Pairing: Yandere!Actor x Reader
Description: The television flickers with Caelum Ashford's triumph, but even in his absence, his shadow looms, a dangerous obsession seared into your every breath.
Warning/s: YANDERE | IMPLIED NONCON | possessive behavior | obsessive behavior | emotional manipulation | power dynamics | psychological abuse | implied violence | toxic relationship
Note/s: Apologies for not posting yesterday. Anyway, here's something for today. Might post something later or I might work on Callixto's story the rest of the day, Oh, also, Dark Roast is currently on sale for those of you interested. We're also about to hit 900 followers. Yay! Anyway, let me know what you think about this one!
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The television glows like a portal in the otherwise shadow-soaked room. The air is still, heavy with the scent of rosewood and Caelum—his cologne clings to your skin like fingerprints, still damp with sweat, bruised in all the places he left his mark. Your robe slips over your shoulder with each shallow breath, but you’re too sore to adjust it. The ache in your body is a ghost of how he claimed you before leaving, whispering that you belonged to no one but him.
The TV is the only light in the room. He left it on intentionally.
“Even when I’m not here, you’ll watch me. You’ll remember who you belong to.”
His voice is still in your ear, etched into your spine.
The crowd on the screen roars, dressed in designer gowns and thousand-watt smiles. Glitter rains from the ceiling of the grand theater. The host opens the envelope with ceremonial flourish.
“And the award for Best Actor in a Drama Series goes to… Caelum Ashford!”
You flinch.
Applause. Standing Ovation. Camera Flashes.
You grip the arm of the velvet couch tighter, the pressure grounding you. You’d known he’d win. Of course he would. The world is in love with him. They believe his portrayal of Lord Severus—the dangerously obsessive noble who would kill, steal, burn the kingdom down just to keep his wife—was the role of a lifetime.
But you know the truth.
He wasn’t acting.
The screen cuts to him rising from his seat. Hair immaculately styled. Sharp black suit hugging his tall frame. He walks with that haunting grace only Caelum possesses—like he owns the air around him. When he smiles, women in the audience swoon. Men clap harder. Critics nod, impressed.
But you—you freeze.
Because you know that smile is the same one, he gave you last night, when he held your wrists down against silk sheets and murmured, “Even if the world saw you naked in my bed, they wouldn’t know you like I do. Not like this.”
He takes the mic at the podium. Lifts the trophy. Looks straight into the camera.
“Thank you,” Caelum begins, voice velvet-smooth. “Portraying Lord Severus was… easy. Too easy, some might say.”
The crowd chuckles, charmed.
“When love consumes you… when it becomes your religion, your obsession, your purpose—it doesn’t feel like acting.”
A pause. Just long enough for you to notice the shift in his expression.
“You live it.”
There it is. That subtle smirk. One only you recognize. A private performance.
“I dedicate this award…” he continues, his voice softening. “…to the one who anchors me. My muse. My wife in heart, if not in law.”
Your stomach twists.
Your name is never spoken. It never is. Not even your shadow is allowed to touch the world outside these walls. But the message is for you. Always for you.
The camera zooms out. Applause. Cheers. Ovation.
And then—
Chime.
You go still.
It’s not a knock. Not a doorbell. It’s the discreet code-triggered chime that signals the villa gate has opened. A sound only those who live in this exclusive riverside estate would ever hear.
You scramble to your feet, heart hammering. You’re trembling before you even make it halfway across the room. The ache in your legs pulse like a warning. Your body knows before your mind accepts it—
He’s home.
Keys.
Click.
The door swings open.
Caelum Ashford steps into the villa, the golden trophy gleaming in one hand, a bottle of expensive wine in the other. His jacket drapes over his arm, hair tousled just slightly from the breeze outside. But his eyes—his eyes are on you the moment he crosses the threshold.
Predatory. Possessive. Burning with hunger.
“You watched, didn’t you?” His voice is low, silk around a blade.
He sets the bottle down, places the award beside the others on the black marble shelf. Unhurried. Precise. He undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, sleeves already rolled up.
He doesn’t wait for your answer.
“Don’t make me ask twice, sweetheart.” His smile is all teeth now. “Did you see what the world gave me tonight?”
You nod.
“Good,” he whispers, stepping closer, his voice darkening. “Because now it’s your turn to give me what I really want.”
