Spxrity

And life went on. It was not the same. But it went on.

[princessanonymous]

Masterlist

Welcome to my blog !

I mostly write platonic yandere stuff. There isn't a lot right now, but check it out to see if you might like something ;)

Original work

When Night Comes (Platonic Yandere Vampire & Reader )

    +Multichapters

Harry Potter

Perfectionist (Platonic Yandere Death & Harry Potter)

Ah, Look Up At All The Puppeteers (Platonic Yandere Death & Harry Potter

🪻Check out my ao3 account : fabinoushaswag

[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 3/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part

Story Chapter list

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The courtroom smelled of polished wood and old paper and ink. It was a grand place, decorated intricately with carvings in the wood. Each wall told the story of great pioneers, from the Original Sire to, the great Vlad, without forgetting the lady Carmilla,

The judges all looked different from the second – the first seat was surprisingly empty – to the last, the ninth. Some of them, he recognized, like Madame Rossignol, and he wondered why such a woman was ever voted to be part of the council for the next 18 years. There were three men and five women. He took note of two elderly-looking people, a man and a woman, with graying hair. It wasn't every day that he saw vampires turned at such an old age.

For his part, Dorian sat poised on the defendant's seat, looking up at the members. It wouldn't do to appear unruly on such a night, so he had taken great care to look presentable.

"Dorian de Beauvoir," called the first judge to stand up, the man who looked old with a gray beard. Despite his late stage of life, his burgundy eyes remained vibrant, contrasting with his dark skin. "You have been accused of the siring of an immortal child, a crime that, as you must already know, is punishable by death." There were whispers, but he held his head high. "We ask you now; how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he answered, portraying no hesitation. There were even more whispers, and he himself was astounded by his own ability to remain calm.

"Very well," nodded the man, "I, Marius Thorn, member of the vampiric council, therefore announce the beginning of this session." He regained his seat.

On the fourth seat to his left, Madame Rossignol rose. She cleared her throat, then frowned at him. There was at least one person on his side, it seemed. He did not particularly like the woman, but the support wasn't unwelcome.

The atmosphere grew tense as the other judges exchanged glances. Dorian’s mind raced, but he kept his exterior composed. He knew that any sign of weakness could be detrimental. The charges were severe, and he needed to maintain his dignity.

Madame Rossignol's voice rang clear and authoritative. "We must remember that each accused is entitled to a fair trial. Dorian de Beauvoir stands before us, claiming innocence. We owe it to our laws and traditions to hear him out fully."

“Duke, when did you first come in contact with the young (Y/n)?” the interrogator asked, her voice slicing through the tense silence of the courtroom.

“Autumn of 1856," Dorian responded, his tone measured. "I am unsure of the specific date."

"And her parents?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

"Dead," he replied, his voice devoid of remorse. He believed firmly that it had to be done; they were links to her life that needed severing.

The interrogator raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more to the story. "Before or after your encounter with her?" she asked, her tone sharper.

"After." His responses were succinct, unsure how his admissions would be received.

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Were you responsible for it?”

He hesitated for a moment before acquiescing, "I was," he finally admitted.

Most in the courtroom remained stoic, but a few whispered amongst themselves in disapproval, viewing his actions as a significant risk to their status of secrecy. Their concern was not for the mortals, but for the potential exposure his actions could bring to their kind.

He glanced up at the spectators' seats, something he had avoided since the trial began. His gaze first fell upon Elizabetta, the vile woman seated in a prime spot with a perfect view of the proceedings. When their eyes met, she waved at him mockingly. His eyes narrowed, and he quickly looked away.

Finding Killian was not difficult; he sat at the very front, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. Dorian scanned the area around him, searching for his daughter. His eyes landed on his partner again, silently conveying a clear message: 'Where is my daughter?' Killian didn't respond, averting his gaze, causing Dorian to grip his seat in frustration.

"Duke, I believe you were asked a question," Madame Rossignol's voice cut through his thoughts, bringing his attention back to her. He quickly apologized. "When did the decision to turn the young girl first come to mind?"

"A few weeks after our first meeting,” he replied after clearing his throat, though his eyes continued to wander, searching for his child.

"How old was she at that time?"

"Eleven years old," he answered. Noting their outrage, he added, "I did not plan to turn her until her twelfth birthday."

"And when did you turn her?"

"A week after her birthday," he stated plainly.

Madame Rossignol leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "And that, even while knowing the risks of turning a child," she said, her tone heavy with accusation.

"She was twelve," he reasoned with a scoff, defiance in his voice.

Another woman stepped forward to stand beside Madame Rossignol. "Be that as it may, the law against immortal children takes many factors into account: their age at the time of turning as well as their own self-control." She glanced around at the onlookers. "I am sure you all remember the case of Maxim Penryhouse."

Everyone did, of course. The boy and his sire had created such chaos within their society, leading to years of suppressing rumors and whispers about vampires in the country. Maxim had been deemed an immortal child despite being turned at fifteen. Both he and his sire had their daylight rings removed and were left to burn under the sun's unforgiving glare.

"She can control herself," Dorian hissed through gritted teeth, desperation creeping into his voice.

The second woman looked expectantly at Madame Rossignol. She bit her lip, her brows furrowing into a soft frown. “It is neither true nor false," she declared, her power to recognize lies revealing the uncertainty of his statement. This ability was precisely why she held her seat on the council.

Dorian drew in a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching. "By the gods," he whispered to himself, feeling the weight of his uncertainty. Even he was unsure of his own answer now, and he suddenly felt awfully foolish.

The courtroom seemed to close in around him as he grappled with his own doubts. His gaze flickered back to the spectators, finding Killian once more. His partner’s face was stony, unreadable, offering no comfort or reassurance. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint murmurs of the audience.

Madame Rossignol's voice cut through the tension. "Dorian, the council needs assurance that the child you turned can indeed control herself. Her actions, should they go unchecked, could expose us all."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand. She is different, though. She has a strength of will that is rare. I have faith in her."

The younger judge with piercing green eyes spoke again, skepticism clear in his tone. "Faith is not enough. We need evidence. We need proof that she will not be a threat to our secrecy. Bring the girl in."

Then, the door swung open to reveal (Y/n). His child hesitated to step forward, but beside her stood a man whose very presence commanded respect, a testament to the centuries he had witnessed. His skin was a golden tan, and his ebony black hair fell in waves.

His gaze was sharp, dark eyes seemingly aware of everything happening around him. This was a man who could not be caught off guard, having seen it all. Their eyes locked, and Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. Mikhail smiled at him, his sharp white fangs gleaming in the candlelight.

Dorian stood, driven by a sudden urge to pry (Y/n) away from Mikhail, to scream at him, attack him, or worse—but he was promptly ordered to settle down again. With great difficulty, he complied, feeling utterly powerless. If his sire dared to harm her, though, Dorian would not hesitate to pounce.

Mikhail rested a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder and crouched down to whisper something in her ear. (Y/n) nodded with a small frown. Mikhail straightened, looked at the council members, and nodded in turn.

"Very well," Madame Rossignol said, "let the human in."

This time, a door opposite the one (Y/n) had entered through opened. A young maiden, who could not have been older than twenty, was forced in, shoved by two vampires. She struggled and pleaded for her life as she was thrown at (Y/n)'s feet.

"What is this?" Dorian demanded, his voice tight with fear and anger.

"A test. To assess her self-control."

He knew what this entailed: one sip of the human’s blood, and (Y/n) would sign both their death sentences.

(Y/n) did not react to the human trashing and weeping, demonstrating her remarkable ability to control herself. She wasn't a rabid animal ready to pounce on anyone, obviously. Her restraint, however, was only the beginning of the ordeal. 

When the mere sight of the mortal failed to incite her, the woman was slashed, a shallow cut on her neck causing blood to pool on the floor. "Please!" she cried out, desperately clutching her neck in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow. "I don't want to die! Have mercy!" Yet he was certain his child was not listening; the sweet scent of the blood was probably more enticing to her at this moment. She wasn't one to care about the pleas of her victims.

"(Y/n)..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, as he saw her eyes turn red and her canines grow. He witnessed the fierce battle within her as she fought to restrain herself, to resist giving in to her primal instincts. 

She approached the woman slowly, and he blanched, hoping—no, praying—that she would turn away, that she wouldn't seal her own fate and—

She put both hands over her mouth, clenched her eyes shut, and turned her head away. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling a breath of relief, as he heard the onlookers whisper amongst themselves.

(Y/n) was led out of the courtroom by the same man who had escorted her in. Once again, he whispered something in her ear and flashed Dorian a grin. The tension in the room was palpable, but for now, she had resisted.

The next hour was a blur to him as he awaited their decision. Fairness was not a word in vampires’ vocabulary and this test, Dorian knew, was more for theatrics than anything. It was for them a small, yet entertaining performance that wasn’t likely to change their mind had they already deemed him guilty in their cold, unbeating hearts.

Mikhael sat on the only empty seat reserved for the council. He supposed he should have expected him to have this seat, Dorian thought bitterly. Why him of all people? 

He had to wait hours before the sentencing finally came. As the last member of the council advanced to announce their decision, Dorian stood rigidly unable to think of anything other than the next words that would come out of his mouth. 

The burly man shuffled papers in his calloused hands and cleared his throat before speaking in a gruff voice. He rambled on about the evidence, summarizing the entire session as if they hadn't all been present. But finally, the words Dorian had been anxiously awaiting were directed at him: "Dorian de Beauvoir, this court has found you not guilty of the siring of an immortal child."

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he nearly collapsed, pulling his face into his hands and sighing deeply. Dorian had never imagined he would feel this light again.

"This is preposterous!" cried out someone in front of the spectators box. It was Elizabetta who had risen to protest, "She is clearly–"

"This council has made its decision," warned the first council member, "Are you questioning it?"

"That child, as well as her sire should be -".

"Elizabetta," snapped Mikhael, and Dorian couldn't help but flinch at the authority in his voice. "Your opinion on the matter is neither here nor there."

He watched as Elizabetta quietly sat down, shooting Dorian a bitter look. He instinctively wanted to listen, or just make himself as small as possible because, while these words weren’t directed at him, he felt as much like a scolded child as she did. 

⊱ ────── {⋆☾⋆} ────── ⊰

As he left the room, he soon came across Killian. He smiled and held him in a tight embrace, resting his face on the crook of his neck. Killian smelled of spices and wood. Stepping back, Dorian asked, "Where is she?"

"Outside, that's what they told me," Killian answered, and they walked together towards the entrance.

Opening the door, Dorian's eyes scanned the entry hall until he spotted her. (Y/n) was engaged in conversation with his sire. Dorian quickened his pace until he reached them.

She turned around at the sound of his footsteps, giving him a bright smile. But on the corner of her mouth, he noticed blood, and her eyes were red.

"You're here!" she cried out happily, though she didn't move away from his sire, who was also smiling.

"We are," replied Killian, stepping forward with a handkerchief to wipe the red liquid off her mouth. "When did you feed?"

"Just recently," she chirped. "Mr. Mikhael told me I could have the screaming lady after the trial."

His sire pinched (Y/n)'s cheeks affectionately and remarked, "What a sweetheart she is." Then he looked up at Dorian. "You chose her very well, Dorian."

"Get away from her," Dorian ground out hatefully. Killian shot him a surprised look.

The older vampire raised both hands mockingly. "I do not wish her any harm, Dorian."

Killian leaned in to whisper in Dorian's ear, " (Y/n) and I will be waiting outside." 

He left promptly without waiting for a response, clearly uninterested in being part of any quarrel between Dorian and his sire. Was Killian even aware that this was the blond’s sire? Now that he thought of it, he had never mentioned him to the other as he had always wished to squash any memory of the older vampire.

Dorian watched them depart but reluctantly remained behind.

"A lovely little family you have," commented his sire casually.

"You do not get to do that,” seethed the blond.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Pray tell, what do I ‘not get' to do?"

"You may not just waltz in. This is my family, you may not come into contact with them."

Mikhael stared at him, and Dorian found himself unable to hold his gaze. "I... apologize for Elizabetta's actions," Mikhael said after a moment. "I can assure you that she prepared this entire thing without my consent."

He hummed thoughtfully, processing Mikhael's words. "So she is indeed yours."

"Younger than you. She is good and took to our way of existence very quickly. Though not as quickly as you," Mikhael acknowledged.

Dorian's eyes narrowed as bitterness settled within him. "Of course. This must be why you left me to fend for myself the same night you turned me."

"You turned out so well," justified the older one, “mature and independant– more than your sister would ever be." Dorian scoffed, "I am serious. It had not been an easy decision, but I did it nonetheless, despite my instincts telling me to come back. You were the first vampire I sired and to now see you with your own little fledgling is heartwarming.”

"You would do well to remember this sight as it is one you will never gaze upon again," Dorian stepped forward, pointing a finger accusingly. "I know what you are trying to do. You’re attempting to get close to our girl so you can approach all of us and play happy little coven as if nothing happened. I will not allow that."

"Dorian..." Mikhael whispered, his eyes narrowing in response.

"NO! YOU LOST ANY CHANCES OF THAT THE NIGHT YOU LEFT ME—THE NIGHT YOU MADE ME FEAST ON MY OWN PARENTS' BODIES BEFORE VANISHING INTO THE NIGHT!" Dorian's voice echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone present—judging him, questioning him, and perhaps even scoffing at him. But he paid them no mind.

It took him some time to collect his thoughts and calm himself once again and, when he did, his gaze hardened. "I will now step away. We will say our goodbyes and go our separate ways," Dorian declared firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Am I clear?"

He looked as though he might argue, but then he smiled and chuckled, disregarding the curious onlookers just as Dorian did. "I see myself in you. Even now, I do not regret turning you," he sighed. "Good evening to you, Dorian."

