oracleoftheveil

[oracleoftheveil]

Hello, everyone. So far I am writing The Reunion of Two Souls and Lost Through Time However, I wanted to write something new. So if you have any ideas for a headcannons or imagines please send them in the inbox, Thank you.

✧ Taglist: @delightful-light

[oracleoftheveil]

⟡The Reunion of Two Souls - Chapter 6

✧Masterlist✧

✧ Taglist: @delightful-light

Pairing: yandere!Mehmed ii x Female Wallachian reader

Genre: Yandere/Dark!au, Historical Fiction , Romance, Drama

Setting: 15th-century Ottoman Empire & Wallachia

Warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, dub-con, Pregnancy, eventual smut.

Summary: She was the youngest Drăculești — dark like Vlad, gentle like Radu, cunning beyond them both. Raised beside Mehmed in the Ottoman court, she hated him, loved him, and whispered the idea of cannons into his ear. Then she left with Vlad… and Mehmed was told she died.

Years later, after the fall of Constantinople, she’s captured while helping a burning village. Disguised among the slaves of his harem, everyone around him sees her — except Mehmed.

He thinks she’s gone.

She’s closer than ever.

────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Mehmed’s POV

The council chamber was thick with smoke and urgency. I stood before the divan, the scent of burning sandalwood curling around my shoulders like a serpent. My armor lay folded on the marble bench nearby, forgotten in favor of maps, letters, and gold-stamped reports piling before me. I hadn’t slept—not truly—in days. My mind was far too full for rest.

“Zaganos,” I muttered, dragging my finger along the edge of the Anatolian map, “you’re certain it’s not just a border raid?”

He crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “Not this time, Hünkârım. They’ve struck supply caravans. Twice. They’ve taken arms. Horses. This is no skirmish—it’s planned, organized. And their messengers are speaking in your name.”

A treasonous grin tugged at my mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was restraint. Fury behind the teeth.

“Pretending to serve me as they rob my coffers and murder my men?” I straightened and looked toward Ishak Pasha, who stood beside the treasury scrolls. “And what is the state of the funds?”

He bowed slightly. “Your campaigns drained the war treasury, my Sultan. But the silk trade in Bursa and the new tariffs from the Genoese ships have replenished enough. We can raise a force—two thousand sipahis and five thousand foot soldiers, and still have coin left to calm the provinces.”

“Calm them?” I echoed, voice rising like iron drawn from its scabbard. “They’ll be calmed when I have the ringleaders’ heads hanging from the walls.”

No one answered that. They all knew the truth. The world feared the Ottomans—but not enough. Not yet.

I turned from them, hands braced on the windowsill. Outside, the sun split the sky like a blade, casting the domes of Topkapı in gold. I could see the edge of the Bosphorus glittering in the distance.

Every time I thought I could breathe, something new clawed at my throne.

I thought of Constantine. Of the siege. Of the blood that soaked the gates. All that for the dream of an empire that could outlive Rome. And yet, it wasn’t rebels or traitors that haunted me most.

It was her.

Her.

The girl I’d seen only briefly yesterday—hooded, silent, back turned to me—but it didn’t matter. I knew her. Even hidden behind veils, time hadn’t dulled the shape of her. The curve of her neck, the stillness of her shoulders. I felt it like a blow to the chest.

Eight years. And still I remembered her face more clearly than I did my mother’s.

I should have called her back. Should have torn off the veil and demanded to know if it was real. But then ZaganosPashahad come with news of rebellion, and I had no choice but to let her vanish like a ghost again.

Or maybe I didn’t want to see the truth.

If it really was her… what had she been doing all this time? Why now? Why here?

“Bring me Sümbül Agha,” I said suddenly.

Zaganos and Ishak exchanged a glance. “Sümbül?” Ishak asked carefully. “From the harem?”

“Yes,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Now.”

They obeyed without question. No one questioned me. I was the Padishah. The Shadow of God on Earth. But no divine title could erase the memory of her lips whispering secrets into my skin, her hands trembling in mine when we were barely more than children.

I ran a hand through my hair. My temper flared too easily these days. I hated that. A sultan needed to be still, cold. Not stormy.

My eyes flicked back to the map. Rebellion or not, if it was truly her, she would upend everything.

But I needed to know.

Not just if it was her.

I needed to know why she was hiding from me.────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Reader’s POV

I scrubbed harder at the hem of the shift, though the stain had long faded. My hands were raw, fingers puckered and cracked from the endless laundry, yet I kept working—because if I didn’t, I’d think. And if I thought, I’d break.

The stone basins steamed around me, echoing with the hiss of boiling water and the thud of fabric slapped against rock. My linen sleeves clung to my arms, wet from elbow to wrist. Menekşe knelt beside me in silence, wringing out a pair of silk trousers with her teeth pressed tight to her bottom lip.

No one dared speak about what had happened the day before. About the embroidery. About the summons. About me.

But they whispered.

Their whispers floated through the corridors like perfume—soft, sweet, and poisonous.

“I heard he didn’t say a word to her…”

“Maybe he recognized her.”

“No, she’s too plain for him.”

“…but what if she’s a witch? What if that’s why Sümbül protects her?”

They didn’t say it to my face. They were smarter than that. But their eyes burned holes in my skin.

And now, even Gulbahar hated me more than usual—which, frankly, I didn’t think was possible.

I twisted the cloth tighter, water sloshing up the side of the basin.

Gulbahar.

