Yandere Oc - Blog Posts

I hope everyone who believed those rumors suffers.

Yandere Harem

Being in high school, you've had your ups and downs; being the best in your sports team, having an amazing childhood best friend, being teased occasionally, and living your life. It wasn't always like this, a few rumors said here and there, spread by the ones you thought you knew and next thing you know, you're spiraling.

Now that you're in college, you were able to leave them behind and now that you trying to live your life without the cruel past weighing down on you, old mistakes start sprouting in hopes to befriend you again, but there was no going back to fixing things.

Your partner in crime, aka your childhood best friend since 2nd grade, the one you befriended after standing up to some bullies and then promising each other to never be a bystander.

The boy who broke that promise.

He's been avoiding you since he got a girlfriend, always ditching you last minute, dry texts, ignoring you in public before you toss your hands in the air in frustration before walking away.

This is where the rumors started. At first it was just name calling, but now it changed to whore, slut, and students started becoming physical.

You had no idea why people started calling you these names, but some student answered your questions.

"Stop trying to get in between Elijah and his girlfriend, whore!"

This was about Elijah? But you weren't trying to get in between them! I mean, sure, you did like him for a while but once he got with his girlfriend, you got rid of those feelings!

Maybe if you sent him a text to tell people that you weren't trying to sabotage his relationship, maybe people would finally leave you alone.

Oh, how foolish you were.

Not only did it make it worse, but it was also slowly starting to affect you mentally. Elijah's girlfriend seemed to have it out for you, sending screenshots, that was so painfully photoshopped, to her social media, crying about 'how cruel and a bitch you were for trying to separate her from someone who truly loves her and maybe you were just jealous from their love.'

Less than 24 hours later, a group of girls managed to catch you behind the school, pulling at your hair and bag, mocking just anything about you. Your hairstyle, your weight, your clothes, etc.

You were outnumbered, you knew that sooner or later you would start fighting, they're not letting up, their mocking laughs echoed in your ears.

Then a familiar figure walks by with his friends, laughing at a joke someone had made. With one last line of hope, you take a deep breath and call out to him.

"ELIJAH!"

Hearing someone shout out his name, Elijah turns his head and is faced with you cornered against a wall, surrounded by girls who he has seen his girlfriend hang out with sometimes.

He knows he should do something; he should help you! He made that promise with you to NOT be a bystander.

"Oh look! Isn't she that one slut who's trying to get between you and your girl?" One of his friends mocked, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Dude, just leave her, she's just getting what she deserves."

With a strained laugh, Elijah turns to quickly leave the scene but was once again stopped by you. "Y-yeah..."

"ELIJAH!" You cried out, blood turning cold. "PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!"

He doesn't turn back, walking faster as his 'friends' laughed and jogged to catch up with him.

After the beating you received, you stayed home for a few days.

Once you returned to school, you put your attention onto the sports team you were in. You weren't going to let Elijah's betrayal bring down all your progress.

You were good, it took your mind off of things happening with school and whatnot. Your team did say a few things here and there but stopped quickly after what happened to you days prior.

Your team caption was a nice guy, always encouraged you and your team, and always had a shoulder to let you cry on whenever you felt like you're dragging the team down.

Now since you returned to your practices... things have changed with him. What's weird is that it was only towards you, not the rest of your teammates.

Milo's 180 threw you off, from cheering you on and handing you your favorite snacks randomly because he 'got the wrong brand' to just barely acknowledging you but whenever he did acknowledge you, you were thrown insults of how your form was off, how you were supposed to be defending the goal.

How you were bringing your team down.

It was so much worse outside of practice. Whenever your team hung out around town to celebrate a win, Milo would be the first to complement each girl and then turn around to spew on how you could've worked harder.

After another one of your teams wins, you excuse yourself to use the bathroom and shortly after you returned, you overheard Milo talking about you to your team.

"I might have to talk with the coach to kick [Name] off the team, I'm sure you all know about her... reputation going around school and I don't want that affecting the judge's opinion on the team when we go to the finals."

Your teammates argue with him, disagreeing but he ignores them, shrugging as he shoved more food in his mouth. "I'm just looking out for the team."

Your chest aches, did Milo really feel like this? This team was your world, and he wants you kicked off because of your reputation? Even though you were busting your ass to help bring this team to the finals and THIS is what you get in return?

Taking a deep breath, you count to 10 and exhaled, before stepping around the corner to meet your team with a smile on your face. "Hey, guys! Hope you didn't take a bite from my food."

Fine, you'll prove yourself to your coach and take everyone to the finals and rub it into Milo's smug face.

It was a long cruel journey, thankfully, your coach disagreed with Milo's judgement and allowed you to remain on the team. And with your team, you all stood in 2nd place. It wasn't a total loss, but you were happy with the results, shrugging with your team as you stared at the winners.

Then Milo ruined the moment.

"It's all your damn fault!" He hissed at you, your teammates looking at him in confusion. "If you were dropped from the team, we could've won first place! But NO! The coach wasn't able to see that!"

Then he points his finger at you, sneering. "I bet you slept him so you wouldn't be kicked out, aren't I right? You goddamn WHORE!"

You gasped at the accusation, your teammates looked ready to kill Milo for saying such words. "Is that what you think of me, Milo?"

"U-Uh, well..." He stuttered, now realizing what he said. "I didn't- I didn't mean to say that I just-"

"You know that I told you that the rumors were false!"

"Y-yeah I know that-"

"You know I am not like that!"

"W-wait let me speak damn it!"

"YOU KNOW THE BULLSHIT I HAD TO DEAL WITH?" You screamed, tears spilling down your cheeks. "After I got beat up, I was hoping things would be different if I explained my side of the story, everybody would see that I'm not like that!"

"But-" You sobbed, Milo looked at you with regret. "Out of everyone, I was hoping you would believe me, I guess I was wrong."

Wiping your tears with the back of hand, you turned to your teammates with a sad, wobbly smile. "I think I'm gonna head home, guys, you could uh, just celebrate without me."

Then you walked off the field.

It's been almost two years since you graduated high school and went off to college. You deleted any remaining online presence you had and made new ones, hoping to fully escape your past.

You managed to study at a college near your apartment complex, becoming quick friends with your neighbor after getting your mail mixed up a few times.

During the few times you chatted with each other, you learned a few things from Ivan; he worked at your favorite coffee shop, you have him in a few of your courses you're taking, and he's studying to become a vet!

During months, you managed to befriend the shy man. Some days when you had class together, he would bring your favorite order from the cafe along with a treat.

He became your rock, and you become his.

But alas, all good things must come to an end when you bumped into a familiar man.

"[Name]? Is that you?" They asked, shock and disbelief in their voice. "Oh wow! It's been a long time! How have you been?"

Crap it was Elijah.

You shrink away from his close proximity, he takes notice and backs away, albeit unwillingly.

"Yeah, it's been fine." You rushed out, glancing at your phone after it vibrated from a notification. It was Ivan. "But I gotta get to my class."

"What? But we barely chatted!" He whines, pouting his lips in hopes you'll stay for a few minutes. "You're not gonna spare a few minutes to hang with your best friend?"

You froze.

Best friend? The only person who you consider your real best friend is Ivan. And you've only known him for almost a year! The nerve Elijah had, acting like the last few years of high school didn't happen.

He doesn't know what it feels like to ignore the rumors, how people you tried to befriend steered clear of you, or how you spent your lunches eating in the bathroom!

Enraged, you spun around and shoved a finger against Elijah's chest. "Don't give me that 'best friend' bullshit. You stopped being my friend when you left me with those group of girls nor did you even defend me from those rumors."

With each word, you jabbed your finger harder and harder, pushing Elijah against the wall. "And I'm pretty sure your girlfriend wouldn't want you around me, she might think I'll get in between your oh so sweet relationship."

"You're practically a stranger." Backing away from Elijah, his expression unreadable. "Stay the hell away from me."

Elijah watches you walk away from him, a guilty look in his eyes. He knows he fucked up and he knew you didn't want to see his face again, but he hoped that since became a better person since graduation that you'll start letting him in your life again.

He even broke up with his girlfriend after she spread those fake screenshots. Elijah curses at himself for not reaching out to you after you were attacked. Now he has to watch you leave from his life again-

Who's that?

[Name], who the fuck is that with you?

The man grits his teeth as he watches the stranger wrap his arm around your shoulder and guide you into the college building.

nononononono, there's no way you replaced him that easily. He could still redeem himself! Just give him some time and soon you be laughing with each other like you used to be! How it was meant to be!

The man watches the two of you walk deeper into the building, Ivan turning to send him a smug look. Rage burning in Elijah's eyes.

"I will make that happen."