His hands trembled, and words failed to come out as he sent a final gaze and curt nod toward his sire. Turning on his heels, he left swiftly.

Arriving at their carriage where Killian and (Y/n) were already waiting, he collapsed into Killian's arms, using him as his lifeline. Dorian didn't care about (Y/n) seeing his tears at that moment; he just needed comfort.

"What is...” Killian began, concerned.

"We must go, Killian," Dorian interrupted, his voice cracking. “Let the three of us leave Britain behind."

[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 2/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

Story Chapter list

Finally another one posted! Y'all, I'm a slow updater,but you best believe I'll update nonetheless. Better late than never. XD

As I said last time, this is from an ask someone sent to me privatly. Once again, you'll need to read the main story, When Night Comes (Linked aboved) to understand this. :)

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Immortal Children were children who had been turned into vampires at a far too young age.  These children, once transformed, became uncontrollable beings, driven by impulses they could not yet understand or manage. Their beauty was unmatched; they were truly irresistible beings fated to remain untouched by the sands of time. Their physical perfection was a double-edged sword, enchanting and deadly in equal measure.

With red eyes that shone like bright fire and smiles that retained an eerie innocence, Immortal Children possessed an almost angelic appearance. This innocent facade belied the dark reality of their existence. Despite their sweet appearance, they carried the same capacity for horrific violence every other vampire had. Their enchanting smiles masked the bloodshed and destruction they were capable of. The problem lay in their inability to control their impulses and the immense danger they posed to both humans and vampires alike. Immortal Children brought chaos wherever they went, leaving a trail of death and suspicion that threatened the secrecy of the vampiric community. Their very existence was a cause of disaster, as their actions could not be predicted or controlled.

The creation of an Immortal Child was considered a crime of the highest order within the vampire world, a transgression with severe penalties for both the sire and the fledgling. It was seen as a reckless act, bringing risks that outweigh the benefits. A crime Dorian had now been accused of.

"We can leave," Killian suggested, pacing around the room frantically. So frantically, in fact, that he didn't notice when his feet reached the wall, and he began to walk up it. Had Dorian not been so preoccupied, he would have commented on the impropriety of such behavior. "You always said you wished to visit Japan again; we should go. I'm sure (Y/n) would find it lovely.”

Dorian wanted to pull his own hair out in frustration. "They will find us," he promised. He was sure of that. "And when they do, no trial shall be held and we will both be made to burn under the deadly sun. You might suffer the same fate, for helping us."

Killian stopped and turned to face Dorian, standing upside down on the ceiling with a look of incredulity. "So you want us to wait until they come to take you both? Have you lost your mind?"

Dorian's eyes burned with a mix of fear and resolve. "I haven't lost my mind, Killian. I'm trying to protect us. Running would only delay the inevitable and draw more suspicion. They have eyes everywhere. Leaving now would be a death sentence."

"So you will let her die?" Killian demanded in outrage. "You turned her, and I won’t allow you to do that to her." Killian had grown to care deeply for (Y/n), just as much as Dorian did. It had taken some time, but he had come to take on a more important role, that of a second father to her.

"Oh, don't you dare accuse me of that!" Dorian's eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising defensively.

"You created this problem!" Killian bit back, pointing a finger at Dorian. "(Y/n) could have had a perfect, happy, and fulfilling life without your interference."

"She would be dead!" Dorian screamed at him, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions. "Dead and rotting in the ground, eaten by maggots, larvae, and any other pests wanting a piece of her!"

Killian recoiled slightly, the rawness of Dorian's words hitting him hard. But he quickly composed himself, his own emotions bubbling to the surface. "And instead, she’s trapped in this cursed existence. Is that really any better?"

Dorian's eyes blazed with a mixture of rage and desperation. "I couldn’t just let her go! You don’t understand, when I looked at her for the first time, I just… I just knew she would complete us. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while she slipped away.”

Then, there was a knock at the door, and they paused, their argument abruptly silenced. Dorian took a deep breath and called out sweetly, "What is it, starshine?" He wondered how long the girl had been standing behind the door, listening to their heated exchange.

The door slowly creaked open, and the girl who was the subject of their worries stepped in. Her red eyes gleamed with an innocence that belied the turmoil surrounding her. She looked between Dorian and Killian, sensing the tension in the room.She had her face scrunched up in an adorable mou that drew a smile on his own face.

"Was it a nightmare?" Asked his now calmer partner.

She shook her head looking frustrated. "You're arguing more than usual.”

Killian agreed with her, sending her an apologetic look. “We apologize, dear. Your father and I have been terribly preoccupied recently.”

"Because of that lady?" she probed further, her keen intelligence shining through.

Dorian shook his head, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. "Why don’t I take you back to your room?" he suggested gently.

"I don’t like her," (Y/n) said, clutching the hem of her nightgown, “She was awfully unpleasant. I don't want to see her again."

Dorian smiled weakly at her, feeling a pang of guilt for having brought her such distress. He planted a gentle kiss on her head. "That is alright. You won’t," he assured her softly.

He walked her to her room in silence, aware that she sensed his restlessness. They had tried to curb her habit of sensing the emotions of everyone around her, but their efforts had never worked. Over time, they had grown accustomed to this small breach of privacy, deciding to simply try to keep their emotions in check, knowing that she was affected by strong emotions. By the way she clutched his hand, trembling slightly, he knew their attempts hadn't quite succeeded.

"I can feel how scared you are," she whispered. "It makes me scared too." 

Dorian's heart ached at her words. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. The weight of his emotions was heavy, but he forced himself to remain composed for her sake. As they reached her room, he opened the door, intending to tuck her into her coffin.

But as the door swung open, the metallic scent of blood assaulted his senses, pulling him abruptly back to reality. His only reaction was to raise his eyebrows as he took in the scene before him: a woman's body lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless and drenched in blood. Despite the horror of the sight, a strange sense of resignation settled over him. He felt an astounding lack of surprise as he gazed at the corpse on the floor.

"(Y/n)," Dorian breathed out in defeat, his voice heavy with a mix of relief and frustration.

"Mayella cut herself while cooking today," (Y/n) explained with a shrug as she walked over to the corpse, completely unfazed by the sight. She plopped herself down on her coffin, swinging her legs casually. "I kissed the hurt goodbye."

"Starshine," he began, struggling to keep his voice calm, "you can't just—"

But as he looked into her innocent eyes, he felt his throat close up with a mixture of frustration and despair. It seemed they had tried to teach her better self-control, but it never seemed to stick. Feeding was always at the forefront of her mind, even after she had eaten only a few hours ago.

He looked at her tenderly and laughed wetly.  "You did well," he whispered, hoping she didn't notice the despair that overtook him.

[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 1/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Story Chapter list

This is from an ask someone sent to me privatly. I liked the idea so much that I decided to make multiples little chapters. I think I will write two other chapters after this one. Keep in mind that you'll need to read the main story, When Night Comes (Linked aboved) to understand this. :)

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Reading under a dimly lit candle was an activity Dorian quite enjoyed when he was on his own. It gave him a moment to ponder on things and relax. As the night wore on and the hours melted away, he found himself lost in contemplation, the outside world a mere whisper in the recesses of his mind. His husband and daughter, out attending to their nocturnal needs, left him to his own devices, a scenario he relished.

Soon, however, his moment of quietude was abruptly disturbed by a person knocking at the door downstairs. Startled from his reverie, he glanced at the clock, puzzled by the uncharacteristically early return of his family. Concern etched his features as he pondered the reason for their abrupt return. He wondered if perhaps something had happened. Before he could ponder further, a soft servant's voice echoed from below, announcing the presence of an unexpected visitor. Setting aside his beloved books, he rose from his comfortable armchair and made his way down the creaking stairs, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the house.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of heartbeat. His senses on high alert, he tensed, his gaze narrowing as he assessed the stranger before him. The individual had yet to be invited in, but he knew that even an uninvited vampire was not to be trusted.

The woman's presence exuded an aura of refinement, her brown locks cascading gracefully around her face, which bore the hallmark crimson hue of a recent feeding. Despite the evidence of her nocturnal activities, she appeared immaculate, a testament to her self-discipline and restraint. Her poised demeanor hinted at years of experience, suggesting a vampire of considerable age and standing within their society. Yet, for all her apparent prestige, he found himself unable to recall encountering her at any of the prestigious gatherings that dotted their social calendar.

More striking, however, was the peculiar sensation stirring within him, a faint echo of recognition dancing at the edges of his consciousness.There was a form of familiarity there, he knew that woman. From where, he didn't know. And that was a scary thought.

He stood there in front of the door and she just looked at him and smirked, having seen a form of curious recognition in his eyes. "Leaving a guest outside, how impolite."

Summoning his resolve, he met her gaze squarely, his voice edged with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. "Who are you?" he demanded, his words echoing in the dimly lit foyer.

In response, she offered a chilling laugh, her demeanor unyielding in the face of his inquiry. Clenching his jaw in frustration, he awaited her response, steeling himself for whatever revelations lay ahead. "You may call me Elizabetta," she declared, her voice dripping with an icy arrogance that sent a chill coursing through him. "Your younger sister."

 It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath in the wake of her revelation. A sensation long forgotten, buried beneath the layers of his immortal existence, clawed its way to the surface, reminding him of the vulnerability that lingered beneath his immortal facade. His mouth went dry, parched as if he hadn't tasted blood in months. With each futile attempt to form words, his throat constricted, constricting like a vice around his vocal cords. Finally, in a barely audible whisper, he dared to voice the question that weighed heavily upon his mind.

"From the same sire?" he inquired, his voice barely more than a hoarse murmur. He cursed himself for stating the obvious, for grasping at straws in the face of this unsettling revelation.

She acquiesced curtly, "I was turned twenty two years after you. Mikhail took me in, taught me everything. May I come in? We have some matters to discuss."

The urge to slam the door shut, to banish this unwelcome intruder from his threshold, surged within him like a tide of fury. He harbored no desire to revisit the memories of his sire, to confront the horrors of his transformation that still haunted his darkest dreams.  Memories of the red glow in the night – the pain, the screams, and the thirst, and then the blood and rain on his shivering form – came flooding back in. 

Yet, somehow, with all that, he found himself inviting her in. With a grace that belied her vampiric nature, she stepped across the threshold, her presence casting a dark shadow over the once serene atmosphere of his abode. She looked around the entrance hall in wonder, appraising the manor critically. Seated in the tea room, the air thick with unspoken tension, they were served tea, a customary gesture of hospitality that she regarded with thinly veiled disdain.

"The food of mortals," commented his guest with a small sneer, "Whyever would you waste your time on such things, brother?" The taunting way in which she said the last word did not go unnoticed. She had been aware of his existence while he had never thought of this possibility. She tried to assert her dominance, even in his own home.

“I have the money to spend on such things,” he bit back easily, then he chuckled. “I suppose some aren’t as fortunate." His quip earned a sour grimace from his sis– the woman, a silent acknowledgment of his victory in their verbal sparring match. Yet, beneath her veneer of disdain, he sensed a simmering resentment, a jealousy that threatened to boil over at any moment.

As the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock, their gaze locked in a silent battle of wills. Dorian savored the taste of his tea, a calculated display of indifference in the face of her scrutiny. He set his cup down with a light clank and joined his hands together.

"While this meeting was pleasant, if you do not have anything to say to me – "

"What is so special about you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with bitterness as she voiced the question that seemed to have long plagued her thoughts.

He sneered, "What are you saying?"

"He speaks of you often, constantly, ‘My greatest creation.’ he says," she announced, jealousy contorted with her sharp features, "I have been present; you haven't. Why are you his favorite?"

Dorian's laughter rang hollow in the stillness of the room, a thin veil masking the unease that gnawed at the edges of his composure. The notion that their sire maintained a watchful eye over him sent a shiver down his spine, stirring dormant fears that he had long sought to suppress.

He put a hand on his chest. "Oh, dear sister," he cooed mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he feigned pity. "Is that it? Are you here because our oh so esteemed sire does not give you the attention you desperately crave?" His words, laced with false sympathy, cut through the tension like a knife, a calculated attempt to deflect her accusations.

She gritted her teeth angrily and clenched her fists. Dorian remained steadfast in his resolve, unwilling to be drawn into her petty grievances. "Why you?" she asked again.

"I am afraid you are simply inadequate," he said with a shrug. He loved the sight of her face turning red in rage. It was such a delightful thing to see. But as satisfying as her reaction might have been, Dorian knew that this confrontation served no purpose, that her presence in his home was an unwelcome intrusion. She held no information that should concern him. He wanted nothing to do with his sire, he wanted no reminder of him yet this woman was waltzing in to involve him in her irrelevant problems. "Leave " he ordered.

"You were never -"

"I don't care!" He finally snapped loudly, losing his composure and revealing more than he intended to, "He left me! I barely know anything about him!”

But before he could gather his thoughts, a voice cut through the tension, drawing his attention away from the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume him. Turning towards the sound, he found himself face to face with his beloved partner and their daughter, the unexpected sight grounding him in the present moment.

"Papa, who is that?" A small yet confident voice asked. He straightened himself and turned around in surprise. There stood his daughter (Y/n) and his partner placed protectively in front of her. Dorian hadn't even noticed their return.

"Oh, nobody starshine," he assured her. He sent a glare at the lady. "She will leave soon."

"So the rumors are true," commented the woman as she looked down at the small girl. 

"You indeed sired an immortal child." There was glee and triumph in her eyes.

At these words, Killian whispered something in the girl’s ear and (Y/N) opened her mouth to argue, but he sent her a look before leaving the room soon after. Dorian sent him a thankful look; this should not concern (Y/n).

"Leave at once," he repeated once again with more insistence.

“It is a good thing, I suppose, that I had preemptively warned the Night Council about this. You have been summoned to appear in front of them for the crime of siring an immortal child," she declared, her tone devoid of remorse as she extended the damning missive towards him.

