragile.

But Y/N?

There was nothing curated about her. She stood there, coffee in hand, nodding along as another woman offered tips for getting grass stains out of jeans.

“White vinegar,” Y/N added when the conversation lulled. “Works better than half the expensive stuff, and it’s cheaper.”

The woman beside her nodded approvingly. “See, that’s what I need—practical advice. Not ‘buy this $20 stain remover’ nonsense.”

Lucien’s gaze drifted back to Isabelle, who was now sprawled at the top of a slide, chatting animatedly with another child. Carefree. Safe.

Because her mother made it safe.

That realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.

He shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t find himself intrigued by the way Y/N stood with one eye always on her daughter, attention never fully leaving the playground no matter how engrossed she became in conversation.

And yet, as the minutes ticked by and the coffee cart emptied, Lucien remained in place. Watching.

Waiting.

Calculating.

Y/N didn’t notice him. She laughed with the other mothers, called out gentle warnings to Isabelle when the little girl climbed too high, and shifted her shopping bags from one hand to the other with practiced ease.

It was a simple scene. Ordinary.

But to Lucien, it was captivating.

Because it was real.

And real was something he’d never had.

Not truly.

His hand drifted to the sleek phone in his coat pocket, thumb brushing the power button. He could call the driver, return to the polished facade of royalty and duty waiting for him in the atrium.

Or he could stay.

And watch a little longer.

He chose the latter.

Lucien lingered in the shadows of the mall’s upper level, his sharp gaze fixed on the playground below. Children dashed between jungle gyms and foam obstacles, their laughter rising like a chorus above the bustling shoppers. But his focus never wavered from one child in particular—her child.

Isabelle.

She flitted through the play structure like a butterfly, light on her feet, brown hair bouncing with each hop. Every few moments, she’d glance toward her mother—Y/N—who stood near a coffee cart, chatting with other mothers. The sight of Y/N’s soft smile, her easy laughter, stirred something unfamiliar in Lucien’s chest.

He didn’t belong here, surrounded by noise and warmth. Yet, he couldn’t look away.

Then it happened.

Isabelle, spinning in a circle with a plastic tiara askew on her head, suddenly froze. Her eyes swept the area—and landed directly on him.

Lucien stiffened. He expected her to look past him, like most children did when confronted by someone with his cold, commanding presence.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her face lit up with a mischievous grin.

Before Lucien could step back into the crowd, Isabelle darted toward him, weaving through chatting adults and strollers with practiced ease.

“Hi!” she chirped, stopping right in front of him, tiara now completely sideways.

Lucien blinked. He hadn’t been caught off guard in years.

“Hello,” he replied, voice cool and measured.

Isabelle tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle. “Why are you just standing there?”

Lucien glanced past her. Y/N was still unaware, laughing with another woman, coffee cup in hand.

“I’m watching,” he said simply.

“Watching’s boring.” She wrinkled her nose. “Come play with us!”

He opened his mouth to decline, but Isabelle was already tugging his hand, far too determined for someone so small.

“We’re playing Princess Rescue! I’m the princess, duh,” she declared, flipping her tiara back into place. “But we need a villain. You can be the evil king!”

Lucien blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. Him? The cold, calculating prince, playing make-believe?

“No,” he said flatly, trying to withdraw his hand.

Isabelle giggled, entirely unbothered. “But you look like an evil king! All serious and grumpy.”

From across the playground, other children noticed the interaction. A boy with a plastic sword ran up, eyes wide. “Yeah! He’d be perfect!”

Another girl, dressed in a sparkly tutu, nodded enthusiastically. “He can kidnap Princess Isabelle, and we’ll save her!”

Lucien exhaled slowly, realizing escape was no longer an option. The children had formed a semi-circle around him, their eyes shining with excitement.

“Fine,” he muttered, more to end the conversation than out of any real willingness.

“Yay!” Isabelle cheered, grabbing his hand again. “Okay, Evil King, you have to steal me away!”

Before Lucien could protest, she dramatically threw herself into his arms, like a damsel from a fairytale.

Lucien froze, unsure what to do with the tiny, giggling princess clinging to his coat.

“Run!” one of the children yelled. “Take her to your castle!”

Lucien sighed. He cast one last glance toward Y/N, who was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding.

And then, with the resigned grace of a man who’d lost control of the situation, he adjusted Isabelle in his arms and took a single, deliberate step back.

The children shrieked with laughter, already giving chase.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Lucien—the cold, untouchable prince—found himself playing along.

An evil king, indeed.

“Wait… is that…?”

Y/N frowned and turned to look, her breath catching in her throat.

There, among the bright plastic slides and scattered foam blocks, stood Lucien.

The Lucien.

The man known for his cold demeanor, untouchable presence, and calculating gaze. The same man who could silence an entire room with a single glance.

And he was currently holding Isabelle in his arms, pretending to be some kind of evil king, judging by the dramatic scowl on his face.

The children shrieked in delight, brandishing foam swords and plastic wands as they chased him. Isabelle, tiara slightly askew, was giggling so hard she could barely catch her breath.

“Is that… Prince Lucien?” another mother, Clara, whispered, nearly dropping her coffee.

“No way,” Leah muttered, her jaw practically on the floor. “He looks like he’s… playing.”

Y/N blinked, unable to reconcile the image in front of her with the man she’d only ever seen in stern photographs and fleeting news clips. There was no coldness in his expression now—just reluctant amusement and an almost imperceptible softness as he carefully dodged foam projectiles.

“Mommy!” Isabelle called, waving excitedly as Lucien swung her around like a sack of potatoes. “The evil king kidnapped me!”

Lucien caught Y/N’s gaze for the briefest moment. His usual sharp eyes held something different—something warmer, more alive.

Y/N swallowed thickly.

“Well,” she muttered, voice tinged with disbelief, “I guess even evil kings have their soft spots.”

The other mothers exchanged stunned glances, but no one dared interrupt the surreal moment.

After all, how often did you see a man like Lucien willingly wear a foam crown and accept defeat at the hands of a tutu-wearing army?

The murmurs started almost immediately.

“I knew he had a soft spot,” Leah whispered, her eyes practically sparkling as she watched Lucien stumble back, hands raised in mock surrender as the tiny army of princesses and knights swarmed him.

Clara, still clutching her half-forgotten coffee, chuckled. “You don’t carry yourself like that without hiding a heart somewhere under all that cold exterior. It’s always the stoic ones who melt for kids.”

Another mother, arms crossed and smiling, added, “He’s surprisingly patient. Look at how he’s letting them ‘capture’ him.”

Y/N sipped her coffee quietly, eyes fixed on the scene. Isabelle sat proudly on Lucien’s shoulders, waving her foam sword like a banner. Lucien, for all his usual aloofness, stood perfectly still, allowing the little girl to declare victory while the other kids cheered around them.

The sight tugged at something deep in Y/N’s chest.

“Excuse me,” she murmured with a soft smile, stepping away from the group.

Y/N moved gracefully across the playground, weaving between the running children with practiced ease. The chatter of the other mothers faded behind her as she approached the scene of Lucien’s “defeat.”

“Alright, little conquerors,” she called out, her voice light but firm. “I think the evil king has learned his lesson. How about we let him go before he turns into a grumpy dragon?”

Lucien shot her a glance, sharp eyes softening the moment they met hers.

Isabelle gasped dramatically. “A dragon?”

Y/N nodded, crouching down to eye level with the kids. “Oh, yes. Evil kings turn into grumpy dragons if they stay captured for too long. And grumpy dragons don’t like sharing snacks.”

That did the trick.

One by one, the kids released their hold on Lucien, already chattering about their next game.

“Let’s play explorers!” one shouted.

“No, pirates!” another countered.

Lucien exhaled quietly, adjusting Isabelle on his hip as Y/N stood beside him.

“Saved by the queen herself,” he murmured, voice dry but amused.

Y/N glanced up at him, lips curling into a faint smile. “Well, someone had to rescue you from the tiny terrors.”

Lucien didn’t respond immediately. He just stood there, watching as Isabelle joined her friends in their new adventure, her laughter ringing through the air.

For a moment, the cold, brooding prince looked almost… content.

Lucien adjusted his cuffs, an almost sheepish look flickering across his otherwise composed face. "I didn’t think I’d spend my afternoon being dethroned by toddlers."

Y/N smirked, crossing her arms as she watched Isabelle rally her troops for their next grand quest. “Well, that’s what you get for standing too close to a playground. Rookie mistake.”

He arched a brow, the sharpness of his usual demeanor softened by the faint curve of his lips. “And you just let it happen?”

“I thought it was character-building,” she teased. “Besides, it’s not every day you see the Lucien practically begging for mercy from a five-year-old princess.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, something rare and almost boyish. “Mercy was never granted, in case you missed that detail.”

“I saw.” Y/N leaned in slightly, mock-serious. “You’re lucky I intervened. I’m pretty sure they were about to knight Isabelle and name her ruler of the mall.”

Lucien tilted his head, eyes narrowing in exaggerated consideration. “Better her than some of the leaders I’ve had to work with.”

The two stood there for a moment, caught in an unexpected pocket of peace amid the chaos of the bustling mall. Y/N found herself studying him—the way the harsh lines of his face softened when he wasn’t wearing the weight of his title, the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly in the presence of innocent laughter.

Before she could dwell on it, the crisp shuffle of polished shoes on tile broke the moment.

“Your Highness,” one of Lucien’s guards approached, looking equal parts apologetic and exasperated. “The car is ready. Your parents are waiting.”

Lucien’s jaw ticked, the easy warmth in his eyes cooling back into something more familiar—detached, aloof. He nodded once before glancing back at Y/N.

“Looks like my reign in the playground has officially ended.”

Y/N smiled, tilting her head toward Isabelle, who was now trying to convince her friends to build a “princess fortress” out of foam blocks. “I think the new queen will manage just fine without you.”

Lucien hesitated, something unreadable passing across his face. Then, with an almost reluctant step backward, he gave a slight nod.

“Until next time, then.”

