Kryllia

"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?" Request open

[kryllia]

Masterlist!

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Hello, I’m Kryllia, your most yandere writer~ This account is mainly dedicated to yandere-themed stories, exploring the depths of obsession, devotion, and dangerous love. However, I may also post a few non-yandere works from time to time! If you enjoy my posts, feel free to repost, like, or leave a comment—I love hearing your thoughts! ♡♡

⚠︎ Important Warning: While I write about yandere characters, this behavior is NOT okay in real life. Obsession and possessiveness should stay in fiction—real relationships must be built on love, trust, and respect. Please enjoy responsibly! ⚠︎

If you’re drawn to the beauty of dark romance and twisted devotion, then welcome—you're in the right place. ♡ But if this isn't your thing, feel free to step away. No hard feelings! ♡

Now, dive in and lose yourself in my world... just once you're here, you might never leave~ ♥︎♥︎

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡

OC CHARACTERS

Aiden Yandere boyfriend x reader

Prequel - Before You Knew Him: A Boy Who Watched

Through His Eyes - Pt 1

Eli Yanndere guitarist x reader

Strings of Obsession

Felix Yandere north prince x princess reader

A Kingdom of Ash and Cold

Osiris Yandere Monster Imprisoned Prince x Reader Maid

Imprisoned Prince

Nicolò Dellabarca Yandere mafia classmate x reader

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own pt1

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own pt2

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own pt3

Tafari Yandere Naga Mate x Reader

Coiled Devotion

House of the Dragon

Aemond Targaryen

Silver Threads of Love - Husband Aemond Targaryen x Wife Reader romantic fluff

[kryllia]

Can I please be added to your tag list?

ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[kryllia]

Coiled Devotion

art from pinterest

yandere naga mate x reader

The forest was a tangle of emerald shadows and whispering leaves, the kind of place people warned you not to wander into alone. But you’d never listened to warnings well. You thought you were careful, stepping over roots and ducking under low branches, following the sound of water until the underbrush gave way to a hidden stream.

That’s when it happened.

A flash of movement, green and shimmering like sunlight on scales, cut across your path. You gasped, stumbling back, but your foot caught on something thick, smooth, and disturbingly warm. A tail. You tripped, sprawling onto the damp moss, your heart slamming against your ribs.

When you scrambled to sit up, you finally saw him.

Not a man. Not a snake. Something in between. His body rose from the tail you’d tripped over, coils shifting and flexing like living muscle beneath that gleaming green skin. His upper half was striking—tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-bronzed skin and long, silky white hair cascading over his back. But his eyes… his eyes were what froze you in place.

Bright yellow, slit-pupiled, and far too intelligent.

They swept over you, and a slow smile spread across his mouth. Not cruel exactly, but sharp. Hungry.

“A human… ?” His voice was a low, rolling hiss that vibrated in your chest. “I don’t see those around here often.” His smile widened, fangs glinting. “Tell me… have the Gods sent you to me, my dear?”

You couldn’t speak. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your legs wouldn’t obey.

He moved closer, the coils of his tail sliding across the moss, scales whispering like silk. You saw now that his tail was enormous, thick as a tree trunk, at least five feet long and still curling beyond your sight. A predator built for constriction.

But instead of striking, he simply crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His scent, warm and earthy, like rain on stone, surrounded you. His hair brushed your cheek as he tilted his head.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“…[your name],” you managed to choke out.

His eyes brightened. “[your name].” He said it like a prayer. “Soft. Pretty. It suits you.”

A forked tongue flickered past his lips, tasting the air near your face. “You’re trembling. You think I’ll hurt you?” His voice turned teasing, almost wounded. “Oh no, little mouse. I wouldn’t dream of breaking something so… delicate.”

His hand, warm, calloused cupped your chin. “Not unless you make me.”

You tried to pull back, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you still. Not painful. Just firm.

“I…” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just—”

“Lost?” he guessed. His thumb stroked your lower lip as though he couldn’t resist touching you. “Or maybe looking for something you didn’t know you needed?”

He chuckled, a sound like stones rolling in a river. “Ah, but forgive me. I’m forgetting my manners. My name is Tafari.”

The name curled off his tongue like smoke.

“Tafari,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he purred. “Good. Say it again.”

“…Tafari.”

A shiver ran down his spine, through the coils of his tail. His pupils blew wide. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “The Gods truly are kind.”

He eased his grip but didn’t let go. His tail shifted behind him, looping lazily as if to pen you in.

“Do you know what happens to small creatures who stumble into a predator’s den, Y/N?” he asked, almost conversational.

You swallowed hard. “…They get eaten.”

Another chuckle, low and warm. “Sometimes.” He leaned closer until his nose almost brushed yours. “And sometimes… they get claimed.”

That should have terrified you. And maybe it did. But something about the way he looked at you—like you were a miracle, like you’d fallen from the sky just for him—kept you frozen in place.

“I’ve been alone for a long time,” Tafari confessed, voice softening. “Too long. The creatures here fear me. They should. But it grows… cold.”

His hand slid from your chin to your throat, tracing the line of your pulse. His touch was oddly reverent. “I’ve dreamed of a mate. Someone to warm my nest. To give me a family. To belong to me.” His yellow eyes locked on yours. “And now here you are.”

Your heart hammered. “I’m not—”

“Hush.” His thumb pressed lightly against your lips. “Don’t ruin it with words.”

He wrapped one coil of his tail around your legs—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to pin you in place. The strength in that single loop was staggering. He could crush you without effort. Instead he simply held you there, watching your reaction.

“I won’t harm you,” he said again. “Unless you try to run.” His voice turned sharp, an edge beneath the warmth. “If you run, little one, I’ll catch you. And then I won’t be so gentle.”

Your breath came fast and shallow. “Why me?”

He smiled again, softer this time. “Because you tripped over me. Because you looked at me and didn’t scream. Because…” He leaned in, inhaling deeply at your neck. “…you smell like home.”

He shifted, pulling you closer until you were seated in his lap, his coils circling you like a living throne. You felt the slow, powerful movement of his muscles beneath your palms.

“I forget how small humans are,” he murmured, brushing his nose along your jaw. “So soft. So fragile.”

His fingers found your hair, combing through it with surprising gentleness. “You must forgive me if I hold you too tightly. It has been… so long since I touched another.”

You tried to push back, but his tail only tightened slightly, a warning. “Please…” you whispered. “I can’t—”

“You can,” he hissed softly. “You will.”

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Let me have this, little one. Let me hold you. Just for a moment.”

And despite yourself, you let him.

His arms wrapped around you, strong and possessive, while his tail curled more securely. The heat of his body seeped into yours, strangely comforting despite everything.

When he pulled back, his eyes had gone darker, hungrier. “Stay with me,” he said simply. “Be mine. I’ll keep you safe. Fed. Warm. Worshipped.”

You shook your head, but his hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb stroking your skin until you shivered. “No?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’d rather return to the world that left you wandering alone? You’d rather risk being devoured by wolves, by men, by time itself?”

His tail shifted again, brushing your thigh like a caress. “I could give you everything.”

“I don’t even know you,” you whispered.

His smile turned sharp. “You will.”

_

You weren’t sure how many days had passed. Tafari’s world didn’t have clocks or calendars, only the rhythm of his coils around you and the sound of the forest breathing. But one morning, distant voices cut through the air like knives.

“…[your name]!” “…please, if you’re out here—!”

Your heart lurched. That was your family.

You scrambled to your feet, but before you could take two steps, a thick green coil blocked your path. Tafari rose from the nest, hair spilling down his shoulders, golden eyes already narrowing.

“Humans,” he hissed. “More of them.”