I could still see the look on her face after I told her everything. The horror. The fury. The humiliation. She’d always assumed she ruled the harem—but the truth? The truth shook her. Because he had been mine first. Because I had something she couldn’t reach, not with all her perfume, silks, or songs.

She wanted to kill me for that. I could feel it in the way she stared holes into my back when we crossed paths. Like she was waiting for the moment I made a mistake—just one slip—and she’d run straight to Mehmed.

But she wouldn’t.

Not while Mother Mara was watching.

I exhaled slowly, leaning my weight on the edge of the basin. My knees ached. My back screamed. Yet none of that compared to what curled up inside my chest every time I thought of him.

He hadn’t seen me. Not really. He’d barely looked up before Zaganos barged in. But I’d felt it—that moment. The way his head tilted. The silence that fell when I stood in his chambers. The ghost of recognition.

Was it possible?

Did he feel it, too?

A splash beside me snapped me out of my thoughts. Menekşe nudged a tunic into my basin, her brow tight with worry. “You need to be careful,” she whispered, eyes darting around the steam-filled chamber.

“I am careful.”

“No, you’re angry,” she hissed. “You’re provoking Gulbahar. You’re drawing attention. Even Valide Mara can only protect you so much. You think Mehmed won’t find out eventually?”

I said nothing.

Because she was right.

I was angry. Furious, even. At Mehmed. At myself. At fate. At this gilded prison dressed as a palace.

But more than that—I was terrified.

Because if Mehmed found out who I was… I didn’t know what he’d do.

Would he chain me? Hide me? Claim me again? Or would he destroy me for the secrets I carried?

I reached for the next tunic and scrubbed until my knuckles went white.

You promised to find a way out, I reminded myself. Not to fall back in.

But part of me already had.

And that part? It was louder every day.

────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Mehmed’s POV

The council chamber was a furnace of tension and sweat.

Scrolls lay open before me, filled with hastily scrawled reports—ink still fresh in some places. Zaganos Pasha paced like a tethered wolf, while Ishak stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw locked. The rebellion in the north was spreading faster than anticipated. And worse, some beylerbeys had grown too quiet.

“Traitors don’t shout,” I muttered, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my brow.

“No,” Zaganos said, “they whisper. And then they wait.”

The words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I nodded slowly, reaching for the dispatch from the border. Supplies were low. Grain shipments had been seized by rebel horsemen. Two tax collectors had been hanged from a fig tree as a warning. This wasn’t just a flare of discontent—it was a calculated move. Someone was testing me.

Again.

I leaned back in my chair. The weight of the empire rested on my shoulders—but my mind drifted.

Not to the rebellion. Not to the traitors.

But to… her.

That girl. That slave.

The one Sümbül sent with the embroidery.

She hadn’t spoken a word, not even when I turned to look at her. Something in her silence had clung to me like incense. Something… familiar.

I should have asked. I should’ve called Sümbül and demanded to know who she was.

But I hadn’t.

And now…

“My Sultan,” Sümbül Agha’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He approached quietly, a thin layer of sweat on his brow. “The horses are being saddled. Your guards await.”

I stared at him for a long moment. The question was at the tip of my tongue: Who was she? That girl?

But I swallowed it down.

There was no time. Not now. I had a rebellion to crush. Borders to secure. Enemies to hang.

Besides, what would I even say?

Tell me the name of a laundress who brought a folded cloth and stared at me like I was both her captor and her curse?

No. It was foolish. Sentimental.

I stood and nodded once. “Tell the viziers we ride by nightfall. And double the guards near Edirne’s supply route. If any beylerbey hesitates to pledge loyalty, send his head before his words.”

Sümbül bowed. “Yes, my Sultan.”

I turned from the table, the thick hem of my cloak sweeping across the mosaic floor. But even as I left, a strange pull tugged behind my ribs—a whisper, soft and persistent.

You’ve seen her before.

I clenched my jaw.

Now was not the time for ghosts.

Let her stay forgotten.

For now.

────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Reader’s POV

I didn’t need a trumpet’s cry or the janissary drums to know Mehmed had left the palace.

The air told me first.

It was… stiller.

Like the Topkapi itself was holding its breath.

Then came the hurried footsteps of guards, the flurry of kalfas tightening silks, Sümbül Agha shouting orders to the eunuchs and scribes about routes and banners, names of viziers, and tax routes too tangled for my weary mind. From the laundry window, I glimpsed the back of his cloak—dark crimson in the morning light—as he disappeared into the belly of the courtyard, flanked by his men.

He was gone.

I exhaled.

Why did I feel… lighter?

Why did I feel… disappointed?

“Don’t just stand there like a ghost,” Sümbül Agha snapped, smacking his cane near my feet. “You, yes you, laundress girl—go with the others to the bathhouse. We’ve no time for idle thinking today.”

“Yes, Agha,” I murmured, bowing my head and tucking the embroidery linen under my arm.

The bathhouse was always hot—steam coiled around our ankles like creeping fog, the marble slippery beneath our soles. I carried bundles of damp silks to the drying benches while the kalfas gave commands. The harem was quieter without the Sultan. Girls whispered instead of giggling. Their hunger seemed to have momentarily disappeared with him.

“Don’t wrinkle that one,” barked Cennet Kalfa, smacking my knuckles with a wooden brush.

I bit my tongue. Again.

My knees ached as I bent to wring out linens. My fingers had long turned raw from scrubbing. My thoughts drifted to Radu, to Vlad, to my people. But mostly, to her.

Valide Sultan.

Mara.