Y/N, ever the survivor of chaotic playdates and endless errands, grinned. “Don’t get kidnapped by tiny rebels on your way out.”

The faintest chuckle escaped him as he turned, the guard falling into step beside him.

And just like that, the cold prince was gone, swallowed by duty once more.

Lucien slid into the sleek black car, the door closing with a soft thud that sealed him away from the noise of the bustling mall. The air inside was cool, sterile—just the way he usually liked it. His guards settled into the front, murmuring into their radios, confirming his departure.

But Lucien barely registered it.

He leaned back against the leather seat, hands resting loosely on his thighs, eyes half-lidded as the car pulled away from the curb. Yet, instead of turning his mind toward the usual mental checklist of meetings, policies, and diplomatic nonsense, his thoughts betrayed him.

“You’re lucky I intervened.”

Y/N’s teasing smile flickered in his mind, brighter and warmer than the sun filtering through the tinted windows. There was an ease to her presence, something entirely foreign to the carefully curated world he navigated. She’d stepped into the chaos of children like it was second nature, effortlessly redirecting their boundless energy, saving him from further humiliation without so much as a second thought.

And Isabelle—Princess Isabelle, self-proclaimed ruler of the playground. Her tiny hands tugging at his sleeve, her wide-eyed insistence that he play the role of the villain. How had he let that happen? Him. Lucien. The man is known for his ruthless efficiency and unshakable demeanor, pretending to cackle as he was “banished” by a band of toddlers.

He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing at his reflection in the window.

“Sir?” One of the guards glanced back, clearly noticing the rare moment of distraction etched into Lucien’s otherwise impassive face.

“Nothing,” Lucien muttered, gaze flickering to the passing scenery. Yet, the city streets blurred as his mind betrayed him once more.

The way Y/N had crouched to Isabelle’s level, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s forehead as they admired discounted jewelry together. The warmth in her laughter when another mother had joked about kids having more energy than world leaders.

Lucien’s fingers tapped absently against his knee. Effortless. Natural. He’d spent years surrounded by people trained to charm, to navigate social intricacies like it was a battlefield. Yet none of them held a candle to the quiet authenticity he’d witnessed that afternoon.

“Shall we head to the palace, Your Highness?” the driver asked, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror.

Lucien hesitated.

“... Take the long route.”

The driver blinked but didn’t question it. The car veered slightly, merging onto a less direct path.

Lucien leaned his head back against the seat, eyes slipping shut. He could still hear the faint echoes of children’s laughter, the soft cadence of Y/N’s voice cutting through the noise.

For the first time in what felt like years, Lucien allowed himself to indulge in the memory. Just a little longer.

The car hummed softly as it sped along the winding road toward the palace, the city lights blurring into golden streaks against the evening sky. Lucien sat in silence, his posture rigid, hands clasped tightly together. Normally, the quiet drive would be a welcome reprieve—a chance to reset, refocus, and push aside distractions.

But not tonight.

His mind betrayed him, looping the same images over and over. Y/N’s patient smile as she crouched beside Isabelle, holding up a glittering tiara that was clearly made of cheap plastic but treated like it was a crown fit for royalty. The way her eyes softened when Isabelle twirled, the little girl’s laughter ringing like bells in the air.

Lucien exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. What the hell is wrong with me?

Yet, the traitorous thought crept in, unbidden but relentless: What if that was his family?

He could almost see it—the cold, cavernous halls of the palace warmed by childish giggles. Isabelle ran down the grand staircase, arms outstretched, her tiny feet thudding against polished marble as she darted toward him. Y/N trailing behind, breathless but laughing, telling Isabelle to slow down before she tripped.

Would Y/N still smile at him like she had at the mall? Would she stand at his side during tedious diplomatic gatherings, her presence a quiet anchor amidst the meaningless chatter?

The thought twisted something deep in his chest. Lucien had always dismissed the idea of family as frivolous—an obligation for duty's sake, not something to desire.

But this… this wasn’t duty. It was longing.

“Your Highness?” the driver’s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. “We’ll arrive at the palace in ten minutes.”

Lucien grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting to the city lights beyond the window. They flickered like stars—beautiful, distant, untouchable.

Just like her, he thought bitterly.

But the image remained, stubborn and vivid. Y/N curled up on the couch beside him, Isabelle asleep in her lap, the soft glow of a forgotten lamp illuminating the room. Peaceful. Domestic. Real.

Lucien closed his eyes, jaw tightening.

He’d never been one to chase fantasies. But this?

This felt dangerously close to something he needed.

The moment Lucien stepped out of the sleek black car, the entire palace seemed to still. The guards standing at attention faltered for just a second. The maids exchanging hushed whispers in the hallway fell silent. Even the ever-stoic butler, who had served the royal family for years, blinked in surprise.

Because Lucien wasn’t scowling.

In fact, there was a distinct lightness in his expression, his usual brooding aura noticeably softened. It wasn’t quite a smile—no, that would be too much—but the sharp edge of his usual cold demeanor had dulled, replaced by something dangerously close to contentment.

His best friend and most trusted guard, Elias, stepped forward, eyeing him warily. “Rough evening?” he asked, expecting the usual grumble about dull conversations and suffocating royal obligations.

Lucien merely hummed, shrugging off his coat with an unusual ease. “Not at all.”

Elias narrowed his eyes. “Did someone die?”

That earned him a sharp glance, but the usual bite behind it was absent. “No.”

“…Did you kill someone?”

Lucien exhaled, shaking his head as he handed his coat to a maid. “I simply had an unexpectedly tolerable day.”

That did nothing to reassure Elias. In fact, it only made his suspicion deepen. The Crown Prince did not have tolerable evenings—especially not at public events.

As Lucien strode through the grand halls, the palace staff cautiously peered from their stations, whispering amongst themselves. The murmurs reached his siblings, who had gathered in the lounge. His eldest sister, Celeste, arched a brow when she saw him pass by, wine glass in hand.

“Lucien,” she called out, stopping him. “You look…” She tilted her head, scrutinizing him like one would examine a rare specimen. “Uncharacteristically… pleasant.”

His younger brother, Adrian, leaned forward on the couch, grinning. “Oh, this is concerning. Did you finally find a hobby other than terrorizing foreign diplomats?”

Lucien shot him a flat look. “Hardly.”

Celeste exchanged a knowing glance with Adrian before smirking. “Ah. So it's someone, not something.”

Lucien didn’t answer, but the faint flicker of something in his gaze was all the confirmation they needed.

“Well, whoever they are,” Celeste mused, taking a sip of wine, “keep them around. It’s nice to see you not looking like you’re planning someone’s assassination for once.”

Lucien scoffed, turning away, but even as he walked off, their words lingered.

Keep them around.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because Lucien already knew—he had no intention of letting Y/N slip away.

[jjoppees]

I'm Still Yours

pairing: yandere!husband!Caleb x wife!reader

tags: angst, HINTS of fluff, explosions ig, romance, pregnancy, established relationship-married, obsession, I don't even know if I can call this yandere since it's Caleb LMAO, no other descriptions except for pregnant fem reader, no beta we die like Caleb

Based on this post

Caleb’s heartbeat lulled you into a sense of security as you leaned against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, a reassuring rhythm beneath your fingertips. You pressed your palm to his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth wrapped around you.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over the small swell of your belly. “We’re having a baby.”

You roll your eyes as a soft smile tugged at your lips. “You’ve been saying that for months, don’t you get tired of it?”

“Nope, I’ll probably keep saying it until she’s here.” Caleb bent down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet her. My pipsqueak’s going to be a mother.”

Your fingers tightened in his uniform. “And to think the man who accidentally locked and left me in the attic is going to be a father.”

Caleb chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Hey! That was an accident. Besides, I’m going to spoil the little princess rotten, you know that?”

You laughed. “Never doubted it.”

In the blink of an eye, your very world crashed and burned.

One moment, you were laughing from his cheesy dad jokes, the next, he was ripped away from you so soon. That  violent explosion reduced your childhood home into burning rubble. The blast came without warning, its deafening boom swallowed everything in its path. You clutched your belly, your trembling hands desperate to shield the unborn life within you.

Smoke filled the air, searing your throat with every desperate breath. Through tear-filled eyes, you tried to push yourself up, your vision dimming, contrasting the fiery wreckage that had once been your safe haven. You screamed his name, your voice raw and broken, but it was futile.

Your mind refused to accept the truth.

 Your heart almost pounded out of your chest as you clawed at the debris, your hands raw from trying to find any sign of him. The heat charred your skin, and the metallic scent of blood and ash filled your nostrils, but none of it mattered. 

All that mattered was finding him.

You gasped for air, struggling to stay conscious as exhaustion and grief devoured you. Inside of you, Caleb’s permanent reminder stirred, a faint reminder that you were not entirely alone. 

But how could you go on without him? To live in a world that cruelly took him from you? A world that could take your baby too?

Your body trembled as sobs wracked your frame, the realization stabbing you in the heart. 

He was gone. 

The love of your life, the father of your child, the man who had promised to always be by your side—gone in an instant. 

And all you could do was scream his name.

It was suffocating.

Every morning, you woke up reaching for him, only to find the bed cold and empty. The silence of your room was deafening, broken only by the soft whimpers of your newborn baby—Caleb’s daughter. The symbol of the love that the two of you carefully curated over the years.

You were on maternity leave, which meant endless hours spent alone, caring for a child who would never meet her father. A child who had Caleb’s eyes, his hair, his smile. Every time you looked at her, it was a cruel reminder of the very man you had lost.

Some nights, you cried yourself to sleep. Other nights, you sat in the nursery, holding your baby close, whispering stories about her father so She would never forget the man who loved and cherished her before she was even born.

The Farspace Fleet, a name spoken in hushed whispers, an organization so powerful that even the highest-ranking officials answered to their commander—the Fleet Colonel.

No one dared to challenge him. No one questioned his authority.

And now, he was here.

Caleb.

But he was not your Caleb.

He stood before you, his uniform pristine, his expression unreadable and devoid of any emotions. But his eyes—those same eyes you had fallen in love with—burned with something dangerous. Something obsessive.