"So, you pet sit in your free time?" You clasp your hands together in awe. "I'm so jealous!"

Ivan flushes, gripping on the dog leashes tighter at the adoration in your eyes. It was mostly for the dogs and not towards him.

"Y-Yeah, but honestly, it's a lot of work and having you with me lessons that load and thanks for coming to the park on such short notice." He stammered, bashfully smiling at you. You wave off his appreciation.

"No worries, I'm glad to help a friend out and petting dogs is such a nice reward in return." You smirked, reaching down to rub a German Shepards ear, the dogs tail wagging happily at your affection.

"You're a reward..." Ivan mumbled.

"What was that?" You asked, lifting your head to him, hand still petting the dog.

"What was what? Anyway-"

A soccer ball bounces off your shin. Turning, you picked it up and looked around for the owner.

"E-Excuse me miss; that's my ball." A little girl shyly points at her ball, tapping the top of her cleats into the grass.

"Oh? Here you go!" You hand it over and she gratefully accepts it before noticing the dogs surrounding you three.

"OH EM GEE!" She squeals, hopping on one foot then to the other. "Are those doggies? Can I pet one of them?"

You turned to Ivan who gives his nod of approval. Giggling, the little girl sets her ball next to her as she kneels down to start petting at any dog her tiny arms could reach.

"Wow, your doggies are so cute! Do you guys have a favorite? My favorite is the husky! Do you guys dress them up for holidays? How much does the vet bill costs? -" And she continued on and on until she heard her name.

"Lily? Lily, you need to get back to practice!" Jogging to the group was another familiar man you hoped you wouldn't see.

There in all his glory, stood Milo.

He scans Lily for any injuries, then to Ivan, then finally his eyes settle on you, he immediately recognizes you.

"O-oh! [Name], is that really you?" He asks, eyeing you. "Man, you changed a lot. It's been forever!"

"Likewise," You murmured, hooking your arm around Ivan's elbow and turning to leave. Ivan flushes at the contact but follows you regardless.

"Woah, woah!" Milo walks in front of you to prevent you from leaving. "Why the sudden rush? Didn't I always tell you to take your time when the ball is in your court." He snorts at his small joke.

You rolled your eyes with a groan. "Last time I checked, someone wanted me kicked off the court." And shoved your way past Milo.

Milo cringes. Yeah, he saw that coming.

"Look I know I said some very... very awful things to you and I know there's no way you could forgive me for saying them, but can we please start over?" He whispered to you and away from Ivan's prying stare.

You pause, thinking about what he said. Should you really start over with him? No, you promised to distance yourself away from the past and if you were to start over with Milo, you're just bringing an old brick to a new building.

"No thanks," You go around Milo but he cuts you off again.

"B-but why? We could go slow and m-maybe play a scrimmage like we used to back in high school! You loved doing that with the team!" He stammered, hoping you would stay.

"Milo, I stopped playing that sport," You shove him aside. "I lost my passion for it."

Milo's heart drops.

That wasn't because he was harsh on you? Right? He was just looking out for you! Like what a team captain should do!

"A-are you sure? Maybe you're just burnt out!" He reaches out to you. "I'm sorry for being so harsh on you-"

Ivan quickly reaches over to grasp Milo's wrist, squeezing it in warning.

"Don't touch her."

Lily watches the dispute happening, worry in her eyes to which you notice.

"Ivan let him go, he isn't worth it." You murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder, calming him down enough to release his harsh grip on Milo.

"You should go back to your practice, Milo." You muttered then walked past the man without letting him speak. Ivan shoves his shoulder against his, throwing a glare at him as he walked by.

Milo shakes, in rage or despair, he has no idea but what he does know is that he absolutely despises that Ivan guy.

Who does he think he is?

"Uh, coach, should we go back to the team?" Lily asked, not noticing Milo's raging form.

"Yeah- sure, let's go." He murmured, thoughts on you and Ivan.

"I'm gonna kill that bastard." Milo promised under his breath.

"Soo," Ivan drawls out, thumb rubbing the outline of the cup of coffee in his hand. "What was all that about?"

You groan, resting your head on his coffee table. "Just a bunch of shit I left behind but apparently not since they came biting me in the ass."

"It's a long story," Ivan nods and slides closer to you after setting his cup down.

"Alright, I won't push you to share but just know this." Wrapping his arms around you, Ivan embraces you in a soft hug. briefly sniffing your hair.

"That I will always be by your side." He murmured, smiling once he feels you reciprocate his hug. "Got that?"

"Mhm," You buried his face against his chest to hide your flowing tears from him.

He coos, rubbing your head.

What he didn't tell you was that he has always been by your side. You just didn't notice, silly goose~!

He was sure you would notice those group of girls who brutally beat you behind the schools were soon expelled. Or how those group of guys who thought you were easy because of those harsh rumors were placed in the hospital.

You didn't know that Ivan took care of everyone who dared to bully you. But that's okay! It was all worth it in the end because he has you in his arms!

The only problem he faces now are those two dumbasses. He figured they'll go to different colleges but was angry when he found out Milo and Elijah both attended the college you're going to!

Ivan could only do so much to avoid crossing paths with them with you.

As long as they don't interfere with his plans for you, then they'll live.

For now.