I didn’t want to speak to her again. I didn’t want to remember the way she once held me when I cried over Mehmed. But I couldn’t avoid her either.

Later that afternoon, I was summoned to her chambers.

They smelled like rose oil and lavender, like the home I barely remembered.

Valide Mara sat by the window, embroidery in hand, eyes distant. A rare softness clung to her face. Her silvery hair was wrapped in a dark purple scarf, heavy with golden pins.

“You look tired,” she said, her voice still holding its Serbian lilt. “Come. Sit. I won’t bite.”

I sat.

“I heard about the embroidery,” she added, threading a needle. “It pleased him.”

I said nothing. What could I say?

“Do you remember the winter in Smederevo?” she asked. “You and Vlad building snow beasts in the courtyard. You cried because his was larger than yours.”

“I remember,” I murmured.

“I told you to pour hot water on his. You did. It melted.”

That made me smile, faintly. “You were always cunning.”

She smiled too, a sliver of sadness flickering in her eyes. “How did you survive? Where were you all these years?”

And so I told her. The long journey back home. The raid. The smoke. the burning village. My capture.

Her expression darkened.

And behind her, near the doorway—Gulbahar stood listening.

I could feel her gaze like fire on my skin. But I didn’t care.

She wasn’t alone.

The others were there too.

Gülşah Hatun and Sittişah Hatun stood further back, whispering between themselves. Çiçek Hatun sat pretending to mend a scarf. The others—Anna, Helena, Maria, Hatice—watched from cushioned corners, their eyes wide and sparkling with questions they didn’t dare ask aloud.

“She was the girl he used to write to,” Gulbahar hissed, stepping into the room. “The one he mourned. And now she’s back, parading her embroidery like a badge.”

“Enough,” Valide Mara said sharply, her eyes narrowing.

“She thinks she’s better than us!” Gulbahar snapped. “She struts around like she knows him best.”

“I do know him best,” I said, rising from the cushion. “Because I had him first.”

Gasps filled the room. Even Mara blinked.

“Before the crown, before Constantinople, before you all began panting over the scent of his robe—I knew him. I knew the boy who hated figs and snuck into my bed chamber to whisper poems.”

My voice dropped into a whisper.

“He was mine. Long before he became yours.”

Silence.

Gulbahar trembled, her hands balled into fists.

Valide Mara stood slowly, folding her embroidery and facing us both.

“That’s enough,” she said. Her voice was low, but sharp as a blade. “What happened in the past… remains there. Speak of these things again, and I’ll have you scrub the palace floors until your skin bleeds.”

I looked at her and nodded once.

I’d pushed too far.

Gulbahar stared at Valide, betrayed and pale. “So it’s true… what she said?”

Valide didn’t answer. She only turned to her maids. “Leave us.”

As they filed out, I lingered near the door, my heart thundering.

Mara looked at me. “Be smarter. You’re not in Wallachia anymore.”

“I never forgot that.”

“Good,” she said. “Because in this palace, memory is power. And forgetting… can be fatal

[oracleoftheveil]

⟡Lost Through Time - Chapter

✧Masterlist✧

Pairing: Mehmed ii x Modern Female reader

Genre: Historical Time-Travel Drama, Romance, Military Fiction 

Setting: 15th-century Ottoman Empire

Summary: First Lieutenant was born to serve her country. A fearless special forces officer of the modern Turkish military, she believes in the republic, equality, and sacrifice. But during a covert operation at an ancient ruin outside Istanbul, a lightning storm pulls her through time—and drops her into a battlefield soaked in fire and iron: the Siege of Constantinople, 1453.

Clad in ballistic armor, marked by a flag that has yet to be born, and armed with weapons no man of the 15th century has ever seen, she is immediately captured and mistaken for a Byzantine spy by Ottoman soldiers. Her refusal to bow, her foreign tongue, and the strange power she wields draw the eye of one man above all—Fatih Sultan Mehmed.

He calls her a sorceress. A heretic. A threat.

She calls him a tyrant. A relic. A danger to all women.

But when her blade saves his life, and her voice challenges everything he was taught to rule with, Mehmed begins to question his destiny—and the world he is building in blood.

As she navigates betrayal, politics, and forbidden desires in an empire where women are possessions and freedom is a dream, she sparks a fire Mehmed cannot control. Torn between the world she left behind and the man reshaping history before her eyes, she must choose:

Will she return to the future she fought for—

Or stay and fight for a future that never existed?

And just as the choice nears, a new mystery unfolds:

The portal that brought her here is opening again… but not just for her. ────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Reader’s POV

They always told us to be ready for anything.

Ambushes. Traps. Drones gone rogue. IEDs under garbage bags.

But no one ever trained me for lightning that tore time open.

The ruins outside Istanbul weren’t even on our mission map. My unit was just doing recon, securing a suspicious site near Topkapı when the sky went wrong. I remember the silence first—how the cicadas stopped chirping, how the breeze held its breath. I looked up. Static bled through the clouds like veins of white fire.

Then came the sound.

A crack—not thunder. Not anything natural. A sound like the earth itself screaming.

And just like that, I was gone.

Not dead. Not unconscious. Just… elsewhere.

I landed hard. My vest absorbed most of it, but gravel still dug into my palms. I scrambled to my feet, every instinct firing at once—where was my team? Where was my comms?

I looked up—and the world looked back, wrong in every possible way.

The sky was darker, but not with storm clouds. Smoke. Thick. From siege fires. I knew the smell of burning tar, soaked wood, and oil-fed flame. I’d trained in combat zones before, in simulations and the real deal. But this wasn’t simulation. This was medieval.