Your heart pounded. “Caleb…”

His gaze softened as he stepped forward, reaching for you. “Fate can be cruel. In this world, you live. You and our baby.” His lips curled into something akin to relief, but there was a dark edge to it. 

“I won’t lose you again.”

From that moment, he made it his mission to take you back.

He used his power, his influence, his fleet to ensure you and the baby were safe, protected, provided for. But it wasn’t just protection—it was control. Every move you made, every decision, he was there. 

Watching. 

Waiting.

Unfortunately for you, he couldn’t differentiate from protecting you and taking away your freedom.

“I can give you everything,” he murmured one night, standing in the doorway of your quarters. “A life without struggle. Without fear. All you have to do is let me in.”

You swallowed hard. “Caleb, this isn’t right.”

His jaw tightened. “In my universe, I failed. I let you die. Do you know what that did to me?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “I spent every second of my life without you in agony. Don’t you understand, pips? I can’t lose you again. ”

You looked down at your daughter, sleeping peacefully in your arms. “But I’m not her. And she’s not…”

“She is my daughter. Our little princess, remember?” Caleb’s voice was firm, unwavering. “And you are my wife.”

Tears burned your eyes. “My Caleb is dead.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your face. “We promised to love each other in every universe. The Caleb you knew is still me, and so will the others in every universe. One thing that will never change is the love we have for you.”

You didn’t know how long you could resist him.

He was everywhere. Every time your daughter reached for him, calling him “Dada,” something inside you cracked. Every time he looked at you with that desperate longing.

You felt your resolve wavering.

welp, i tried.

if someone wants to remake this, feel free to do so, just tag me

[ironicallyyn]

Mc: hey Lucifer.. wanna see something funny?

Lucifer: ... Sure?

Mc: shout

Lucifer: (shouts... But nothing happens) ?

Mc: (shouts)

Mammon, Levi and Asmo barged into the room: I HEARD SHOUTING!! MC ARE YOU OKAY!!??

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴄ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅs ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yandere mc donalds worker who first sees you when you ordered some food as he cooking some patties

yandere mc donalds worker who got called and caught out of his gaze, shaking his head and finally focusing on the patties that were now burnt bc he was paying more attention to you than them

yandere mc donalds worker who the next day, he got the cashier shift

yandere mc donalds worker who hopes you come back

yandere mc donalds worker who perks up when he notices your pretty face walk through the door, opening it

yandere mc donalds worker who immediately fixed his appearance, fixing his messy hair somehow and dusting off his clothes

yandere mc donalds worker who acts as if he's the main character suddenly, flipping his hair and everything while taking your order, making sure the light is hitting the right places in his face

yandere mc donalds worker who literally is fighting his urges to put a fucking love potion in your food

yandere mc donalds worker who suddenly puts his working shirt into a tiny shirt, rolling it up to his waist like damn hoe we get it ur a skinny legend🙄

yandere mc donalds worker who literally tries seducing you in front of his boss, not giving af

yandere mc donalds worker who acts as if his job was his dream job now, waiting for you patiently so you could come back to MC donalds

yandere mc donalds worker who literally cums in ur MC flurry, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he yanks on his dick, biting his lip to hold in his quiet whimpers

yandere mc donalds worker who adds a lil extra flavour in ur MC flurry

yandere mc donalds worker who literally pays for it food despite he is literally a broke ass mf

yandere mc donalds worker who wants to give you head in the Mc donalds bathroom so bad

yandere mc donalds worker who gives you origami made flowers and hearts because he's too broke to buy real gifts

yandere mc donalds worker who luvs being ur cook and cashier<333

[gabbytbll]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 ⚠: 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤.

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈⊘

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄'𝐒 ╰┈➤: 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬. 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐎𝐎𝐂! 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭.

𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 - 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 ����𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @k1ssyoursister 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡♡

ྐ✚ We all know he stalks you with mephisto 24/7 from his stalking he has learned everything about you and i mean everything.

ྐ✚ He knows what you like to eat the most so he will randomly buy food for you whenever he feels like u didn't eat enough.

ྐ✚ He is a VERY possessive man, so whenever he sees a guy or girl flirting with you then their usually dead by tomorrow for messing with his darling without his permission.

ྐ✚ He hates to make you scared of him but if he has to do something you don't like he throws that thought out the window to do what he thinks is best for his darling.

ྐ✚ You know not to go on dates with people but whenever sylus makes you mad, you disobey him to get back at him for something he did.

ྐ✚ He favorite punishment method is tying you up to the bed post and leaving you for hours with a vibrator teasing you while he leaves to go do work or he just sits there and watches you while playing with the settings to the vibrator on his phone.

ྐ✚ You know the rules he has set in place for you and he KNOW'S you like breaking them so every time you break a rule, he finds out different ways to punish you.

ྐ✚ This guy is the type of guy to break your legs if you try to leave him, he just loves his darling so much he can't help it.

ྐ✚ He would never force you to have sex with him, but he will get more needy and clingy until you give in to him.

ྐ✚ One of his favorite things to do in bed is to eat your pussy that man gets pussy drunk from how good you taste on his tongue, it's one of his favorite flavors he said.

ྐ✚ He would most definitely get your name tattooed on his chest or abs he doesn't care if you like it or not because he loves it.

ྐ✚ He can be submissive for you if you like him like that, but he prefers being dominate and in control of things.

ྐ✚ He loves how his dick can make you turn into a dumb whore, he likes to take videos of you like that and then show you later to embarrass you.

ྐ✚ Whenever you would be possessive back he would get instantly turned on he thinks you look so hot whenever your mad someone flirts with him.

ྐ✚ He loves to mark you anyway he can to show that you belong to him and no one else, he marks you in places you know you can't hide like under your chin or near your ear.

ྐ✚ When you got kidnapped by his enemy's, he started a war with the people who kidnapped or hurt you and of course he won just for you.

ྐ✚ Will have sex with you ANYWHERE he doesn't care about public decency when it comes to you, would kill anyone who seen you while you and him have sex cause only he can see you like that.

ྐ✚ He would kill anyone just because you said so or complained about them, he can't have his darling sad about what another person did to you that's a no no for him.

ྐ✚ You know how much he's obsessed with you, and you use it to your advantage sometimes because you love how he would do ANYTHING for you and i mean anything.

ྐ✚ He loves to take you on random expensive dates to whatever he feels like would impress you the most or what you love to do, from a sky restaurant to a massage place.

ྐ❤︎ " p- please slow d- down sylus" you said while arching your back, trying to run from his rough thrust's. He let out a breathy chuckle while watching you struggle from his rough pace " but darling you love it so much- i can feel you clench around me so tight" he said with a groan. You run your hands up his body to wrap your arms around his head to hold onto something. "ughnn please i c- cant" you said, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You clench around his dick as you have your third orgasm of the night. He lets out a small moan. "yesss good girl, cum on my dick" He groaned, words breathy. He started to move his head down to suck on your abused nipples. Your leg's give out as they start to shake around his hips from the overstimulation.

He grabs your hips and starts slamming you back against him making him go even deeper. The sounds of wet skin slapping fill's the hot air. You start moaning louder close to another orgasm. "I'm going to ungh cum ah- again" you said, out of breath. His thrusts turn irregular the more he gets close to his own release. "Fuck darling you're so tight you're going to cut my dick off" Sylus said, teeth grinding together he thinks he can taste metal.

His pace gets more desperate the more he thrusts into you. You start to lose your mind from how deep his is in you, you swear you can feel him in your womb. "Fuckk- ah- i'm cumming ugnh darling~" Sylus said, words slurring as his vison turns white for a couple seconds. It's like something snapped. You let out a loud moan as liquid squirted out from around his dick trying to push his dick out from your tight hole. You whole world turns white from pleasure. He lets out a groan from overstimulation, he almost cum's again from how tight you feel around him.

As you slowly come back down from pleasure you see him above you with a smug smirk. You ignore that look and tried to move from out of his hold to go clean up. "Aww don't be embarrassed darling it was rly hot" he said, with a breathy chuckle. You ignored his remark and tried to get up from the bed to stand up but failed. You let out a sigh "can you help me please" You said in a small voice. He gets up to help you to the bathroom to clean the both of you up.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃

✧𝐓𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞,𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭✧

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭<𝟑

©️ 𝐠𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲𝐭𝐛𝐥𝐥. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴊᴏᴄᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

(۶ૈ ᵒ _ᵒ)۶ૈ=͟͟͞͞ 🏈

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢��𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘧. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘺, 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘮. 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭.

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 & 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 741 words

⭒ a/n: thank you all so much for the support and appreciation!!! i never expected my story to be so well loved :') i will be uploading yan!rockstar pt.2, yan!sea god, and a masterlist after this one! <3 (god i hate jocks)

will you venture down this path?

pop music blasts throughout the forest, bottles of discarded alcohol litter the ground, and a hundred or so young adults looking to mess up their lives dance around the large bonfire. mid-semester exams have just ended and you and your friends have decided to go to Jean Marley's party.

you are now gathered around a smaller campfire with your friends, sharing stories and laughing alongside them. Jean, the star of the party, suddenly speaks up, "who's up for a game?" a collection of voices yell out their own versions of an agreement.

"alright, let's play... truth or dare!"

"i'm pretty sure this is how horror movies start, yeah?" someone whispers into your ear.

you turn to the direction of the whisper, eyes mere centimetres away from Liam's own hazel ones. a small giggle leaves your lips as you take a sip from your cup, "if this was a horror movie, you'd definitely be the killer." Liam gasps dramatically and clenches his dark varsity jacket where his heart would be.

"you'd suspect me?! agh, how could you—"

"oh, come on! don't you think that'd be a great plot? dumb jock— who's not actually dumb— hunts down all his friends, and seemingly has no reason to do so. why would he? he's rich, popular, and has everything he could ever ask for! it's the perfect plot twist."

"well, I could think of one reason why..."

"oh? and that is?"

he moves in closer, and you could smell the faded scent of his expensive cologne mixed with sweat. his sharp eyes droop ever so slightly as if he was now looking down at your lips.