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Sold Like Cattle

Yandere Bull Man x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Non-con/Dub-con, unintentional drugging, musk kink, kidnapping, general yandere themes, chubby reader) Word Count: 5.6k This is only my second fic, and my first long one, but I hope people enjoy it! (Normally I would not describe the reader’s appearance at all, but I feel like few fics cater to chubby body types so I decided to in this one. The chubbiness is not fetishized.)   Finally! You were settled in your room. You were in a small resort on the planet Elrelda, You never imagined that you would actually be able to afford a trip off your home planet for a vacation, but here you were! You had received a coupon through your employer (technically a branch of the same company that booked trips to and owns the resorts on this planet). You got this trip for a whopping 80% off. Very generous of Synthis, the largest company in the entire galaxy.  Even with such a steep discount you could still only afford the most basic package including passage on a very crowded ship and a small room at one of the crappier resorts. It was still very nice though. Room service was included and musical entertainment provided by the Elreldians, some of the sports native to Elrelda and swimming were available on-site and activities like hiking, fishing, canoeing, and camping were available in the areas surrounding the resort.  You had no idea what you would go to do first, but right now you were happy just to be off that crowded ship, the seating was tight and you are a bit… pleasantly plump and kept getting bumped into the entire trip. The room was pretty small and relative unadorned, but the bed looked comfy enough. You finished unpacking your two suitcases and flopped on the bed. Yes. Comfiness confirmed. Holy shit, this was the cheapest resort, what bedding did the luxury resorts have?! This was way better than anything that existed on your home planet of SX-72. You could spend the whole 5 day trip right here on this bed and it would be money well spent!  But no! You had wanted to see Elrelda for Y E A R S, you could not waste it sleeping. You had to catch one night of the Elreldian’s musical performance, and go hiking, all the plants were varying shades of red! (Probably from the unique atmosphere and having a K-type star) You could not wait to actually see an Elreldian, they were like bovine/human hybrids (probably proof to the theory that some greater life form seeded the galaxy to create intelligent life).  They were well known around the galaxy for their friendliness but very few of them ever ventured out from their home planet. They did not even have very much technology, but they could get passage from other races to leave if they wanted to, and despite that they still had a huge reputation for being peaceful and friendly.  The afternoon music performance would be very soon, you could catch a later performance instead, but you were too excited to wait, so you headed down to the small lounge and took a seat in the far corner far away from anyone else. You were not a people person.  Your jaw dropped as an Elreldian male walked past you to sit in the far corner diagonally opposite from you. He was H U G E. Almost 7ft. tall! And bulky too, you can’t help but stare (rude) at his muscular frame, it looked like his clothing could barely contain it. He had large horns that curved forwards, a mostly human face, and the ears of a bull. As he walked to his seat you saw that he had a tail and hooved feet. You were staring in awe, but he caught you looking and stared back with a domineering gaze. You blushed in embarrassment and looked towards the stage like you were waiting for the performers to get on stage, but you could see he was still staring at you from the edge of your vision.  The length and intensity of his stare unnerved you. You did kind of deserve it though, being a tourist and staring at him so rudely. You felt really. Finally he averted his gaze to the drink he had in his hand and you breathed a sigh of relief. Though you could swear he kept glancing over at you intermittently… Finally the musicians took the stage, a group of 8 Elreldians with large instruments (2 string, 3 percussion, and 3 woodwind) got situated and played several decently long pieces that sounded somewhat reminiscent of an ancient Earth music you had once heard called “folk”. It was not really your thing, but it was cool to experience other cultures!  As soon as it was over you quickly left before anyone else, you had sat relatively close to the door and had no desire to get mixed in with the other people leaving. The music did not last as long as you had expected and there was a ton of time left until nightfall. You were more energized than before after sitting and listening to the music and were ready to explore.  Despite the siren song of the universe’s comfiest bed you decided that you were far too excited and restless to just sleep, the activity that appealed to you the most was hiking, you were pretty chubby, but you actually walked around your town a lot in your free time. So you packed up the essentials into your backpack and set out.  You had been in walking for a good bit, enjoying the sounds of nature with the resort a few miles behind you. You were in a more wooded area and you were amazed by the freshness of the air and the beauty of the crimson red trees. You wish your planet had such beauty, you almost wished that you could just live out here forever. Your serene thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of being watched.  You didn’t see anything though so it was probably just your imagination. You continued for another minute or two but couldn’t shake that feeling. Then you definitely heard a twig snap!  You whipped your head around and saw a red camo painted Elreldian hiding among the trees. Oh. That’s scary. Maybe he doesn’t realize you’ve seen him. Like in a horror movie or game when sometimes the monster doesn’t attack until it is sure it’s cover is blown. You turn back around and walk slightly faster.  Your pace is being matched, easily. You bolt. You run right off the trail as fast as your legs can take you, you are by no means skinny but you can still weave through the thick trees much easier than your pursuer. But speed and stamina are on his side and suddenly you are grabbed by your hips and yanked backwards.  “Let go! Let go! LET GO OF ME!! What do you want!?!”  He turned you to face him, easily lifting you up closer to his face, wait, this was the same Elreldian from the lounge, the one you got caught staring at earlier, had he been this offended about? Had you violated some unknown and important social rule that was not covered in the pamphlets?  “P-please let me go! I am so so s-sorry for staring earlier. I didn’t m-mean to offend you or your customs!!” You stammered as you tried to move your head away to avoid his way too close and way too intense stare. He simply held you with one muscular arm and used his now free hand to gently but easily grip your chin and make you face him. You bit your lip and looked down, unable to meet his eyes.  “Can’t let you go. Need heifer. You are soft and smell nice (Y/N). You need protecting. I am Arrin. You’ll be my mate, I will protect you.” He stroked your cheek gently with his thumb.  “N-no uh, no, no, no n-no no. I am a human! Not a bovine!! I can’t be your h-heifer! A-and I have a home and everything!” As you started kicking and thrashing you realize that the red painted bull-man is completely naked (though he carried a small pack of supplies), he had shaggy fur covering his legs up to his waist, his chest and abs were bare, but his arms were covered in the same shaggy red painted fur as his legs. He was exceptionally muscular and had huge furry nuts as well as a large human looking cock, thought it was considerably thicker and a bit longer and you knew you most certainly did not want to be “mated” with that.  “Th-this is illegal! This is kidnapping!!” You kicked and hit as hard as you could but it was completely ineffective. Like a mouse smacking a cat.  “See? Weak. Need herd. Need mate. Need me. So soft (Y/N).” He squeezed your butt firmly as he held you to emphasize the fact that you were very much soft and squishy in stark contrast to his large and powerful form. You kept thrashing though and he just slowly licked up your neck with his tongue a few times in what you assumed was meant to be a calming gesture.  “H-how do you know my n-name??? You can’t keep me against my will! H-humans will come looking for m-me. PLEASE!” You felt hot tears well up in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks as you began sobbing. “Don’t worry. No one will take you. I paid a lot of rare ore for you. Paid Synthis resort. They told me your name. We have to go home.” And with that he put you over his shoulder with ease, despite your heft. You were sobbing and blubbering and pleading, but you gave up thrashing and squirming. It was useless, he was simply too strong and you were a bit broken realizing that your employer sold you like cattle.  After a while of him carrying you “home” you could not even sob or plead anymore, your voice was too strained and you were too exhausted, instead you just went limp and cried silently as he tried comforting you by rubbing your back surprisingly gently for such a large creature. “Shhh, it’ll be okay. You’re just too weak to be left alone. You HAVE to be protected, okay? You’ll see, you’ll love being my mate.” He spoke gently as if he was speaking to a small naive child who just didn’t understand the basic fundamentals of how the world worked. His words were not exactly comforting to you and you barely heard him anyway as you cried silently.  He only put you down once the entire trip to his home (and your new home) to force you to drink some water since you were so dehydrated from crying. You did as you were told, too tired, dehydrated, and emotionally broken to put up any sort of resistance, besides he was only trying to give you water, he held one hand behind your head as he tilted his canteen towards your lips. You realized that this position prevented you from being able to escape easily had you been so inclined to make an attempt.  After that he gently put you back over his shoulder and continued on the way to his herd’s home. He mentioned all the activities you would be able to do, how you would enjoy being his mate, how you would not have to work for an awful corporation who sold you, how you would love being in the fresh air as opposed to the smoggy industrial planet you had come from.  You mostly tuned him out, too preoccupied with what you were being ripped away from. No more computer or online gaming, no more playing your copy of Skyrim Superior 500th Anniversary Edition while you wait for TES6 to leave pre-development, no more of the food you were accustomed to, no more any of your old life…   Eventually, after what seemed like several hours of being uncomfortably hauled over his shoulder, you arrived at his “herd”. He walked up to the city gate and entered. And, despite your unwilling presence there, you could not help but looking in awe at the place. It was like straight out of a high fantasy RPG! A town full of Elreldians going about their lives and half-timbered brick and wattle and daub buildings, much larger than human buildings of the equivalent architectural time period to accommodate the much larger inhabitants.  Many of the towns folk stared at you, apparently never having seen a human before. That was not surprising, the settlement was just a several hours hike away but humans were not allowed to just visit most of their settlements. You heard some of them shout greetings to Arrin, calling him chief, so apparently he was the leader here. That certainly would not make any potential escape attempts any easier on you. And apparently his nude body did not phase them either, actually now that you thought about it almost none of them had very much clothing. It must be something they save for cooler weather or just when they went around humans. It made sense given all of their fur.  Arrin walked down the cobbled road (his hooves making an amazing clack that you would have really enjoyed were it not for you being kidnapped) and went to one of the larger buildings and entered it. The first thing your brain registered was the smell. It was incredibly musky. Not bad. Just musky.  He F I N A L L Y put you down gently on a couch that was much larger than what a human would ever need. Practically a bed, it was extremely soft and you sank a bit into it. You were extremely sore from being hauled like a sack of potatoes for hours.  Apparently he noticed how stiff you were because he said, “Sorry little doll, I did not intend for you to get so sore. Couldn’t be helped.”    “I am sure it was soooooo hard to not purchase a living being.” Your voice was still hoarse from screaming and crying and pleading earlier, and talking hurt a bit, but a sarcastic quip was always worth it. “Humans are small and soft, good heifers, good cows. Good status symbol for chief to show power.” He explained as if this were common knowledge that everyone knew.  “I am NOT a cow!!”  He smirked very slightly before commenting, “Not yet. Not cow until after breeding. Heifer until then. Don’t worry, will be the best cow.”  “I am a human!” At this he gently squeezed various pudgy parts of your body. “Yeah, but you are soft and close enough. Better than any other mate. That’s why you were hired in the first place. So you could be vetted as a potential mate. I picked you out!”  Anxiety filled your stomach and you suddenly felt extremely dizzy. You knew you had been sold… but this was all planned from the start?? Even a couple years ago when you had started working at Synthis? It was your fate from being hired on to go to be nothing more than cattle for this bull-man? You went silent and started crying again. He took his large thumb and rubbed the tears away gently.  “Don’t worry. I will keep you safe and happy. But right now I have to go shower to get all of this paint off. Starting to itch. Do you want to shower together yet?”  “What?! No!” The indignity and anger dripping from your voice, why would he possibly think you wanted to do that with him?    “Okay. Just offering.” He kissed your forehead before going into another room.  Apparently despite the medieval style cottage like buildings they had more modern showers and electricity as you heard running water come from the other room and noticed the lights in the room you were in. You appeared to be in the living room. It contained a nice rug, the dark red couch upon which you had been placed, a table, some lamps in the corners, and a device with a screen on it. Oh, it looked like one of those ancient television devices that they used to have on Earth! You’d read about those before.  You wanted to take note of your surroundings so that you could later escape. You did not know how you would make it all the way back so far from any trails or indicators of where the resort would be, but one step at a time. You could not just leave right now though. Your self-proclaimed “mate” may be busy, but in the waning hours of daylight there were still several Elreldians around town.  