As the letter changed hands, Dorian felt a surge of dread wash over him, a cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

[princessanonymous]

I love your platonic yandere vampire story!! One of the best that I have ever read ❤

So I'm just wondering what time period did the reader turn? If not modernt times, how would they react with the modern world (like in the 2000's)? Would the keep up with new technology, would they just not care, or would they be against it? And if they care, what would be their favorite thing about the modern world?

Once again, amazing work and i enjoy all of your stories <3

𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓦𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 (Ask)

When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list

Hi, thx for the ask and sorry if it took some time! Btw, (Y/n) was turned during the Victorian Era. :)

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"You want what?" Her father's disbelief dripped slowly from his lips, his brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to comprehend his daughter's request.

Undeterred by his reaction, the girl nodded excitedly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she pointed at her phone, a strange and amusing contraption she had only received a year ago after years of pestering her parents.

"A tablet and a digital pencil," she explained, her voice filled with excitement as she gestured towards the screen of her phone.

"Is that another of those things you saw on that clock application of yours?" He guessed with a roll of his eyes. She huffed in response, feeling insulted by his dismissive attitude.

"TikTok," she corrected him, her voice laced with exasperation. "And I don't see why that would matter."

He raised an eyebrow and answered, "Oh it does not."

She calmed down slightly at his words, relieved, but then she watched as his eyes landed once again on the book he was reading before she entered the living room. She awaited his decision with bated breath until she grew impatient. With each passing minute of silence punctuated only by the sound of pages turning, her anticipation grew.

"Well?" she finally interjected, unable to contain her impatience any longer.

He lifted his head once again, feigning innocence. "Well, what?"

Her glare intensified, and she snapped, "What do you say? Can I have it?"

His eyebrows rose, then he laughed; "Oh, of course not.”

"Why?" she demanded, her voice sharp with indignation, visibly bristled by his categorical answer. The dismissal of her desires stung.

"Why would you want such a thing?" He asked a question of his own, his tone laced with condescension, while pointedly ignoring hers. "I taught you how to draw and paint," he continued, his emphasis on the word 'taught' dripping with arrogance. "These silly things are nothing compared to good, traditional academic art," he declared. 

His words carried the weight of superiority, as if her aspirations were frivolous and unworthy of consideration and she clenched her fists at that.

She now understood his reticence to it; her father prided himself as a connoisseur in fine arts. It was true that he had an appreciation for the arts, but only when they adhered to the strict confines of academic, structured, and figurative compositions. She still vividly remembered the first time he had encountered abstract art; the fury and disgust that flickered in his eyes had been unmistakable.

Her father's disdain for anything outside the realm of traditional art became painfully apparent when he abruptly ceased sponsoring any museum or gallery that dared to exhibit the works of artists like Wassily Kandinsky and those who followed in his footsteps. The ripple effect was significant; it sent shockwaves through the art community and made headlines across the globe. For generations, his ancestors, from Dorian I to Dorian IV — who were, in fact, all him — had been the most influential patrons of the finest museums, but his sudden withdrawal of support was unprecedented.

The abrupt departure from his ‘familial legacy’ left many puzzled and others outraged, but her father remained resolute in his disdain for what he deemed as 'frivolous experimentation' in the art world.

(Y/n), on the other hand, did not hate abstract art; she just didn’t really understand the meaning of it most of the time. It mostly looked like a mess of forms to her. She didn’t even particularly want to depict abstract things; she just wished to do art using a new medium, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of his disapproval pressing down upon her.

"It doesn’t have to be abstract. Digital art can be as good as anything we have in this house," she insisted, her voice laced with determination. But at his dubious look, she sputtered, the words tumbling out in a rush, "And I'll prove it to you!”

He chuckled dismissively, waving a hand in her direction before turning back to his book once again. “Of course, you shall do that," he agreed, his tone dripping with condescension, a clear dismissal of her ambitions.

She felt a surge of frustration bubble up within her, puffing her cheeks in defiance as she stormed off. She was not one to back down from a challenge, especially not when it came to proving her father wrong. 

[princessanonymous]

omg i just read your vampire story and it’s sooo good😩😩 i had to rewatch interview with a vampire after i read that masterpiece. i do wonder though, what happens to them in the modern age? do they still live in the mansion? do they relocate? does the reader have more permission to go outside? thank youuu <3333

𝓐𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 (Ask)

When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list

So sorry for taking so long!! I was busy with life and when I finally found the time to sit down and write it down, I didn't have the proper time to correct it bcuz of exams... I have one tomorrow but I really just wanted to finally post this. Another ask is probably coming soon but i can't really promise anything since i have a physics exam followed by one in chemistry 3 days later and one in math coming soon too. Life really isn't on my side now!

Still, here it is!

(Also some of yall might have noticed but I like putting these answers into little situation instead of telling it outright. Hope yall dont mind)

(+ This takes place during the cold war. I found it to be fitting.)

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“I can’t believe I accepted to stay in this dreadful place,” muttered her father as they walked into the new house they had bought. “This house is too small.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” quipped her dad while shaking his head, “this is what mortal Americans settle with. And they do it quite easily; this is the biggest house in the neighborhood.”

“That is the problem,” groaned her father while they walked through the already furnished house. It was a good thing her parents had paid people to do this tedious task. “We have never lived in a neighborhood before. There is no space! We don’t even have our own forest!”

“You agreed to let the little one choose our next home,” he reminded the other with a sigh. “That is her choice.”

The blond frown in distaste and looked around the living room. “Well I didn’t expect her to choose such a mediocre manor. This is utterly ridiculous.” He pinched the bridge of his noise in annoyance and exasperation as he settled in one of the satin armchairs in the room.

The girl puffed her cheeks, vexed by these words. Yes, it was true the house was smaller than the three other homes they had inhabited in America, it was definitely something she would need to get used to, but that didn’t make it less fun. Ever since they had left their motherland for the new world due to the constant attacks and bombings during the war, her existence had been filled with a neverending kaleidoscope of information and new things to see. America was nothing like England: everything was bigger and people acted so differently. 

She had indeed chosen this manor in Pennsylvania for a reason. It was gloomy and often cloudy there, just like they all preferred it. Additionally, while it was not the size her father was used to, she knew it was big enough for him to not outright refuse her request; they wouldn’t remain here very long though, but she could accept that. 

Most importantly… neighborhoods were filled with other children, and that was really the only thing that really mattered to her. The idea of interacting with others, even if they were mortals, made her giddy. If her father knew the real reason for her insistence on this estate, the girl knew he would refuse instantly, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him – or (Y/n).

—---

It took a week before she finally was able to meet people. The day was gloomy and clouds were in the sky, indicating incoming rain. Two boys passed by the house as she was swinging on the swing her parents had ordered installed for her. She watched as they came and went multiple times, playing with their blue ball and almost cackled in glee when one of the boys, the younger one, a boy with red messy hairs and freckles, who looked to be nine years old, threw the ball too far away and it landed close to her. She stood from her swing quickly to pick up the ball and stood–

“Careful!” warned the older, a boy with dark skin and brown eyes, who only looked slightly older than she did. The girl suspected he might be thirteen or fourteen.

It was too late, because not even a second later, she felt the seat of the swing collide with her back and she fell on the floor. The two boys ran to her; the youngest holding the swing as the older one helped her stand up. She winced, hoping her father hadn’t heard the commotion; she knew he would be mad if learned she was interacting with mortals. She didn’t want to be confined to her room for a year like he had done before.

The girl shuddered at the memory. Maybe trying this wasn’t a good idea; if he found out, he would surely do worse, he had promised it last time. She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to remain confined again.

She hated how cold and lonely and empty her room felt when it was the only thing she saw for months, she–

“You alright there?” Asked the oldest with his brows furrowed, unaware of the fact that he had snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She nodded, still dazed and gave them their ball. They thanked her and the other mortal asked, “Are you living here? Nobody’s seen the new inhabitants yet. Mom says it’s impolite to not even greet anybody after moving in. Mom said only communists would do such an impolite thing.”

(Y/n) squirmed, embarrassed by these words. She didn’t know anything about neighborly etiquette. Should she have researched the subject before? She doubted her father was informed on that matter, but perhaps her dad knew more; he had always been more aware of mortal things than they were. 

The older glared at the youngest and lightly slapped the back of his head. “Rem, you can't just say that!”

“You heard her say it too!” Protested the redhead in outrage, ready to defend his statement.

The older one sighed and shook his head before rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Excuse my step-brother, Jeremy; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. I’m Kenneth. We live just across from here.”

A smile graced her features again. "My name is (Y/n)," she introduced herself with a graceful tilt of her head, her voice carrying a controlled and melodic cadence, "how do you do? I live here with my fathers." She had to make a good impression.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “You have an accent,” he noted in fascination. “Where are you from? You're not a communist, are you? Mom said we can't speak to those.”

(Y/n) sensed some mistrust coming from him, and she quickly used her empath abilities to soothe him before his words registered in her mind. (Y/n)'s expression faltered for a moment, a hint of confusion clouding her features before she shook her head lightly. “I don’t have an accent,” she denied while pointing at him, “You do have an American accent though.”

The redhead shook his head in disbelief, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of defiance. “Americans don’t have accents, silly,” he retorted with a grin, his eyes alight with amusement.

But (Y/n) wasn't about to let the matter go so easily. She protested adamantly, insisting that she could clearly hear the distinct nuances in his speech. Back and forth they bantered, neither willing to concede their stance on the matter  before eventually realizing they wouldn’t agree on that matter. 

"But where are you from?" he asked, his tone gentle yet insistent, "You're not from here, are you?"

She shook her head. "No, I was born in England,” she revealed, her voice carrying a faint trace of longing for her homeland. She still missed England dearly. She knew vampires typically never spent more than a century in the same country, but she had still been devastated when her parents had decided to leave; even more when they sailed to a different continent altogether. 

Jeremy looked starstruck, their small innocuous disagreement already far behind in his mind, thanks to her abilities. "Really? Did you ever meet the queen?" he asked eagerly, his imagination already running wild with visions of royal encounters and grand palaces. 

She giggled at that, then tilted her head, contemplating the question. After a brief moment of contemplation, she realized that he was likely referring to Queen Elizabeth II, rather than Queen Victoria. "No, never," she replied with a casual shrug, noting the slight disappointment that flickered across Jeremy's face at her response.

"Hey, wanna join us tomorrow at two o'clock? We'll be down this street with all the neighborhood kids. Probably going to play Hide-and-seek.”

(Y/n) smiled warmly at the invitation, her curiosity piqued by the prospect of joining in with the neighborhood kids. "Sure, I'd love to!" she replied eagerly, the thought of meeting new mortals outweighing any concerns she might have had about the unfamiliar game they mentioned.

Although she had never heard of Hide-and-seek before, (Y/n) was undeterred. As she agreed to meet them the following day at two o'clock, her mind was already buzzing with anticipation. (Y/n) knew she would have to find a way to sneak out without her fathers noticing, but she was determined not to let that stop her from joining in on the fun. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she began plotting a way to sneak out, confident that she could pull it off.

[princessanonymous]

Your platonic yandere vampire fuckin slaps, its so good i want to eat it

Since after turning, the reader is basically a NEET at this point cause I doubt Dorian would allow her to have a life. Are there like any expectations that he has on her on a day to day basis?

As in, does he expect a minimum amount of time spent together as a family (aside from dinners), having the 1700s equivalent of family game nights, does Dorian expect the reader to hug her dads at least once a day? Or does he let her rot in her room with dolls and just likes the idea of having his husband and daughter in the house?

Once again, love your work and great job , fuckin banger series you made thank you so much for the delicious food, looking forward for more

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓑𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 (Ask)

When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list

I'm glad to know you liked it! (*°▽°*) Thank you for asking! Sorry it took so long to answer, I just didn't know how to put it into words until today. o(TヘTo) But here it is :

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Surprisingly, Dorian did not expect a certain amount of time spent together. With time, he had grown to understand that forcing it would only make the girl pull away even more. He knew (Y/n) would come to him or Killian all by herself. Who else would she turn to anyway? Who else would she turn to, after all? Balls and gatherings where she could mingle with vampires of similar age and disposition were few and far between. Being in contact with mortals without feeding on them was even rarer. 

No, he knew she needed them. Leaving wasn’t even an option for one who looked so young, that, she was very much aware of. She wasn’t dumb, far from it.

But every three decades or so, the youngling would forget that and simply confine herself in her own quarters. Dorian learned not to make a big deal about it. Still, she needed company no matter how much she could forget that sometimes. Naturally, he would then find her company; that was his role as his caretaker, after all. The first time, it had been a grey cat which, for the life of him, he couldn't remember the name of. Next, it was a little puppy and, ten years ago, it was a small cat with bright blue eyes named Atlas.

They all died within ten years of their arrival. His little vampire took great care of them, but their mortal existence couldn’t be extended forever. Yet, every time, she would be devastated, mourning them for a long period of time. Just like she was doing tonight, in fact. Atlas had been buried earlier in the night. The poor girl was a mess sobbing in his arms. He gently rubbed circles in her back as she cried all the tears in her body. 

“Now, hush dear," he muttered with a soothing voice, “you gave it a wonderful life. I’m sure he is now thankful wherever he is.”

"Why did he have to go?" She sobbed even more.

"All mortals have to go, starshine, you know that," he reminded her softly.

The stark contrast between mortals and their kind was a truth they couldn't escape. Mortals, with their fleeting lives and fragile mortality, existed on a different plane altogether. They grew old and frail, their bodies succumbing to the relentless march of time, while vampires remained frozen in eternal youth, unchanging and immutable. Mortals came and went like whispers on the wind, leaving behind only the faintest traces of their existence, while vampires endured, their memories etched into the fabric of eternity. Dorian knew the pet would eventually die, just like the others. And yet, despite the inevitability of her passing, she still had them; her family. 