Cannons thundered in the distance—massive, deep, unnatural booms. Ottoman cannons.

I knew that sound from documentaries. I shouldn’t have heard it in real life.

I turned in place, boots crunching in dirt. A wall loomed in the distance. High. Byzantine. A flag with a double-headed eagle fluttered from a tower. Soldiers manned the parapets with bows. Byzantines.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t a historical set. This wasn’t a reenactment. My pulse thudded. My chest felt like someone had placed a stone inside it. The radio crackled—nothing. Just static.

I checked my sidearm. Still there. One Glock, two extra mags. My combat knife on my thigh. My vest, helmet, gloves, boots—everything intact.

But the world? Not.

Shouts. Male voices. I turned sharply. Six men on horseback were coming up a hill nearby—dust and fear rising behind them. Ottoman cavalry. I recognized the armor, the way they held their spears.

Janissaries.

They were looking straight at me.

“Spahiye mi?!” one of them barked. “Yok… haçlı mı bu?”

[“Is that a cavalrywoman? No… is that a crusader?”]

My Turkish was fluent. But the accent was old, the words cracked with dust. They didn’t speak like us. They sounded like pages of a history book given voice.

I didn’t move. I just raised both hands slowly. Bad idea.

The flag patch on my shoulder—red with a white crescent and star—caught the sun.

They froze.

And then all six of them drew weapons at once.

“Bizans casusu!”

[“Byzantine spy!”]

Shit.

I ran.

I made it halfway down the slope before they caught me. One threw a weighted net. Medieval tech, sure—but effective. I hit the dirt hard, tangled, punching and twisting as hands grabbed my arms.

“Don’t touch me!” I snarled in Turkish.

That only made it worse. They reeled back. One muttered something about djinns. Another crossed himself.

“She speaks our tongue?”

“She wears armor like iron and walks alone?”

“Constantine’s spy. Or worse.”

I tried to explain. I said I was Turkish. A soldier. From the future.

They laughed. One of them called me mad. Another said witches burn.

And then one said something that made the others go quiet:

“Take her to the Sultan. Let him decide.”

The camp outside Constantinople’s walls looked like a vision out of hell. Tents pitched in rows, black banners, artillery carts pulled by oxen, a sea of men in armor and rags and desperation. Fires crackled, and from somewhere nearby, I heard a man screaming. Not in pain. In prayer.

They dragged me through the camp like a trophy. My vest confused them. They poked at the Velcro, the utility belt, the helmet I refused to remove.

Then they saw the flag again.

“She wears it like a badge.”

“But that’s not our flag.”

“No. It’s the crescent… but foreign.”

“Traitor.”

They hauled me toward the central tent—larger, darker, guarded by elite soldiers in crimson kaftans. One man pushed the flap aside.

And suddenly I was face-to-face with him.

Mehmed. Sultan Mehmed II.

He was younger than I expected. Sharper. The portraits don’t capture the intensity. His eyes weren’t just observant—they were calculating. Dangerous. But there was youth there, too. A flicker of curiosity beneath the fury.

“She bowed to no one,” one soldier said.

“She wears iron.”

“She claims to be Turkish, my Sultan.”

Mehmed stood slowly. His voice was low, careful.

“You carry our crescent… yet serve Byzantium?”

I stared at him. His voice echoed centuries.

“I serve the Republic of Turkey,” I said quietly.

He blinked. One heartbeat. Two.

“There is no such realm.”

“Not yet.”

He stepped closer. His hand brushed the patch on my vest. “You are either mad… or lying.”

“I’m neither.”

“You claim to be Turkish. But you bear arms no man has forged.” He circled me like a hawk. “You are no woman of this age.”

“I’m a soldier.”

“You are a sorceress,” he whispered.

He didn’t sound afraid. He sounded… fascinated.

They didn’t torture me. Not yet.

Instead, they put me under armed watch in a smaller tent, guarded by two men at all times. I could hear the siege cannons at night. The cries of men who would die for an empire not yet ready to fall.

I lay awake, staring at the stars. They looked the same. Distant. Unreachable.

And then I heard a voice outside the tent—quiet, firm.

“Leave us.”

Boots scuffled. Silence.

He entered alone.

Mehmed.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked down at me, head tilted. He didn’t wear a crown. Only a dark robe, simple but heavy.

“You spoke of a Republic. A future.”

I sat up, slowly. “It exists. After you. Long after.”

“You claim I am remembered?”

“Feared. Admired. You become Fatih. The Conqueror.”

He smiled faintly. “Then you are from prophecy.”

“No. I’m from a world where men no longer own women. Where sultans are dust.”

His smile faded.

“You speak treason.”

“I speak truth.”

He crouched beside me, so close I could see the firelight in his eyes.

“And yet… I cannot kill you.”

I didn’t respond.

“I want to know everything,” he said.

“Then listen.”

But just as I began to speak, the ground trembled.

And somewhere beyond the walls of Constantinople,

a new ripple in the air cracked open—

just like the one that brought me here.

And this time… something else came through.

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Mehmed x Hypersomnia Reader

‎‧₊˚✧ Taglist: @delightful-light

You sleep too much.

At first, Mehmed finds it curious. The way your body succumbs so easily to slumber, as if the waking world weighs too heavily on your shoulders. He watches you when you sleep. Not always with lust, not always with reverence—sometimes with fear.

Fear that you’ll never wake up.