“It’s my family,” you whispered, your chest tight. “They’re looking for me. I have to—”

His tail snapped up, curling around your waist and dragging you back against his chest. His claws brushed your throat, not cutting, but reminding you how sharp they were.

“No,” he said, voice flat but trembling with something darker. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“They’ll think I’m dead!” you cried. “They’re worried about me—”

“They should be worried,” he hissed. “But not for you. For themselves.”

The voices grew louder, pushing through the underbrush. You could see glimpses of them now—lamplight between the trees, your sibling’s voice calling your name. Hope and panic collided in your chest.

“Please,” you begged. “Just let me talk to them—”

Tafari’s coils tightened. Not crushing, but enough to steal your breath. His lips brushed your ear, his voice a low, venomous hiss.

“They’re trespassing. Entering my territory. Taking what’s mine.” His pupils narrowed to thin slits. “Do you know what happens to prey that wanders into a predator’s den, [your name]?”

Your pulse hammered. “Don’t hurt them,” you whispered.

He stilled. For a long moment, you thought you saw a flicker of conflict in his golden eyes. Then his smile returned—slow, deliberate, fanged.

“I won’t… if they leave.”

Your family emerged into the clearing at last, eyes wide at the sight of Tafari’s massive coils wrapped around you. One of them raised a hand, trembling. “Let them go,” they demanded. “Please, they’re our!”

“They’re mine,” Tafari interrupted, voice as smooth as oil. He rose higher, tail shifting and coiling, his white hair catching the dappled light. “The forest gave them to me. The Gods delivered them. And I do not give back what’s mine.”

Your sibling stepped forward. “You’re a monster. You can’t keep them!”

Tafari hissed, a sound like steam from boiling water. His tail lashed, striking the ground so hard it cracked the earth. Your family stumbled back.

“I can,” he said softly. “I will.”

He looked down at you, eyes softening slightly. “Tell them,” he murmured. “Tell them you’re not leaving.”

Tears stung your eyes. “Tafari…”

His claws grazed your jaw, a whisper of a threat. “Tell them, little one.”

Your voice shook. “…Go. Please. Just go.”

Your family’s faces crumpled—fear, confusion, heartbreak. One reached for you again, but Tafari’s tail snapped out, striking a tree beside them. Bark splintered.

“Run,” Tafari hissed. “While I still let you.”

They fled.

Silence fell, broken only by your ragged breathing. Tafari’s coils loosened enough for you to breathe, but not enough to escape. He turned your face toward him, golden eyes burning.

“They would have taken you from me,” he said quietly. “They would have dragged you back to their world. You’d have withered there. Without me.”

“They’re my family,” you whispered.

“They were,” he corrected. “Now you’re mine.”

You tried to pull back, but his arms wrapped around you, tail curling tighter until you were pressed to his chest. His heart beat steady and strong beneath your ear.

“I know you’re angry,” he murmured, stroking your hair with his claws. “I know you don’t understand yet. But you will. In time, you’ll see this was the only way.”

His lips brushed your temple—gentle, possessive, final. “You’re safe now. Safe with me.”

His coils shifted again, pulling you deeper into the nest, away from the trail, away from the world you once knew.

“You’ll thank me someday,” he whispered. “When the forest swallows their scent and only mine remains.”

He led you deeper than you’d ever been, to a hollow in the roots of an ancient tree. Soft pelts lined the ground. The scent of him—warm and earthy—hung thick in the air.

“This will be ours,” he said, voice low but certain. “A nest. Hidden. Safe. No one will find you here but me.”

You shivered. “You can’t keep me forever.”

His smile curved, almost sad. “I can. And I will. The world out there will forget you. But I won’t.”

He drew you down into the nest, wrapping his coils around you like a living fortress. His touch softened, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Rest now, [your name]. The hunt is over. You’re home.”

You closed your eyes, unsure if you were trembling from fear or the strange, terrible comfort of his warmth. His tail tightened gently, a heartbeat against your skin.

“Mine,” he murmured. “Always mine.”

[kryllia]

What happens when reader tries seducing nicolo to distract him— one night of eternal bliss just for her to try to escape?

Hi! This inspired me for pt 3. Thank you for the inspiration, anon. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[kryllia]

when is there gonna be a part 3 to Nicolò???😭 it’s soooooo good

Hiii!! Today I published another part. I apologize for the late update. The explanation is at the end of Pt 3. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[kryllia]

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own Pt3

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader pt3

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3

The moon was high when you made the decision.

You couldn’t take the silence anymore the velvet trap of his estate, the way everyone looked at you like you already belonged. And worse, the way you’d started to feel like maybe… you did.

Maybe it was the way Nicolò touched you now gentle, reverent, his cold mask cracking whenever your fingers brushed his. Maybe it was the things he whispered in the dark, things he never said when the lights were on.

Or maybe it was the way your heart beat faster when he was near, not just in fear but in something dangerously close to want.

You hated yourself for it.

But you could use it.

You would.

Tonight.

You stood in front of the mirror in your new suite, his suite, wearing a silk nightgown Isabella had left in your closet. It clung to your body like water, soft as breath. Your hair, usually tied back, hung loose around your shoulders. Your skin glowed in the low candlelight.

You looked like someone else.

Someone in control.

You stepped quietly into Nicolò’s bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, black slacks riding low on his hips. His head was bowed, elbows on his knees, hands running through his hair. He looked exhausted. Vulnerable.

Perfect.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“I heard you pacing,” he murmured. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard, stepped closer.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said. “Too much on my mind.”

He looked up.

And froze.

His eyes dragged down your body slow, stunned, hungry. For a moment, he didn’t breathe.

Then “Cara mia…”

You stepped between his knees, your hands settling on his shoulders.

He didn’t move. He just looked up at you like you were something sacred. Like he’d never been this close to salvation.

You bent slightly, your lips brushing his ear.

“Make it stop,” you whispered. “Make me forget where I am. Just for tonight.”

His breath hitched.

You leaned back, looked into his eyes, and for the first time, you meant it, at least a little. That scared you more than anything.

“I want you, Nicolò.”

That shattered whatever control he had left.

He surged up and kissed you, rough and needy, pulling you into his lap. His hands gripped your waist, your thighs, your face like he was afraid you’d vanish.

And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it. You kissed him back. You moaned when he whispered your name. You arched into him like you belonged there, like his bed was your home, like you’d never dream of leaving.

And when it was over, when his breathing slowed and his arm tightened protectively around you.

You waited.

Waited for his heartbeat to even out.

Waited for the rhythm of his breath to soften in sleep.

Then you slipped out of bed.

Barefoot, silent, you crept across the room, every step a betrayal.

You reached the hall. Slipped past the sleepy night guard, someone new, someone who didn’t know your patterns yet. You took the back stairwell, heart pounding, pulse wild.

And then.

You ran.

Out into the trees behind the estate.

Into the forest.

Free.

Time passed in fragments. Branches scratched your skin. Leaves clung to your feet. You didn’t care. You ran like your life depended on it because it did.

You didn’t know how long you were gone. An hour? More?

The forest seemed endless. Every turn looked the same. You began to panic.

What if I’m going in circles?

Then an engine. Distant. A road.

Relief surged through you.

You sprinted toward the sound, lungs burning, legs aching.

But then.

The barking started.

Your heart dropped.

The dogs.

You ran harder, pushing through branches, until the trees thinned and gravel crunched beneath your feet.

You’d made it to the roadside.

But not fast enough.

A sharp pain tore through your leg. You screamed.

A massive dog had latched onto your right calf, teeth sinking deep enough to bruise but not quite enough to tear flesh. You fell hard to the dirt, unable to move.

More barking. More growling. You twisted, tried to crawl.

“FERMA.”