No, your best bet was to just bide your time and take the first good oppurtunity that presented itself to get out, the resort owners had sold you, but that did not mean you couldn’t flag down assistance from some other tourist. The sound of the water stopping suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts of escape and Arrin came back into the living room.  “Sorry for having to leave you alone. I know you aren’t happy here yet.” He was drying himself off with a huge towel before sitting by you and putting his arm around your waist to pull you close. He pretty much made you lean into his hold, he was very warm, it would have been such a cozy and intimate moment had it not come from someone who was holding you against your will, instead it was a sick mockery of comfort, instead making you even more anxious.     “Please. Pretty please. Just let me go. I don’t belong here…” You said it in a small and pleading voice, too tired and voice to strained to shout anymore. And you knew begging was an exercise in futility.  “Can’t. Paid a lot for you. And your people betrayed you. You belong with your mate. You smell too nice and feel too soft for you to be meant to be anywhere else than here with me! I can’t risk you being anywhere else. I knew from the moment I saw you in the list of potentials mates that you were simply made for me.” He said this with sincerity and with what almost sounded like reverence for you.  He then lifted you up easily and put you back down so that you were sitting on his lap, he held you close to him and you could not help but to blush when you realized you could feel the warmth and general shape of his cock through the seat of your pants. You could even feel it stirring. Without warning he tore off your pants and underwear and yanked off your shirt. You feared the worst and were prepared to scream as loud as your tired voice would allow you to but he only slid it between your thighs so that it popped up in front of you as he started grinding and humping slowly.  “I-I really d-don’t want this.” You blushed and stammered, obviously uncomfortable. Why wouldn’t you be?  He starts rubbing your crotch gently as he continues to slowly fuck your chubby thighs. “Sorry baby doll. I can’t really help it. I need this.” He licked the side of your neck from his position behind you and continued his grinding in between your legs as well as his gentle rubbing of you. You could not help letting out a small pleasure gasp at having your neck licked as it was the most sensitive area on your body.  He definitely picked up on that little gasp.  He licked your neck thoroughly, releasing you from the hold of one of his arms he gripped your hair and pulled your head back. This gave him easy access to assault your neck with licks, sucks, and bites. “Mmm~ Uh~ G-g-get off of me~” Your voice was not cooperating in conveying what you wanted, or what you didn’t want in this instance. You bit your lip in a vain attempt at muffling your constant stream of little gasps and moans.  “Doesn’t sound like you really want me to stop.” Arrin redoubled his efforts to hear what he could only describe as the single most beautiful sound on Elrelda. Pure ear candy. It was like it nourished his soul and gave his life meaning. He switched the side he had been working on as he well and truly fucked your thighs.  He moaned your name into your neck as he shot his hot musky cum all over your stomach, crotch, and thighs. He tenderly kissed the neck he had marked with a collar of love bites. They showed prominently on your skin and you could feel them like a brand marking you as his. “G-gross! I definitely need a shower now.” The musky smell given off by him in his arousal and by his potent seed were starting to make you a bit light headed. To be honest it kind of relaxed you. Maybe it was pheromones but you were a bit too out of it between the neck stimulation and scent to put it all together. The cum also made your skin feel a bit tingling and it was much warmer than human semen.  “Sorry. I guess it is good that you waited to take one. To be honest though, you do look even lovelier with my cum all over you…” You blushed and looked down silently, trying to avoid his gaze as you covered your cum coated crotch. He went to the bathroom and you heard the water running for a few minutes before he came back and picked you up gently, licking your sore neck to comfort you.  “Sorry if I overdid it. Had to mark you though. Keeps others away. Reminds you you’re mine.” You don’t bother responding, too tired and still too overstimulated by everything, and if you are being totally honest with yourself, despite his earlier shower his natural scent was kind of comforting, you just leaned your head against his muscular chest and let him carry you. He took you both into the bathroom where he had ran a bath, a bubble bath! A really big bubble bath if you went by a human perspective. You had not had one of those since you were a child. Arrin was kinda sweet… for someone who has kidnapped you…  “I hope the water isn’t too hot. Human skin is much more sensitive than ours. Is it okay” He bent down so you could put your hand in and check, it was a little warmer than what you would have preferred but it was okay.  “I-it’s good. Um… thanks.” He got into the bath with you pretty much in his lap. The water felt nice on your sore and tired muscles, but you were still really shy and nervous about Arrin being in contact with your naked body, not that he had not touched you and seen you already.  “I’ll take care of you, okay? You don’t need to be so tense. You’re part of my herd.” You don’t know why but that was the moment your resistance was really officially broken, something had to be in his musk and his cum because you relaxed and leaned against him, your fears and reluctance were still there but fading quickly into the background.  So what if his cum on your skin or inhalation of his were the culprits in your cooperation? Wasn’t it so much easier to give in? Wasn’t it better too? Your employer SOLD you, even if you got back to the resort your employer owns it, even if you somehow get back on a space shuttle back to SX-72 your employer is who you rent from, and where would you go to work when they have almost a monopoly on everything? They probably wouldn’t just let you live freely…  But Arrin was so sweet, he’d take care of you and keep you safe. You never had to worry about all that stuff if you just gave in… It would be easier on you. And despite your criticisms of your physical appearance he thought you were beautiful…  Arrin gently washed your hair and then scrubbed the rest of your body in what was almost describable as an act of worship, he was thorough, every inch was washed, but he was so careful to not be the least bit rough. When he was finished washing you he gently picked you up and got out of the tub, he sat you on the edge of the tub and dried you off slowly, seemingly to draw out every touch and stroke of you. You still tried to cover up your crotch when you could, you did not know why you bothered at this point though. You looked down quietly as he started to dry himself off and let the water out of the tub. “You’re being so good for me. My good little (Y/N). You’re probably getting cold, I have a present for you. I’ll be right back.” He left and you could hear the sound of his hooves pound the floor as he hurriedly rushed up the stairs and back down before coming back into the bathroom where he presented you with a bundle of clothes. “Here, I had these made specifically for you. They’re made from the softest materially we have, the resorts even get it from us.”  Well, that explained the bed you never got to experience…  You took the clothes he handed you and mumbled a thanks. You put them on quickly, they were absolutely amazing feeling, and they fit perfectly and were even in your favorite color, You assumed your previous employer/human trafficker had given the specifications. You realized the clothes smelled a lot like Arrin and the scent made you a bit spacey.  “You look so nice in them, I scented them so you’d feel safe.” You realized that the scent did make you feel warm, and tingly and safe, his smell should be classified as a drug, fuck it probably WAS a drug, you had never read about this effect prior to coming here though. You should probably be more scared about the change in your demeanor that his cum and musk had on you, but you just could not get yourself to really care at this point, you just felt so calm and submissive~  “Th-thank you for the compliment.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, utterly enraptured with how amazing you were wrapped up in his gifts and his scent. You  flushed a bit at his touch and the consuming stare of his brown eyes which seemed to take you in hungrily. Earlier it would have only served to terrify you and make you anxious.  “Hey. You haven’t eaten since much earlier in the day right? You have to eat.” It was less a random observation and more of a command. He took you by the hand and lead you upstairs to the bedroom, he put you in the middle of his g i a n t bed. You sank a bit into the fabric and all the soft blankets and were once more assaulted by the warm aroma that could only be described by you as unmistakably “Arrin~”  “I am going to be back soon with some food okay? Just rest. You need it.” “U-um o-okay…” You were feeling even warmer and were having a bit of a hard time concentrating. He left to go get your meal but after just a few minutes you were feeling extremely uncomfortable in your clothing, it was far too hot to be wearing anything and you stripped down to nothing. You rolled in Arrin’s blankets and could not get enough of his completely intoxicating smell.  You took one of the large pillows and started grinding into it with such need and yearning for your mate that you started crying desperately, letting out little sobs and wails. Before you knew it Arrin was charging up the steps and rushing into the room, apparently having heard the distressed sounds of his little (Y/N). He was about to ask what was wrong but was instead reduced to open mouth staring at the sight before him. His cute darling crying out for him as they were naked on his bed straddling his pillow between their thighs while sniffing his blankets and clothing he had scented for them. “A-arrin… pleeeease!” Tears streamed down your face the need was almost palpable, it made your chest physically ache. Arrin was instantly at full mast. He really had no idea his smell would affect you in this way. But now that he knew how beautifully submissive and needy it was making you you could rest assured that you would never go without his smell on you ever again.  He got out some lube from his nightstand and applied it liberally to your little needy hole, sliding in one large finger slowly until you were comfortable and then adding in another. When he felt that you were well and truly adjusted, and you were begging for him to mate with you even more desperately, he got in bed beside you and slowly slid his entire length into you, trying to let you adapt to his size before pounding you, but despite his careful ministrations you still let out a whimper of both pain and pleasure. He rocked into you gently giving you plenty of time to get used to him inside of you.  He did that for a while until you started rocking back against him and making little sounds of pleasure, he took that as a signal that you were ready to be properly mated. He groped your ass a bit roughly as he started thrusting back and forth into you, and although he was still being careful not to harm his precious (Y/N) he still penetrated you deeply.   The feeling of being inside his perfect, soft, warm, and willing (well… willing enough) darling was by far the best thing he had ever experienced in his life, if their was any possible guilt or regret in taking you it were certainly gone now.  He grunted almost ferally as he picked up the pace and filled you with hot white cum, you felt a wonderful fullness, but neither of you were done yet. He flipped you over and pinned you down into a mating press and proceeded to breed you significantly harder and faster than before. All the while kissing, sucking, and nibbling on your neck to coax those lovely little gasps and moans from your pretty little mouth, and to make sure you were so stimulated with pleasure that it would override any possible pain.  His large nuts made a resounding slapping noise as they smacked into you, between all the moans, grunts, and sounds of pounding it was like the lewd act itself wanted everyone to know you were being fucked and dominated by your bull. It was so nice~ Why did you need this so badly? Why did he smell so nice and feel so good? Why did you want to submit so badly to him? These questions were pushed further and further away with every thrust, as if his dick were physically shoving them into the abyss. He picked up the pace as you clenched around his shaft.  He caressed your hips as he pounded into you with less and less conscious control to impede him, relying more on instinct, he kissed you roughly and bit your lip a bit. His tongue invaded your mouth and rubbed against yours as if it were trying to dominate it, you moaned into the kiss as he growled as you both came together.  You were completely and utterly his now, his cum flooding you deeply and causing your insides to tingle, if you were perhaps a bit skinnier the copious amount of his seed would bulge out your tummy. You had never felt so content. You went limp under him after cumming, the full brunt of your exhaustion hitting you, he kissed you softly on the lips, the lingering ghost of his kiss was the last thing you felt before falling asleep.  When you awoke from what was probably the deepest and most fulfilling sleep of your life you realized that Arrin was nowhere to be seen and that you had been cleaned again with fresh clothes. You felt nice and refreshed and your head had cleared quite a bit, but you were pretty sore from all the excitement of yesterday.  You were about to hoist yourself out of bed when Arrin came in. “No, don’t try to move too much! Just rest.” He was carrying a large tray with many different plates, a few bowls and bottles, and a cup of something on it. When the smell hit your nose your belly growled quite loudly.  You wiggled back on to the bed and Arrin sat down beside you and slid the large tray of food over both of you. It did not just smell amazing, it looked really good too, you did not really recognize any of the dishes, they were clearly all Elreldian cuisine.  “You fell asleep without having eaten much. I thought it was better for you to rest than to wake you up. But I knew you would need food so I made you all the best dishes.” He held a bite of food up to you to eat.  “I can feed myself!” You reached for the fork in his hand and he pushed your hand into your lap with his free hand and gave you a stern look. “No, mate needs to rest. Won’t have you getting sick from exhaustion. I’m feeding you.” He put the food up to your lips again and glared. “EAT.”  You sighed and opened your mouth and let the stubborn bull feed you. This was your life now. And there was really nothing you could do about it…