He kneels at your bedside in the late hours, the empire quiet beyond the marble walls of Topkapı, and listens to the hush of your breath. He strokes your hair and whispers, “Do you dream of me?”

And when you don’t respond—because you are deep in that unreachable, untouchable sleep—he kisses your cheek and whispers again, louder this time.

“You will.”

Your hypersomnia begins to enrage the court. Harem women whisper, scribes complain, even the viziers speak in half-bowed riddles about your absence. But Mehmed silences them all. With a look. With a word. With a gesture toward the Janissaries waiting outside the door.

“She is tired,” he says simply. “And I will not have her disturbed.”

He rearranges your life to revolve around the bedchamber. He installs heavier curtains. Sends servants away. Orders a silence across the wing. You are his sleeping beauty, and he becomes obsessed with keeping you in that fragile peace.

No more morning audiences. No more prayers at dawn. No more contact with anyone he hasn’t personally approved. You belong to him—and he has no interest in sharing your waking hours with others.

When you do wake, your head heavy, lips dry, eyes dazed—he’s there.

Every time.

Sitting beside your bed like a guardian statue. Waiting. Watching.

And when you smile at him, even in confusion, he breaks.

“You sleep so long, askim,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Do you know what I do while you lie in silence? I imagine you leaving me. I imagine you waking and choosing someone else. I imagine a world where I don’t exist in your dreams.”

He grips your hand tightly.

“I will not let that happen.”

If you ever try to resist—if you say, “I want to walk outside” or “I want to see my sister”—he freezes. His eyes darken. His voice lowers.

“Why? What is out there that I cannot give you?”

And if you dare say the word freedom, the illusion shatters. He locks the palace down. You sleep under watch now. Every waking moment is surveilled. Because if sleep takes you away from him, and waking invites the world in—then he will trap you in a place between both. A golden cage lined with velvet and iron.

He feeds you. Dresses you. Strokes your cheek like a child being comforted—but his love is not gentle. It is a fever.

“You sleep too much,” he whispers against your hair, “but it’s better that way. You are softest in sleep. Most mine.”

One day, you wake to find the world changed.

The empire is quiet again. The halls are empty. He sits beside your bed, hands stained with something darker than ink.

“I had to make it silent,” he says. “They were waking you. Whispering lies. Offering you the world beyond this room.”

You flinch, but his touch is light. Still reverent.

“Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing left to take you from me. You can sleep now. You’ll be safe forever.”

And when you close your eyes—either in fear or in surrender—he leans close and sighs like a man who’s finally won a war

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Mustafa I x Favorite Concubine

‧₊˚✧ Taglist: @delightful-light

A boy in a man’s throne, warped by isolation, betrayal, and love he was never taught to handle. To him, you’re not a person—you’re his lifeline. And if that lifeline is ever threatened, he will burn the palace to the ground before letting go.

From the moment you show him kindness—maybe a soft word or a gentle touch—Mustafa becomes fixated. You are his comfort in a world he doesn’t understand, the only constant in a palace full of whispers and threats.

He’ll call you his angel, his only light, often rocking back and forth murmuring your name when you’re not around.

If you try to leave or even hint at disloyalty, he’ll become frantic, tearful one moment and terrifyingly still the next.

“Don’t leave me. If you leave, I’ll… I’ll stop breathing. I’ll die. I swear it.”

He has unpredictable violent outbursts when he sees you speak to other men—or even women. Servants have gone missing after you smiled at them.

He clings to you physically, clutching your clothes, kneeling before you, pleading and commanding at once.

He may even order the execution of people you speak to, blaming them for trying to steal you. “They were trying to take you. But don’t worry. I fixed it. They’re gone now.”

Halime Sultan’s Reaction

At first, Halime is relieved. You calm her son. He eats when you’re near. He sleeps peacefully if he knows you’re watching over him.

But once she sees the obsession grow—Mustafa refusing to attend council, ignoring state matters just to wait outside your chamber—Halime begins to fear you.

She sees you as a threat to her influence, and worse, a danger to his already fragile mind.

“You may think your presence soothes him,” she says coolly, “but you are pouring oil on fire.”

Halime might first try to control you, using bribery or threats. But if you resist or try to run, she would not hesitate to arrange your disappearance, even if it risks sending Mustafa into madness again.

Dilruba Sultan’s Reaction

Dilruba is jealous, plain and simple. She is her brother’s confidante, his protector, the one who’s always been there.

Seeing him choose you—clinging to you with trembling hands, whispering about how much he loves you—makes her blood boil.

She views you as a parasite. “He is not yours,” she snarls. “He doesn’t even know what love is. He’s sick—and you’re feeding on him like a leech.”

Dilruba may act friendly at first, pretending to understand your role. But behind your back, she’s plotting, telling guards lies about you, spreading rumors.

If you hurt him—even unintentionally—she will make sure you suffer.

She may even try to turn Mustafa against you. “She’s lying to you, brother. She’s going to leave. Just like they all did.”

But if that fails, she will go to darker methods—poison, exile, or a staged accident—to erase you from her brother’s life.

The Endgame

You become the center of Mustafa’s universe. He cannot rule, think, or sleep without you. The more power you refuse, the more he gives.

You say you want nothing? He still names you his heavenly consort, places you above Halime, above Dilruba—above the empire.

But you’re also trapped.

You cannot leave. You cannot breathe freely. Every movement, every word, is watched, weighed, and worshipped.