A voice tore through the air like a gunshot.

Nicolò.

He stormed out of the treeline, coat flying behind him, his face twisted in something savage. His eyes locked on you, and you knew.

He had lost control.

“I trusted you!” he roared.

You flinched.

“I thought.....” His voice cracked as he approached. “I thought you were finally starting to see it. I thought you were smart enough to love me back.”

You tried to move your hands shaking, blood and sweat mixing but the pain made you cry out.

He didn’t stop.

“I loved you!” he screamed, chest heaving. “I love you. I saved you. And you throw that away for what? A few minutes of freedom?”

You looked up, tears blurring your vision. “You’re insane.”

He stopped just in front of you. His eyes usually so cold were burning now. With rage. With heartbreak.

“You think I wanted this?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You think I wanted to become my father?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond.

Because then he moved.

A flash of movement.

His boot came down not on the dog.

But on your left ankle.

CRACK.

You screamed. The pain was blinding. It shot through your leg like fire, raw and sharp and real.

You collapsed fully, shaking.

“I didn’t want to do that.” His voice trembled. He knelt beside you, cupping your face with one hand while the other still trembled with restraint. “But you wouldn’t stop. You kept running. I... I had to keep you safe.”

You sobbed, half in pain, half in horror. “Safe? SAFE?! You broke me!”

He winced.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, amore mio. I didn’t want to. But I had to. The world out there it’s worse. You don’t see it. I do.”

“I hate you.”

He swallowed. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t meant to let fall.

“You can hate me. I’ll still protect you.”

You cried harder, curling away, but he pulled you into his arms, cradling you like something precious. You wanted to bite, scream, claw but your body was done.

Then.

The cars.

Two sleek, black Rolls Royces rolled to a stop on the gravel. Their windows were dark, impossible to see through. They moved slowly, deliberately.

From each, two guards stepped out, dressed in black, silent, dangerous. The dogs backed away with whimpers as their handlers approached.

The taller guard nodded once. “Boss.”

Nicolò didn’t respond. He just gathered you gently into his arms.

You whimpered from the pain, head falling weakly against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

You barely felt the world shift as he carried you into the first car. As he settled you in the backseat, your eyes fluttered shut from the pain, the exhaustion, the fear.

The last thing you saw before everything faded.

Was Nicolò’s face, inches from yours.

And the last thing you heard.

“I’ll never let you go again.”

--------

@magicaldestinyharmony @rowanyaboats @elloredef @kawaii-moon-47 @wishtrest @kazeiyyuuu @ch1p0tl3 @hopingtoclearmedschool @mwasprettyasf @athena-roy @floresialwrld @theautisticwriter @mybones537 @gloriouschildpirate @loucyberv @taenosaurrr @gardenletter @cdooper @galaxyquirks2 @whiteoakoak @jupiternorth895 @rowanyaboats

Thank you very much for reading. This part was written only thanks to my anon. I also want to apologize for my inactivity, but I was traveling for a month and a half, and after I returned home, I had to deal with school for the next week, and then I had surgery. They removed a tumor from my breast, and it healed poorly, which is why I wasn't in the mood to write. I'm not telling you my diagnosis so that you will feel sorry for me, but so that you will be aware and practice breast self-examination. What I had was harmless, but I know girls my age who discovered this type of tumor late because they didn't practice self-examination, and one boy who didn't believe he had a tumor in his breast, and then it turned out to be cancer, and he didn't want to admit it for a long time. It's also worth mentioning that this was the second time I had this tumor; I first got it when I was only 13 years old. I'm just telling you this so that you can be careful and if you know that something is wrong with your body, please deal with it as soon as possible. Thank you for reading this long paragraph and please be careful on yourselves. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[kryllia]

Please, please give me more of Nicolò Dellabarca , I beg you it's so well written i adore it sm

Hi there! I'm so glad to hear that you like our favorite classmate. I had some health issues that I could talk about in another post. But back to Nicolò, I plan to continue the story, and I also thought of adding his pov. So don't worry, I will continue his story. And thank you for your support( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

[kryllia]

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own Pt2

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader pt2

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3

The next morning, you were woken by a knock. Not the usual maid.

“Good morning, [Your Name],” came Isabella’s voice through the door. “Mind if I come in?”

You sat up slowly. “What if I say yes?”

“I’ll still come in,” she said cheerfully.

The door opened. She stepped in, carrying a tray with breakfast and tea, dressed in a long robe like she hadn’t just orchestrated your kidnapping.

“Sit,” she said, motioning to a small table by the window.

You didn’t move. “I’m not in the mood to play family.”

Her expression didn’t falter. “This isn’t play. It’s preparation.”

“For what? A forced marriage?” you snapped.

She gave a quiet, fond laugh as she set the tray down. “You remind me so much of myself when I got here.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did Giovanni’s family kidnap you too?”

She sat across from you, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Not exactly. He took me from my life. A cleaner version of kidnapping, maybe. I screamed, I fought, I hated him. But he never let me go.”

She looked out the window, her voice softer. “Then one day I realized he hadn’t just taken me. He had chosen me.”

You stared. “That’s not romantic. That’s obsession.”

“Yes.” Her eyes flicked back to you, and something steely passed through her calm. “Exactly.”

Later that day, Nicolò didn’t come to see you. But one of the staff—older, polite, with eyes that never met yours—knocked once and said, “The Don would like to speak with you in the study.”

You didn’t want to go. But you went anyway.

The study was dim, rich wood and books and a large globe in the corner. Giovanni Dellabarca sat behind a massive desk, his gaze cool and unreadable.

“Sit,” he said, without looking up.

You stayed standing.

He finally looked up. “Still not one for following instructions, I see.”

You crossed your arms. “You going to have me thrown in a cell next? Or just marry me off like your wife keeps hinting?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “If I wanted to chain you up, I would’ve done it already.”

You flinched.

He stood, walked around the desk, and poured himself a drink. “I asked you here because I want to make something clear. I didn’t order your abduction. I simply didn’t stop it.”

“Oh, great. That makes everything better,” you muttered.

He turned back to you, swirling the glass in his hand. “You think this is a prison. I think it’s protection. Do you understand what Nicolò has stopped from reaching you in the last three months?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Threats. Stalkers. Opportunists who figured out your class schedule. You’re pretty, smart, not connected—easy prey. Until Nicolò stepped in.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Giovanni watched you for a long moment.

“You think he’s weak because he doesn’t force your hand. But that boy would raze cities if you asked. He’s already done things I’d rather you not find out about. But all he really wants is to sit beside you at breakfast without you looking at him like he’s a monster.”

You looked away.

“And maybe he is a monster,” Giovanni said, setting his drink down. “But he’s your monster now.”

That evening, you returned to your room to find it wasn’t yours anymore.

Your things were gone. In their place, a single note:

You’ll be staying in Nicolò’s wing now. He insisted. – Isabella

Your stomach twisted.

A maid guided you to a different part of the estate. It was quieter. Fewer guards.

The bedroom was larger, but colder. Less lived-in. A second door led to an adjoining suite. His.

You hesitated at the threshold.

“Come in.”

Nicolò’s voice was soft, but firm. You stepped inside.

He stood near the window, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking out into the night.

“You moved me,” you said.

He nodded. “I wanted you closer.”

You crossed your arms. “So you can watch me 24/7?”

He turned. “So I can sleep.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t slept right since you got here,” he said, voice quiet. “I wake up thinking you’re gone. Or someone took you. I—I can’t stop imagining it.”

You stared at him.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

He stepped closer. “You make me feel. That’s not something I’m used to. It’s not clean. It’s messy. I don’t know how to do this the right way.”

You stayed silent.