Note: hello!! First post hehe, hope you guys like getting to know my oc! I'll be posting a short fic of him soon!

Church - Fall Out Boy

Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love You were doomed but just enough You were doomed but just enough

Name: Nicolas "Saint" Dryden

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 55

Occupation: Retired Colonel

Appearance: Nicolas stands at an intimidating height of 6'4 with a large physique and broad shoulders and back. He has multiple scars and a few tattoos, most notable ones being the large and jagged slash running across his back from a mission gone wrong. The most notable tattoo is the cross he has on the right side of his body. Nicolas is fair skinned and has a beard, which is well kept and groomed. He has dark and intense brown eyes that seem to pierce right into the person he is staring at. He has inky brown hair that is also well kept and groomed, he likes to keep it fairly short due to his time in the military.

Personality: Cunning + Caring to those he's close to + A family man + Protective + Loyal + Rough + Blunt + Charming + Gruff + Smart + Aggressive + Extravagant + Secretive + Manipulative + Obsessive + Yandere

Interests: his firebrand + Military movies + Whiskey + Hunting + Spoiling his firebrand + his pet dog Daisy + woodworking + carving + cooking + carving

Loves: Making his firebrand happy + Pampering his firebrand + manhandling his firebrand + making or buying his firebrand gifts + seeing his firebrand wear the marks he left on them + dogs + camping + chasing his firebrand through the woods

Dislikes: seeing his firebrand try to escape + his firebrand crying (unless it's from the pure pleasure he's giving them or because they're choking on his cock) + wanderers who manage to find his home which is secluded in the woods

Description: was the commanding officer at the base their darling was stationed at as a daycare teacher + very protective of their darling + loves to keep a hand on his firebrand both sexually and in a non sexual way + Very sexually pent up + Very manipulative + Cunning + very possessive + will use whatever means necessary to keep his firebrand with him + is not above using his grandson to keep his darling with him.

Fetish: Hearing his darling moan + Making his darling cum + Edging his darling + Praising his darling + darling being submissive + Spanking his darling + Light asphyxiation + Degrading his darling + Humiliating his darling + Making his darling beg. + Fucking his darling on the forest floor + primal play + breeding + creampies

( 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 ) ✦ ⎯⎯ 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐘𝐑𝐀, the moon  ˚ · .┊ 𝇄𝇃 ✧.

he's been waiting for the wedding for a long, long time. ever since the day you've scarred one another, blood marking blood — a testament to the bond that sealed your fates together.

─── The MOON represents the realm of the subconcious, symbolizing the mysteries that lie beneath the conscious thought. it can warn of hidden agendas, often signaling that appearances may be deceiving.

✦ ″ beneath the canopy of stars, his cold, unyielding hands hold you tightly in place, his long silver hair billowing in the night wind, sending cold chills down your spine. in those silver eyes of his, there is something unspoken — something undeniably cruel and flushed with madness.

✦ ″ the second prince is someone to be avoided at all costs. to catch his gaze would be a mistake, and to fall into his cunning hands would be your ruin. (because his love is an ocean, and he holds enough of it to drown you both)

[ directory . ]

01. — you are promised to me, remember that.

02. — a night like no other, just for us, don’t you agree?

do not claim, repost, or use this character without permission. character art from onmyoji

( 𝐈𝐕 ) ✦ ⎯⎯ 𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐌, the emperor  ˚ · .┊ 𝇄𝇃 ✧.

he demands perfection by his side, and you, the brave little assassin sent in his sleep, is exactly that.

─── THE EMPEROR represents authority, structure, and most definitely, control. he is a symbol of power, of discipline, of stability, and upholds order in his role of leadership.

✦ ″ beauty incarnate — that is what comes to mind when you allow yourself to truly look at him. his short blond hair frames his face with perfect symmetry, and the hollow blue of his eyes holds your gaze so intensely that it seems impossible to believe the man before you is, in fact, human.

✦ ″ he is everything a ruler should be, they say. armed with a formidable arsenal and a mind as sharp as any blade, he guards his kingdom with an iron grip. and that grip of his... these days, it seems fixed solely on you.

[ directory . ]

01. — your lips are reserved solely for mine

02. — i've grown rather fond of you, my assassin.

do not claim, repost, or use this character without permission. character art by @hataria_kawa

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.

could you write a yandere author who sees you in a book signing and changes their work just to appeal to you?

ADORE ME

yandere! author x gn! reader

warnings: yandere, nsfw, short, more of a Drabble tbh, use of the word “fuck” to describe sex lmao

“Oh my god, I love their work, I can’t believe we’re actually here!”

“I know! Their most recent book was definitely the best so far… I just wish it had a little more of a slow burn, you know? The main characters were in love by chapter three.”

“Yeah, but—“

The author tuned out your friend’s response, their lazy, tired eyes moving to inspect you. They’d never seen you at a book signing before, if they had, they would have surely recognized you.

Slow burn, hm? They looked at the book in front of them, opened to the back of the cover for them to sign their name. They swiftly wrote in it, sending away the fan.

A slow burn… that wasn’t a half bad idea. They always felt that their works were missing something big, something exciting… perhaps a more… slow approach was what they had been looking for.

Nearly a year later and you were at yet another one of their book signings, this time for one of their greatest hits yet: a slow burn enemies to lovers.

Their heart skipped a beat upon spotting you in the crowd. Did you know that you had been their inspiration for this latest masterpiece of theirs? Did you know that they thought of you with each word they wrote?