Mustafa may lock you away, not out of cruelty, but out of love. “The world is loud. It hurts me. But with you here, I feel calm. Stay. Please. Stay forever.”

And if you try to escape?

He’ll break completely. Crying, then screaming, then smiling as he says, “If I can’t have you, no one can. But don’t worry. We’ll die together, and we’ll be free.”

[oracleoftheveil]

Would you consider writing Sultan Mehmet with a time traveler reader?

Of course. as head cannon, imagine, or series?

also which timeline do you want it to be? I do have an idea of it happening during the siege of Constantinople and Mehmed mistaking her for a spy.

I would really appreciate it if you got through my request guidelines and if you have no worries but I just need info in order for it to meet your expectations.

Thank you.

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Mehmed x Favorite Concubine

‎‧₊˚✧ Taglist: @delightful-light Overwhelming Obsession with You

From the very first moment he sees you, Mehmed becomes captivated by you. No matter how innocent your relationship starts—whether you’re just a concubine, a servant, or someone with a special connection to the palace—he becomes fixated on you. His obsession grows quickly, and he begins to view you not just as someone he’s drawn to, but as something he needs.

He becomes jealous at the slightest mention of other men or potential suitors around you. Even if the relationship is platonic, he will not allow you to get close to anyone else. If anyone else dares to even glance at you, they are swiftly met with a subtle, silent threat from Mehmed that only intensifies over time.

Constant Surveillance

Mehmed’s obsession will make him want to keep constant watch over you. He would start arranging secret meetings, appearing where you least expect it, and always finding ways to be close to you.

He’ll hover around the palace or gardens, watching you from afar, and might even enlist the help of the palace guards to ensure that you’re always within his reach. You’ll never be alone, not without him knowing where you are and what you’re doing.

“Where were you? I thought I lost you,” he’ll say, his voice low and possessive, as he steps into your private space without any preamble. You might notice that your personal life is no longer private. He’s always there when you least expect it.

Possessive and Controlling

As Mehmed’s fixation deepens, he will grow more possessive over you. He’ll demand to know where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing at all times. He’ll expect you to be completely loyal to him, even if it means cutting ties with others or severing relationships.

He’ll arrange everything in his life to make sure that you belong only to him. If you attempt to defy him or show any sign of independence, he will punish you emotionally, using subtle manipulation to make you feel guilty or unworthy.

“You belong to me,” Mehmed might say softly, almost as if to himself. “I will never let anyone else have you.”

Romantic Gestures Taken to Extremes

His romantic gestures, which could start off sweet, will gradually turn dangerous. He may shower you with gifts—furs, jewels, expensive silks—intended to make you feel loved and important, but they also come with strings attached. You owe him for these gifts, in his mind. You are now his, in both body and soul.

At times, he may give you extravagant presents only to demand that you keep them in his presence, where he can see them, to ensure that you have no connections outside of him.

If he feels that you’re not showing enough gratitude for his love, he will act out—perhaps locking you in a room with him, or forcing you to listen to his rants about how you should appreciate everything he does for you.

Jealousy and Paranoia

Mehmed’s jealousy is all-consuming. He will spy on you if you talk to another man, thinking they might try to steal you away from him. If you spend too much time with another person, he will feel betrayed, even if there’s nothing between you.

He’ll accuse you of things without any evidence, and you’ll find him growing more erratic as time goes on.

“Don’t lie to me. I saw you looking at him,” he’ll accuse, his gaze sharp and cold, even though it’s all in his mind.

If you try to explain, he’ll give you a forced smile, cutting you off with, “I saw you, and that’s all that matters. You’re mine. You will never be anyone else’s.”

Emotional Manipulation and Guilt

Mehmed’s obsession will lead to heavy emotional manipulation. He will make you feel guilty for anything that could pull you away from him. If you try to speak with others, go outside, or have some time to yourself, he’ll accuse you of rejecting him.

“Why do you need anyone else when I’m here for you?” he’ll say, his voice faltering as he tries to manipulate you into understanding how much he loves you. He needs you to love him back in the exact same way—his fixation requires nothing less than absolute devotion.

He’ll drain you emotionally, making you question your own actions, your relationships with others, and your sense of self. The longer you’re around him, the more you start feeling like you can’t escape from his grasp.

Dangerous Ultimatums

At some point, if Mehmed feels you slipping away or not giving him the attention he craves, he may issue dangerous ultimatums.

“You’re mine,” he will say in a low, controlled voice, “If you don’t love me like I love you, then I’ll make sure no one else can love you ever again.”

The phrase is meant as a threat, but one wrapped in the guise of devotion. He truly believes that you owe himeverything, and if he can’t have your heart, he will do everything to make sure no one else can.

Whether that means isolating you from everyone else or taking extreme measures to eliminate threats—Mehmed will go to any lengths to ensure that you belong to him, and only him.

Stalking and Isolation

If you manage to pull away, Mehmed’s obsession with you will push him toward stalking you more actively. He will make sure that you can never be out of his sight.

If you attempt to visit another part of the palace, he will show up at your door, insisting that you stay with him. “You don’t need anyone else, not when you have me,” he will say, his voice trembling with a dangerous mix of affection and rage.

He will become obsessively protective—not letting you leave his room without him, forcing you to stay close to him at all times. No one else is allowed to have your time or attention. If you try to resist, he will become more intense, his affection twisting into control.

A Dark Obsession

Mehmed’s love is intense, all-consuming, and ultimately toxic. While he may be sweet and caring at first, the deeper his obsession grows, the darker his behavior becomes. He will take offense to even the smallest things, believing them to be signs of your betrayal.