In the quiet darkness of the night, she sought solace in the embrace of the familiar, curling up in the comforting confines of Dorian's coffin. Her tears, silent witnesses to the turmoil that churned within her, traced shimmering paths down her cheeks. He petted her hair gently as Killian placed a kiss on her forehead. And just like that, everything was as it was before. She clung to them as she should.

She would always come to them in the end. Sometimes, it just took a little push, a reminder that mortal life was fleeting — and here she was once again, returning to them with a heart heavy with sorrow and tears.

She would come and they would be there.

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Does he bring her pets so she can watch them die on purpose as a form of punishment whenever she pulls away for too long?

'Nooooooo, of course nooooot,' Dorian says, u know, just like a dirty filthy lying liar who lies.

[princessanonymous]

I just have to say I LOVE the vampire series you just wrote ❤️. It is by far one of the best platonic fic series I've ever read and has inspired me a lot in writing the fic for another Fandom. Your usage of words is incredible and perfectly suits the given situation.

I just have a teeny tiny question. Why do vampires feel uncomfortable to sleep in bed? (safety of the coffin aside) 🤔

Sorry if it's such an irrelevant doubt I just wanted to know why. Have a lovely day 💖💖💝

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓑𝓮𝓭 (Ask)

When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list

Vampires, for all Dorian’s spiels about their superiority, should be dead and in many ways, they are. They shouldn't be, yet they cling to what little remains of a mortal existence they once had. Vampirism puts the body in stasis, resigning them to a perpetual stillness. They cannot age, their injuries heal due to peculiar supernatural abilities brought by their condition. Still, there is a certain longing. Barely noticeable, but it still is there subconsciously. It is in their slumber that vampires are the closest to their real state. Some say it is a way of nature to remind them that they don’t belong, that they are meant to be dead. This is precisely why beds aren't comfortable to vampires; beds are meant for the living.

A coffin is for the dead and this is where they are meant to be. This feeling is instinctual within vampires, even though most would never be able to explain it. They are dead and must therefore sleep the sleep of the dead.

Dorian, forever extravagant, preferred lavishly decorated coffins. His was made of a dark brown wood with gold handles and carved with intricate patterns resembling vines. To him, like many other vampires, their coffin represented a sign of wealth and social status. This idea was profoundly important to him which was why he was adamant that his partner and daughter also had the finest resting place.

Kilian viewed it differently. Even though as humans, Killian came from a higher background than Dorian — who only gained a noble status as a vampire — he had never really cared at all about appearances. Comfort is what he truly looked for. At least, that was what he liked to say. It didn't change the fact he preferred caskets for their novelty in the mortal world. It was quite a recent invention compared to its older counterpart. In a way, it made Killian feel closer to humans and some of their trends. It made his existence feel less stagnant.

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Yeah that's basically it ! Thx for asking! (Can't believe I'm a source of inspiration for somebody. Thank you very much for these nice words.)

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part

Story Chapter list

Epilogue : 𝓘𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓪

"What has gotten your pretty little head so worried, doll ?" Curiously asked her father as they were feasting.

She lifted her head, startled by his question. Shrugging, she said : "Nothing important, I just..."

Her fathers fixed their gaze on her, awaiting an explanation. Uncertain of how to express herself, she opted to play with the mashed potatoes on her plate, sensing their confusion mirrored in her hesitation.

"I used to have another family," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mortals," responded her father without care. "We took you in and you have us now."

She bit her lip. While her memories of the time before her turning were becoming slightly blurry, she could still retell the events in moderate detail. With time, her relationship with her sire had mended and her bond with the two older vampires had greatly improved. She couldn't say when she had begun to refer to them as her fathers. Perhaps, it was because of the blond vampire's insistence. His determination must have worn her down with time. (Y/n) had subconsciously learned there was no use arguing with her father; he always found a way to get what he wanted. What was repeated enough often became a reality, and now, (Y/n) was an integral part of their immortal tableau. They were family.

She acquiesced, breaking the somber mood. "Forgive my gloominess."

The atmosphere in the dining room shifted, tension intermingling with the scent of the evening's feast. Then, a shrill scream from upstairs echoed through the ornate halls, a stark reminder of (Y/n)'s penchant for mischief. 

Her father's gaze hardened, a silent reproach conveyed through his piercing eyes. Beside him, her dad sighed, his exasperation apparent. "(Y/n), we've discussed this," he admonished, his voice carrying a weariness that suggested this was not the first time such an incident had occurred.

The young vampire toyed with her food, a nonchalant air about her as if feeding on the tailor was merely an inconvenience to her parents. And it was. Years ago, the mere thought of drinking blood repulsed her. Now, it had become the norm, something that had been instilled within her by Dorian. She placed a finger on her lips, a mischievous smile playing on them. The two older vampires exchanged a glance, a silent communication that spoke of shared exasperation and a need for discipline.

Her father's frustration erupted as he demanded, "What have we said about feeding in the house? Was it the tailor we hired for your new dresses?" The mere thought of a potential delay in her wardrobe seemed to agitate the blond vampire more than the breach of their feeding protocol.

With a nod, (Y/n) confirmed her choice of victim. The consequences of her actions, however, did not weigh heavily on her. She glanced between her fathers with innocent eyes. “I didn’t make a mess.”

"Now, who will finish those dresses?" The blond threw his hands in the air dramaticallly.

☼ ‎‎

That same evening, once the little mess with the corpse was arranged, the girl still appeared preoccupied. Truth to be told, this feeling wasn't new or sudden. It was something that had lingered within her for years now. It all came to a head tonight. As they were served tea in the living room, (Y/n) eyes lingered on the maid who served them the tea.

She sighed wistfully as the maid departed. The woman was slender, with curves and a mature air around her. (Y/n) reminisced, "I remember when Henrietta was younger. She was twelve when she started working here."

Her dad raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head from the journal he was reading. "Who ?"

She rolled her eyes. "Henrietta, the maid that just left."

Her father hummed disinterestedly, and her dad returned to his journal. Brushing the hair of her doll, Clementine, she commented with a pout, "I wish I were like her."

"Like a servant?" questioned her sire with barely concealed disdain.

"No," she retorted, affronted by the notion. "Like a woman."

A sudden stillness settled in the room as both vampires sharply turned their attention to her. An array of emotions assaulted her – worry, guilt, annoyance, sadness, and resignation. She couldn't discern from whom each emotion emanated. They had discovered soon after her turning that her unique gift was that of empathy – an ability to sense and, with practice, manipulate others' emotions to her liking.

"What do you mean by that?" inquired the dark-haired vampire, lifting his head from his reading.

(Y/n) hugged herself while looking away. "I want to change." She longed for transformation, to break free from the perpetual sameness that defined her immortal existence. Every night, she woke up and walked up to her mirror to observe the same unchanging face. 

When she was turned, she hadn’t even been made aware that this would change her normal growth. Later on, she simply understood it would slow it, which would explain the fact her vampiric parents didn’t look different from what they were when she first met them. 

Her dad, with a cold hand on her cheek, reassured her, "You are perfect as you are." However, an undercurrent of guilt accompanied his words.

Swatting his hand away, she clarified, "That isn't the issue."

"Then what is?" asked her sire abrasively. "You shouldn't concern yourself with humans, much less desire to be like them."

"I want to change," she insisted, feeling the weight of her unyielding desire. A tense silence hung in the room as they stared at each other. "When will I?"

Her sire responded coolly, "What I think is that you are having another senseless tantrum. Drop this matter." He dismissed it as he always did every time she even implied something concerning this topic.

"No!" she protested, standing up in frustration. "I can sense that you two are keeping something from me every time I mention this. What is it? I have the right to know."

"You know you aren't allowed to use your gift on us," her sire responded, sidestepping her question. He disapproved of her using empathic powers to discern his emotions.

"Why am I not changing? Why can't I grow older?" she demanded tearfully. "I'm an adult."

"You are not acting like one," her sire rebuked sternly.

"Dorian," her dad interjected while placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ignoring her dad, (Y/n) focused her attention on her sire, anger and desperation bubbling inside her. "You made me like this! You made me into this!"

She hated it so much. This resentment had started to fester inside her ever since the first time she noticed her growth had been altered. It all pulled out at once in a cascade. This wasn't fair.

"Yes," her sire agreed with a challenging smile, stepping forward. "And what you are is nothing but a child. Do not forget that."

In a fit of anger, she screamed before storming out, leaving behind a room fraught with unresolved tension.

☾‎

As (Y/n) stormed out, Killian observed her departure with a heavy sigh. Beside him, Dorian collapsed into an armchair, exhaling in exhaustion. A palpable heaviness lingered in the living room, an unsettling aftermath of the emotional outburst.

They should have expected this from the child. It was bound to happen. She hadn't known about the fact they stopped aging once they were turned and they had known she wouldn't react well to it. The two had known that eventually, she would start to ask why she wasn't aging. They both knew it. None of them thought it would be so soon, though. Like any vampire turned at such a young age, she had started to become restless. As her soul aged, her mind remained static, and her body persisted in its perpetual youth. Physically and emotionally, she was trapped in the realm of childhood, yet a part of her knew that something was wrong, that she wasn't meant to stay that way.

"She deserves to know it by now," Killian said, his voice breaking through the gloomy atmosphere. "She will get over it eventually."

Dorian, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on a distant point, acknowledging that the statement held more of a wish than a genuine assurance. The sounds of porcelain shattering and a commotion emanated from the girl's room, drawing their attention, but neither moved.

"Completely hysterical," Dorian muttered to himself with frustration. "This child has gone completely—"

Their momentary stillness shattered at the sudden, piercing cry of horror that resonated through the house. The gut-wrenching sound struck both vampires to their core. They sprang to their feet, a shared urgency compelling them to rush to her bedroom. Attempting to open the door, they discovered she had barricaded it with an object. Dorian pounded on the door with a sense of desperation.

"(Y/n)," he bellowed, "open this door at once !"

No response came from within, but the cries and the metallic scent of blood permeated through. "(Y/n)," Killian called in a more soothing tone, "please open this door."

Using force, they managed to open the door, the chair strategically placed beneath the knob crashing to the floor. They entered a room in complete disarray, with shards of broken porcelain dolls strewn across the floor. The coffin lay shattered, and the curtains torn. A crimson liquid coated every surface—windows, floors, walls—and (Y/n) herself, who panted heavily while crouching over the lifeless body of the maid she had mentioned earlier.

The maid's form was mutilated, her face and chest bearing the brunt of the savage attack. The room told a tale of unbridled rage; only a person consumed by fury could commit such an act with nothing but broken porcelain shards.

Killing humans wasn't an uncommon occurrence for vampires. Killian, while he avoided partaking in these acts, knew that. He also knew that Dorian and (Y/n) both feasted on humans. Yet, he recognized that this was more than feeding. She hadn't consumed a single drop of the woman's blood—this was an act of brutality, driven solely by her rage and envy. The girl had unleashed her pent-up frustration.

"That is enough !" Bellowed his partner, storming up to the girl and pointing a stern finger at her. "Quit this abhorrent behavior at once !" The force of his words reverberated through the room, cutting through the chaos like a sudden gust of wind.

☾‎

She stood defiant, unmoved by his anger, as the fire within her raged stronger than anything external. "What have you done to me?" Her scream echoed through the room, a visceral sound that threatened to shatter the windows.

"I saved you!" Her sire retorted, his own voice rising to match hers. "I saved you from a pathetic human existence, and this is how you repay me!"

"I want to grow! I want to be like them!" She shot back, the two locked in a battle of voices, each trying to outshout the other.

"YOU WILL NEVER GROW!" He finally snapped, the declaration revealing the cold, hard truth.

Stumbling back, she attempted to process his words. "What do you..." Her lip quivered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her dad stepped forward, his voice a regretful whisper. "You were turned at the tender age of twelve. For vampires, time halts at the moment of their turning, passing without taking much note of our kind. We are forever frozen in that moment.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, she croaked, "No... There must be a way to... if I—"

"You will never age," her sire declared with a lack of sympathy that cut through her like a knife.

Clutching her chest, she sank to her knees, realizing the extent of what the vampire had taken from her. He had stolen her family, her humanity, and now, her ability to age.

Somehow, the tears didn't come to her. She had no more tears to cry. (Y/n) was a vampire, a fact she had once thought she had come to terms with. She was destined to feed on mortals to survive. She was destined to never age. Eternally youthful.

In response to her silence, her sire crouched in front of her. "(Y/n)?" He lifted her head to meet his gaze. As her eyes clung to a last sliver of hope, the blond's eyes hardened. "Embrace the essence of your being, and express gratitude that I, in my benevolence, have rescued you from the confines of your mortality."

Her gaze turned to the shattered dolls, and she said to him, "Forgive me," a whisper devoid of emotion. His smile, void of any malice, prompted no anger from her, only a heavy resignation.

"Smile," he urged, wiping blood from her face. “This is a gift, doll.”

She complied, displaying white teeth and sharp fangs. There seemed to be no other recourse in this situation. She could either succumb to tears and rage or find a way to move forward. She had learned to adapt once; after her parents were savagely slaughtered. Then, once again when she had been turned. This would be her third time, and hopefully, her last.

The fragments of porcelain dolls lay scattered like fallen stars across the room, a constellation of broken dreams. Each doll, a silent witness to the tempest of emotions that had swept through. In the midst of this wreckage, (Y/n) stood, a solitary figure amidst a sea of fractured reveries.

The dolls, once delicate and cherished, were now fragments strewn carelessly, much like the promises of a life she had relinquished. The act of breaking those dolls, symbolic as it was, held no real consequence. For (Y/n) understood that she, in this haunting realm, was the only doll that truly mattered. An elegant marionette, navigating a vampiric existence with a façade of poise. A mere doll in this vampiric tableau, expected to wear a smile and play her assigned role.

