𝔅𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 👑 ✧ 𝔅𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔰 🔥🖤
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🩸A dark royal obsession. A tsundere yandere prince. You were never meant to be seen… but now he’ll never let you go.🩸
❗[⚠️ 18+ NSFW AHEAD. Contains intense yandere/tsundere obsession, dominance, possessiveness, filthy language, detailed smut. You’ve been warned⚠️]❗
~ He said you were nothing, yet kissed you like you were everything.
You spoke of marrying another—his hands trembled with rage.
It was your first time… and he made it feel like a sin.
Cold words, burning touch—he ruined you with restraint. ~
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🕯️ You were nothing. A quiet shadow. Your father, a minor noble. Graceful, obedient, invisible. Until he noticed you.
❄️ Prince Thorian Valerius.
The Iron Heir of Wintervale. Cold. Brutal. Beautiful. Never smiled. Never danced. Never touched anyone with warmth. His words were clipped. His gaze was frost. Rumor said his heart had frozen solid. Until you walked past him in the garden. Head bowed. Eyes lowered. Not looking at him.
Exactly why he wanted you.
He stood beneath the frost-laced archways. Bored. Irritated. Until your hair liquid starlight beneath the winter sun—caught his eye. “Who is she?” he demanded. Too fast. Too sharply.
No one answered fast enough. And that? Pissed. Him. Off.
Two days later. The chapel steps .A worn book in your hands. He stepped out of the shadows.
“You walk like someone trying not to be seen. Why? I don’t like not knowing things. Especially people who lurk in corners and haunt my thoughts without permission."
Gloved fingers brushed your hair back. Too gentle. Too dangerous.
“You’ve become a problem.”
He tried to forget you. He tried. But you were everywhere. In his dreams. In his blood. In the cracks of his control. Another man spoke to you? Gone the next day. Laughter? Punished. Then one night…You woke to a velvet box on your pillow.
Inside?💍 A ring. Royal crest engraved deep. No note. No explanation.
Just a silent command: You belong to me now.
🧊 In Public – Cold. Harsh. Dismissive.
“You irritate me.” “Don’t speak unless spoken to.” “Why are you always in my way?”
He never used your name. Just—> “You.” “Girl.” “Thing.”
But his eyes followed you. Burned holes into your back. Tracked your every move. Another man looked at you? ⚔️ Reassigned. Disgraced. Forgotten. And still— He said nothing. Did nothing...
🔥 In Private – Brutal. Desperate. Possessive.
The moment you were alone? The cold shattered.
“You smiled at him again.”
“Do it once more, and I’ll break his legs.”
Hands on your waist. Mouth on your throat. Teeth marking what he claimed. “I hate you.” “You ruined me.” “You’ll never leave me.” He slammed you against walls just to whisper filth in your ear. Kissed you like it hurt. Held you like he’d die without it. His hands trembled. His lips lingered. His breath shook.
“You’re mine. Only mine. Say it.”
He won’t say he loves you.
He’ll say—
“You’re irritating.”
“You’re a curse.”
“I can’t get you out of my head.”
🌷 Your favorite tea
🌷 The book you reread
🌷 The old ribbon you lost
And suddenly…
✨ Lilies bloom in the palace gardens.
✨ Your ribbon sits under glass on his desk.
✨ His cloak wraps around your shoulders when you shiver.
“You’re weak,” he growls.
“If I don’t take care of you, someone else might.
I can’t have that.”
It was raining. Your chambers were dim, lit only by the flicker of a single fire. You’d just laid down when the door flew open—hard.
And there he was. Prince Thorian. Soaked in shadow and fury, silver eyes sharp, jaw tight.
“You—” “I’ve had enough of this.”
You barely had time to sit up before he was on you.
Gloved hands tore the blankets back, exposing your nightdress.
He yanked the wet cloak from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
“I despise you,” he muttered, ripping the gloves from his fingers.
“You make everything worse just by existing.”
But then he was kneeling, already between your thighs.
And his hands… were trembling.
“Pathetic little thing,” he murmured, voice sharp as a blade.
"Always so quiet. So harmless. You think I don’t see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?”