His relationship with you will never be equal. He will demand your loyalty and love, and if you try to pull away, he will become increasingly desperate, trying to force you back into his arms, even if that means hurting others or doing unspeakable things.

“I’ll make sure you’re never without me,” he’ll say softly as he holds you close, his hands trembling with the need for complete control.

Emotional Breakdown

Eventually, Mehmed’s obsession would likely lead to an emotional breakdown, especially if he perceives that you don’t feel the same way. His feelings of loss would turn into anger, and he might lash out, either at you or anyone else who he feels is trying to steal you from him.

His love for you will never be balanced, and it will eventually twist into something unrecognizable—an obsession that could either break you or him. He’ll always want more of you than you can give, leading him down a path of increasingly destructive behavior.

[oracleoftheveil]

not to be rude or anything but I would like to point out something? The “you don’t belong to god, you belong to me” from Mehmed would actually be impossible tbh I’m not trying to be rude but that man is a devout Muslim I don’t think he’ll say that 😭

No worries, Yeah I just thought of that now tbh. 😅 Sorry. Don’t worry, I removed and left just the “you belong to me” part. Thanks for telling me.

[oracleoftheveil]

Hope you feel better, drink lots of water and take lots of rest 💕

Thank you so much, I will do so. 🖤

[oracleoftheveil]

Select.

Hello, everyone. I’m not doing so great today, I feel very sick and due to that I won’t be able to post a lot today, however I can post at least one fic today. I will allow you guys to select which one you want. ‎‧₊˚✧ Taglist: @delightful-light

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Sultan Osman II x Favorite Concubine

‎‧₊˚✧ Taglist: @delightful-light He will bend the empire for you, but if you ever try to leave, he will destroy everything in his path to keep you by his side.

The Initial Infatuation

Sultan Osman’s obsession with you begins subtly. Unlike the others in the harem, you are not overly eager to win his attention, and that catches his eye. Your presence calms him in ways that no one else can.

You speak with him as a person, not a ruler, and that is something he yearns for—someone who sees him beyond the throne.

"You see me for who I truly am," he says quietly, the vulnerable edge in his voice betraying the weight of his position. "Not as a Sultan. Not as the ruler. But as a man."

The Growing Obsession

Osman begins to seek you out at every opportunity. His need for your approval becomes evident in everything he does. He often asks for your thoughts, whether it’s on political matters or personal reflections.

"Why do you spend time with the others when you could be with me?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with frustration. "Don’t you understand that I need you by my side?"

Your mere presence reassures him, and he becomes so focused on you that he starts pulling away from others, allowing his obsession to blossom unchecked.

The Subtle Control

Slowly, Osman begins to assert control over your every move. He wants to keep you close, where he can protect you—and keep you away from others.

"Stay with me," he orders, his voice firm but carrying an undercurrent of desperation. "I need you here, by my side."

His affection shifts from subtle gestures to constant surveillance. He tracks your every movement, ensuring you spend most of your time in his presence. Any attempt to break free from him is met with subtle but powerful resistance.

The Jealousy and Possession

When Osman notices you giving attention to anyone else, he cannot contain his jealousy. If you even speak to another man, he’ll take immediate action, pulling you away and asserting his dominance over you.

"Why do you speak to him?" he demands, his eyes narrowing in possessive rage. "You are mine, and no one else can have you."

His gaze sharpens whenever anyone dares to glance your way, and he makes it clear that he will do anything to keep you to himself.

The Emotional Manipulation

When Osman feels you slipping away—whether it’s because you need space or have a brief moment of independence—he will manipulate your emotions to bring you back to him.

"Why don’t you want to be with me?" he asks, his voice trembling with a hint of vulnerability. "I thought you loved me. Do you not care about me anymore?"

His manipulation is gentle but effective. It’s not violence he uses, but emotional withdrawal, making you feel guilty for even thinking about leaving his side. Every time you try to create distance, he draws you back in with his heart-wrenching pleas.

The Dangerous Love

As his obsession grows, so does his desire to control you entirely. He locks you away in his private chambers or ensures that your every moment is spent with him.

"You are mine. And no one will ever take you from me," he whispers, his voice quiet but filled with a terrifying intensity. "I’ll make sure of it. If I have to, I will destroy everything that threatens our love."

His love is overwhelming, suffocating. He won’t allow anyone to steal your affections, not even for a moment.

The Breakdown

When Osman feels the slightest hint that you might be slipping away, his emotions spiral into panic and rage. He cannot stand the idea of you leaving him.

"Do you really think you can leave me?" he asks, his voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and fury. "Do you think you can betray me?"

The desperation in his eyes becomes all-consuming. His love for you is as intense as his fear of losing you. "I will make sure you stay with me, one way or another. No one will ever love you like I do. No one."

Kösem Sultan's Reaction

Kösem Sultan has always been a woman who controlled the palace with her cunning and sharp intelligence. But seeing her son, Osman, spiral into this obsession with one concubine fills her with concern.

She watches Osman closely, seeing the danger in his possessiveness. At first, she tries to speak to him rationally, attempting to remind him of the responsibilities that come with being Sultan.

"Osman," she warns gently, her voice filled with concern, "Love is not something to possess or control. You are the ruler of an empire, not a man who can cage his heart."

She worries for you as well, knowing that Osman's obsession could lead to dangerous consequences for everyone involved, including herself.