She refrained from allowing herself to cry or even care anymore, for in caring, she feared she would shatter into irreparable pieces.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Yup, this is over guys ! Finally done! Took me some time bcuz I went on a trip but here I am with the epilogue! Hope you liked this story and enjoyed it just as much as I did as I was writing it.

Thank you for reading.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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Story Chapter list

24. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂'𝓻𝓮 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓔𝓪𝓽

The next month had been spent in a haze, where everything seemed to happen at once at a very rapid pace, with her being an unwilling observer to it all. Interacting with everything proved to be quite the challenge, one she wasn’t willing to attempt for now. She remained passive and defeated, knowing that there wasn’t really any chance that her situation would get better. She was not unlike a walking corpse roaming the halls of the estate, wishing for a form of release. Like during the months leading to her turning, the girl’s days were spent sleeping; the sunrays hurt, and while the burns quickly left due to her fast healing, it left a reminder in her mind. She wasn’t welcomed amongst the living anymore, outcasted even by the sun.

She slept during the night as well, hoping that time would fly and, somehow, would make her feel better. They said that time heals all wounds. She hoped it would heal hers. Not the physical kind; her body had become quite resistant to physical injuries and scars disappeared in minutes at most. 

Dorian did not comment on her state, fortunately allowing her to slumber with nothing but a small remark that her behavior was not that abnormal from other newborns, saying that it would surely pass. Once a night, he came to feed her. He had tried giving her human blood more than once, but she had learned to see the difference between it and her sire’s. While her sire’s blood tasted good, it did not compare to the smell of mortal blood. Their blood smelt like a sweet, heavenly nectar. Like a fine delicacy that she wouldn’t allow herself to partake in for (Y/n) knew that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop drinking. One drop would be enough.

Killian came regularly during the night. She recognized him by the immense feeling of guilt that spread in the room once he entered. She didn’t know when she had begun to sense people’s feelings, but she had become quite used to it, almost as if it were instinctive. She rarely opened the coffin – it was Dorian’s, but she had practically taken it as her own by now – and simply listened as he took a seat and drew it closer to her. Killian would then open a book and start reading her a story. One each night, she believed. He always came whenever she was awake, somehow knowing that, while she remained in the coffin, she was not sleeping. He never said much, only read and commented on certain chapters. There was no discussion of her fate as a vampire between them; the guilt and remorse he felt told her everything. She did not blame him. How could she, when he had tried to help her? 

Even now, when all hope was lost, he strived to make this situation better for her. She had learned that Killian survived on a diet consisting of animal blood, His sense of empathy for humans made it impossible for him to drain them without a second thought like Dorian did. She had attempted Killian’s diet once, perhaps to defy her sire, but the smell was horrible. It tasted so bitter. She had gagged and thrown up everything ingested in mere seconds while wondering how he could survive on this vile thing. He hadn’t commented on her reaction though and, by the lack of surprise, must have expected it. 

She often wondered what he saw when he looked at her, if he saw the girl she once was or merely a shell of her former self. But she dared not voice her thoughts, afraid of what his answer might reveal.

Dorian came in and an argument had ensued between the two older vampires. The blond was beyond angry that the other had even mentioned his diet to the girl. (Y/n) could sense that the subject of Killian’s diet had been brought to the table many times before between the two, but now that it involved her, Dorian was unwilling to compromise. She hadn’t said anything; her opinions never really mattered in these quarrels anyways.

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

Exactly one month later, Dorian grew tired of (Y/n)'s passive demeanor, the weight of her melancholy casting a shadow over the estate. Dorian resolved to take matters into his own hands. It was time; time for his newborn to experience the world beyond these walls. She would realize there were far more beauties to be found in this new existence.

To his insistence, they went out in the city, the goal being to find her her own coffin. The coffin maker they had employed was too wary from his last visit to come back. Fortunately, he was willing to let them come to his shop. 

(Y/n) donned a dark blue dress with a zouave jacket and a bonnet. Beside her, Killian and Dorian were clad in similar dark attire, complete with top hats. Their noble outfits drew glances from passersby as they strolled through the city streets.

Arriving at the unassuming and gloomy shop, Dorian knocked sharply. The sign declared it closed, but their appointment had been prearranged. After a while, footsteps approached the door, and the distinct sound of a lock opening echoed. The old door creaked open, revealing the wary countenance of the human craftsman.

"Good evening," he greeted, "we had an appointment tonight."

"Yes," confirmed the craftsman wearily, recognizing them. His eyes shifted to the young girl standing between Dorian and Killian. “You may come in.”

THey finally stepped in and he put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Would you prefer a casket like your dad or a coffin, like your father ?" Dorian asked as he turned to her. He specified what to address them by now. They were finally truly a coven – a family – and she would have to understand that sooner rather than later.

"What is the difference ?" She asked begrudgingly. Her voice was scratchy, as she had not used it much during the last month.

A knowing smile graced Dorian's face, well aware that this particular decision held little room for argument. There were two main reasons why vampires preferred coffins or caskets. In the olden days, before the discovery of the carnelian's power, it was simply safer to sleep in it to protect themselves from sunlight. Now however, it was mostly for comfort reasons. Sleeping in a bed was uncomfortable for vampires.

Killian provided a clear distinction between a casket and a coffin, guiding (Y/n) through the nuances of each. He pointed to a rectangular-shaped box, explaining, "This is a casket. I prefer to rest in it due to its comfort and convenience, thanks to the hinged lid. On the other hand, a coffin conforms to the shape of a human form and has a removable lid, like the one you have been using for the last month." She listened attentively, still uncertain about which option suited her best.

"Would you have some of her size to try ?" Dorian suggested, addressing the manufacturer. The man seemed baffled but nodded anyway, perhaps too confused to refuse.

The man gestured to a casket in the back. (Y/n) walked up to it hesitantly. Dorian nodded at her with a smile. "Go on," he encouraged. She laid in it, her arms resting on the sides of her body. "Cross your arms around above your chest. It will be harder for someone to ram a stake through your heart." He paused at the fear in her eyes. “Not that this could happen with your dad and I protecting you. It is simply a good habit to have, dear.”

A gasp escaped the old man behind them, and Dorian turned with irritation. The coffin maker, finally understanding, whispered in shock, "Vampires," pointing at the duo. In all honesty, Dorian would have expected him to understand earlier, but now the realization dawned on the man. The atmosphere tensed.

The coffin maker took several steps back and reached for the door. "Let me leave! Help! Vamp—" The man's plea was cut off by Killian stepping between him and the exit.

With a strained smile, Killian spoke, "Now, why don't we all stay calm, good sir?"

“Help! Help—”

The dark haired vampire's eyes bore into the human's, shining dimly with a red light. The man became rigid, his eyes taking on a glassy look. "Be quiet," he hissed the command sharply. "You will turn around and continue business as usual without a word. Am I clear?"

The man nodded, appearing dazed. Dorian licked his lips, looking at his partner with great enthusiasm. "You know how much I love it when you do that," he gushed.

Killian's gift was that of mind control, a rare, yet useful gift for vampires that he didn't use often. Sadly, with his less than nutritious diet of animals, using his powers was more exhausting for Killian. It was another reason why this noble choice of his to remove humans from his diet always irritated the blond vampire. Dorian loved when the other showed his darker side, when he let out the powerful part of him he tried so often to hide and stifle. 

"What are you doing to him ?" (Y/n) asked in alarm as she stood from the casket.

"Nothing that could harm him," Dorian assured dismissively, showing little concern for the mortal. Turning to his fledgling, he asked, "Is this casket to your liking, starshine?"

The young fledgling bit her lip with uncertainty. Her eyes landed on him, the human, and then Killian. She shrugged before looking down guiltily.

"We can also try a coffin," Dorian suggested, addressing the still-enchanted man. "Is there a coffin her size she could try?"

"Yes, right here," the man answered, still under Killian's influence that stopped him from running away.

Dorian gestured to the coffin. "Try it."

(Y/n) closed her eyes as she assumed the position. "I like this one," she declared after a moment.

He clapped his hands together with a satisfied smile. "Good, very good. We will take your precise measurements and have one made for you in... oak," he decided. The wood had to be heavy. It was always a good idea to have a heavier lid so that humans would have difficulty opening it.

Once all was arranged, they ensured that the newly commissioned coffin would be delivered to their estate upon completion. Killian used his influence to erase any memory of their vampiric nature from the manufacturer, ensuring their secret remained intact.

"Where else do we have to go ?" She asked curiously as she took in everything around her. The noise, the smells, the colors... He could see that this trip was good for her.

"A jewelry shop," he responded.

They entered the place not long after. It was still owned by the same person, even fifty years later. Dorian wondered how the shopkeeper, one of their kind, had avoided any suspicions of being a vampire when he hadn’t aged in all these years. They greeted him amicably, and Dorian noticed the realization flashing in (Y/n)’s eyes as she understood he was also a vampire. She held no fear this time, but her troubled eyes revealed a lingering discomfort. The shopkeeper presented her with a small bracelet adorned with carnelians, gemstones meant to shield her from sunlight.

They walked out the shop and, before entering their carriage, she noticed a toy manufacturer in the distance and pointed towards it. "Can we go in there?" She asked.

"Do you want new dolls to play with ?" Dorian smiled at her fondly.

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "I don't play with dolls," she denied, "I collect them."

Killian chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Of course," he agreed good-naturedly, sharing an amused look with Dorian.

He beamed, enjoying these little moments of complicity with his lover. He had known that bringing in a child would mend their relationship.

As they passed through a dark alley, distracted by his musings, Dorian barely noticed when a man in shabby clothes walked up to them. He did notice, however, when the man grabbed his child. Soon, the girl had a knife against her throat.

Instantly, both vampires were on alert. While they knew she wasn't in real danger due to her vampiric nature, the audacity of a mortal attempting to harm her provoked a response.

"Now why don't all of ya' give me your money ?" The crook barked out. He must have targeted them because of their attire, the fact they were nobles didn't go unnoticed in these streets.

Dorian stepped forward, already preparing to snap the vile filth's neck. Surprisingly, before he could do so, (Y/n) did something unexpected. With no hesitation, she bit the man's hand. When he cried out in pain, she didn't relent and kept a strong hold, unrelenting. He struggled to escape her as she drank his blood, her eyes becoming red. Soon, the man was knocked out. Whether it was because of the sleeping toxin in the bite or the amount of blood she was drinking, Dorian did not know nor care.

They just looked at the girl as she drank human blood for the first time. He smiled fondly at her first real feeding. They only stopped her when she had sucked the man dry. She tried to resist them to have more but he tutted. "Doll, you've drunk it all." She slowly came back to reality. He had expected her to look distressed or guilty, but she looked calm and collected, most likely in denial, despite all the blood covering her face and her clothes.

He frowned at that and Killian handed him a handkerchief. "Look at you," he said disapprovingly, "you have made a mess of yourself."

They disregarded the lifeless body in the alley, displaying a clear lack of concern for the mortal. The trio continued their stroll through the city, the night embracing them in its dark tendrils. The incident in the alley seemed to have awakened a different facet of her vampiric nature, one that intrigued Dorian and unnerved Killian simultaneously. The blond had always heard that younger vampires were more likely to hold less remorse, their instinct shaping their morals. One sip was enough to stop any form of hesitation.

She clutched his hand fervently, and while she looked out of their carriage calmly, the tremors in her hand were still noticeable. With his other hand, he petted her hair softly. “You did well,” he murmured encouragingly, hoping to drive out any remorse she might experience.

(Y/n) might not have forgotten about her past, but he hoped she would ignore what once was and acclimate to her new existence with ease. Tonight was the first night of the rest of her unending existence, after all.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Finally posted again after practically 2 week! Like I wrote in an earlier chapter, this story is completed and I just need to post each chapter after proof reading it. The problem came when I noticed that I really didn't like this one. I just dislike the pacing and everything and it took me some time to understand what was the problem and how to fix it. Im still not 100% satisfied with it, but I think its good, the pacing is just meh.

Also: There is only the epilogue left to post ! Almost done with this story. ;)

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

Story Chapter list

23. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻

The night had been long and exhausting, but this mattered little to him. Now that he had brought his child back and turned her, everything was well. Shortly after her first feeding, (Y/n) had fallen unconscious, the exhaustion brought by her transformation finally taking over her.

As a coffin had yet to be made for her, the child had nowhere to rest.  She wasn't human anymore, a bed certainly wouldn't do. These things were too uncomfortable for greater beings like them. Dorian brought her to his own coffin and let her rest next to him for the time being.

Killian remained silent since (Y/n)'s transformation. He hadn’t uttered a single word since. His eyes lingered frequently on the youngling, but he presented a vacant expression, his mind adrift. Dorian didn't mind; he understood that, despite Killian's stoic exterior, the blonde vampire felt a sense of responsibility for the newly turned child. Now, he would have to think of (Y/n) before trying to leave. (Y/n) would now factor into both their lives, a reminder that Dorian intended to keep at the forefront of Killian's thoughts.

A heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with tension as Killian's accusatory words sliced through the room like a dagger. His dark gaze bore into Dorian, carrying with it a weight of both anger and disappointment. 

"You should have left her. You never should have turned her," Killian stated firmly, his voice dripping with a foreboding darkness that resonated through the chamber.

Dorian couldn't suppress a growl of frustration that rumbled deep within his chest. He loved his companion, a bond that had been forged over countless years of shared experiences and challenges. Yet, their differing philosophies had always sparked discord. With a sarcastic hiss, he retorted, "Of course, Killian, you are absolutely right. I should have left her to wither away and crumble into the abyss of old age." The irony in his words was palpable, a thinly veiled mockery of Killian's unyielding principles.