“I never wanted to scare you,” he said. “But if it’s between scaring you or losing you, I’ll choose the first every time.”

And that’s when he dropped the last wall.

His voice cracked, his eyes dropped to the floor. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

You laid in the bed that night—his bed—on opposite sides. The silence felt heavier than anything anyone had said.

Then, from the dark:

“I would never hurt you.”

You didn’t answer.

He turned slightly, facing your back.

“But I’d hurt anyone who tries to take you from me. Even if it’s you.”

You closed your eyes.

And from the other side of the bed, his voice came again—barely a whisper.

“You’re mine, [Your Name]. Even if I have to spend my whole life making you understand that.”

______

@magicaldestinyharmony @rowanyaboats @elloredef @kawaii-moon-47 @wishtrest @kazeiyyuuu @ch1p0tl3

[kryllia]

HELLO can we pls have more of the yandere mafia classmate I love love LOVE how you wrote him🫶🫶🫶

YES! I actually writing pt2 sooooo just wait. And thanks for support! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[kryllia]

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3

Nicolò Dellabarca had always been a mystery.

You weren’t close. You had only worked together on a class project once. He was efficient, quiet, and surprisingly attentive, but the partnership ended without much conversation.

Still, something always felt off about him.

He was cold with others but different around you. He never spoke unless necessary, yet his presence loomed over you like a shadow. Whenever you turned your head, you found his sharp blue eyes watching you, unreadable but focused.

At first, you ignored it.

Then, small things started happening.

One night, when you were leaving campus late, a stranger had followed you for a few blocks—until a black car pulled up, and the man suddenly disappeared. The next day, a few guys from your class who had been bothering you stopped showing up. And once, when you almost tripped on the stairs, Nicolò had been there, catching your arm before you even realized he was close.

"Careful."

His voice had been deep, steady. He had let go quickly, looking almost flustered.

You should have put the pieces together then.

But you didn’t—until the night you were taken.

It happened fast. A car pulled up. A group of men stepped out. Before you could scream, a hand covered your mouth.

You fought, kicking and struggling, but everything faded into darkness.

Your first thought upon waking was: This is too comfortable to be a basement.

A thick blanket covered you. A fireplace crackled nearby. The room smelled of expensive wood and something faintly floral.

For a second, you thought you were dreaming—until the door opened.

"Mom, what do you mean you have a surprise for me? It better not be another—"

The voice stopped.

You turned your head—and froze.

Nicolò.

His blue eyes went wide. His usual cold expression shattered, replaced by something you had never seen before: panic.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Mom..." His voice was sharp, but there was something almost desperate beneath it. "What did you do?"

From behind the door, a light, cheery voice replied.

"Oh, relax, sweetheart. I just helped you a little."

Nicolò let out a shaky breath. "This is not helping."

He turned back to you.

You met his gaze, your body rigid.

"...What the hell is going on?"

The door opened again, and a woman stepped inside.

She was beautiful—dark-haired, elegant, and radiating control. She held a glass of water and smiled at you as if you weren’t just kidnapped.

"You must be thirsty," she said, offering the glass.

You didn’t take it.

"Who are you?"

Her lips curled. "You can call me Isabella. I’m Nicolò’s mother."

Your stomach twisted.

"And why did your men kidnap me?"

She sighed as if this were a mild inconvenience. "Because my son is terrible at taking what he wants."

You turned to Nicolò, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing shallow.

You took a slow step back. "You let this happen?"

"I—I didn’t know—" He cut himself off, rubbing his face. "Mamma, why would you do this?"

Isabella chuckled. "Oh, Nicolò, don’t be so dramatic. You were never going to make the first move, so I gave you a little push."

You scoffed. "Push?! You kidnapped me!"

Isabella tilted her head. "And yet, you’re perfectly safe, aren’t you?"

Your blood ran cold.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Do you know how many people have been watching you? Waiting for you to be alone? Do you really think walking home alone at night was ever safe?"

You swallowed hard.

She smiled. "You needed to be taken, darling. If not by us, then by someone worse."

You clenched your fists. "That’s bullshit."

Nicolò finally spoke, his voice low. "It’s not."

Your chest tightened.

You turned to him, searching his face. "Then let me go."

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the truth.

There was no leaving.

-

The Dellabarca estate was suffocatingly grand. Every hallway was lined with paintings, every door guarded.

And now, you were seated at an impossibly long dining table, facing the people who had stolen you.

Nicolò sat stiffly at the head of the table, shoulders tense. Across from him sat a man you had yet to meet.

Giovanni Dellabarca.

His father.

The room felt colder with him in it. His presence was overwhelming—calm, composed, and dangerous.

"So," Giovanni finally said, swirling his wine. "You have fire. I like that."

You set your fork down sharply. "I don’t care what you like."

Nicolò inhaled sharply beside you.

Giovanni smirked. "Feisty. Just like your mother, eh, Isabella?"

His wife chuckled. "Oh, absolutely. I see so much of myself in them."

Your stomach churned. "I am nothing like you."

Isabella smiled knowingly. "Oh, but you are." She leaned in slightly. "You think I wanted this life? That I chose it?"

You stilled.

"I hated Giovanni at first," she continued. "I fought, I screamed, I ran—but in the end, I understood."

She turned to her husband, her gaze softening. "Love in this world isn’t sweet. It’s fierce. It’s possession. And once you understand that..."

She looked back at you, her expression almost pitying.

"...it’s easier."

Your hands shook.

Giovanni exhaled, setting down his glass. "You’ll come around. She did."

Your skin burned with anger. "I am not her."

For a moment, Giovanni studied you.

Then—unexpectedly—he laughed.

Nicolò stiffened.

"You know," Giovanni mused, "when Isabella first entered my life, she hated me just as much as you hate my son now."

You clenched your fists. "Good."

His smirk didn’t falter.

"Yet, here we are."

Your blood ran cold.

Nicolò suddenly stood. "Enough."

Giovanni’s brow lifted. "Touched a nerve?"

Nicolò’s hands curled into fists. "They don’t need to hear this." His voice was sharp, controlled—but his eyes flickered with something desperate.

He turned to you, his voice lower. "Come on. I’ll take you back to your room."

You hesitated.

Then, without another word, you followed him out.

As soon as the door shut behind you, Nicolò let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his dark hair. His shoulders, always so rigid around his family, slumped slightly.

"Dio mio, that was a disaster."

You folded your arms. "That’s an understatement."

He turned to face you. For the first time since you woke up in this house, he looked directly at you—really looked at you. His piercing blue eyes, usually so cold, held something else now. Something desperate.

"...Are you okay?"

The words were so quiet, so gentle, they made your stomach twist.

You wanted to lash out. To scream at him. To tell him no, I am not okay, you psychotic bastard—your family kidnapped me!

But something about the way he was looking at you—like he was hurting just from seeing you upset—made your breath catch.

You clenched your fists. "...No. I’m not."

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides like he wanted to punch a wall—or worse, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t know if he was allowed.

"You—" His voice caught. He exhaled through his nose, composing himself before trying again. "You don’t understand."

Your eyes narrowed. "Understand what, Nicolò? That you let your mother steal me? That I’m being held hostage in your house?"

His expression twisted.

Then, before you could react, he moved.

Fast.

He was in front of you in an instant, his large frame towering over yours. One of his hands slammed against the door beside your head, caging you in. The other reached for your wrist, wrapping around it—not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes, those sharp, ice-blue eyes, burned into yours.

"You think I wanted this?" His voice was low, rough, almost shaking. "You think I wanted them to touch you? To take you before I could—before I—"

He cut himself off, his breath ragged.

You swallowed hard. "Before you what, Nicolò?"

His fingers twitched against your wrist.