When you finally reached their desk, placing your book in front of them, they prayed to every god there was that you wouldn’t notice the way their face tinted crimson.

“I think this is one of your best books yet.” You confessed with a peppy smile. “Oh, my name is Y/N, by the way.”

“Y/N…”

“Yeah, uh, so you can write it.“

They cleared their throat and nodded. They swiftly signed your book with sloppy cursive.

To the wonderful Y/N, signed Syd Rhodes.

“Thank you so much!” You cheered, taking the book. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but have you ever considered writing a horror, rather that ro—“

“Come on, outta the way! There’s a whole line behind you, you know!” Yelled a boy behind you, lightly shoving you out of the way.

You laughed anxiously and waved to Syd before taking off.

Their eye twitched a bit, fighting the overwhelming urge to kick the man out of the store.

A horror? You certainly didn’t look like the type to enjoy being scared, but whatever his self-proclaimed muse wants, they get.

Writing a book wasn’t easy. It typically took years, hours upon hours of desperate work. Yet, here you were, at the premiere of Syd’s latest novel, a romantic horror, only a few months after the signing.

You were over the moon that your favorite author had actually taken your suggestion to heart. There was no other possible answer for their sudden shift in genre. You couldn’t contain the butterflies in your stomach no matter how hard you tried.

Syd scanned the crowd of enthusiastic fans. It didn’t take long for them to spot you, they could recognize you by intuition alone.

“Y/N.” They greeted, and your heart jumped to your throat as you turned to look at them. “I thought about what you said… I want to thank you for inspiring me to write again. It was becoming repetitive, a chore… but you reminded me of my passion. So… thank you.”

“Oh, wow… I’m honored! I’m a huge fan!” You exclaimed, putting your hands over your heart. “I just know this book is going to be perfect! You have a real knack for—“

They tuned out your energetic rambles. Not because they didn’t care, but rather, they cared more about watching the way your lips moved, the way your eyes lit up… the way you smelled. When you touched their arm, their senses were completely overwhelmed with you.

Only you.

You hadn’t read it yet… they smiled in anticipation. What would you think by the time you finished their masterpiece?

Would you recognize the description of the main characters, each vaguely inspired by the both of you? Would you blush or bite your lip while reading the dark, twisted, passionate scenes they’d described?

How about the scene when the protagonist kidnaps their lover, then they share a loving kiss and fuck like they’ve lacked human touch all their lives?

How would you feel about that?

They were desperate to know.

.

Mania and Ludus

Two other oc of mine and are the origin of some kind of yandere curse. When I make yandere oc or when I include yandere in my stories I don’t like to attribute this terme to a certain mental illness for many reason. One I don’t like the association "mentally ill people = monsters" and two it give me more freedom in how I can explore my caracters without having to worry if my representation of a condition is accurate or not.

Now that it’s said, let me tell you the story of Mania and Ludus and how they became the Goddess of obcessive love and the god of playfull love.

Mania loved Ludus... in her own way

And Ludus loved Mania... in his own way.

It’s a shame they weren’t able to reconize the love they had for each other. They were traped in their own world, their own pain, unable to see the other as anything else but the role they needed them to play in their own life.

They were kids at first, born from neglecting fathers and either overprotective or uninterested mothers. The scars from their younger years left a hole where their hearst was suppose to be. A huge void, empty of feelings and compassion.

Doctors from all around the kingdom were called yo heal the young prince, the only heir to the throne. But none of them could do anything, the prince had to stay with this hole in his chest.

Mania’s mother was a witch, therefore she knew why this hole had appeared and she knew that the only person who could heal her was herself.

The whole in his heart kept Ludus from becoming a knight. He was unable to run, jump or laugh. Keeping him locked in this castle a silent castle. The rumors of his void in his chest driving people away and making him the hole in his chest grow larger as he grew up.

The two of them fanaly met when Ludus’s father, the king, decided that it was time for him to learn how to be a proper king. He move him in the royal castle, bigger than the one he grew up in. Mania’s mom was the right hand of the king, therefre the two of them lived in the castle since as long as Mania can remember.

It only took one look for them to reconize the familiar hole in each other’s chest.

They quickly became friends, bonding over what they had in common. Mania was studying magic with her mother. She was able to potions ans spells, allowing Ludus to run faster, jump higher and laugh louder.

Ludus’s cute attentions changed Mania’s frown into a smile, shocking the servants in the castle.

The holes in their chest closed slowly , progressively.

But nothing last forever, their intense feelings died down. Going from a explosive fireworks to a warm fireplace. Comforting for Mania but insufficient for Ludus. After spending such a long time in heavy silence calm didn’t please him. He looked for the fireworks, he had found with Mania, in others. Piercing the heart of his friend, who had previously healed him.

Ludus went after meaningless relationship, short love that he quickly grew tired of. The more relationship he had the less intense and fun they became.

While he ran around, Mania’s heart bled until it became as cold as ice.

Ludus didn’t deserve such a vivid throbing heart... not after wha he had done to Mania.

So she pulled it out ofhis chest. Still warm... still throbing... he couldn’t run anymore...

Soon Mania wasn’t able to run too, the ice of her heart frooze her flesh and bones... even her tears refused to spill out of her eyes.

Amelia and Adhor (oc)

Tags: yandere x yandere, toxic, unrequited love

Amelia and Adhor are two yanderes

They live together in a small town far from any other big cities

Their relation is complicated

They hate eachother but they need eachother to get to the one they love

They met in theur senior year of high school

Adhor had just tranfered from another school and he was new to town.

Amelia on the other hand was born and grew up in this town.

They didn’t really got along. They were both loners and had trouble socialising with their peers for different reason.

Adhor just had trouble in social setings and Amelia...

Well... Amelia had a bad reputation that kept others away...

Adhor’s love interest is Maria and Amelia’s love interest is Diego

They’re respectivel, the pompom girl’s leader and the captain of the football’s team

And the two of them are obviously dating... sort of... you see they have been flirting with eachother for as long as they knew each other but nothing serious

Adhor’s pov

When Adhor met Maria it was like a shockwave went through him. He had spend the majority of his life feeling lonely, seeing the world in shades of black and grey and here come the pompom girl’s leader. An explosing of colors, in her appearance and her personnality. She helped him pick up a book than had sliped from his hand. They looked into eachother’s eyes and Adhor had never seen someone as beautifull as her. She said sorry and her voice sounded like birds singing, she told him her name and it was wonderfull how well it suited her. She was the sun, he was the moon. They were meant to be together.

Amelia’s pov

Amelia grew up in this small town. She knew all of those people. All their hopes, dreams and secrets... she learn how to be discret because everytime someone would attract attention something horrible would happen to them. One time her father won the lotterie and the next day he was gone. Her mom started drinking and in an impulsive decision she took Amelia in the car and tried to drive toward the next big city while drunk. Well Amelia lost her mother and she had to stay under intense medical care for a few weeks. During those days the only one who came to visit was Diego.

Diego~

He brought her flowers... no one ever brought her flowers. He was so nice to her, he never looked down on her because of her looks. He was handsome and cute and athletic and... perfect. If only his cute attentions stayed the same after she was healed. If onky his eyes and smile didn’t always drift to Maria...

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

Yandere Serial Killer(s)

Your mother always warned you to never give rides to strangers, but the hitchhiker you run into seems harmless. What's the worst that can happen? Tags: implied noncon

Things originally start well. You and your buddies piled into your roommate's Jeep, roof down, pop music blasting. You're the driver - always the responsible one - hair tied back and sunglasses on the edge of your nose. You're all dressed for summer. Bikini tops and board shorts, smeared with sunscreen - the picture of college fun.

It starts well and keeps going even better. You're all in high spirits. Flushed and happy and young. Picking up the hitchhiker seems like a good idea. You see that he's handsome and around your age, that he's got an easy smile and a guitar on his back. You see that and nothing else. Not the too quick eyes, not the surprisingly light backback. Nothing.

He ends up riding shotgun, talking to you about classes and shitty professors. Smiling just a little every time you shift gears and your hand brushes his thigh.

You like him. You're the only single in the car so it's natural that he spends the most time talking to you. Lord knows it's hard to keep a conversation going with a couple when they look like they'd rather be tonsil deep in each other's throats.

You like him and you get the feeling he likes you too. When you stop at a sleazy motel for the night, he invites you to eat dinner with him outside his room. All your friends are off doing what couples do best - getting cosy in the hot tub, testing the speeds on the vibrating bed, finding new and interesting ways to use the ice machine. So you're glad for the company.

Mostly.

You're almost done eating when he pops the question.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

You look away from him. Take in the greasy boxes of takeout on the concrete, the neon red wash of the vacancy sign spelling across the parking lot. It's not an easy question. It brings up ugly memories.