The girl in question, still adjusting to her new existence, remained cradled in Dorian's arms, her eyes closed. Dorian hugged her tightly, his hands tenderly covering her ears in a protective gesture. He wished fervently that the newborn vampire didn't hear the words that had escaped Killian's lips, for in her eyes, he was the embodiment of virtue and goodness.

"I do not care how much you dislike this situation," Dorian sneered, the bitterness evident. "Rant and rave about it as much as you want, but don't you ever — and I mean it — say it in her presence again." The warning hung heavy in the air. “I was able to get my hands on a stake once and I will not hesitate to do it again, but this time– and I swear to all that is holy and unholy– I will make sure to complete the job.”

She didn't need to know the depth of the internal conflicts that had arisen within the very beings she would have to look up to for guidance. They were her guides, and Dorian intended to shield her from the shadows that lurked within their immortal souls.

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

The night unfurled around (Y/n) as she awoke, grappling with the disorienting transition from a human world to the reality of her new existence. She emerged from the coffin, the memories of the nunnery, the massacres, and her transformation flooding back. She distantly realized she couldn’t feel any more pain in her leg.

The once mundane aspects of her surroundings now pulsed with life—the scents, sounds, tastes, and sensations overwhelmed her heightened senses. The onslaught of sensations became too much to bear. Blood pounded in her ears, her hands trembled, and her feet tingled. It was a whirlwind of clarity and chaos, leaving her desperate for reprieve.

She needed it to—

She gulped as her stomach churned. She felt as though a hand of ice had reached inside her chest, gripping her heart with a vice-like hold. She covered her ears, shutting out the cacophony threatening to engulf her. She just wanted it to stop.

Stop, stop, stopstop—

"(Y/n)," a voice, loud and grounding, called out to her. She winced in pain.

"Child, can you listen to me?" The voice, a lifeline amidst the turmoil, asked gently. Hesitant, she nodded, still overwhelmed and scared. "I want you to take three breaths with me. Can you do that?"

Hesitant but compliant, she followed his lead. Breathe in, breathe out—a rhythmic attempt to regain control. The creaking door and the aroma of food wafting from downstairs threatened to disrupt her focus.

"Breathe in... breathe out," he instructed, accentuating the motions. Slowly, through repetition, (Y/n) began to regain a semblance of calm. Trembling persisting, she clung to Killian, a strange calm intertwining with an unfamiliar sense of resentment.

As she followed his instructions, focusing on the simple act of breathing, the chaos within her began to subside, if only momentarily. The scent of food from downstairs, once a distraction, now mingled with the comforting presence. With each inhale and exhale, she felt herself slowly coming back to herself, the trembling lessening as a sense of control returned. Yet, beneath the calm facade, a knot of resentment twisted within her.

"I'm a monster," she confessed in a whisper, scorn lacing her words as tears traced down her face. "He made me into this."

Killian rolled circles in her back, a silent pillar of support. Dorian wasn't in the room, there was only her and the other vampire.

"I never wanted this," her voice cracked.

He enveloped her in a comforting embrace. "I know, child," he assured, his tone echoing the different emotions that enveloped them both.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached (Y/n)'s enhanced hearing moments before the door swung open. Her gaze, a defiant glare, met the vampire who entered. Despite Killian's protective arm around her shoulders, Dorian paid it no mind, smiling while cupping her face in his hand.

"How is my little fledgling tonight?" he asked in a singsong voice. "Show me your fangs, dear."

(Y/n) clenched her jaw and turned her head away in defiance. Dorian, undeterred, tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze again. "Now, don't be—"

Instinctively, she bared her teeth and attempted to bite him, a surprising action even to herself. Dorian retracted his hand just in time to avoid it. Rather than anger, (Y/n) sensed amusement radiating from her sire, who rewarded her with a sharp grin, practically cackling in delight.

"Quite a feisty one, aren't you?" he commented gleefully. "Father is so proud." She glowered. "Freshen up; it is time to eat."

She left their room to go to her own quarters without a word. Anything to not be in direct contact with him. A maid had already prepared a bath for her and left, a fortunate occurrence. She was bloodied, her clothes stained by blood that had dried. The origin was unknown to her. Was it from Dorian, herself or even the nuns? She clenched her jaw, preferring not to think of that. 

She just wanted it all gone. With meticulous care, she lathered her hands with soap. She thought of Sister Gloria and of the pain she must have felt as her sire sank his fangs in her neck, draining her life force. Or maybe, as he sliced her open– or as he ripped her apart ruthlessly. Her mind buzzed, each possibility running through her head. She could still hear the screams, could still see the red. The same red covering her. As the soap bubbled between her fingers, she scrubbed furiously. It had to leave. Did he play with them before slaughtering them? Did he make them partake in his twisted version of hide and seek? Hiding until he found them and spilled all their life fluids across their haven? Was it the same fluid she had on herself now? She scrubbed, her nails digging into her skin with a desperate intensity. She needed it gone. Was that what she was forced to become now? Would her existence revolve around spilling all that blood? Would it be consumed by the red? She scrubbed, she could have missed–

Someone knocked. “Miss,” a soft, almost inaudible voice called, “the duke is requesting you.”

She looked down at the blood tainted water and stood up. She paused for an instant. With a sigh, she reached for the hand towel, her movements slow and hesitant. Once she finally dried and dressed herself, she was ready to go.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

22. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓽

Dorian's velvety croon filled the room as the girl's eyes fluttered open, a testament to the success of his work. With grace, Dorian ran his fingers through her hair, an almost paternal gesture with an undercurrent of possessiveness. She appeared disoriented yet curiously aware of everything surrounding her. 

In a ritualistic display, Dorian's sharp fangs pierced his own forearm, crimson droplets welling up and rolling down his arm. The scent, intoxicating and thick, traveled through the room, luring the fledgling. The girl, smart child that she was, picked up on the scent in no time. A swift realization flashed across her eyes, and she keenly picked up on the aroma.

The offered forearm hovered near her mouth, and Dorian's honeyed voice encouraged her, "Drink." The fledgling, displaying an instinctive hunger, moved to partake almost savagely, but Dorian intervened with a gentle touch. He held her jaw delicately, his fingers grazing her cold skin. "Use your fangs, doll. Show me your little fangs."

The girl, her newly formed canines revealed, elicited a proud smile from Dorian. With approval granted, she sank her fangs into his flesh. She drank with a fervor, as if trying to quench a centuries-long thirst in mere moments. The room resonated with the sound of her eager feeding.

Eventually, Dorian, the indulgent sire, halted her actions. "That is enough," he whispered, and she whimpered, a primitive plea for more escaping her lips. With a reassuring shake of his head, he spoke softly, "I know, I know, you're thirsty. You shall have more later." 

As much as she wanted. He was her sire, her creator, and her provider. He would ensure she lacked nothing. He wouldn’t leave her and, in return, she would stay by his side. He was her caretaker. ☾ Gradually (Y/n)'s reason took back control over her instincts. Her memories were hazy, as if a fog were enveloping them, but the panic and fear she had felt before still remained. She recognized the two men in the room. Recognizing the two men present, the sentiments of transformation and of an existence forced upon her hung heavy in the air.

"Killian.. Stay.." Desperation tinged her whimper as she reached out to Killian. She sought solace in the man she knew, yearning for his presence as a shield against the monster who had inflicted this vampiric fate upon her. This man had tried to protect her against the one who turned her. She felt safer with him. 

She observed the man's hesitation, her eyes filled with a profound sense of hope and despair intertwined. His gaze held a tempest of emotions, reflecting the inner conflict he, too, experienced.

Dorian, now the creator of her newfound existence, leaned in, a calming presence amidst the chaos soothing her whimpers with a gentle, almost hypnotic murmur. Safe. "Oh, he won't leave, darling." His words cut through the uncertainty with a promise. "He may have contemplated leaving, but that's in the past now. He shall stay, and he shall stay for you." ☾ She remained oblivious to the sly, dark smile Dorian gave to the other vampire — a subtle pact woven between them, one party more willing than the other.

Reluctantly, Killian approached the girl, a silent turmoil raging within him. Dorian released his hold on her, allowing her to find solace in the arms of his companion. As Killian tenderly stroked her hair, a tide of resentment surged within him. The venom in his voice was palpable as he muttered, words laden with scorn, "You are truly deplorable."

The words danced in the air for an instant, carrying with them years of resentment. The surroundings whispered tales of lives lived, choices made, and the eternal struggle between what once had been and what remained now.

Dorian smiled faintly. His eyes were wet and he leaned on his shoulder. “I know,” he whispered, his words feeling heavy in the room. “Anything for my family. My coven.”

The blond’s arms locked around Killian and he could feel the other’s tremors. "I love you so much,” he muttered, almost inaudibly, "I love the both of you so much." He repeated the statement like an endless mantra. 

Killian remained quiet, with the youngling resting on his chest and the other vampire leaning on his shoulders.

A part of him realized they could all leave. Windows were open; doors were unlocked. Walking out was easy. Just as it had always been.

"We have a daughter, Killian," he continued on. Killian suddenly felt a wetness on his shoulder. "You wouldn't leave her behind, would you? Please… She needs me, and — and I need the both of you."

He drew in a shuddering breath, the blond’s voice, his words, his touch… All of that was so suffocating. He felt caged. Not physically, no; his prison was of another kind. He would have liked to say Fate had intricately woven and meticulously pulled the threads of their lives until they were inevitably entwined. That description would have sounded poetic, or perhaps even romantic in a twisted way. Yet, even that was false, wasn’t it? Tthe truth was often less fanciful.

They were trapped.

Trapped in a tragedy of their own making.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Chapter List

[Dorian de Beauvoir, a vampire consumed by a profound solitude, has one single aspiration: to satiate the emptiness that haunts him. The arrival of a young human girl emerges as the missing element, the final stroke needed to complete his perfect tableau. Plunged into the clutches of this monster, the young girl finds herself thrust into an unfamiliar world, forced to grapple with the daunting challenge of evading her fate - transformation into a vampire.]

1. 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓲, 𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲, 𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓲.

2. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓻’𝓼 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮

3. 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓡𝓾𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

4. 𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼

5. 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓟𝓪𝓽𝓱

6. 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

7. 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓮

8. 𝓥𝓮𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰

9.  𝓐 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱

10. 𝓐 𝓯𝓮𝔀 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓐𝓰𝓸

11. 𝓟𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

12. 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

13. 𝓒𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓼𝓸𝓷 𝓟𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽

14. 𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻

15. 𝓐𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮

16. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓞𝓷𝓮

17. 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽

18. 𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓮𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮

19. 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻’𝓼 𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰

20. 𝓢𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 (𝓞𝓻 𝓪𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭)

21. 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

22. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓽

23. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻

24. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂'𝓻𝓮 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓔𝓪𝓽

Epilogue : 𝓘𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓪

*＊✿❀🌹❀✿＊*

Asks for this story

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓑𝓮𝓭 (Ask: Why are beds uncomfortable for vampires?)

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓑𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 (Ask: Does Dorian expect a minimum amount of time spent together as a family ? Hugs or anyting of the sort?)

𝓐𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 (Ask: What happens in the modern era?)

𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓦𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 (Ask: How would they react to the modern world technology?)

𝓞𝓯 𝓣𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓼 - Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 (Ask: Dorian is brought to the vampiric Court for the siring of an Immortal Child.)

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

Trigger Warning: A bit of gore and death. (Y/n) ain't ok guys.

21. 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

(Y/n) had thought she would finally be safe. She had thought she was free. 

As the night of the blood moon unfolded, everything spiraled into chaos. She shouldn't have left her guard down, yet she did. Her lapse in vigilance sealed her fate and that of so many others.

That night, she had looked out in the sky, painted in a deep, foreboding shade. Under the ominous shade of the sky, the moon gleamed brighter than ever, casting an eerie red glow. Its deep shade of red was unlikely to go unnoticed. She had slept that night, feeling as if she was finally free ; a momentary respite. Dorian would surely give up now. It was too late, he wouldn’t want to wait three other months, would he? His infatuation must have dwindled by now, he would eventually forget about her. 

She closed her eyes, feeling peaceful and relieved.

Until screams shattered the tranquility, pulled her out of slumber. Panic coursed through her entire body as she quickly rose, recognizing the sounds of pain and struggle from outside her room. A part of her already knew who the attacker was. A sinking realization gripped her — he had found her.

She placed a chair below the doorknob as a makeshift barricade even though she knew it would only buy her seconds. True to expectation, the door knob moved shortly after. Her defense stopped the vampire, though she was aware it was just a matter of time until he would brute force his way in.

"Doll," Dorian's voice oozed sickeningly sweet. "I know you are in there."

A surge of fear paralyzed her momentarily. Foolishly considering hiding under the bed, she dismissed the idea as impractical. The window seemed her only escape, but the second-floor fall carried its risks.

"Let me in, dear," he insisted.

Stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, she hesitated. "(Y/N)," he snapped loudly and threateningly, "If you do not open this door now, you will regret it, young lady!”

She looked out the window, her heart beating rapidly. Outside, he began counting down, leaving her with no choice. She struggled to open the window; her hands were trembling and her vision was blurry. She had to get out. She could hear his voice, and she knew he wouldn’t remain patient for much longer. When "one" resounded, the window finally yielded. Simultaneously, the vampire burst through the door. She jumped out, but her landing was flawed — a sharp crack resonated through the night as her left leg met the ground. 

She cried out as she clenched her leg. Pain seared through her, yet the urgency to escape eclipsed it. She couldn't forget the danger following her. She fought against the tears and dizziness to run away as fast as she could. Every step was agonizing and the burning sensation didn't leave.

Despite her efforts, the Duke's supernatural speed prevailed. Capturing her effortlessly, she found herself back in the monster's clutches. Sobbing, she pleaded, "Let me go! I hate you, I hate—" Her words were cut short as he yanked her hair with a brutal grip.