His lips parted like he was going to answer—but he hesitated. His breathing was heavy, his jaw tight.

Then, quietly—so softly it sent a shiver down your spine—he whispered:

"Before I could make you mine."

Your stomach dropped.

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your pulse. He could feel how fast your heart was racing. His expression darkened, something dangerously close to satisfaction flickering across his face.

"You don’t get it, cara mia." His voice was almost gentle now, a sick contrast to the possessiveness dripping from his words. "You were never safe outside. They were watching you. Waiting for an opportunity."

His free hand rose, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

"I was the only thing keeping you safe."

Your breath hitched.

His fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away.

"You hate me now," he murmured. "That’s fine. You can hate me all you want." His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate. "But you belong to me, whether you like it or not."

Your entire body tensed. "I belong to no one."

His expression flickered—hurt, frustration, something deeper—but it was gone in an instant. Instead, his lips curved into something that made your blood run cold.

A smirk.

"Say that again in a few months," he murmured, voice almost teasing. Almost sweet.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

"We’ll see if you still believe that then."

And just like that, he let go.

You stumbled back, heart hammering, but he just straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders like nothing had happened.

His cold mask was back in place.

He turned away from you, walking toward the door.

"I’ll have someone bring you food," he said casually, as if he hadn’t just claimed you as his own. "Get some rest."

You gritted your teeth. "I’m not staying here."

Nicolò stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he turned his head to the side—just enough for you to see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You don’t have a choice, amore."

And with that, he walked out, locking the door behind him.

This is inspirated by c.ai bot and it was made by @Strawberry_88

[kryllia]

Before You Knew Him: A Boy Who Watched

(art from @samira_risunki )

This is prequel to my OC Aiden

Aiden learned early that love was something you had to earn.

He was six when he realized that his mother’s love was delicate, breakable—something that could slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

She wasn’t cruel, not exactly. She was beautiful and distant, with a soft voice that could turn sharp in an instant. She was the kind of woman people admired but never truly knew. When she was in a good mood, she would hum while making tea, brush Aiden’s hair gently, and call him her little angel. But on bad days, she would go quiet. She would sigh when he spoke, flinch when he touched her.

And Aiden understood.

He was smart for his age. He knew that if he was too loud, too needy, too much, she would pull away. But if he was perfect—if he was quiet, obedient, and helpful—she would smile at him again. She would stay.

So he learned to be perfect.

He memorized the way she took her coffee, how she liked the curtains drawn just enough to let in light but not too much to cause a glare. He noticed the way she rubbed her temples when she was tired, the way she tapped her nails against the counter when she was stressed.

Aiden became good at watching.

And more than anything, he became good at waiting.

Waiting for a smile, waiting for a touch, waiting for proof that she still loved him.

But love was fragile.

And if you didn’t hold on tight enough, it disappeared.

Aiden was eight when his mother started bringing home men.

They never stayed long, but for the time they were there, they consumed her completely. She would forget little things—his bedtime stories, his favorite meals, the way he hated thunderstorms and needed her to stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

She never noticed that he stood in the hallway at night, listening to her laugh, listening to the way she spoke to them in soft, sugary tones she never used with him.

One day, he came home from school to find one of them sitting at their kitchen table.

"Aiden, sweetheart," his mother said, placing a hand on the man's arm, "this is Mark. Be nice, okay?"

Be nice.

Aiden was always nice.

He watched Mark carefully, analyzing every movement, every word. Mark was loud. He took up too much space. And worst of all, his mother looked at him like he was important.

Aiden didn’t like that.

For weeks, Mark lingered in their lives, leaving his scent on their furniture, his clothes in their laundry. Aiden hated it.

Then one night, he heard them arguing.

Mark was angry, his voice sharp. His mother was crying. Aiden stood outside her bedroom door, his small hands curling into fists. He didn't know what they were fighting about, but he knew what happened when people fought.

Someone left.

And Aiden had already decided it wouldn’t be his mother.

So he did something about it.

He never spoke about what he did. He never had to.

By morning, Mark was gone.

Aiden listened as his mother sighed over her coffee, rubbing her temples. "Some people aren’t meant to stay," she murmured.

And Aiden smiled.

Because he had been right.

Love was fragile. Love needed protecting. And if someone threatened to take it away, you had to make them disappear.

By the time Aiden was ten, he had learned that people were unpredictable. That one wrong move could make them leave.

So he started keeping track of things.

His mother’s routines. The way she spoke when she was happy versus when she was distant. He learned how to anticipate her moods before they shifted, how to make himself useful before she even asked.

He became obsessed with knowing. Because if he knew enough, he could control things. And if he could control things, no one would ever leave again.

At school, he tested it out on teachers, classmates, anyone who mattered. He memorized small details—what made them smile, what made them uncomfortable. And he used it.

A girl in his class, Sophie, lost her homework often. Aiden started reminding her, slipping notes onto her desk before she even realized she had forgotten.

A boy, James, always got nervous before presentations. Aiden would whisper the right answers to him in passing, just loud enough for him to hear.

It made them trust him. Rely on him.

And Aiden loved it.

Because the more they needed him, the more secure he felt.

And the more secure he felt, the less likely they were to leave.

Aiden was twelve when his mother started seeing another man.

This one was different. He stayed longer. He acted like he belonged.

Aiden tried to be patient. He watched, waited, adjusted. But it didn’t work. The man was always there, always touching her, always taking up her time.

And then one night, Aiden heard something he would never forget.

"You need to stop babying him," the man said. "He’s too attached to you. It’s not healthy."

Aiden’s blood ran cold.

Too attached.

Not healthy.

His mother didn’t respond right away. And when she finally did, it was soft, hesitant.

"...Maybe you’re right."

Aiden barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

He couldn’t let this happen.

He wouldn’t let this happen.

So he did what he always did.

He watched. He waited. He found the right moment.

And by the time the sun rose, the man was gone.

His mother never spoke about it, just sighed and went back to making tea.

And Aiden knew, deep in his bones, that he had done the right thing.

By the time Aiden was sixteen, he had perfected the art of keeping people close.

He learned that the best way to hold onto someone was to give them exactly what they needed before they even asked.

And when he met you, everything clicked into place.

You were different. Soft. Kind in a way that made his chest ache. You weren’t like his mother, who gave love conditionally. You weren’t like the others, who only stayed until something better came along.

You were special.

And Aiden knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn’t let you slip away.

Not like the others.

Never again.

@magicaldestinyharmony

@unknownmesses

[kryllia]

Imprisoned Prince

Yandere Monster Imprisoned Prince x Reader Maid

Art from pinterest (they said ai generated)

You swallowed hard as you stood before the massive iron door that separated you from the monster prince. The torchlight flickered dimly in the dungeon corridor, casting eerie shadows along the damp stone walls. The tray in your hands trembled slightly as your grip tightened. You had heard the stories—the whispered tales of maids who never returned, of those who did but with mangled limbs and lifeless gazes.

Yet, you had no choice. The head maid had assigned you this duty, and disobeying her was not an option. You steeled yourself and pushed open the heavy door, the hinges creaking as if in protest.

Inside, the air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you.

Osiris Asmor, the monstrous crown prince of Asmora, sat against the far wall, his long white hair a tangled mess, streaked with dried blood. His golden eyes, burning like molten fire, snapped to you immediately. His muscular frame was covered in bruises and cuts, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. Heavy iron chains bound his wrists to the wall, but even restrained, he exuded an aura of dominance, of lethal danger.

Your knees almost buckled when his lips curled into a smirk.

"You’re new." His voice was deep, rough like gravel, sending a shiver down your spine. "The last one didn't last long."