"I used to have one. Things ended...badly. He's in Cook County Corrections now. Serving fifty to life."

He gives a low whistle.

"That bad huh? You ever go to see him?"

"No. Never."

He stretches out, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the dull scattering of stars.

"You should. It gets lonely in there. A guy could use the pick me up, especially if the visitor is a pretty thing like you."

You shiver despite the balmy summer air.

"I'd rather not. I'll be happy to never see his face again."

Thankfully, he drops the subject. You go back to talking about awful first dates and the best dishes to order at a Chinese restaurant. He's a complete gentleman but you can't help the slight relief you feel when he stands to leave.

" 'Night gorgeous."

"Good night, stranger."

In the morning you walk out to see him reading the early paper. He crumples and tosses it before you can catch the headline.

" 'Morning. How did you sleep?"

You shrug. "Not the best. I swear these kinds of places all get their beds from the same supplier. Lumpy Mattresses Inc."

He grins. "Don't forget their trusty partner Damp and Musty Carpets LTD."

Your friends are slow to wake up and groggy when they do. Most of them nursing nasty hangovers. You and the hitchhiker have most of the morning to eat breakfast and shoot the breeze together. When it's time to leave, he takes his place in the passenger seat like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I couldn't find any newspapers," one of your friends complains when you're back on the road.  

"I wanted to see the football results."

"Eagles beats the Rams in the final playoff," the hitchhiker says.

"Aww man. Where'd you get a paper from?"

"I must have gotten lucky. Staff is 'sposed to leave the local paper at reception. Guess they must not have the budget anymore."

You stay quiet but something doesn't feel quite right about that statement.

The day passes fast. Your playlist is a lot more mellow, on account of the many lingering headaches. Still, you think there's nothing quite as fine as the open road. It's only near evening when the trouble starts.

"Shit. I can't find our reservations."

You look at your friends in the rear view mirror. They've already pulled apart two backpacks trying to find the papers. You can't help feeling irritated. The one thing you asked them to take care of...

You pull over and search the Jeep from top to bottom. Unpack almost everything. Check and then recheck your pockets. Nothing.

"I'm really sorry y/n. On the phone they said we needed the copies to check in. Maybe we can still stop by and get it sorted with the front desk but..."

You can here the unspoken thought in their words. You're all thinking the same thing - that hotels can get so uptight when their potential guests are rowdy students with still bloodshot eyes. You worry at your nail, thinking. You paid the fees in advance so maybe if you showed them your credit card...

"My friend has a cabin not far from here," the hitchhiker says. "Pretty big place. He'd be happy to let us crash there for the night."

You bite your lip. It's a two hour drive to the hotel. And if they turn you away you'll be off the beaten path with almost no cash, on a near empty petrol tank.

"You think he'd mind letting us sleep on his couch?" you ask. "We'll be well-behaved and I can pay."

He smiles at you, totally easy going about the whole thing.

"Sure we'll just have to call ahead."

You manage to track down a payphone and you wait with the rest of your crew while he calls. You can't make out what he's saying but every once in a while his eyes drift to you. No one else. Just you.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was talking about you.

When he puts the receiver down, he's all smiles.

"Got it all sorted. It's out of the way though, so I reckon we grab some chow first."

Your friends are quick to agree. What self respecting kid on spring break is going to say no to fast food and cold beer? It's only you that lingers, brow furrowed. It all feels too convenient. Your reservations go missing and the stranger you picked up just happens to have a place nearby? No way. The more you think about, it the stranger it seems.

You're still lost in thought when the hitchhiker swings an arm around your shoulders and half drags you along behind your friends.

"What's you got you so worried gorgeous?"

It's hard to be suspicious of him when he smile so easy, his shaggy brown hair dancing across his forehead.

"Nothing. I just hate to intrude on your friend."

He laughs, squeezing your shoulders before letting go.

"Trust me he'll be very glad for the company. He doesn't get out much."

He pulls the diner door open for you. Your friends have already claimed a booth and a single harried waitress is struggling to jot down their long list of requests. The hitchhiker grabs your hand before you can join them.

"My friend is a great guy. I think you'll like him."

He smiles, crooked and amused, like he's laughing at a joke only he understands.

"Hell, I know for a fact that he'll like you. You're just his type."

Your smile is tight. The last guy who said you were just his type... well, you and the district attorney both know how that ended.

You take a seat and smile at the waitress. She looks beyond overwhelmed and you silently promise to tip her as well as your half drained credit card can manage.

"I'll take a steak. Rare. Bloody as you can make it," the hitchhiker says.

You raise your brows. Not exactly the typical order for an out of the way little diner. He sees your look and grins.

"Been a while without good meat. You have no idea the craving I've had this past few days."

The booth is packed tight and his thigh is flush against yours. Warm, even though his jeans.

"We all get cravings now and again. I get it."

He tilts his head at you and it must be a trick of the light, because his pupils are blown out wide. It looks like you're staring into oil. Just... emptier somehow. You wouldn't go so far as to say he feels soulless, but if it's not in the same street it sure as hell is in the same neighbourhood. Like oil, it leaves you feeling dirty in a way that doesn't easily scrub off.

"Do you?" he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of I'm only human and of course I do but his eyes stop you. He isn't talking about food or meat. No. It feels like he's asking about flesh.

One of your friends cracks a joke and you turn away from him in a hurry, pretending to laugh at something you only half heard. You don't talk to him for the rest of the meal. Try to avoid looking him even. But you can't avoid the feel of his leg against yours. Warm and solid. Can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he reaches for his wallet and his fingers accidentally scrape you inner thigh.

You're the last one out of the diner. You throw away the dirty napkins and, true to your word, tip the waitress as well as you can manage. You're half afraid that he might wait for you, but when the door clicks shut behind you, you see him with the rest of your friends. Joking around with some of the boys.

The second you start towards them, his eyes fix on yours. You aren't sure how he does it - always narrowing in on you like you have your own gravitational pull. Like he's aware of your every move.

"Ready to go?"

Are you? You aren't sure. Some dull instinct is making you want to turn tail and run. You try and talk yourself out of it. What concrete evidence do you have? What has he done wrong, besides be a little intense? Folk do that all the time and it doesn't bother you. And it's not like you'll be alone. Your whole pack of friends will be right next to you.

"Yeah, let's go. Time doesn't wait for anyone."

It's a long drive. The highway splitting off into a main road and then splintering into a half-dozen country tracks. By the time you arrive, you're beyond grateful for choosing the Jeep. Heaven alone knows how much more jostling and bouncing your teeth could take.

It's a nice place. A big cabin out in a clearing, the trees thick for miles around. Much nicer than the crummy hotel you'd otherwise have to settle for. You can't even hear the traffic.

Your friends grab their bags and the hitchhiker holds the front door open as you all file in. The entryway is clean and bright, and besides the lingering tang of bleach, there's nothing to set your suspicions racing. Honestly, you feel a little silly for being so paranoid. Must be the bad memories. They make you jumpy regardless of actual circumstances.

"Where's your friend?"

You turn just in time to see the hitchhiker slipping something small and metallic into his pocket.

"Is that the key for the -"

"My friend will be here soon," he talks over you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "I'll show you guys your rooms and once you get settled, we can grab some beers and hit the hot tub."

He brushes past you and ignores your half-hearted grab for his arm. Your friends are already pounding up the stairs, too hyped to notice your expression. He pauses on the landing and looks back at you - the only one still standing by the door. His eyes are bright and almost hard.

"You coming?"

Nothing to be scared of, right? It's a common habit to lock the front door, especially out in the woods.

"Yep. Right behind you."

But no matter what you tell yourself, your feet still drag along when you follow him deeper into the cabin. Further and further from escape.

You're the only one who gets a room of their own. Everyone else is piled two and three deep in the guest rooms, half your buddies on couches more than beds.

You're also the last to get a room, so by the time he shows you your bed, it's only you and him. You wonder if he planned it on purpose.

"Quiet out here."

He hums in agreement, standing at your window and watching the woods. He stays silent while you unpack. Whatever he's watching for takes all his attention.

It's only when you hear your friends start splashing around in the hot tub that he speaks.

"You should probably take a shower before anyone else. The water is unreliable out here."

You silently agree. It's s been a long day, and while a quick dip in the jacuzzi sounds good, a hot shower and a cool bed sound even better. He pauses at your bedroom door to say good night. You're already heading to the bathroom and you only half hear the rest of his sentence.

"Sleep tight. And don't worry too much about any noises you hear. There's mountain lions around and the sound carries funny sometimes."