Angry and bloodstained, he presented a menacing figure. Red eyes and sharp canines accentuated his fury. "You foolish girl," he spat out the words with venom, the hatred dripping from each syllable. 

With a cruel and relentless grip, he seized (Y/n) by the hair, the strands entwining around his bloodstained fingers. Her desperate screeches and uncontrollable sobs echoed through the night. As they arrived at the nunnery, he released his vice-like grip on (Y/n), who crumpled to the cold ground like a broken puppet. Her body convulsed with sobs.

"Look at it !" He ordered, his wrath clear to see. His command cut through the chaos, compelling her to witness the gruesome aftermath — a massacre.

It was a carnage. In front of her, there was nothing but death, the bodies of the nuns scattered around. The nuns lay dead, most decapitated, their kindness repaid with brutality. 

Red.

She only saw red. Everything was red. Her own hands were red. Red from the blood of these kind people that had let her stay with them.

"This," he said with scorn, "is mortality. A disease. An uncontrollable fate that comes to all humans. A parasite that has followed humanity for far longer than any of us could comprehend. Death comes for all. All except us. Do you now understand why I want to turn you ?"

He leaned down to her level, cupping her face in his hand softly, a stark difference to the strong grip he previously held on her hair. His eyes, bright red, and looking intensely at her, seemed to pierce through her entire being. “I want you to become something greater. Something far more powerful. Something Eternal.”

She sobbed uncontrollably, because there was nothing else she could do. She was helpless next to this being, overwhelmed by the carnage before her. At her reaction, his eyes grew colder and he stood up. "We are going home," he ordered after some time. She offered no response, and he simply carried her, the pain of her broken leg hadn't subsided either.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lips during the entire journey, feeling an intense need to erase these images out of her mind.

With the vampire's speed, they arrived rapidly, the journey being a rapid blur of emotions and feelings. And once he quietly brought her to her room, once she was put in bed with care, once she thought everything was over, the vampire's fangs sunk deep into (Y/n)'s neck.

A scream echoed in her throat as two burning rods pierced her. Venom surged through her veins, scorching and annihilating everything in its path. As it reached her heart, her consciousness desperately attempted to cling to awareness amidst the excruciating pain. The room blurred, voices entered, and her eyes snapped shut. Darkness enveloped her, a cruel embrace as the transformation took hold. ☾ Killian's miscalculation unfolded like a haunting prophecy. In underestimating Dorian, he had unwittingly paved the way for a relentless pursuit. Dorian, fueled by an unyielding determination, had seemingly uncovered the whispers of a girl surviving a vampire assault, finding refuge under the protective wings of a nunnery.

As Killian roamed the shadows with his heightened senses, the cry of pain reached his ears, emanating from the girl's room. The realization struck him like a cold gust, sending shivers down his spine. 

She had been turned.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

It was mentioned in the last chapter that word of mouth had already been traveling about her situation, wasn’t it ? Dorian doesn’t like gossiping, but he’s willing to listen to any rumor to find her. ;)

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

20. 𝓢𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 (𝓞𝓻 𝓪𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭)

As the days unfolded, (Y/n) found herself slowly embracing a sense of ease. It marked the third day away from the vampires, and Dorian had yet to find her. The sisters at the nunnery, though aware of little about her past, treated her with kindness. They likely assumed she was a noble child whose family had fallen victim to a vampire attack. While not entirely true, the fact remained: she was now an orphan. The idea of being sent to an orphanage lingered in the background, but for now, the sisters seemed to enjoy her presence, and she, in turn, appreciated theirs.

In the cozy living room, (Y/n) engaged in companionship with some of the nuns. Glancing outside on the sunny day, she made a face — too bright and too sunny. After months of living nocturnally, adapting to the daytime proved more challenging than (Y/n) expected.

Turning her attention elsewhere, she marveled at the beautiful handcrafts one nun was creating — a delicate handkerchief adorned with flowers and butterflies. "Does this take a lot of time?" she inquired, observing Sister Margaret's skilled embroidery.

Smiling, Sister Margaret shook her head. "Once you've mastered the basics, it becomes an easy, even pleasant task," she explained calmly.

A knock at the door disrupted their peaceful moment. Three men entered, one clad in religious garb and the other two resembling battle-hardened hunters. Knives and stakes adorned their brown leather belts. Father Thomas, a familiar face, led the group. The priest routinely visited the nunnery. The hunters, though, were completely unfamiliar to her.

"Hello, (Y/n)," Father Thomas greeted with a grandfatherly smile. "How are you today?"

"Good," she replied briefly.

The priest gestured to the hunters. "Allow me to introduce Archibald and Jonah Rowan. They are vampire hunters. They will help us track down the vampire that attacked you."

Vampire hunters? A shiver ran down her spine at the sight of their weaponry. "What will you do to him?" she asked hesitantly, trying to maintain composure.

Archibald stepped forward gruffly, "We'll track that beast down and send it back right where it's s'posed to be; in Hell."

She bit her lip, uncertain.

"We just need ya' to tell us everythin' you know 'bout this thing," added the other.

Reluctance crept inside her ; she was unsure if she wanted to do that. She couldn't bring herself to tell them anything she knew. Killian was with Dorian, which meant that if she sent the hunters to him, his partner would be attacked too. Even then, she didn't want to aid in killing Dorian. She knew she should, but she didn't want to. He hadn't hurt her that bad; he had treated her— no matter how he had treated her, he just didn't deserve such a fate.

Looking away, she clutched her doll, Clementine, close. Killian had put it in her bags and she had been relieved when she found it. It was like a souvenir of him. "I don't— I don't remember anything,” she gulped.

"Are you sure, (Y/n) ?" The priest questioned skeptically with a probing stare.

"I don't remember anything," she reiterated more fervently, hugging the doll defensively. "Why would I lie?"

They exchanged hesitant glances, some unconvinced, unsure why she'd conceal the vampire's identity. Opting not to disclose further information, (Y/n) focused on rearranging Clementine's dress, witnessing the frustration on the hunters' faces as they posed more questions unanswered. She simply chose silence.

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

Someone knocked at the door to the room she had been staying in for the past five days. She stood up from her modest bed, a sense of routine settling into her life. 

"Good morning, dear. Why don't you come down to eat?" Sister Margaret invited, her voice gentle and reassuring. The girl nodded appreciatively, grateful for the sense of normalcy and compassion that surrounded her in this place. She followed the older woman, their footsteps echoing through the quiet corridors, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the estate she had left behind.

Together, they descended the stairs, arriving in the communal area where the other inhabitants of the house were already seated for breakfast. The atmosphere was a far cry from the gloomy estate she had escaped. Here, the air was filled with a calm and pleasant energy, a stark departure from the tension that had become the norm in her previous surroundings.

Breakfast unfolded as a tranquil, communal affair. The residents engaged in light conversation, sharing anecdotes and laughter that resonated with genuine warmth. The contrast to the heavy, stifling meals at the estate was stark. Here, the air was filled with a sense of camaraderie and acceptance.

(Y/n) appreciated the small talk, the mundane discussions that seemed almost magical in their simplicity. The nuns were welcoming, never pressuring her to conform to any expectations. It felt like a breath of fresh air, the light-hearted and carefree atmosphere she had been deprived of for far too long.

Seated at the table, (Y/n) chose to remain quiet, observing the interactions around her. She found solace in the light-hearted banter, relishing the newfound freedom to simply listen and be present. It was a stark departure from the oppressive silence that often accompanied her meals in the estate, and she savored the moments of normalcy.

The people around her in this new place seemed genuinely kind, their gestures and words motivated by a compassion that was almost foreign to her. Their warmth enveloped her without being overbearing, and she found solace in the genuine care that surrounded her. It was a stark contrast to the kind of love she had experienced in the gloomy estate.

As she sat at the breakfast table, her stomach twisted a bit. The contrast between the meals here and those at the vampire’s estate brought forth a mix of emotions. Dorian's way of caring, though vastly different and at times unsettling, lingered in her thoughts. In a strange, messed-up way, she found herself longing for it even in the midst of this newfound haven.

Her mind wandered to memories of hands brushing through her hair, the warmth of a kiss on her forehead, or the sensation of a hand holding her wrist with a vice-like, firm grip. These were nothing but fragments of the past, haunting her in the present. These were nothing but phantom touches, feelings that would most likely disappear eventually. For now, however, they felt comforting ; like she wasn't alone and he wouldn't leave. It was a thought that both terrified her and brought her a form of solace.

Was it normal to long for someone who had caused her so much pain? The question lingered, only troubling her more,

Five days.

Only five days and she already missed that place; her lavish prison. He must have done something to her, must have messed her up somehow, causing this inner turmoil to brew within her.

She flinched visibly, the sudden touch triggering an instinctive reaction that she couldn't control. The hand that had innocently rested on hers quickly retreated at her adverse response. Sister Gloria, with a heart full of concern, had a visibly worried expression on her face, having keenly observed the gloom that had settled over (Y/n). The girl gave her a strained smile, not knowing what else to do. The woman's expression softened slightly, but the creases of worry on her forehead remained.

After the meal, once she finished helping them clean up the place, Sister Glaria requested her help in feeding Pepper, the horse that had aided in her escape. While the nunnery didn't have a stable, they had set up a small temporary cabin to ensure the horse was well taken care of.

The girl readily agreed and followed Sister Gloria to the makeshift stable. As they entered, the familiar presence of Pepper greeted them, the horse's gentle eyes reflecting a sense of trust that had been forged during their shared journey through the forest.

(Y/n) petted the horse affectionately, expressing her gratitude for Pepper's assistance. The revelation that horses could be trained to navigate an entire trip on their own had been surprising to her. The journey through the dense forest had been long, and she hadn't arrived until the sun had set. It hadn’t been a linear path either, Pepper had trudged through the plants and trees masterfully, turning left or right at different points until they finally reached their destination.

"What is her name?" asked Sister Gloria with a soft smile, her curiosity evident. It was then that (Y/n) realized she had never shared the name of the mare with those at the nunnery.

Caught off guard, she blushed in embarrassment, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. "Pepper."

The nun's eyebrows rose in recognition, a light of realization in her eyes. "Oh, that must be why she looks so familiar."

(Y/n) furrowed her brows in confusion. "She does?"

"A brunette with long hair. He took strolls around here for the last month, practically every day, with the same precise path, and occasionally came to talk to us. That’s how we learned this mare’s name."

As the nun spoke, (Y/n)'s mind raced, trying to piece together the information. A gentleman with a familiar routine, someone who had taken the time to introduce Pepper to the nunnery. She smiled faintly; Killian.

The woman paused for an instant and placed a hand on her mouth. "Oh dear, he hasn't come here recently... Is he— was he... your father ?" 

The nun jumped to the unlikely and wrong conclusion that Killian could be her dead father, but (Y/n) shut that down quickly. She shook her head, "No, an... acquaintance. Someone that helped." Misunderstandings were quick to happen when she wasn’t telling them the whole truth, but she thought it was better that way. 

Sister Goria sighed in relief. There was a moment of silence as she fed a carrot to Pepper.

"Sister Gloria, what is going to happen to me now?" (Y/n) finally asked a question she dreaded the answer to.

The woman remained silent for sometime, before saying, "Word of mouth has already begun to circle around. Local villages have been informed. We will find a place for you. Maybe in an orphanage or a benevolent family."

Dread took hold of (Y/n). She didn't like the sound of those options, neither an orphanage nor being placed with a family she didn't know. However, the nun offered an alternative, a glimmer of hope in the form of staying here.

"But, you could also stay here if you wish to," she added with a warm smile. "We would love to have a young girl around here to liven up the mood. I am sure nobody would mind."

The idea of being part of a community that had shown her kindness and understanding felt less daunting. She mused at the possibility, imagining herself contributing to the lighthearted atmosphere she had grown to appreciate.

"You don't have to decide now," assured the nun.

That struck her in an odd way. 'You don't have to decide now'. She had a choice, didn't she? The realization sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

"I like that," she managed to say, her voice cracking slightly, "I like that very much."

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

19. 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻’𝓼 𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰

"Where is she?!" Dorian's frantic voice echoed through the estate, his worry palpable.

As servants scurried in a hurried search, their footsteps resonating in sync with the ominous silence that enveloped the estate, Dorian's desperation escalated. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, and the once serene atmosphere now crackled with tension. Meanwhile, Killian leaned lazily against a wall, a stark contrast to the frantic pacing of the distressed father. His nonchalant demeanor, seemingly unaffected by the unfolding drama. He appeared to be more an observer of chaos than a participant in the search.

In a corner of the room, the coffin manufacturer sat in a plush chair, bewildered by the sudden panic that had gripped the once serene household. His eyes darted nervously from one end of the room to the other, as if expecting answers to manifest in the luxurious surroundings. The elegance of the room juxtaposed with the disarray of emotions, creating an atmosphere that seemed almost surreal for the mortal.

"She couldn't have left without anyone noticing," Dorian reasoned, his brow furrowed with concern. The frantic search continued, but the mansion offered no clues to the disappearance of his daughter. The air was thick with uncertainty, and the urgency of the situation hung palpably in the atmosphere. The blonde, casting a penetrating gaze at Killian, turned to the other vampire with an accusatory tone. "Why don't you do anything?"

"What is there to do?" Killian retorted haughtily. "She left. Accept it."

Anger flared within Dorian. "Accept it!?" he repeated with outrage. "My daughter is out there somewhere, alone with nobody to protect her !”

As the words lingered in his mind, Dorian's panic escalated. The memory of (Y/n)'s previous escape, when she had been attacked by a sanguini, intensified his resolve. He wouldn't let this happen once again. She was mortal, completely defenseless and weak. 

"Walking around aimlessly will not help," Killian answered with a sigh. "You may live."