"he was madly in love with the final girl. so much, he'd murder everyone else just to keep them to himself."

"wha—"

you are interrupted by Jean's voice, "y/n! truth or dare?" confusion hits you until you see the bottle has landed on you. oh.

"dare."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Liam couldn't fucking believe you. why would you risk your life for a stupid dare?!

there you were, undressing yourself to prepare to jump off the cliff and into the lake. and here he was, watching with the others from a distance. he'd run over to you right now if he wasn't so... breathless.

phones were out, on-lookers recording this moment. you were barely dressed, figure so captivating you looked like a forest nymph dancing through the currents, the round moonlight created a silhouette of your body that further proved his comparison.

if anyone spreads those pictures of you, he's going to kill them.

in that moment, he felt his soul return to the body of his younger self on the first day of high school— he was trying out for the football team, destroying all the other prepubescent boys with no remorse. tryouts had ended and he was now an official member, that's when he first saw you.

you were on the field with your friends. they'd laid out a small picnic mat with books scattered all over them while you danced to the rhythm of a lana del rey song blaring through your phone speakers.

suddenly he knew— he knew all his prayers for a greater purpose in life were answered, you. the lyrics to the love songs his parents danced to in the garage finally made sense.

the mellow flashback was cut short by the sound of a loud splash in the water. you jumped.

panic settles in and he doesn't think before jumping into the lake with you. people cheer on as they take this as a sign to join in the water.

his biceps cling onto your body as he pulls the both of you to the surface. you wipe away any hair and water on your face and smile up at him. he returns your smile and you both swim to the land.

on land, his calloused hands never seem to retract from your waist. it settles itself on the cold, wet surface of your shirt. you can feel the heat radiating off his hands and an electric tingle in your spine.

people gather around your wet bodies and offer you both towels. it could be adrenaline, but you swear you could feel his grip tighten a little too much when others approach you.

Liam continues to stay by your side all through the night. even during the car ride home, his palms never leave your thigh.

guess you'll have a guard dog for a while.

[demonvibez]

mature (mdni) · tags: suggestive, alcohol, possessive/yandere dia

Diavolo sits across from Lucifer, the Demonus at hand painting both of their cheeks with a certain rosiness, the fireplace crackling away at their side. The Young Prince invited the Avatar of Pride over for a few drinks, knowing they both needed to kick back and let off some steam. Diavolo thought the two would just get lightly buzzed and exchange stories of their favorite memories, as they usually did. However, he couldn't have predicted his mood taking such a dark shift...

He can't even remember how exactly they got onto the subject of you - but neither can deny how much they miss you. They exchange stories of their favorite memories during your time here - but once they reach the bottom of the bottle, Lucifer can feel his inhibitions disappearing, and he's overcome with the urge to tell the Prince his favorite memory of you so far;

The night of your pact...and the intimate activities that followed...

As the Fallen Angel continues to happily go into detail about that night with you, the Demonic Prince can feel jealousy tightening its icy grip on his heart. Descriptions of your bare form have Diavolo's mind racing with a plethora of emotions - envy, greed and wrath all fighting to overpower each other as lust lurks in the shadows. Diavolo does his best not to let his cheerful façade crack, pressing the hell-crystal goblet to his lips as he begins to tune out Lucifer's drunken rambling. He had never seen Lucifer as his adversary before. He always regarded the demon as his best friend - now he is suddenly sizing him up, comparing himself to the Avatar and looking for flaws in his armor. What can he do to show you that he can give you everything you want and more? That he can be everything you need and more? 

The Prince needs a plan.

Though you may be currently in the Human Realm, Diavolo sees that as a non-issue - he can have you in the confines of the Demon Lord's Castle with the slightest of effort. His power, ineffable. His resources, endless. No, the issue stems from your ties to this realm - to the demons whose pacts you've bound. He'll have to be careful when pulling the strings of this very delicate dance - keeping the brothers just far away enough from you to keep you close to him. And if he must remind Lucifer of his place in his Kingdom, of who exactly he and his brothers owe their lives to, he will. All so he can give you the life you deserve - the royalty you deserve. After all, he took Barbatos for himself, so he can just as easily take you too.

Lord Diavolo always gets what he wants - and you will be no different.

· demonvibez ♡ 2023 · do not copy, repost or modify · · likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

[yan-lorkai]

This idea has been on my mind for a while and was wondering if I could request a Yandere! Lilia Vanrouge x Male! Vampire! Reader platonic headcanons

I’ll try and shorten this as best as I can, but long story short, M! Reader was turned into a vampire when he was 13 years old. He had a rare illness that shortened his lifespan. His parents were desperate to keep their baby alive. Fast forward to NRC present day, M! Reader is approximately 16,000 years old. Due to his young transformation, he’s stayed in the body of a 13-year-old boy. His classmates assume he’s a child prodigy. He casually mentions his real age during Halloween. Lilia lowkey brain freezes since he’s literally been babying M! Reader since he was first sorted into Diasomnia, and now he’s just finding out that he is in fact the baby in this situation because his 700 years of experience are nothing compared to 16,000 years.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: This was so funny, help-- imagine you dote and baby talk with someone and then you found out that this person is older than you. Tbh this happens with me all the time 🤡🤡 y'all I'm 20 but I have the same face since I was like 12. Anyway, I hope u like darling!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You must think this is funny. But you can see Lilia going through the 5 stages of grief in the short span of 10 seconds. First of all, he is in disbelief. Completely, utterly disbelief as he stares at you. As a general, he knows you're not lying and this leaves him with conflicted emotions he has to deal with before approaching you again (which happens quite quickly to be honest, Lilia is old enough to know that the age difference doesn't matter all that much. You're immortal, he is immortal. So what?)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He understands the struggle you may go through, looking this young but being this older, alone while you wander the world without ever stopping. As another immortal being who fought and saw death, Lilia can relate with your problems more than anyone, even if he is so much younger than you, he is still too paternal with you, it's the fae instinct.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Which isn't to say that you don't tease him for being small, cute and younger than you are. Yet, for the first time in a long time, you feel you can simply relax and stop being so on guard. Someone else can see you and it's offering you a shoulder to lean on, so you take that offer; even more because it's hard to be alive this long and being so lonely. You sometimes miss your family, though you can't remember at all their faces or voices, or even the time you spent with them. It was so long ago.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Both of you develop a codependent relationship where you fall into the role of a dutiful son and him into the doting father - it's so strange at first because you can't remember how a dad acts nor what they do with their sons and the time passing doesnt help at all. Though age doesn't matter. What matters is that both of you are healing and learning with one another slowly.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ If you're ever feeling hungry, he lets you drink from him or from a cup if you're uncomfortable. Though, he can help you hunt for blood if needed. He knows some students who were talking badly about you that nobody would miss.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Overall, he will adopt you and introduce you to his other children, hoping that all of you get along, even though your secret is very much safe with him if you don't want him to spoil it to them or to anyone else.

[vii-strawberry]

The 2nd LI needs more appreciation!!

[fidesvirtusobsession]

Echoes of a Thousand Nights

Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader

Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8

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 car rolled to a slow stop, against the cobblestone streets. Alaric, (Y/n), and Elera stepped out into the cool night air, the grandiose sight of the manor before them illuminated by flickering torchlight. The estate stood tall and imposing, its black stone walls bathed in the glow of soft golden light spilling from the windows. The smell of fresh roses from the garden mixed with the faint scent of blood from within, and the distant hum of conversations echoed out across the grounds.

Elera was the first to step out of the carriage, grinning as she took in the lavish scene. She loved these kinds of gatherings. "Well, well, looks like the night’s already buzzing." She cast a knowing glance at Alaric before turning to (Y/n), her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine."

Alaric had his gaze trained on the doors, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the sea of vampires walking about in their evening attire. He adjusted his coat, checking to ensure everything was in place before he offered (Y/n) his arm. “Shall we?”

Her heart skipped at the gesture, though she tried not to show it. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the vast estate, the sounds of laughter and music mixing in the air. There was a certain heaviness that clung to her chest, the memory of the auction house whispering in her mind like an old ghost.

“(Y/n)?” Alaric’s voice brought her back to the present, and when she lifted her eyes to his, she saw nothing but sincerity.

“You’re safe here,” he said softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Her breath caught. She knew the truth of his words, but something still lingered, a thread of doubt gnawing at the edges of her resolve. She looked away for just a moment before taking his arm, offering him a small, yet grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Together, they walked toward the entrance, the sounds of the night becoming clearer the closer they got. Music spilled from inside, a delicate waltz that blended perfectly with the soft murmur of voices. The doors opened before them, revealing a grand hall, its walls adorned with fine art and gold-trimmed chandeliers.

The other guests were already mingling, the air thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Vampires and humans alike, although the majority of the guests were of the former, had gathered in their finest attire. Women wore dresses that shimmered in the dim light, their jewels catching the glow. Men in tailored suits and long coats stood in small clusters, discussing matters of business and politics.

As they entered, Elera gave (Y/n) a knowing wink, clearly enjoying the discomfort (Y/n) couldn’t entirely hide. Alaric, too, could sense her unease, though he remained close, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as they moved deeper into the ballroom.

Once inside, a vampire attendant came over with a polite smile, greeting them and offering them refreshments. Elera, ever the social butterfly, immediately began to mingle, leaving Alaric and (Y/n) to navigate the room.

“You look beautiful,” Alaric said quietly, his voice low, just for her. “I’m glad you decided to come.” He wasn’t sure if it was more for her sake or his, but as he said it, his fingers brushed against hers in a subtle, reassuring touch.

(Y/n) smiled faintly, grateful, but still on edge. The laughter and music felt distant to her, as though they were on the outside looking in. She felt out of place, like an intruder.

"Let's just take it slow," Alaric murmured, sensing her discomfort. "We can stay here for a bit and then leave whenever you're ready."

It wasn’t much of a plan, but the reassurance in his tone made her feel a little lighter.

They made their way to a quieter corner of the ballroom, where a small group of vampires stood conversing. Alaric kept a protective but subtle distance from her, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd, always vigilant. And though she hadn’t realized it yet, the tension in the air began to slowly dissipate, her heart less heavy now that he was close.