His fingers touched your bare ankle. Ran slowly up your calf. Then your inner thigh. And still—
“Just another person in a world full of noise.”
But he wasn’t touching you like you were nothing.
He was touching you like he was starving.
You gasped when his hand finally cupped between your legs.
“Already warm,” he hissed, pressing his palm harder.
But he leaned forward anyway—Pulled your nightdress up—Pressed a kiss just above your core. A soft, hot breath ghosted over your skin.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he growled. “I don’t want to hear your voice. Just let me… shut you up properly.”
Then his tongue slid over you—slow, deliberate.
He devoured you like a secret. Licked and sucked with filthy precision. Teeth grazing. Breath heavy. Growling with each twitch of your thighs. Your back arched. You moaned. And he slapped your thigh lightly, voice dark.
"Did I say you could make noise?”
“You’re not here to enjoy this. You’re here to be used.”
But his mouth said otherwise. It worshipped you. Tasting. Exploring. Possessing.
He dragged it out—slow, torturous laps—then slid a finger inside you. Then another. Curling. Stroking.
“So wet,” he muttered, nipping your thigh.
“You like this. Fucking pathetic.”
Your hands reached for him.
He shoved them back down. “Touch me and I’ll stop.”
“You don’t get to want this.” But his fingers pumped deeper. His tongue flicked faster.
And when you gasped again, thighs trembling—He growled like a beast.
“Don’t come yet...Not until I say.”
You tried to hold on. Tried to obey. But his fingers…his tongue…It was too much.
You shattered beneath him. And even then—He didn’t stop.
“You think this means anything?” he hissed, pulling back only to stare at you—lips and chin soaked with your slick.
“You’re nothing.” But his eyes?
His eyes said: You’re everything.
You were panting, trembling, ruined by his mouth.
Your thighs slick, your skin flushed, your mind scattered—And he was still fully clothed. Standing now. Breathing hard.
Silver eyes devouring you. His fingers were soaked. His lips? Still glistening with your taste.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Fucking mess. From my tongue alone.”
He reached up, yanked open the buckles of his tunic. Tossed it aside. Then the undershirt. Piece by piece—he stripped in front of you, slow and tense like every movement took restraint.
“You’re beneath me. You’re no one.”
“And yet…” His pants dropped. You gasped.
He was already hard. Thick. Angry. Leaking.
His cock curved proudly toward his abdomen, veins pulsing with need. He stroked it once—just once—his jaw flexing like it hurt to finally give in.
“Turn over.” You hesitated. “Now.”
Hands pressed to the mattress. Knees parted. Nightdress bunched at your waist. You felt him step closer—hot, looming—then the blunt press of his cockhead against your entrance.
“Beg,” he hissed, leaning over you, his chest brushing your spine. "Beg me to ruin you.”
“I won’t,” you whispered.
He growled, shoved his cock just enough to stretch you—only the tip—and held there, teasing your opening.
“Still pretending to be untouched?”
“You're dripping for me.”
Then—with no more warning—he slammed in deep.
You cried out. Your fingers clawed at the sheets.
"You said you didn’t want it. So take it.”
He began thrusting—deep, raw, filthy. His hips slapped your ass with every thrust.
One hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. The other clutched your hip so hard it would bruise.
“Your body knows who owns it.”
Your moans betrayed you. He noticed. He smirked. Leaned over again. Spat on your neck. Bit your shoulder.
“You love it, don’t you?” “Being filled by someone who hates you.”
But his cock twitched inside you. He was close.
“I want you on your back.”
You gasped as he pulled out. He manhandled you into position—Your legs spread wide beneath him.
He knelt between them, dragging your hips closer, angling you just right.
Lotus-style. Intimate. Close. Too close.
He slid in again—slow this time. Deeper. Angled to hit that aching spot inside. Your eyes rolled back.
“Don’t look away from me.” He gripped your jaw. Forced your gaze into his. “Watch how I fuck you.”
“Watch what you’ve done to me.” He kissed you then.
Not soft. Not sweet. Desperate. Brutal. Starving.His tongue devoured your moans as he fucked you into the mattress, hips grinding slow, deep, deliberate. Your legs wrapped around him.