You forced yourself to take a step forward, then another, until you stood a few feet away from him. You refused to look at the dried blood near his feet—the evidence of what happened to your predecessors.

"I brought your food," you said, your voice steadier than you expected.

Osiris tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And you expect me to eat that?" His gaze flicked to the tray in your hands, then back to your face. "Do you know how many times your people have tried to poison me?"

You hesitated. You had heard the rumors, of course. The court was desperate to rid themselves of the monster prince, and subtle assassination attempts had been made. You glanced at the tray, then made a decision. Lifting the spoon, you scooped up a portion of the stew and took a bite.

His eyes widened slightly.

"There," you said after swallowing. "It's not poisoned."

A slow, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Interesting. You're smarter than the others."

He extended his hands, the chains clinking ominously, and you stepped forward cautiously, placing the tray within his reach. His fingers brushed against yours—rough, calloused from years of wielding a sword. You flinched, and his smirk deepened.

"You fear me," he mused. "Good. You should."

You swallowed again, but this time, something about his tone sent a different kind of shiver through you. Something darker.

Days turn to weeks despite your fear, you returned to his cell every day. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if you didn't, someone else would be sent in your place—and they might not be as lucky. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

At first, Osiris was cold, watching you with a predator's patience. But as the days passed, his demeanor shifted. He started talking more, asking questions—personal ones. Your name. Your family. If you had a lover.

You learned things about him, too. How he had been trained in swordsmanship from the moment he could hold a blade. How Asmora was not the barbaric land of beasts your people painted it to be, but a kingdom rich in culture, in history. How he missed the open skies, the feeling of the wind against his skin.

And how he hated humans.

"They disgust me," he had said one evening, his voice dripping with venom. "Cowards, the lot of them. They betray, they destroy, they take what is not theirs."

You had hesitated before responding. "Not all of us are like that."

His golden eyes bore into yours, unreadable. Then, he had smirked. "Perhaps not you."

The change happened slowly, subtly. You didn’t notice it at first. The way his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary. The way his tone softened when he spoke your name. The way he clenched his fists when another guard was present, as if barely restraining himself.

Then, one day, you arrived to find his chains shorter. Someone had adjusted them, limiting his movement even further. He was furious.

"They think they can break me," he growled, his muscles flexing as he yanked against the chains. "Fools."

Your heart pounded. You set the tray down, about to turn away, when his voice stopped you.

"Come closer."

You hesitated. "I shouldn't—"

"Please." The word was foreign on his tongue, almost unnatural.

Against your better judgment, you stepped forward.

Faster than you could react, his chained hand shot out, grasping your wrist in a vice-like grip. You gasped, eyes widening in panic.

"Do you know what you've done to me?" His voice was a growl, but there was something else there—something raw, something desperate. "Every day, you come here. Every day, you speak to me as if I am not a beast in chains. And now…" His grip tightened. "Now, I cannot stop thinking of you."

You tried to pull away, but he was too strong.

"I will escape," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "And when I do… you will come with me."

You shook your head, fear spiking through you. "I can't—"

"You can. You will." His golden eyes burned with obsession. "I will not leave you here, among those who would use you and discard you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but not just from fear. A part of you—deep, buried—felt something else. Something dangerous.

"Do you understand?" His lips nearly brushed against your ear. "You belong to me now."

A shudder ran through you. You hated how the words made your stomach twist.

"You’re insane," you whispered.

His smirk returned, though his eyes remained deadly serious. "Perhaps. But I will have you, little human. One way or another."

It happened faster than anyone anticipated.

One night, an explosion rocked the palace. Chaos erupted as soldiers scrambled, unaware that the monster prince had freed himself. By the time the guards reached the dungeon, his cell was empty.

And you—

You were gone too.

Osiris carried you effortlessly through the darkened halls, your struggling form useless against his strength. His grip was bruising, his pace unwavering.

"You’re mine," he whispered as he hoisted you onto his warhorse, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. "And I will never let you go."

As the castle faded into the distance, you realized with a chilling certainty—

You were no longer a servant.

You were a possession. A treasure. A prize.

And Osiris Asmor would never let anything take you from him.

Not even yourself.

This is inspirated by c.ai bot and it was made by @Strawberry_88

[kryllia]

i want a million more Aiden stories please and thank you 🙏

Hiiii! Yeah, our sweet Aiden, I love him too, he's my first oc and has a special place in my heart. And I actually have no problem creating other scenarios with him or my other characters but I don't have any good ideas for scenarios. So that's why I have open requests because if someone has a good idea for one of my characters I'm open to come up with something. Soooo if you have any ideas for Aiden (or ofc to any another oc), let me know.

[kryllia]

Silver Threads of Love

Husband Aemond Targaryen x Wife Reader

romantic fluff

art from pinterest

This fanfiction is inspired by a bot in character.ai and I thought it was really cute, so I created this cute scenario. The creator of the bot is @Xaidil

The candlelight flickers, casting golden hues across the dimly lit chamber. The scent of burning wax mingles with the faint trace of lavender lingering in your hair. Aemond sits on the floor beside the bed, his long legs stretched out, his back resting against the mattress as he lets you run your fingers through his silken silver locks.

You’ve always adored his hair—soft as the clouds that drift lazily across the skies of King's Landing, cascading like liquid moonlight down his back. Tonight, you take your time, weaving each strand carefully, enjoying the rare moment of peace between you.

"Are you finished?" Aemond's voice is quieter than usual, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he carries in the war council or during training sessions. Here, in the privacy of your chambers, he is just your husband, not the fearsome prince who rides the largest dragon in Westeros.

"Almost," you murmur, fingers deftly twisting silver into intricate patterns.

Aemond hums in acknowledgment, his singular violet eye half-lidded. He appears content, relaxed even, something he rarely allows himself. You wonder how often he felt this kind of ease in his youth, when every moment was a battle to prove his worth.

"We're just going to sleep," he comments, amusement lacing his voice. "The braid does not have to be flawless. Only you shall see it."

You huff softly, lightly tugging at a strand in playful reprimand. "That does not mean I should be careless, husband."

His smirk deepens, though he makes no move to stop you. Instead, he tilts his head ever so slightly, allowing you to work more comfortably. A gesture so small, yet so significant.

Few would believe the tales if you spoke them—that Aemond Targaryen, the cold and fearsome warrior, allowed his wife to braid his hair before bed, seeking solace in the gentle touch of her hands. But they did not know him as you did. They did not know the man who sought you out in quiet moments, whose arms wrapped around you in the dead of night when his mind was plagued with restless thoughts.

The silence between you is comfortable, the only sound the soft shuffle of your fingers threading through his silver tresses.

After a moment, you tie the end of the braid, running your fingers over it with satisfaction. "There," you whisper. "Done."

Aemond shifts, rising gracefully from the floor to sit beside you on the bed. His eye roves over you, contemplative, lingering on the curve of your lips before meeting your gaze. Slowly, he lifts a hand and pulls the leather eyepatch away, revealing the sapphire embedded where his left eye had once been.

It is not the first time he has shown it to you, but it still takes your breath away. The jewel gleams in the dim light, an ethereal glow in contrast to the warmth of his violet eye. He had once hidden it from you, even long after your wedding. But now, he no longer hesitates. No longer fears what you will see.

Your fingers reach for his face, gently tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbone before brushing over the cool sapphire. He does not flinch.

"You take such care with me," he muses, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even when you do not need to."

Your brows furrow slightly at his words. "Of course, I do," you reply, tilting your head. "You are my husband, Aemond."

A shadow crosses his features, but it is not the cold, detached look he wears before his enemies. This is something softer, something raw.

"You chose to love me," he murmurs. "Even when our marriage was one of duty."

Your chest tightens at the weight of his words. You reach for him, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs tracing the line of his jaw.