But it wasn’t until he looked at her, those dark eyes of his soft and filled with something she couldn't quite define, that (Y/n) realized she wasn’t as alone in this space as she thought. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a place here, beside him.

The soft strains of the orchestra filled the air, the music floating like a dream, weaving through the room in delicate waltzes. Alaric and (Y/n) found themselves drawn to the dance floor once more, the atmosphere around them feeling almost surreal. The crowd moved in fluidity around them, but for a moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of them, surrounded by the hum of the music and the quiet click of their shoes on the polished floor.

Alaric held her close, his hand steady on the small of her back as they moved together, a practiced ease to his steps. His presence was like a steady anchor, keeping her grounded, and despite her initial nerves, she found herself relaxing, letting the rhythm take over.

"How are you finding it so far?" Alaric asked, his voice low, just for her. His eyes never left hers, watching her closely as if gauging her every move.

She took a breath, glancing around the ballroom. It was opulent, grandiose, but it also felt overwhelming, the sea of vampires swirling around them, all with their own intentions and secrets. "It’s... different," she said, a hint of nervous laughter in her voice. "I never imagined I'd be at a place like this." She caught his gaze, her lips quivering into a small smile. "Not in a million years."

Alaric’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I can imagine this is quite the contrast from where you were before." His eyes softened, though a faint glimmer of something darker flickered beneath the surface. "But I’m glad you’re here."

She nodded, her eyes moving back to the sea of dancers. The chandeliers overhead cast golden light, and the dark windows revealed the moonlit night beyond, but all she could focus on was the sensation of Alaric’s touch, the warmth and steadiness of him guiding her through the dance.

“I never thought I would be able to walk into a room like this," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes it still feels like I'm pretending."

Alaric’s gaze softened even further, and for a moment, he said nothing, simply guiding her through the steps, as if the act of dancing itself was a form of reassurance.

"You’re not pretending," he finally murmured, his hand tightening slightly on hers. "You belong here, (Y/n), just as you belong with me." His voice held a certain gravity, a sincerity that was impossible to mistake. "This... is your life now."

She didn’t know what to say to that, and the only thing she could offer him in return was the gentle squeeze of his hand, her heart fluttering with a feeling she hadn’t been ready for.

They danced in silence for a moment, the music shifting subtly, becoming a little more lively, the rhythm quickening as the tempo of the orchestra increased. Alaric’s steps became more fluid, more precise, as he led her into a lively spin, her laughter breaking free as she followed his lead.

For just a moment, she let herself go, letting the music carry her, feeling as though she were floating on air. Alaric’s hand never wavered, always steady, always guiding.

As the song swirled around them, they found themselves at the edge of the ballroom, the music fading into a soft background hum, leaving the two of them momentarily alone in their small bubble.

"Alaric," she said, her voice almost uncertain, "do you ever feel... like you’re being watched? Like everyone in this room knows something you don’t?"

His lips curled into a subtle smile. "I’ve been alive long enough to understand that everyone in a room like this is watching, whether they admit it or not."

A flicker of something passed through her, and she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "And you don’t mind it? You seem... unbothered."

He gave her a brief, knowing glance. "I don’t mind it because I know how to handle it. And besides..." His voice dropped to a near whisper, a playful gleam in his eyes. "There’s only one pair of eyes I need to worry about tonight."

Her heart skipped a beat. The words were gentle, almost teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in them that sent warmth rushing to her cheeks.

Before she could say anything more, a soft chuckle broke through their bubble of quiet. Elera, who had quietly approached them during their dance, was now standing at the edge of the floor, her smile wide and full of amusement.

"Don’t get too comfortable, Alaric," Elera teased, her voice light but knowing. "I’m sure there are plenty of other ‘watchful eyes’ here for you."

Alaric shot her a look, his posture stiffening slightly, but there was a calmness in his eyes that told (Y/n) he wasn’t truly concerned. His gaze remained locked on her, the playful edge in his expression never fading.

"Let them watch," he said, his words soft but firm. "But I’m only dancing with one person tonight."

Elera let out a dramatic sigh, her eyes rolling playfully as she shook her head. "Of course, of course. But just remember, you’re not the only one who has a claim to her."

With that, she disappeared back into the crowd, leaving them to continue their dance in peace.

(Y/n) blinked, the fluttering in her chest returning, though now it was mixed with something else—something deeper, something unspoken. As the music swirled around them again, she felt more certain, more grounded than she had in a long time.

At this moment, nothing else mattered. It was just her and Alaric, moving in time with the music, lost in the rhythm of their own world.

The music gradually slowed, the tempo easing into a peaceful lull as the dance came to its natural end. Alaric’s hand remained on her waist, his fingers warm and steady, keeping her close even as the final notes of the orchestra filled the air. The room around them still buzzed with energy, but the intensity of the dance had left them both slightly breathless.

"You’ve been amazing," Alaric said, his voice soft, almost in awe as he gently guided her away from the center of the floor. His touch was comforting, reassuring, as if the dance had left him in need of grounding as much as she did.

She laughed softly, her breath still coming in little gasps from the exertion. "I think I was stumbling around more than anything."

He gave her a look—half teasing, half indulgent. "Hardly. You were perfect."

They made their way toward the edge of the ballroom, where a quiet alcove had been set up with plush chairs and soft lighting. The soft hum of conversation drifted in the air, and the smell of various delicacies being served wafted toward them.

Alaric paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before turning to her. "You’ve danced long enough for one evening. Let’s eat, and then perhaps you can rest for a bit."

She nodded, grateful for the suggestion, feeling her limbs finally beginning to grow heavy from the evening’s events. "I don’t think I could dance any longer even if I tried," she admitted, a small chuckle slipping from her lips.

Alaric smiled warmly, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer than necessary. "Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to." He offered her his arm, a subtle but inviting gesture that she gladly accepted, her hand resting gently in the crook of his arm.

Together, they walked through the opulent halls of the manor, the sound of their shoes echoing softly in the quiet space. The more they moved away from the grand ballroom, the quieter it became, and soon they were outside in the cool night air, walking toward a secluded garden area just behind the manor. A long table had been set up under the stars, decorated with candles and flowers, the scene looking more intimate and peaceful than the lavish festivities inside.

Alaric gestured toward a seat. "Please, sit. I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve earned it." His voice held a subtle tenderness, one that was rare and genuine.

She sat, feeling the warmth of the night’s atmosphere settle around her like a soft embrace. As she glanced up at Alaric, she couldn’t help but notice how much more relaxed he seemed in this quieter setting, away from the eyes of the grand event.

"You’ve been running around all night," she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Are you sure you’re not tired?"

His lips quivered upward, though his gaze softened with affection. "I’m more concerned about you, (Y/n). Tonight’s been a lot. You should take a moment to rest. You’ve been amazing."

Before she could respond, a servant appeared with a plate of delicate food, placing it before her with a small bow. She smiled politely, the simple act of kindness reminding her of how different her life had become since coming here. Alaric had made sure she felt comfortable, safe, in a way she hadn’t known in years.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of gratitude she didn’t often voice. "This is nice."

Alaric took a seat beside her, his presence comforting, like the calm after a storm. He didn’t speak at first, letting her enjoy her meal in silence. The soft clink of cutlery and the distant hum of the party was all that could be heard between them.

After a moment, he glanced over at her, watching her carefully. "How are you feeling?"

She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a thoughtful look. "Better. The dancing… It was overwhelming at first, but you were right. I’m glad I did it." Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of genuine warmth there.

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest, but his eyes never left her. "I’m glad, too. But remember, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Take your time."

She nodded, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his words. The calmness between them felt different than it had before—more intimate, more genuine. She realized that, despite the layers of history and tension between them, Alaric had somehow become a constant presence in her life, a steady force she hadn’t realized she needed.

The evening carried on with ease, the food and wine softening her nerves further, and soon the conversation shifted to lighter topics. They spoke of everything and nothing, the quiet rhythm of the night lulling them into a comfortable familiarity that neither had expected but both appreciated.

As the night deepened, the sounds of the banquet softened in the distance, and Alaric offered her a final, lingering glance, his gaze filled with affection. "You can rest here as long as you need. No one will disturb you."

She smiled, feeling a sense of contentment she hadn’t known in a long time. "Thank you, Alaric. This... this has been a strange night, but I’m glad I’m here."

His smile, though small, was soft and full of understanding. "I’m glad, too."

And as they sat in the tranquil garden, the world seemed to pause around them, leaving them both in a quiet space of peace—just the two of them, sharing an unspoken moment of calm amidst the chaos of the evening.

The music swelled around them, a soft, melodic flow that was almost hypnotic. The atmosphere of the banquet was supposed to be soothing, yet Alaric couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with (Y/n). Her posture had stiffened again, her gaze flicking to the crowd, a subtle unease taking hold of her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes darted from face to face in the crowd, though she wasn’t truly seeing them.

Alaric, ever watchful, noticed the change in her immediately. He had been so absorbed in the way she looked tonight, the way she glided effortlessly through the crowd beside him, that he hadn’t noticed the discomfort that was growing in her. The smell of blood—the deep, intoxicating scent of vampires—had shifted, and he realized she must have caught the scent too.

He took a step closer to her, his voice low and gentle, careful not to make her feel singled out.

“You’re not enjoying this, are you?” His tone wasn’t a question; it was an observation. He could feel the tension radiating off her.

She hesitated, glancing up at him briefly, her eyes betraying the quiet battle she was waging within herself. There was a flicker of fear in them, quickly masked by a forced smile.

“I’m fine, Alaric,” she said, but her voice lacked its usual strength, a note of uncertainty creeping in.

Alaric’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the ballroom. It was too easy for a human to feel overwhelmed here, surrounded by so many vampires, many of whom had no care for how their presence affected someone like (Y/n). The scent of blood, the hum of conversation, the overwhelming pressure—it was a lot to take in, especially for someone who had lived through the horrors of being sold like cattle.