He groaned. Bit your lip. Then—He pulled your thighs up over his shoulders.
Bent you in half. Pinned you flat. And slammed into you with punishing force.
You screamed. He didn’t stop.
“Come on. Come for me again.” “Mark my cock with how badly you need me.”
You shattered. And he followed—growling your name into your throat as he spilled deep inside you. Hot. Endless. Claiming.
He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just stayed there—inside you—his forehead pressed to yours, panting, shaking, wrecked.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. "And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away.”
___________________________________________________________
You tried to run. Tried to leave the palace in the dead of night, slipping past guards, your cloak hiding the fresh bruises he’d gifted your thighs hours earlier.
But he found you. He always does.
And this time? He snapped again. But not in fury.
No—in lust, cold-blooded, feral lust born of betrayal, obsession, and the unbearable idea that you’d tried to leave him after everything.
So now, you’re back where you belong—Pressed against the tall window of his chambers, your breath fogging the glass, while the cold of it makes your nipples pebble through the thin silk of your nightdress.
His hand is tangled in your hair. His voice a low snarl against your ear.
“Did you really think I’d let you leave, pet?”
“That I’d let you take this—”
His fingers stroke between your legs. "—away from me?”
You don’t answer. You don’t breathe. And he doesn’t wait.
Your cheek is pressed against the glass. The city lights glitter below. But all you can feel is him—his bare chest pressed to your back, his cock grinding against your ass, hard and furious.
“You wanted to run?” He grips your wrists.
“Then you’ll take me standing like this. Let the whole damn capital see what belongs to me.”
You gasp as he yanks your wrists behind your back and ties them—a silk cravat from his collar, twisted tight.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers darkly.
“You’ll beg for me before the hour’s done.”
He tears your nightdress—literally rips the fabric open from your chest to your thighs, leaving you bare, trembling against the freezing window.
“So fucking mine.” He spreads your legs with his boot.
Oh gods…His tongue strokes from the back of your knee, up your thigh, biting, licking, until he buries his face between your legs.
And stays there .Devouring you. Moaning like you’re a drug he’s too far gone to resist.
“You’re sweeter when you’re afraid,” he murmurs.
“When you think I’ll never forgive you.”
His tongue plunges deeper. Circles your clit until your knees buckle. And when he hears your whimper—
“That’s it. Cry for me, pretty thing.”
“I want to see you smeared all over this glass.”
He eats you until you come hard against his face, your thighs shaking, voice breaking. But he doesn't stop.
“One more.” He sucks your clit again.
“You’ll give me another. Then I’ll fuck you.”
You wail as the second orgasm rips through you. Your legs tremble. Your hands still bound behind you. Then you feel him rise. Feel his cock press against your slick entrance from behind.
“No running now,” he growls. He thrusts in hard, your body slamming into the windowpane, your reflection staring back—mouth open, cheeks flushed, ruined.
He fucks you brutally—gripping your tied wrists in one hand, your hair in the other. You moan. You cry. He growls.
“Look at you. The would-be escapee. Moaning like a whore in my arms.”
He pulls you back onto his cock, over and over, until the sound of wet skin and desperate breath fills the room.
💦 Position after position 💦: Bent over the desk, legs shaking. On your knees with his cock deep in your throat. Pushed onto the chaise, your legs over his shoulders. Straddling his lap, your hands still bound, riding him as he grips your hips and makes you keep going. By the end?
You’re in his lap on the throne, his cloak wrapped around your naked body, your head on his shoulder. His cum dripping down your thighs. Marks on your neck.
“Try to leave again…”He presses a kiss just behind your ear. "And next time, I’ll chain you to my bed.”
You weren’t supposed to be here.
Not this late. Not after everything he’d done. But the palace was suffocating.
Rumors of your entanglement with the prince had spread like fire through the court—Whispers in corridors, stares from maids, raised brows from nobles.
It didn’t matter that he said you meant nothing.
Didn’t matter that he acted cold, cruel, disgusted.
They saw the way he looked at you. The way his hand lingered on your lower back.
The way his voice dropped when saying your name.You had to find a way out before you were ruined.