Dorion looked at him, bewildered by the command before realizing the second part had been aimed at the coffin-maker who was still in the room. He turned his gaze toward the mortal, a bewildered look in his eyes as he processed Killian's command. The man, caught off guard, hesitated for a moment before nodding in acknowledgment. Slowly, he made his way towards the exit, leaving the room as instructed by the enigmatic vampire. He had forgotten about him, his mind having focused on the girl. 

Dorian's focus, however, quickly returned to the pressing matter at hand – the whereabouts of his daughter. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, and he couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart. The thought of his daughter being out there, alone in an unforgiving world, sent shivers down his spine. The once grandiose room now seemed suffocating, its walls closing in as Dorian's mind raced with worry. He couldn't fathom what his daughter might be experiencing, and the very idea that she could be subjected to unforgivable things gnawed at him. His protective instincts kicked in, overshadowing everything else.

Some people would not think twice about taking advantage of young, impressionable minds like his weak, fragile (Y/n). She was so frail; she wouldn't survive on her own. She was utterly, completely, truly alone. The child was so naive thinking that any mortal would simply take her in hearing her plight, but they wouldn't.

He felt Killian's hand on his shoulder. "Sit," he advised him while leading him to an armrest. "Your power is affecting the room; calm down."

He looked around, noticing the ice covering the place where he had been standing just moments before. "She's out there," he protested, clenching his fists, "I just can't..."

"You must stay calm," his partner said with conviction, "servants are already looking for her."

Dorian's eyes flickered with a mixture of frustration and fear. Despite the efforts of the servants scouring the estate, the absence of tangible information only fueled his worry. Useless. They were all utterly useless. It was preposterous. She had left once, and now once again they managed to let her slip through them. They would pay. He would deal with them after after finding his child. He could feel the seconds ticking away, each one adding to the uncertainty surrounding his daughter's disappearance.

He shook his head and stood once again, resuming his pacing, "There are three paths she could have taken," he mused out loud." The first is the one she took during her first escapade which I doubt she would take again. She can be quite clever. The second is one more remote that leads to a nunnery, but I doubt she even knows of the existence of this path. She would have had to walk through the nearby forest for at least an out by foot to even notice it. She doesn't leave home. She knows she isn't allowed to... and yet here we are. The third one however... while long, leads to a village and if this foolish daughter of mine—"

"The carpet; you're freezing the carpet," Killian admonished while pinching the bridge of his nose. "(Y/n) is a resourceful young girl, Dorian."

He tried laughing, but it sounded wet and slightly hysterical. "Don't be ridiculous. She can't survive on her own! She's so—fragile, and helpless and she could break at any second and— and she's out there!" He gestured out the window. He collapsed on the couch, shaking his head. "And if something happens to her... if something happens to my poor child..."

Each day, she mattered so much more to him. More than she had when he had first met her on that clearing. She had made him care for her. He cared so much for her. He couldn’t just let her go. He wouldn’t forgive himself. 

If something happened to (Y/n), Dorian knew it would completely shatter him.

Dorian looked up, his eyes teary and filled with a mix of frustration, fear, and desperation. Killian, sensing the need for comfort, passed an arm around Dorian's shoulders. The touch, though subtle, carried a warmth that overcame their cold exterior. The blond vampire reacted by resting his head on his lover's shoulder, finding solace in the physical closeness. Killian's presence, like an anchor in the storm of emotions, had a way of grounding Dorian back to the present when he felt himself spiraling into the abyss of worry and uncertainty.

"Dorian," Killian whispered, "calm down, just for a second. Breathe."

He nodded, chuckling slightly at the suggestion. He didn't need to breathe. "Such a human thing to do," he commented, feeling himself calm down slightly, slowly but surely.

Killian nodded, agreeing, "You know me." He sighed softly. "Why don't we focus on something else while the servants search?"

"Like what ?' He questioned reluctantly.

"Forget the girl for now, Dorian," he suggested calmly. The words were said with a soft, yet confident voice. "I'm sure she is fine."

The bland looked up in anger at the remark. His anger grew once his icy blue eyes met Dorian's bright red ones. A cold feeling washed over him, realizing the other had tried to use a moment of emotional vulnerability against him. Leaning forward and clenching his fists, he demanded, "What did you try to do?"

Killian looked away, giving him no answer. The blond gripped his lover's arm, his nails digging in his skin. The other only flinched slightly, almost imperceptibly, "What did you try to do?" He winced, but Dorian did not care. Fury roared through his mind.

He knew his partner's power very well. Knew that he hardly used it, but knew nonetheless the signs of it. "Did you try to make me forget about her?"

His silence was enough of an answer on its own. He felt betrayed and furious at the mere idea that Killian of all people would dare to use his mind control powers on him. He was about to explode with rage, unable to understand why he would try to use them for this. Dorian had seen Killian and (Y/n) interact together, he had witnessed the bond they shared grow. He couldn't understand why the man would simply decide to let it go. One shouldn't let go of the people they cared about so easily.

Wheels turned inside his head, and realization dawned upon him. He stood up and Killian followed suit. "It is you," he accused, pointing a finger. "You let her leave.” 

While Killian neither confirmed nor denied it verbally, Dorian already knew the answer. In a surge of fury, he lunged at Killian, gripping the other's shirt threateningly as his mind spun. "Killian, you—"

"Sir," a servant entered the room, breaking the tension. "It appears she has left on horseback; one is missing."

Flashes of worst-case scenarios flooded Dorian's mind. (Y/n) could have had an accident, been attacked. The horse might have rebelled. (Y/n) didn’t know how to ride a horse; he had never taught her for that reason. So that she wouldn’t attempt anything stupid. She could be dead by now. Dead, alone, and rotting in the wilderness.

He clutched Killian's shirt with a vice-like grip, feeling wetness in his eyes and his throat tightening. "You can't—" he glowered. "You can't do this to me, Killian."

The other offered no response. His eyes were cold and held no regret. He might have left the poor child to die and he did not care. Dorian’s weak pleas were met with indifference. This was his child, his daughter. He couldn't let her be taken away from him. How dare he do this ? How could he ? "Tell me!" Dorian pleaded desperately. "Tell me where you told her to go !"

No answer. 

No reaction. 

Dorian's face fell, and he began to tremble. "You can't do this to me, Killian," he whispered weakly. "You can't..."

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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First Chapter

18. 𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓮𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮

Today, her sleep was abruptly interrupted by a person shaking her awake. As she stirred from the depths of her dreams, the world around her gradually came into focus. Disoriented and still half-asleep, she instinctively reached for the covers, attempting to shield herself from the unwelcome intrusion into her peaceful slumber.

"You have to wake up now," a voice said with an urgency that alerted her.

Groggily, she peered from beneath the covers, trying to discern the source of the disturbance. She squinted, muttering in a tired voice, "What...?"

"You have to leave," Killian announced somberly.

It struck her, and she stood up abruptly. "I— What ?"

He began packing some of her clothes into a small bag. "This is your twelfth birthday, is it not?" he asked rhetorically. "The blood moon is in seven days, and I suspect today is most likely your best chance of escaping while you still can. Dorian left to run errands."

The room, bathed in the muted glow of the awakening dawn, seemed to hold its breath, as if anticipating the gravity of the moment. "Now?" she croaked, her voice barely audible, carrying the remnants of sleep-induced raspiness and hesitation.

A pause hung in the air like a suspended note in a symphony, and she could feel the weight of his words settling around her like an invisible shroud. "This is your last chance to escape, child," he asserted slowly.

He draped a large coat over her, its fabric enveloping her like a protective shield against the unknown, and led her through the manor with a sense of urgency that left little room for protest. (Y/n) was too paralyzed and shocked to refuse, her mind grappling with the surreal nature of the situation. The halls of the manor seemed to blur as they hurried along, the echoes of their footsteps resonating in the stillness of the early morning.

When they finally emerged outside, the abrupt transition from the dimly lit interior to the bright morning sunlight proved disorienting for (Y/n). She instinctively covered her eyes, the harsh light an unwelcome intrusion after the cloistered atmosphere of the manor. Ironically, the vampire by her side didn't exhibit such an adverse reaction. His gaze remained focused, undeterred by the luminosity, perhaps driven by an unyielding determination or aided by the mysterious ring adorning his finger.

The duo moved swiftly, their destination becoming apparent as they approached the stables. The scent of hay and horses filled the air, and the sounds of neighing and shuffling hooves became more pronounced.

"I have packed enough food to last you a few days. This journey, however, should not take you longer than one day," he stated with a calm assurance, handing her a rather heavy bag that clinked softly with the promise of sustenance. (Y/n) accepted it, feeling the weight of the provisions in her hands, a tangible reminder of the journey that lay ahead. "There are also warm clothes and money," he added, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of the unfolding uncertainty.

She trembled in fear. "Where will I go?" The girl asked with a panicked voice.

He looked at her, and his gaze softened. "There is a nunnery not too far from here," he told her. "They will surely take you in to protect you from a vampire. You will tell them you were attacked by a vampire, understood?"

She gulped and nodded. He settled her onto a black horse, explaining briefly how to ride the creature. She could only manage a slow walk, but that was enough.

He accompanied her to the grand entrance of the estate. "Pepper is a smart horse," he assured. "We have practiced this path before. She knows it by heart. You won't have to do anything other than stay on her back."

Nervously, she nodded. "Alright," she mumbled. She looked away, a lump forming in her throat. "You mentioned you wanted to leave. Can't you come?"

Hesitation and reluctance flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He held her hand with a certain firmness and gentleness. "I will keep him at bay," he answered.

(Y/n) teared up and gave him a wet smile. "Thank you, I hope we will meet again eventually."

He ruffled her hair and mirrored her expression. "I hope so as well, child."

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

Dorian disliked going out during the day, but with (Y/n)'s turning coming soon, he had to make sure everything was perfect and ready. She would need a coffin or casket to rest, and he wanted to have one fitted for her.

He returned later in the evening after hiring a skilled manufacturer. Entering through the main entrance, he found Killian waiting for him. Together, they headed to the living room to provide enough space for the necessary measurements.

"Deeply sorry for your loss," the old bearded coffin manufacturer said with a heavy sigh, his empathetic expression etched with sorrow when he heard that the object in question was meant for his daughter.

Dorian, standing there with a demeanor that seemed to defy the very concept of mourning, hummed curiously at the man's condolences and tilted his head to the side. The air hung heavy with misunderstanding, creating an awkward tension between the well-intentioned coffin maker and the enigmatic figure before him.

"It must be hard for fathers to lose a child at such a young age," the human continued, attempting to offer solace in the face of assumed tragedy.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Dorian's face, his eyes narrowing at the presumptive comment. "My daughter is very much alright," he snapped with a sneer, his tone carrying a sharp edge. The insinuation that (Y/n) had met an untimely demise struck a nerve, and Dorian felt insulted that the man would ever consider such a morbid possibility. (Y/n) was, without a doubt, perfectly fine.

Turning to a nearby maid, Dorian issued a command with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Call (Y/n). Tell the girl her measurements must be taken for her coffin."

The manufacturer, caught off guard and bewildered, stammered, "I assumed—"

"Well, you assumed wrong," Dorian interrupted with a lazy hand gesture, dismissing the notion of tragedy with a nonchalant air. The child was very much alive, and he wouldn't allow anyone to think otherwise.

Killian, standing beside Dorian, gently squeezed his hand in a silent effort to calm the simmering tension. "You see, (Y/n) is quite a special girl. Fascinated by death," he explained, weaving a convincing narrative with practiced ease. "A coffin was a little request of hers."

The human eyes widened. "Oh, well that ain't somethin' I've seen before," he muttered.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "What ? Can't a child have hobbies ?" He asked.

"Sir," the maid entered the room frantically. "The young miss seems to have left again !"

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

Arriving at the nunnery late in the night, (Y/n) felt a mixture of exhaustion and relief. A gentle knock prompted a concerned nun to open the door.

"Oh, dear," she said with worry. "What is a child doing alone at night? Come in." The woman ushered her in hurriedly.

Soon, all the nuns had woken up, and she found herself in a living room, cradling a warm cup of tea. From the next room, she overheard women discussing her situation.

"Who could leave a child so young on her own?" One asked with worry.

"She came on a horse, and her clothes are that of nobility. This is quite a peculiar situation," another remarked.

"She mustn't be an orphan, then," a third one reasoned.

"Yet few parents would let their child wander during the night. Something must have happened."

"Sister Maria, do not insinuate such things," the first one reprimanded.

"A simple observation, Sister Gloria," she justified.

The door opened, and four nuns stepped into the living room, walking up to her with soft, reassuring looks.

The one who had opened the door for her spoke first. "Why don't you tell us what happened, dear?"

(Y/n) looked down at her empty teacup. "Vampires," she whispered.

Gasps were heard, and the women started chattering between themselves.

"Vampires? So close to here?"

"It mustn't be," the voice of the one she recognized as Sister Gloria. "Surely not true vampires."

"The last blood moon was two months ago," another said. "Finding a Sanguini now is improbable. It must be a fully-fledged vampire."

She acquiesced. "Not a monster, a true vampire," she confirmed.

"It is still a monster, child," another said with pity. "What was their name? Are they close to here?"

She opened her mouth, debating whether to reveal the identity of the vampire. They would surely recognize a duke. "I... I don't know," she muttered, looking down and audibly gulping.

They all had their eyes on her, but then one said, "That is alright, child. You had a long day. Why don't we bring you to a room for you to rest?"

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Just a little bit of lore dump about the world : 

Since Sanguinis are only born once every three months, there is a rapid increase of attacks by them following these days before most of them are killed off by vampire hunters. They aren’t as powerful as real vampires and mostly act on instinct so exterminating them is easier.

This is why one of the sisters mentioned the previous blood moon. Depending on the time of an attack, it can help indicate whether it was a fully fledged vampire, which requires expert vampire hunters, or a simple sanguini that could easily get taken care of.