He could smell the blood rising in the air as more vampires filtered through the room, each one more intoxicating than the last. He knew it was difficult for her to be here, with that lingering fear still gripping her heart from the auction house.

Before she could protest, Alaric placed a gentle hand on her arm, his touch grounding, steadying her.

“Let’s take a walk, hm?” he suggested quietly. “A scroll outside, perhaps. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.”

She looked at him for a moment, as if measuring his sincerity, before nodding. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her as she followed him out of the ballroom. They made their way toward the grand doors leading outside, Alaric’s hand never leaving the small of her back, guiding her with careful precision.

As they stepped into the cool night air, a slight breeze ruffled (Y/n)’s dress, and for the first time since they’d arrived, she felt her shoulders relax. The suffocating weight of the banquet hall lifted off her chest. Her breaths came a little easier, her heart rate steadying.

Alaric slowed his pace, letting her catch up with him as they moved toward the garden that stretched out before them. The sounds of the banquet faded, replaced by the chirping of distant night creatures and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now, no longer commanding or imposing, but quiet and sincere. “I should have noticed sooner. I don’t want you to feel trapped in there.”

She looked at him, surprised by his empathy. It was rare for someone in his position to even notice the discomfort of a human, let alone try to soothe it.

“I didn’t want to ruin the night,” she admitted, her voice small. “I’ve never been to something like this... it’s overwhelming.”

He nodded, understanding. “It’s a lot to take in. No one should have to endure that feeling. Not if they don’t want to.”

They continued walking through the garden, the soft light of the moon illuminating their path. The night air was fresh, and (Y/n) felt herself starting to relax again, the tension in her shoulders easing with each step. She was grateful for Alaric’s presence, his quiet understanding.

She glanced up at him, her voice steady as she spoke, “Thank you.”

Alaric smiled faintly, a rare softness in his expression. “You don’t need to thank me. Just promise me you’ll tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable again. I’d rather take a walk through the gardens than watch you suffer in there.”

She smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest. For the first time in a long while, she felt truly cared for—not as a commodity, not as something to be used, but as someone who was seen and protected.

“Deal,” she said, looking up at the stars.

They walked in silence for a while, the atmosphere around them calm and peaceful, before Alaric finally spoke again, his voice quieter than before.

“If you ever need to leave early... or if this all gets too much, we can go. You don’t have to stay here longer than you’re comfortable with.”

(Y/n) looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes making her heart flutter. “I know. And that means more to me than you realize.”

As they continued their stroll, the night felt less suffocating, and for the first time, (Y/n) felt like she could breathe again. And it was because of him—Alaric, who had noticed, who cared.

The garden stretched out before them, bathed in the soft light of the moon, the air cool and fresh against their skin. The scent of roses, lavender, and damp earth filled the air, grounding (Y/n) with every step.

She walked in quiet comfort beside him, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound accompanying them. There was no pressure, no looming expectations—just the serene peace of the night around them.

Alaric kept his gaze ahead, though his attention was clearly on her. He knew this was a delicate balance—allowing her to have space without losing sight of her, ensuring she felt protected, not confined. His stride was slow, purposeful, and he glanced at her every so often, watching as her tense shoulders gradually relaxed, her steps becoming more measured, more confident with each passing moment.

“You look better,” he said after a few moments, his voice a bit quieter, softer in the calm of the garden. “A little more at ease.”

She didn’t respond right away, her eyes drawn to the delicate flowers in full bloom around them. She let herself enjoy the simple beauty of the garden, the peace it offered. It was strange—she had never felt such a deep sense of comfort in such a place before, especially not in the presence of someone who could be so intimidating if he wanted to be.

“I’ve never been outside like this,” she finally admitted, her voice thoughtful. “Not without fear of... someone chasing me. Or hunting me.”

Alaric’s gaze softened, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. It wasn’t lost on him how much she had been through. He had learned bits and pieces of her history, the darkness that had followed her, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine the weight of it all.

“You’re not being hunted here, (Y/n),” he said gently, his voice almost a whisper. “Not by anyone. Not by me.”

She glanced up at him then, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There was no jest, no challenge, just pure sincerity. And there, for a fleeting moment, she saw a side of him she hadn’t quite expected—a quiet, unspoken depth, one that held the same weight as the vows of protection he had made to her earlier.

“Thank you,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Alaric gave her a small nod, his hand brushing gently against hers for just a second. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out fully, but he didn’t. He respected her space, and perhaps, that was the most intimate gesture of all.

The silence that followed was comfortable, soothing. They continued walking through the garden, side by side, each step taking them further away from the chaos of the banquet. (Y/n) felt herself unwind more, the tension in her chest slowly dissipating.

“It’s... beautiful out here,” she said quietly, her voice a little more relaxed now. “I didn’t expect this from a place like this.”

Alaric glanced over at her, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “There’s more to this place than what you’ve seen so far. I could show you the entire estate, if you’d like. Some of the rooms inside, the view from the tower—there’s much more than just the halls of that banquet.”

She smiled back at him, the idea of exploring more of the manor appealing to her. But it wasn’t just the idea of the estate that drew her in; it was the simple, shared moment between them. It wasn’t about the opulence of the place or the politics of the vampires. It was about this—the peace, the quiet, the chance to be herself, without the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“I’d like that,” she said, glancing at him with a soft, genuine smile.

For a long moment, they simply walked, enjoying the quiet stillness of the garden. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting shadows and highlighting the soft curve of flowers and foliage. The scent of the earth and flowers was calming, reminding (Y/n) of simpler times, of places she had never known but somehow longed for.

As they reached the far end of the garden, where the path curved to reveal a small, tranquil pond, Alaric stopped, glancing at her with a careful expression.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, “you don’t need to pretend with me. I can see when you’re not comfortable. And you don’t have to force yourself to be okay all the time.”

Her gaze flicked to him in surprise, his words striking a chord within her. She wasn’t sure what it was—whether it was the honesty in his tone or the kindness he had shown her since she arrived—but for the first time, she felt like she could actually trust someone to not see her as fragile. To not view her as something to be fixed.

“I know,” she whispered, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a nearby stone. “But sometimes, I don’t know how to be anything but what I’ve always been.”

Alaric’s gaze softened further, and without thinking, he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, a firm, reassuring touch. “Then let me show you another way. You’re not alone anymore. Not here.”

Her breath caught in her chest at his words, and for a moment, she let herself sink into the comfort of them, allowing herself to believe—if only for a fleeting moment—that maybe she wasn’t alone. Not really.

They stood there for a while longer, the quiet hum of the garden surrounding them as they both silently processed the rare peace between them. And in that moment, (Y/n) couldn’t help but feel a small shift within herself. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to live again.

The cool evening air had begun to settle, the warmth of the banquet now a distant memory. (Y/n) shivered slightly, the chill of the night seeping into her bones as they stood by the pond, the moon reflecting off the still water. She wasn’t used to being outside for this long, especially in the presence of so many unfamiliar things. The quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the garden was comforting, but the cold had a way of creeping in, reminding her of the world outside this sanctuary.

Without a word, Alaric glanced down at her, noticing the subtle tremor in her movements. His eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he moved closer. He had been silent for a while now, lost in thought as he watched her, and he wasn’t sure if it was the cool night air or something else that had caused the shift in her demeanor. Either way, he wasn’t about to let her stand there in discomfort.

Before she could say a word, Alaric reached for his coat. In one swift motion, he draped it over her shoulders, the fabric warm from his body, and she was immediately enveloped in its comforting weight. The deep, rich scent of him lingered in the coat’s fibers, a reminder of his presence.

“Here,” he said softly, his voice low as he adjusted the coat around her shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin as he did so, a fleeting touch that left an undeniable warmth behind. “It’s not much, but it should help.”

She looked up at him, surprised by his thoughtfulness. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” he interrupted gently, his hand lingering on the coat for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze softened, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “But you shouldn’t have to feel cold.”

The sincerity in his tone was impossible to ignore, and for a moment, (Y/n) felt an overwhelming sense of safety and warmth radiating from him. The coat was heavy, but it was more than just the fabric that provided comfort. It was the quiet protection that came with it, the unspoken promise that he would ensure she was taken care of.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked down, her fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as she instinctively pulled it tighter around herself. “Thank you, Alaric.”

His gaze softened, and there was something almost unreadable in the way he watched her, his eyes lingering on her for a moment too long. He had been doing his best to maintain control, to keep his distance and remain composed, but seeing her so vulnerable, so genuine in that moment, made it harder than ever.

He cleared his throat, pulling himself out of the trance he had fallen into. “Let’s get you back inside,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I think you’ve had enough of the cold for tonight.”

As he guided her back toward the manor, his hand brushed against hers for the briefest moment, a silent reassurance. He couldn’t help but feel the desire to protect her, to make sure she was safe, and that feeling seemed to settle deep within him as they walked in step.

The grandeur of the banquet hall loomed ahead, the doors opening in front of them, and yet, despite the overwhelming luxury and the crowd of vampires waiting inside, Alaric found that he didn’t mind the quiet of the garden so much. He didn’t mind the peace they had shared in those fleeting moments, away from the expectations of the night.

As they stepped through the threshold, Alaric’s hand once again brushed against hers, guiding her inside. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill of the garden, but the presence of the crowd, the vibrant energy of the banquet, didn’t seem as important now. Not with her by his side.

“Ready to head back in?” he asked, his voice softer, almost as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them in that moment.

She gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his. There was something different in her expression, a quiet understanding that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps it was the night, the solitude of the garden, or the kindness he had shown her, but whatever it was, it had allowed a crack in the wall she had built up around herself.

“I think I am,” she replied, her voice steady now, more at ease. She smiled up at him, her fingers still lightly gripping the coat around her.

Alaric’s heart gave a small, almost imperceptible lurch at the sight of her smile, and for the briefest moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to trust him—just a little more.

And as they walked back into the heart of the banquet, he felt a quiet contentment settle in his chest. Whatever the night held, whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them all by her side. And that was enough.