He closes your door softly behind him. Your en-suite is echoey, and when you turn on the water, you don't hear the quiet click of him locking you in.

After your shower, you're totally exhausted. You don't even bother leaving your room to check on your friends. You just curl up under your borrowed duvet and drift off. When you half wake at three in the morning to the dying echo of a scream, you mutter something about mountain lions and fall right back to sleep.

You don't see it but the figure in the corner of your room smiles. Moonlight catching for a split second on the butcher's knife in his hand.

"You always were a deep sleeper, baby. Can never remember your dreams."

Morning comes fast after that. When you wake, the only evidence of your midnight visitor is a slightly misplaced pair of sneakers that you're too drowsy to notice.

Your room door opens easily and you're half way down the stairs before you even start to wonder where your friends are.

Still sleeping probably. Had a late night.

The only sign that someone else is awake is a half empty pot of coffee and a dirty mug in the sink. You don't really feel comfortable rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but the hitchhiker did say to help yourself... You end up snatching a small Greek yogurt from the fridge and taking it out to the porch.

The forest is alive with bird song, dew still melting in the grass. It's peaceful. Tranquil. For the first time, you're entirely happy that you accepted the hitchhiker's offer.

The only thing that disrupts the picture perfect scene is a single discarded sneaker, thick with mud and left right in the middle of the yard.

You sigh. Did one of your friends really lose a whole shoe and not notice? You pick it up and knock the worst of the mud off.

So much for being well-behaved. You'll have to check over the whole place before you leave, make sure they haven't somehow tanked to the property value. The edges of the laces are stained a rusty red but you chalk it up to spilled wine or something.

You drop the shoe at the door and make your way back into the kitchen. It takes some searching but you finally find the dustbin, half hidden in a cupboard. Ugh, why do rich people always have to hide the trash away in the most obscure places?

Yesterday's paper is shoved under some tea bags, the edges of the front page barely visible.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY

You frown, you gut suddenly nauseous and rolling. You dig the newspaper out of the trash. Slowly. Hesitantly. Amost afraid that the reality will be twice as bad as your suspicions. There's a massive stain on the front but you can still read the print clearly.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY CORRECTIONS. MANHUNT UNDERWAY.

You don't bother to read the article. The pictures alone tell you everything. You feel sick enough to faint.

You didn't think you'd ever see his face again, but here it is. Mugshot slightly blurry and the ink starting to run. Scowling at the camera like he's more pissed at being caught than anything else.

Your ex boyfriend.

You might have been fine if it was just him. Might have called the DA and the lead homicide detective, begged for witness protection. But trouble never visits without company. There's another mugshot under his, this one captioned Serial Arsonist & Convicted Killer.

The hitchhiker wasn't smiling when the cops lined him up for his red carpet shoot. His eyes are as black and empty in his mugshot as they were last night. When he looked at you and said he was craving meat. Meat.

You might have laughed if you didn't think you were about to vomit. Yeah, he was probably craving meat alright. The roasted and still screaming kind.

You drop the newspaper, hands shaking so bad you can't hold onto it even if you wanted to.

"I told him to take out the trash. But does he listen?"

You whirl around. The hitchhiker is blocking the back door and holding your friend's lost sneaker, rolling the stained laces between his fingers.

"Thanks for grabbing this, gorgeous. If we missed it, the pigs would be back on our asses in no time."

You run.

You don't bother hearing him out or rationalising. You turn away from him and bolt straight for the front door.

You almost make it.

Your fingers just brush the metal of the doorknob before someone grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you towards them, hard enough that you end up on your back. Winded. Your scalp burning.

"Gonna leave without even saying hello? C'mon baby, is that how you greet your man?"

Your boyfriend is standing above you, smirking like this is all a game. He's still in his prison jumpsuit, the sleeves knotted around his waist. He's wearing a white tank and one glance is enough to tell you that prison has been great for his gym journey. His muscles - always toned to begin with - are positively huge.

He's always been strong, but the sight of him like this has your heart racing. How much harder can he hit, with all that extra bulk to back him up?

He slams you back onto the floor when you move to get up, his boot pressing into your sternum so hard you can almost hear your bones creaking.

"Aww, don't get up baby. Let's just talk. We've got so much to catch up on."

He presses his heel into you. Hard enough that you can't breathe out it hurting.

"Where to start... Oh, I know! Have you fucked anyone else while I've been gone? Gotten yourself a new man? Who's been between your legs while I've. Been. Rotting. Away?"

He punctuates his sentence with sharp jabs of his boot.

"No one," you managed to choke out. "Didn't have anybody."

He takes his boot off your chest and you suck in a painful breath, your lungs and ribs on fire. You roll onto you hands and knees, coughing.

Shit. Fuck.

He squats down so he's level with you, voice a sickly sweet drawl.

"You promise?"

"I-" Another painful coughing fit. "I swear. No one else."

"I don't know if I can believe you, baby. You said you loved me, and then you ratted on me to the cops. Not the best record."

He grabs your hair and hauls you to your feet, totally unbothered that you still can't breathe right.

You shriek and try to pull away, only for him to wrap a hand around your throat and pin you against his chest.

He squeezes hard enough that your larynx feels like it's going to collapse.

"What do you think I should do?"

You think he's asking you, but it's the hitchhiker that answers. He's leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed like he's watching two kittens at play rather than seeing your boyfriend almost choke the life out of you.

"I reckon we should check. Her cunt should be all tight and wet after months without cock. And if it isn't...well, there's your answer."

"You hear that baby? We're gonna make sure you've been well behaved."

We?

You start fighting all the harder. One murderer is enough. You don't want both their hands on you. You'll never be able to scrub yourself clean again.

The hitchhiker smirks and pushes himself away from the wall. His pupils are all wide again, twin blackholes hungry enough to swallow you, your friends, the whole damn world.

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing but you're up against two convicted killers who've had nothing but time to get stronger. Who've had the world's hardest lessons in cruelty.

Your boyfriend lets go of your hair and grabs one flailing wrist. He bends your arm up your back until you heads tucked under his chin and you're standing on your tiptoes to alleviate the pressure.

The hitchhiker twists one ankle behind yours so you can't kick out of him. It feels like a move cops and wardens might use. He must have had it done to him plenty, if he can so easily put you in the same position.

"I'll scream."

That makes them laugh.

"Go on then gorgeous. Scream. No one heard your friends last night. What makes you think they'll hear you?"

Your friends... You were panicking so bad you hadn't even considered them. The hitchhiker sees your eyes go wide and grins that easy, friendly grin of his. The one that made you trust him enough to give him a ride.

"Oh, we took good care of them. I'll spare you the grisly details but there's no one left out here but us."

It's too awful to consider. Too visceral. Too unreal. Your mind blocks it out and changes your whole train of thought to focus on escaping.

You focus on your boyfriend. He isn't acting like himself. The same man who put his hand on the bible and swore before the court that he killed all those people because of you - that man - was suddenly willing to share? Was inviting someone else to enjoy your body?

"You're going to let him touch me? You killed my lab partner because you said he would jerk off to pictures of me. What the hell changed?"

Your boyfriend hums.

"A whole lot. He's my cellmate."

Like that explains anything!

The hitchhiker slips his fingers under the hem of your top, nails running along your waistband.

"He wouldn't shut up about you. Had your pictures pinned up above his bed and everything. It was so fucking annoying at first. My girl this, my baby that. But after a few months..."

He pops open the button of your jeans with a flick of his thumb. You jerk away but your boyfriend twists your arm even harder and you're forced to hold still.

"After a few months, I started to understand the appeal. Could see why he was so into you. And hell, I wanted a taste myself. Wanted to see if you lived up to the hype."

Your boyfriend is smiling. You can tell from his voice.

"And is she worth all the hard work we put in?"

The hitchhiker's hands are cold. You flinch when he slips his fingers past your panties. He rubs his thumb against your slit, savouring every inch.

"For her? I'd kill twice as many as we did last night."

He sighs as he feels your slick starting to collect around his knuckles. Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you. Cold, uncomfortably cold.

He has a guitarist's hands and you can feel the callouses on his fingertips scraping against your walls. Too rough. Too much.

"Just like I thought. Tight and wet. Your girls loyal to a fault."

Your boyfriend practically purrs.

"Been so good while I was gone, baby. You deserve a reward, dontcha?"

He leans down and nips your cheek. You feel sick. His teeth so close...

"Don't worry. We'll fill you up so good that you'll never try running again."

Your spring break road trip starts well and gets better. But the end? Well, it ends with a cock down your throat in and another in your cunt. It ends with a hand around your neck and teeth marks on your thighs. It ends with a reminder to always trust your instincts and to never, ever give rides to strangers.