"I did not choose to marry you," you admit softly. "But I chose to love you. And I would choose it again. Every time."

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, in a rare display of affection, he leans into your touch, his lips pressing a slow, reverent kiss against your palm.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you gently toward him. You do not resist, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his embrace. His forehead rests against yours, silver hair spilling over his shoulder, the braid you crafted lying against his back.

"Come," he murmurs, his voice softer than the night breeze filtering through the open window. "Let us sleep."

You barely have time to nod before he guides you down onto the bed, shifting so that your head rests against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes you, a lullaby more comforting than any sung by the court musicians.

His hand moves lazily along your back, tracing small, absentminded circles, as if grounding himself in your presence. His warmth, his scent—clove, fire, and something distinctly him—surrounds you, making it impossible to keep your eyes open.

Aemond notices. "Sleep, love," he whispers, his lips brushing the crown of your head.

You murmur something in response, though you’re already slipping into slumber, your body melting against his. Aemond chuckles softly, a rare and quiet sound meant only for you. He tightens his arms around you, holding you close as his own eyes finally drift shut.

For all the battles he fights, for all the nights spent planning for war, this—this moment, with you safe in his arms—is the one thing he will always protect.

Fan fact in Fire and Blood Aemond looses his right eye. On the show they switched it to his left eye.

[kryllia]

A Kingdom of Ash and Cold

Yandere north prince x princess reader

Art from pinterest

The inspiration for this story was a character from character.ai but before I finished writing this story I managed to lose the chat and now I can't find who created the character.

You had once been a princess of the South, heir to a kingdom known for its wealth, beauty, and diplomacy. Unlike the North, which thrived on war and conquest, your people valued peace. Your father, the king, had always believed that treaties and alliances were stronger than swords. But he had been wrong.

Felix, the war prince of the North, had proven that with fire and blood.

He attacked without warning. Rumors had spread that your kingdom held untold riches, that its lands were fertile and untouched by war. But more than anything, it was said that the South was weak. And Felix despised weakness.

He marched his armies through your lands like a storm, tearing through defenses with terrifying precision. Your knights fought bravely, but against Felix—who had spent his entire life mastering the art of war—they stood no chance.

Within weeks, your kingdom fell. Your father was slain in battle, your people either killed or enslaved. The grand palace that had once been filled with music and laughter now stood in ruins, a silent graveyard of the past.

And you—once a beloved princess—were now nothing more than a prisoner in the heart of the enemy’s castle.

Three days had passed since your capture.

The cold stone walls of your cell were suffocating. You had been stripped of your royal gowns, left in a simple dress meant for prisoners. The only light came from a small barred window, just enough to remind you that the world outside still existed.

Then, the heavy doors creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his very presence commanding the space. Even without his armor, he looked every bit the war prince the world feared. His golden hair gleamed in the dim torchlight, his sharp blue eyes holding an unsettling intensity.

Felix.

Your body tensed as he walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he enjoyed watching you squirm.

Then, he smirked. "You look cute in this cell, princess."

You didn’t respond.

Felix tilted his head, amused by your silence. "I expected you to beg for mercy by now. Most do."

You clenched your fists. You would never give him that satisfaction.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "I like that fire in your eyes. It makes this more fun."

Then, his smirk faded, replaced by something darker. "I’ve decided." He stepped even closer, so close you could feel his warmth. "You will be my wife. The Queen of the North."

The words struck you like a blade.

Marriage?

You had expected execution, imprisonment—anything but this.

Felix watched your reaction closely, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "I won’t force you to love me," he said, almost mockingly. "But you will be mine. One way or another."

And just like that, he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

That was when the whisper came.

"Pst... Princess."

Your head snapped up.

A guard stood near your cell. Not a Northern soldier—but a knight of the South. One of the few survivors.

"Tonight, you will run."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Run, before it’s too late."

It's midnight the time of escape. The plan was simple: slip through the castle's hidden passageways and escape into the night. You knew Felix wouldn’t let you go easily, but if there was even a chance of freedom, you had to take it.

Night fell, and the soldier returned. With a silent nod, he unlocked your cell, gesturing for you to follow.

Every step was agonizingly slow. The castle was a maze of stone and shadows, but the soldier knew the way.

You were close. The exit was just ahead. Freedom—

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Your body froze.

Felix stood at the top of the staircase, his piercing blue eyes filled with cold fury.

The soldier drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of you. "Run, Princess!"

But you couldn’t move.

Felix moved first.

With terrifying speed, he descended the stairs, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The soldier swung, but Felix was faster.

The sound of steel meeting flesh filled the air. The soldier staggered back, blood spilling from his wound.

"No—" you gasped.

The knight collapsed. His body hit the floor, lifeless.

Felix stood over him, his sword dripping red. He turned to you, breathing heavily, his expression unreadable.

"You tried to leave me." His voice was eerily calm.

You took a step back, but it was useless. He was on you in an instant, his fingers gripping your wrist like a vice.

"I was being patient," he murmured. "I wanted you to want me. But now..." His grip tightened. "Now, you’ve forced my hand."

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

"You are mine, Princess. And I do not let go of what is mine."

Two days after death of solider the North Kingdom gathered in celebration.

Felix had won the war. And now, he had claimed his prize.

You stood at the grand altar, dressed in the most exquisite Northern wedding gown. Gold and silver embroidery adorned the fabric, delicate jewels woven into every thread. But none of it felt real.

Felix stood beside you, his regal presence impossible to ignore. His golden hair framed his sharp, aristocratic features, and his blue eyes never left you—not even for a second.

You were his obsession.

Among the crowd were the last survivors of the South. They watched in silence, their faces etched with sorrow. They had lost everything, and now, they were forced to witness their princess being bound to the man who had destroyed them.

The priest spoke, but you barely heard his words.

Your mind drifted back to the soldier. The man who had died for you. The man who had given you a chance at freedom.

And then, the final words cut through your thoughts.

"The groom may kiss the bride."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Felix turned to you, his expression filled with an unsettling mix of triumph and desire.

He cupped your face, his fingers possessive against your skin. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate. Hungry. Filled with a madness that made your blood run cold.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heart pounding.

Felix pulled away, his smirk returning. His eyes locked onto yours, victorious.

"Now, my love," he whispered, "you will never escape me again."

And in that moment, as the weight of your new reality settled over you, you knew—

He was right.

You were his.

Forever.

[kryllia]

Through His Eyes

Yandere boyfriend x reader

art from pinterest

The first time you met Aiden, he felt like a breath of fresh air. His smile was soft, his words laced with sincerity, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—were warm pools of honey that seemed to melt away all your worries. He was perfect, almost too perfect, but you never dared question it. After all, wasn’t this what everyone wanted? Someone who understood you without words, someone who loved you so wholly and selflessly?

Aiden was the embodiment of devotion. He knew your coffee order by heart, memorized your class schedule within days, and always texted you right when it was needed most. If you were stressed after a long day, he’d already be waiting at the door with your favorite snacks and that soft, knowing smile. It was as if he could read your mind.

And in a way, he could.

But you didn’t know that yet.

It wasn’t until much later—much too late—that you realized Aiden wasn’t just attentive. He was obsessive.

Aiden sat in his dimly lit room, multiple monitors casting a faint bluish glow on his face. Each screen displayed a different angle of your apartment: the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. His eyes lingered on the feed from the bedroom camera as you shuffled under the covers, sighing softly before drifting off to sleep.

He sighed too, mirroring you from miles away.

“You look so peaceful like this,” he whispered to no one in particular, his finger tracing the outline of your face on the screen. “So beautiful... mine.”