The grand ballroom was alive with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, the soft strains of the orchestra weaving through the air. Elera stood by the edge of the room, a glass of wine in hand, her eyes scanning the crowd. The flicker of candlelight on crystal chandeliers reflected in her amused gaze as she observed the various guests mingling and exchanging pleasantries. Despite the vibrant atmosphere, she seemed detached from it all, her focus narrowing on a single person.

Alaric.

He had been dutifully playing his part, moving among the guests with a perfect air of grace, his gaze flickering back toward (Y/n) now and then, a soft tenderness in his movements. But it wasn’t long before Elera’s sharp eyes caught the moment he and (Y/n) quietly slipped out of the ballroom, walking away from the cacophony of conversation, slipping into the garden outside.

Elera couldn’t help the small, knowing smile that tugged at her lips.

She didn’t need to follow them; she knew exactly what was happening. Alaric was smitten—utterly. And (Y/n) was beginning to fall, whether she realized it or not. It was sweet, really. The way the two of them danced around their feelings. But there was something oddly tragic about it too.

She took another sip of her wine, continuing to watch them as they disappeared into the night. The warmth of the room, the chatter, the laughter, all faded into a soft hum in her ears as her attention remained focused on Alaric and (Y/n).

It wasn’t long before Elera felt a presence beside her. She turned to find Ericsson standing by her side, a quiet smile on his lips as he studied her quietly, his eyes flickering to the couple who had just left the room. His gaze lingered for a moment before meeting hers.

“Still watching them?” he asked, amusement evident in his voice.

Elera’s smile only widened, her gaze never leaving the door they had exited through. “I think you already know the answer to that,” she replied, the words almost playful, but there was an edge to them. “It’s quite a show, isn’t it?”

Ericsson chuckled, swirling his glass of wine. “Quite the spectacle. Though I never understood Alaric’s obsession with the same woman. Why keep chasing her? Time and time again, with no hope of ever truly having her.”

Elera arched a brow, her expression both curious and slightly teasing. “And you think you would fare any better?”

Ericsson gave a small, sardonic grin, his gaze turning thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his glass again, watching the liquid move in the crystal. “Not the point. I don’t think he’ll ever truly get what he wants. Why waste so much time, so much patience? He’s already poured years into this.”

Elera's lips curled up into a knowing smile, one that held a quiet sympathy. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ericsson. It’s because of his patience that he’ll succeed. It’s what makes him... Alaric.” She gave a light shrug, her fingers gently holding the base of her glass. “He’s not the sort of man who gives up so easily. And (Y/n)... well, she’s beginning to notice him.”

Ericsson scoffed lightly. “I’m not so sure. She still looks at him like she’s studying a foreign creature, unsure of whether it’s safe to approach or not.”

Elera sighed dramatically, her eyes rolling slightly. “She’s scared, yes, but what does that matter? The truth is, deep down, she’s already become fond of him. She’s just too proud to admit it. But give it time,” she said with a soft smile, her voice gentle, almost affectionate. “They just need a little nudge. That’s all.”

Ericsson’s expression darkened slightly. “And what if that nudge... that patience... is wasted? What if it ends up in ruin for them both?” His voice lowered, a hint of bitterness seeping into his words. “He’ll continue pouring all his devotion into someone who will never be his. It’s almost pathetic.”

Elera met his gaze, her expression shifting into something more contemplative. “No, Ericsson. It’s not pathetic. It’s love, in its rawest, most honest form. If you ask me, it’s beautiful.” She looked back towards the door, her smile still small but knowing. “And if he has to suffer for it, then so be it. What is life without sacrifice?”

Ericsson was quiet for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. His gaze, cold and sharp, turned once more to the doorway where Alaric and (Y/n) had disappeared. “Perhaps. But you and I both know that this kind of love can destroy a man.”

Elera looked at him then, her eyes soft yet unwavering. “Then let it. At least he will know he gave everything he had. And that, my dear Ericsson, is something that cannot be taken away.”

Her voice had softened, but there was an undeniable strength in it. A conviction that was rare to see in her.

Ericsson stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a small, resigned sigh. “I still don’t understand it.”

Elera chuckled lightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You don’t need to. Sometimes, it’s the things we can’t understand that make life so very interesting.”

Elera continued to sip her wine, her gaze focused on the doorway where Alaric and (Y/n) had just exited the hall. A small, amused smile played on her lips as she watched their retreat. The atmosphere was buzzing with laughter and music, but her attention was elsewhere.

He leaned casually against the pillar beside her, his eyes tracing the path Alaric had taken. “Seems like Alaric’s finally figured out that he can’t hide his feelings for her,” he commented, a slight smirk on his face.

Elera didn’t immediately respond, but her smile deepened as she took another slow sip of her drink. Finally, she turned toward him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“You have an awful way of trying to catch my attention, you know?” she said, her voice teasing but also carrying a note of something more serious. “Pushing Alaric’s buttons like that. It’s almost like you enjoy watching him squirm.”

Ericsson’s expression didn’t falter, though there was a flicker of something dark in his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, feigning innocence. But the edge in his tone gave away his true feelings. “I’m just... encouraging him to wake up and face reality.”

Elera raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Encouraging him? That’s one way to put it. You know, if you weren’t so determined to make everything a challenge, maybe he wouldn’t be so... restless.” Her gaze drifted back to where Alaric had vanished with (Y/n). “He’s been holding back for so long, and you’re only pushing him further.”

Ericsson didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly. He seemed to weigh her words before speaking again, his tone quieter. “You really think he’ll ever have her? She’s... human. And he’s a vampire.” His words dripped with a certain bitterness, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

Elera’s smile softened, and her voice dropped to a more serious note. “Alaric doesn’t think like that. He doesn’t care about the barriers. If anything, the fact that she’s human makes it all the more...” She paused, her words lingering in the air. “...complicated. But that’s what makes it real.”

Ericsson scoffed, but there was a crack in his demeanor, an unspoken doubt. “It’s all just a game to him. All this chasing and waiting. She won’t last, Elera. He’ll lose her in the end, and he’ll be left with nothing.”

Elera looked at him thoughtfully, her gaze softening. “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t a game. It’s never been for him. And it won’t be for her either. They—both of them—they’re real with each other. And sometimes... sometimes, that’s enough. Even if it hurts.”

She took another sip of her wine, as if savoring the thought of it all, before adding with a quiet but knowing smile, “But, of course, you’ll never get it. You prefer to be the one who stirs the pot, not the one who’s standing by when it finally boils over.”

Ericsson’s lips tightened, but his expression remained unreadable. He looked away, his gaze scanning the crowd. “I’m just saying... sooner or later, they’ll both realize how foolish this all is.”

Elera shook her head slightly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You have no patience, Ericsson. It’s not about ‘getting it’ right away. It’s about the slow burn... and Alaric’s been patient enough to wait. He’s not going anywhere.”

With that, Elera turned her attention back to the hallway, her thoughts lingering on Alaric and (Y/n). A moment passed before she spoke again, her voice almost gentle. “You’ll see. In the end, it’s always the quiet devotion that wins out.”

“Alaric’s patience is something, isn’t it?” Ericsson said, appearing beside her, his gaze following the same path she’d been fixated on.“There’s nothing special about it. People always think they can wait forever, but eventually they’ll get tired of it.”

Elera leaned against the railing, her eyes dancing as she watched Alaric and (Y/n) from afar. They were talking in the garden, the soft moonlight accentuating the elegance of their movements. There was something magnetic about the way they were together, something that made Elera’s smile linger.

The familiar sound of footsteps behind her reached her ears, and a slight smirk curled her lips. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Ericsson stood beside her, his gaze following hers. “You know,” he began, his voice low and measured, “you’re awfully fond of watching them.”

Elera arched an eyebrow, her smirk never fading. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

Ericsson’s lips twisted into a knowing grin. “It’s quite obvious. You admire them, don’t you?”

Elera took a slow sip of her wine, not taking her eyes off the pair in the garden. “Admire?” she mused, her tone playful. “I suppose you could say that. They make a rather… beautiful picture, don’t they?”

“Is that all?” Ericsson's voice was laced with sarcasm, his eyes glinting with challenge. “I would think you’d have more to say about it, considering how much time you’ve spent keeping an eye on them.”

Elera finally turned her head, her gaze locking with his. Her smile widened just a fraction. “Oh, I’m sure you’d like me to say more. You’re always so eager to get a rise out of me, Ericsson.”

He leaned in slightly, his presence magnetic as he spoke, his voice just above a whisper. “I’d like you to be honest with me. What do you really think about them?”

Elera’s eyes twinkled as she replied, “I think Alaric has the patience of a saint. He’s been chasing her for weeks now, never giving up, even when it’s clear she’s hesitant. It’s sweet, in a way. Devotion like that doesn’t come around often.”

Ericsson let out a small, bitter laugh. “Patience? Chasing the same woman over and over again? Sounds like a fool’s errand to me. There’s nothing special about it. People like that always end up disappointed.”

Elera’s smile turned playful, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “You’re awfully bitter when it comes to matters of love and devotion.”

Ericsson straightened, a challenge flashing in his eyes. “And what about you, Elera? What do you know about devotion?” His voice was almost teasing now, his proximity causing a spark of tension between them. “You seem to have your own little ways of playing games, don’t you?”

Her laugh was soft, but it held an edge of confidence. “I play my games, but not in the way you think. I know what I want, Ericsson. I just don’t need to prove it to anyone.”

“Is that so?” He leaned in a little closer, a half-smile on his lips. “Maybe you just enjoy keeping people on their toes. Maybe you want them to think you’re untouchable.”

Elera’s smile didn’t falter. “And maybe I just enjoy keeping you guessing.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes held a challenge in them. “After all, it’s so much more fun that way.”

Ericsson’s grin deepened, his eyes narrowing. “You know,” he said, a trace of something darker in his voice, “you’re not quite as elusive as you think. I can see through the games you play. You want something more.”

Elera tilted her head slightly, her gaze never wavering from his. “Perhaps. But I don’t have to tell you everything, do I?”

The air between them seemed to crackle with tension, the flirtatious rivalry undeniable. Yet, even as they exchanged playful barbs, their eyes never strayed far from Alaric and (Y/n), who were now walking back toward the banquet hall, the moonlight casting a soft glow on them.