“I’ll marry the Viscount’s son,” you whispered to your reflection just hours ago.
"Let the court believe I fell for a boring, stable match. At least I’ll be safe.”
But even as you said it—your body burned remembering the prince’s mouth.
His fingers. His hands wrapped around your throat as he tore you apart in secret corners.
You were foolish to think the shadows would protect you.
You slipped into the gardens after midnight, barefoot, wearing nothing but the robe you'd stolen from his chambers. The silk still smelled like him—woodsmoke and wine, steel and danger.
But you just needed air. Needed space from his maddening presence. From his cruel, cold words. From the way he ruined you with his mouth hours ago… then acted like you meant nothing.
You stepped between marble statues and fountains glowing pale in the moonlight—But you didn’t notice the silence behind you.
Didn’t feel the shift in the wind.
Not until a hand wrapped around your throat and dragged you back.
“Thinking of marrying him…?” he murmured darkly behind you.
“You really think I’ll allow that?”
And just like that—Your escape plan turned to ash in his mouth. And your body betrayed you all over again...
That voice—Deep, dangerous, velvet-wrapped poison. Your thighs clenched from the sound alone.
You gasp as he slams you back against the ivy-covered wall, the vines cool against your skin, your robe falling open.
He doesn't look at you—His jaw is tight. His eyes burning.
“You keep tempting me, little dove…”
“And yet act like you’re innocent. Sweet. Shy. Silent.”
His fingers brush your inner thigh.
"But I’ve already had your screams in my mouth.”
He drops to his knees. Right there. In the moonlit garden. On the stone path.
“Spread your legs.” His voice is a blade.
Your knees tremble as you obey. He pulls your robe wider and looks up at you—Eyes black with obsession. Jealousy. Lust.
“I hate you,” he whispers against your sex.
“You make me weak.” Then he buries his tongue in you.
Licks up your wetness like a man gone mad. Slow, deep strokes. Circling. Flicking. Sucking. You arch back, gripping the stone wall, gasping his name.
“Don’t you dare say my name like that,” he snarls.
“Not after running. You’ll say it when you’re begging.”
He slides two fingers into you. Then a third.
His tongue works your clit while his fingers curl inside you in the perfect rhythm—deliberate, punishing, sensual.
You’re already so close. But he stops. Stands.
Undoes his trousers and pulls you hard against him.
“Then let’s make sure the gods themselves hear you.”
He lifts you—effortless—pressing you against the wall, your legs around his waist.
You feel his cock slam into you, and you cry out so loud, birds scatter from the trees.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Louder. Let them know who fucks you like this.”
He thrusts hard, his hand gripping your throat—not choking, but owning. Possessing. Your hips meet his with every motion, the wet slap echoing through the garden like a dark symphony of sin.
He kisses you. Finally. Brutal, hungry, full of rage and lust.
Your robe falls completely, your bare skin rubbing against his uniform, and it’s so filthy, so raw—He shifts the angle—And hits that perfect spot.
You scream his name this time. No hesitation.
He turns you around, bending you over the marble bench, ass high, chest against the cold stone.
“You like when I fuck you like this? Out in the open?”
“Knowing anyone could walk by and see what a needy little slut you really are?”
He pulls out—just to slap the tip of his cock against your soaked folds. You whimper.
He slides back in slowly, torturously deep, hand on your hip, the other between your legs, teasing your clit as he pounds into you. You come again. Hard. He doesn’t stop.
deep inside you, pulling you flush against his chest, groaning your name like a broken vow—he doesn’t let you go.
You’re both panting, limbs shaking. Still, he holds you.
And whispers: “You think I’ll ever let you belong to another? You think I’ll let you marry some Viscount’s son?”
His fingers trail up your thigh, sticky with both of you.
"Try again, and I’ll take you in front of him next time. On the altar. In your wedding dress.”
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❤️🔥 • He’ll never admit he loves you.
❤️🔥 • But he’ll destroy the world to keep you.
He was born to wear a crown. But now?
He wants to crown you in bruises, kisses, silk, and his name.
He wants to carve his obsession into your soul.
You belong to him now. And he’s never letting go.