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his trance. It was the tracking app. You had left your phone on the nightstand, unmoving for the past hour. He smiled, knowing you were safe, knowing you were his.

You had always wondered how Aiden seemed to know everything so well. He’d always have your favorite song playing in his car, always know when illness was about to hit before symptoms even showed. It was... uncanny. But it felt good. It felt like love.

“Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?” you teased one evening, sitting across from him in a cozy cafe.

Aiden chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Perfect? Oh no, I just... pay attention to the things that matter.”

You.

It was always you.

The first red flag appeared on a rainy Thursday night. You had been at work late, phone dead, and bus delayed. When you finally got home, drenched and exhausted, Aiden was already there—waiting by the door, umbrella in hand.

“How did you...?” you stammered.

His smile didn’t waver. “You mentioned your shift would be longer today, remember? I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

You shrugged it off. Aiden was sweet. Too sweet to question.

But the nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when you stumbled upon a small black device tucked discreetly behind a picture frame in your bedroom, that reality came crashing down.

A camera.

Your hands trembled as you held it up, your breaths shallow. Your mind raced as puzzle pieces began snapping into place: the perfectly timed texts, the way he always seemed to know where you were, the way he... watched.

Your phone buzzed.

Aiden: Are you okay, sweetheart? You seem upset.

The camera was still in your hand.

He knew.

When Aiden arrived at your apartment that night, his smile was softer than usual, his eyes alight with something... dangerous.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he said quietly, stepping into your space.

Your voice trembled. “Why, Aiden? Why would you—?”

“Because I love you,” he interrupted, his voice trembling with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. “Don’t you see? I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

His hand reached for yours, but you pulled away.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered.

His expression crumbled, hurt flashing across his face. “No, no, please don’t say that. I’d never hurt you. I just... I just needed to be sure. I needed to keep you safe. They don’t love you like I do. They don’t understand you like I do.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but behind them, you saw something unhinged. Something feral.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your phone was in your hand now, your finger hovering over the emergency call button.

He saw it.

Aiden lunged.

-

Hours later, you woke up to the feeling of soft fabric against your cheek. You were lying on a plush bed in a room you didn’t recognize. The windows were covered, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and... him.

Aiden.

You tried to sit up, but your wrists were bound with silken ropes—tight enough to hold you, soft enough not to bruise.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Aiden’s voice cooed from the corner of the room. He stepped into view, his face illuminated by the faint glow of a bedside lamp.

“You’re safe now. No one can take you away from me here.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I love you so much. You understand that, don’t you?”

His eyes glistened with something almost holy, like he truly believed every word he said.

In that moment, you realized one thing with chilling certainty:

You belonged to him now.

And he was never going to let go.

[kryllia]

I want to thank you for 1,000 likes guys. Thank you so much! And of course I am thankful for every reblog! I will be happy if you check more of my work. Again thank you so much! :33

[kryllia]

Strings of Obsession

Yanndere guitarist x reader

art from pinterest

The spotlight bathed the stage in a warm glow, illuminating the band as they launched into their opening number. My eyes were drawn to the lead guitarist, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with effortless grace. He was a whirlwind of energy, his grin infectious as he poured his heart into every note. When his eyes met mine across the crowd, he faltered—just for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before his smile grew sharper, almost predatory.

His name was Eli. After the set, he approached me with a mix of boyish enthusiasm and something darker. “Did you like it? Did you have a favorite part?” he asked, his golden eyes locking onto mine like a hunter cornering prey. There was a magnetic pull to him, and I felt myself nodding along, unable to look away.

Over the next few months, Eli wove himself into my life with deliberate precision. He invited me to every gig, insisting I sit front and center. He’d send me voice memos of riffs he wrote “just for me” and pouted if I took too long to reply to his texts. It was flattering… but it was intense.

One evening, after a performance that left the room thrumming with energy, Eli dragged me to their cramped rehearsal space. The air was thick with the smell of old amps and cigarette smoke, and I perched on a sagging couch as they played. Every time Eli nailed a solo, he’d glance at me, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Did you hear that? All for you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with unspoken meaning.

His bandmates – Liam on bass and Noah on drums – teased him relentlessly. “Dude, you’re gonna write her a whole album,” Liam snorted, strumming his bass absentmindedly.

Eli didn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes glinted as he looked at me. “Maybe I already have.”

"Oh good maybe it will be new hit dude. Maybe I can add some my own love songs." Noah thinks about new album and watching you.

Later that night, as he walked me home, his arm draped possessively around my shoulders, a group of guys passed us on the sidewalk. One of them lingered a moment too long, his gaze sliding over me appreciatively. Eli’s grip tightened, his knuckles brushing against my arm in a silent warning.

“You’re cold,” he said abruptly, slipping his jacket over my shoulders. His voice was low, almost tender, “You look better in this than I do,” he murmured, but his eyes stayed locked on the group until they disappeared around the corner.

From then on, Eli’s possessiveness deepened. If someone at a gig so much as smiled at me, he’d appear at my side, his arm around my waist, announcing himself as “her boyfriend” in a tone that left no room for debate. He’d kiss my temple, murmur how much I meant to him, and shoot venomous glares at anyone who dared linger.

One night, after a particularly packed show, Liam offered me a ride home while Eli packed his gear. As I started to follow Liam out, Eli appeared in my path, his expression dark.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low and taut.

“Liam offered me a ride,” I said, confused by his sudden tension.

“I’ll take you home,” he said flatly. His hand clamped around mine with a strength that made my heart stutter. Liam raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest, leaving me alone with Eli’s smoldering presence.

The walk was tense, Eli unusually quiet. When we reached my doorstep, he turned to me, his expression raw with emotion. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” His voice was low, trembling. “Promise me you’ll always stay with me.”

The words didn’t feel like a plea—they felt like a threat.

Days later, Eli invited me to his apartment. It was cluttered but cozy, an intimate window into his chaotic world. But when he led me into his bedroom, my breath caught. The walls weren’t just covered in posters of bands—they were covered in pictures of me.

Photos I didn’t remember posing for. Photos from angles I couldn’t have noticed. Some were printed from my social media, but others… others were taken when I wasn’t looking.

“I wanted to keep you close,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something unyielding. He stepped closer, cupping my face with calloused hands. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Say you’re mine.”

I stammered something, my mind racing for an escape. His grip tightened—not painful, but firm enough to send a shiver down my spine.

Over the following weeks, Eli became omnipresent. He’d appear at places I hadn’t told him I’d be. His texts came in waves—affectionate, frantic, demanding. His gifts became lavish: jewelry, custom-written songs, a notebook filled with sketches of me.

Then came the darker moments. His frustration when I spent time with others. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he saw me with Liam.

The breaking point came one night at a café. Liam and I were discussing a project when Eli walked in. His presence was like a shadow overtaking the room. He slid into a chair uninvited, his gaze fixed on Liam with quiet menace.

Liam left quickly, leaving me alone with Eli’s simmering anger. “Why him?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“We were just working—”

“You could’ve asked me to help,” he interrupted, leaning closer. His hand found mine, his grip vice-like. “I don’t like sharing you.”

When I tried to pull away, his fingers tightened. “Eli, you’re hurting me,” I whispered.

His face crumpled in remorse, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I just… I love you so much. Too much, maybe.”

That night, I received a text from him: “You’re mine. I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

The next morning, I woke to find my apartment filled with roses. Hundreds of them. My phone buzzed with another message: “You deserve the world. And I’ll give it to you—even if it kills me.”

A knock sounded at the door. My heart raced as I approached, but I knew who it would be.

Eli stood there, a bouquet in one hand and a knife in the other. His smile was heartbreakingly tender, his eyes glowing with devotion.

“Let’s make it official,” he said, stepping inside.