Elera’s expression softened just slightly as she watched them, her smile more genuine. “But you’re wrong about Alaric,” she said quietly, her voice almost tender. “He’s not a fool. He’s devoted. And that’s something you’ll never understand.”

Ericsson’s gaze followed hers, but his words were quieter, almost regretful. “I understand more than you think, Elera.”

For a moment, the two of them stood side by side, the air between them charged with the unspoken history of their rivalry, their flirtations, and their shared admiration for the couple in the garden. Yet, there was a lingering sense of something more beneath it all—a mutual respect, perhaps, or maybe something more complicated.

As Alaric and (Y/n) reentered the banquet hall, Elera’s smirk returned, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I think we’ve both said enough for now,” she said, her voice light. “Come on, Ericsson. Let’s see how this plays out.”

Ericsson didn’t respond right away, but as he followed her inside, there was a trace of something thoughtful in his eyes—something that might have hinted at a shift in his own perspective.

Taglist : @yune1337 @mybones537

[yandere-romanticaa]

Let me ramble about Lelouch a little, because he just deserves it.

Lelouch, who holds you in the palm of his hand but you also always manage to escape his grasp. Just when he thinks he has you, just when he thinks he can finally rest, you catch him off guard. Your mere existence foils his plans as it does not allow him to do what needs to be done. He sits in his chair, wearing the mask of Zero as he looks far away in the distance. To the untrained eye he looks as though he is scheming, coming up with future plans for the Black Knights to follow. But the way in which he gets startled gives him away, his quiet "Huh?" always making people like Tamaki chuckle and laugh in pure amusement.

"Well well, even a guy like Zero has a soft side!"

They have no idea just how utterly soft their brave leader really is.

Lelouch, who becomes absolute putty in your hands whenever you touch him, even if it was just accidental. He is used to the brutality of battle and blood, something so soft is... Ethereal. Unimaginable. It sets his heart ablaze, forcing him to speed up his plan just a little bit. He just wants you to be safe.

Lelouch, who can't read you at all and that drives him like crazy. He can't play you like the other pieces on his board, you're too precious for that. He is the King and you are the Queen on that board. He started to accidentally protect the Queen in actual chess matches instead of his King, much to the bewilderment of his opponents. In his mind, the King is worthless without the Queen. And in that same way, Lelouch would be nothing without you.

[ironicallyyn]

Simeon: so you're basically the therapist of the entire family?

Mc: pretty much

Simeon: who's your therapist then?

Mc: ....

Mc: I talk to cerberus sometimes

[grecianotes]

I found the template on Twitter and I had to do it with my mc

[omelette-boy]

Your honor do you really think this cutie is guilty of first degree murder?

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝖇𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖓 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ x ɪᴅᴏʟ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆⋆｡🎧𖦹 °✩ 🎸⋆⸜♩ - PART 2

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘱-𝘢𝘯𝘥-𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳-𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘋𝘦𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘴. 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩; 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺.

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, (𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥)𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮/𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (𝘯𝘰𝘵 on 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳), 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘺, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘮 + 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘮(?)

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,420

⭒ a/n: my first story! hope this is satisfactory :) sorry if my writing is difficult to understand or cringy!!

will you venture down this path?

every few months your manager tells you to attend a celebrity fundraiser gala. 2 years ago you'd never know that these events were only breeding grounds for filthy scandals. now here you are, standing in the corners of a dark ballroom with stars dangling from the ceiling.

you are an idol, the embodiment of purity and song. another puppet forced to take on a false persona of endless joy, most would say. but you? you actually loved the spotlight. to you, that persona is your truth. you bathe in the attention and love of others, you live for it.

so why weren't you with the crowd? why not be in the centre of it all? it's because he was there. he was stealing the place you've shed blood, sweat, and tears for with such ease. effortlessly charming everyone even with that poker face. Deimos. a miracle rockstar who rose in fame shortly after your debut. instantly landing himself in the top #5 leaderboard after the release of his first album.

you were both from the same agency. you've seen him around the company building a couple of times, more frequently during your early pre-debut years. you'd pass brief glances at each other whenever you crossed paths in the hallways or practice rooms. you couldn't understand where your anger and envy emerged from despite never talking to him before.

maybe it was his obnoxious grin?

the fact he surpassed your fame within a shorter time?

his voice that hypnotises even you?

or the copious amount of money he sends during your ig live, begging you to notice the anonymous user?

he had shorter hair back then, dyed a different colour. now he has more accessories, a bigger build, longer hair, and dull eyes that only seemed to brighten whenever you catch him staring at you. you noticed he still stood at around 6'5 (195 cm), even taller with his black platform boots.

you'd try to send telepathic brain frequencies and (not so) intimidating glares at him, seeing if his blank face would falter (it didn't). instead, it made him glance in your direction. your frustration increases, and you blow a raspberry at him without thinking clearly... his reaction? an amused smirk.

instant embarrassment rises to your head. unable to handle the atmosphere inside the room, you immediately run out into the hallway. your brain begins to fuzz up, and you're not thinking clearly- you don't know if it's from the alcohol or the pure shame of blowing a raspberry at him. what are you? a preschooler?

blind to your surroundings, you don't notice the hulking figure walking towards you at full speed. calming yourself, you turn back to the ballroom to end the night. only to bump your face into a sturdy chest, that was not so covered by the tight, black button-up shirt of your rival (his nips were barely out).

you profusely apologise to the stranger until you look up to meet the heterochromatic eyes of Deimos. black and gold with slits, like a feline. and like a feline, his presence was threatening. this was the closest you've ever been to him and you can't help but think that people are blind. why do people crowd around him like he's an oasis? the way his eyes lit up a little too bright, and his face contorts into that of a devoted lover brought no comfort to you.

why does he look like that?

"y/n," he finally pants out, "y/n... you're looking at me."

what the fuck?

"i'm your biggest fan."

backing up uncomfortably, you slowly process his words before replying.

"...you are?"

if Deimos had a tail, it'd be wagging like crazy right now.

"yeah... i've been a fan since your performance at the spring festival. not sure if you remember but..." he trails off.

the spring festival? i don't remember going to any spri- holy shit.

3 years ago. you sang a duet at the town's spring festival with a friend, back then you weren't even a trainee yet. so how coincidental is it that the Deimos was watching you from somewhere in the crowd? that you both ended up in the same agency?

wait. does this mean.... Deimos adores me? as a fan? my fan?

this was too good to be true. your rival, the hottest star among stars, absolutely smitten by you? claiming to be your fan? your ego has never been higher. you decide to indulge him with a conversation.

surprisingly, the conversation was deeply meaningful. you found common interests with him- you shared favourite songs, media, and hobbies... "woman after my own heart," he snickers. soon, any past resentment towards him just.. washes away. gone, buried.

you naturally gravitate towards each other, like the earth and the apple from a tree, a pull. how long has it been since you've enjoyed talking to someone like this? has your bitter envy prevented you from forming a raw friendship with him all this time?

it feels surreal. he asks you for an autograph to commemorate the celebration of a blooming friendship and you agree, asking him if he had a pen and paper. he chuckles and says no, opting to whisk you away into an empty room. not creepy at all.

inside the room, he sits you down on the bed and searches his pockets for an object. you grow curious until he unsheathes out... a combat knife. shitshitshit- he's going to kill me! i knew this was suspicious-

he casually offers you the blade.

"use this." he says while untucking his shirt.

you stare at him as he had grown a second head, "...what?"

he nonchalantly replies while displaying his lower right abdomen, "to write? y'know, your autograph?"

it's official. you were absolutely fucking terrified of Deimos. he tells you to carve out your name on his body as if he was asking for a pack of ketchup at mcdonalds!! you were getting queasy, mind running though all the possible scenarios and options to get out of this.

"you not backing up now are you, songbird?"

his eyes bear holes into your body.

"c'mon, you can't leave me in the edge me like this... just...."

he gently grabs your wrist that held the knife, carefully guiding it to his abdomen. being touched so softly by his scarred, calloused hands made your breathing ragged. he lovingly rubs stars into your forearms as he lightly plunges the tip of the knife into his skin.

you could stab him. you could stab his knife deep into his chest and run away. but what would that mean for you in the future? if you got caught, your career would crumble, sentenced to jail, humiliated and resented by the public. and if you did get away with it, guilt would eat away at your blood-soaked hands forever.

Deimos notices your visible discomfort and tenderly caresses your hair down to your cheeks, wiping away tears you didn't know you had shed. "shh shh... i'm sorry, so so sorry, songbird. you're so kind for not wanting to hurt me... i'll never ask again after this, alright? claim me."

he was so charming. even in this situation.

he presses the knife further into his lower abdomen, drawing blood. you gasp, stuttering out your words "...just my initial, okay?" you look up, he seems disappointed but gives you a genuine smile and nods. you put more pressure onto the hilt of the knife this time, his skin bleeds, not enough to be fatal but enough to scar.

you place your other hand on his toned waist, and you can feel him shivering as the ends of his hair trickle the crown of your head. you finish carving out your initial, dropping the knife on the ground and backing up to look at your work.

it was messy, the blood dripped down to his pants and you swore you felt your heart get... t i n g l e s? he proudly admires your work, pulling down his shirt back in place, still untucked.

Deimos kneels down at the edge of the bed, taking your hands and cupping them on his cheeks. turning his head to tenderly kiss your palm and inhale in the scent.

he looks up at you adoringly with the widest smile on his face, "thank you, songbird. it's very pretty." pulling himself closer to your face, you exchange an unexpectedly passionate kiss, in which your reciprocate. hungry for any form of comfort.

rival-turned-biggest-fan, Deimos smirks into the kiss.

the gravitational pull.

[1423nam]

Yandere! Xavier.

You’ve managed to gain Xavier’s trust enough to let you leave his home. Now, under a watchful eye, you’ve returned to the base after a sudden ambush by ‘wanderers’. However, it doesn’t take long for your friends to realise something about the situation isn’t right.

When was Xavier and you so… close?

1/?