Kösem, with her deep knowledge of power and influence, understands that Osman’s emotional instability could tear apart the empire. She knows that she must tread carefully, balancing her maternal affection with her duty as the Empress Mother.

Sultan Ahmed I's Reaction

Sultan Ahmed, as Osman’s father, is torn between his role as a parent and his responsibilities as a ruler. He sees the growing obsession in his son but struggles to find a way to stop it.

"Osman," Ahmed says softly, his voice heavy with concern, "You are not only a Sultan; you are my son. This obsession is not healthy. You must focus on your rule, not your desires."

Ahmed, though sympathetic to Osman’s loneliness, is wary of the damage his obsession could do to their family and the empire. He tries to guide Osman toward responsibility but is deeply afraid that his son’s fixation on you will eventually undermine his ability to lead.

Ahmed’s love for Osman is deep, but it’s laced with an understanding that this obsession could lead them all down a path of destruction. He knows he must intervene, but he's unsure of how to break through to a son so consumed by his emotions.

The Darkest Outcome

If you ever attempt to leave Osman, the consequences would be catastrophic. He has no intention of letting go. His obsession turns into something darker, more dangerous.

"You belong to me," he whispers in the dead of night, his grip tightening around you as he pulls you closer, his voice filled with a madness that was once unthinkable. "I’ll make sure of it. No one will ever take you from me."

At this point, his obsession has consumed him completely. His love is no longer a source of comfort—it is a cage, a prison he has built around both of you.

[oracleoftheveil]

⟡The Reunion of Two Souls - Chapter 5

✧Masterlist✧

⊹₊⟡⋆ Taglist: @delightful-light

Pairing: yandere!Mehmed ii x Female Wallachian reader

Genre: Yandere/Dark!au, Historical Fiction , Romance, Drama

Setting: 15th-century Ottoman Empire & Wallachia

Warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, dub-con, Pregnancy, eventual smut.

Summary: She was the youngest Drăculești — dark like Vlad, gentle like Radu, cunning beyond them both. Raised beside Mehmed in the Ottoman court, she hated him, loved him, and whispered the idea of cannons into his ear. Then she left with Vlad… and Mehmed was told she died.

Years later, after the fall of Constantinople, she’s captured while helping a burning village. Disguised among the slaves of his harem, everyone around him sees her — except Mehmed.

He thinks she’s gone.

She’s closer than ever.

────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Reader’s POV

My heart thundered in my chest as the door closed behind me. The warmth of the room was overwhelming, and I could feel the weight of my breath in the still air. I stood there, frozen, my hands trembling slightly as I clutched the embroidered linen to my chest.

The dim candlelight flickered across the room, casting shadows that seemed to dance around me, making everything feel distant, unreal. I could hear his steady breath, feel his gaze sharpening on me, even though I couldn’t look at him. I could not look at him. Not yet. Not after everything.

My fingers gripped the edges of the fabric harder as my throat tightened.

“Approach,” Mehmed’s voice came, low and calm, commanding yet with an underlying warmth that made the air feel thick. He was so close now, I could feel the tension in the room like a pulled string, taut and waiting to snap.

But I stayed rooted in place. A thousand memories clawed at the walls of my mind—his touch, his whispers, his promises. The soft laughter we shared… the love that had once been so real.

And then, the anger. The betrayal. I had been a pawn, a chess piece in a game I had no choice but to play.

I wanted to turn around. I wanted to look at him—to see if he was still the man I once knew. But my feet felt as if they had been carved from stone, unwilling to carry me any closer to him.

The silence stretched long between us, thickening until it was nearly suffocating.

But just as I was about to turn, to face the man who had once been my lover and now felt like a stranger, the door swung open with startling force.

“Your Majesty!” Zaghnos Pasha’s voice rang through the room, urgent and sharp, breaking the stillness like a whip.

I spun quickly, my back now facing both men. The sudden movement caused the linen to slip from my hands, but I caught it quickly, cradling it in my arms as I tried to steady my breath. The sudden distraction was a blessing—a moment of reprieve.

Zaghnos strode in with a hurried pace, his brow furrowed and face tight with worry. “The rebellion… there has been a break in the border near the Bosphorus. A village has risen up against the Empire. The Janissaries are already on their way, but your presence is required immediately. The council has called for your attendance.”

Mehmed’s footsteps were slow and deliberate behind me, but his voice was calm, controlled. “Is it serious?”

“Very. They’re being led by one of the local boyars, Your Majesty. They’ve already taken several villages and are threatening to march into the capital unless the Sultan himself intervenes.”

I heard Mehmed inhale, his presence radiating power even from a distance. “I see.”

For a moment, there was silence again, but the weight of the situation lingered heavily in the room. I could feel the tension in my back as I stood there, not daring to turn. I was still waiting for him to speak, to acknowledge me—to see me.

But he didn’t.

His footsteps moved toward the table, the sound of leather boots against the cold stone floor barely audible. I could feel his presence now, near, powerful.

“I’ll be there in moments,” Mehmed finally said, his voice colder now, a hint of the ruler I had once known beginning to emerge again. “Prepare the troops. I’ll make the necessary decisions once I’m there.”

Zaghnos bowed low. “Of course, Your Majesty.” Then, with a hurried glance in my direction, he turned and left the room as quickly as he had entered, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

The room fell back into silence.

I stood there, still with my back to him, wondering if he’d even acknowledge my presence. Would he recognize me? Would he remember the woman who had once been by his side? Or was I just another piece in his endless chess game?

I felt a quiet tremor run through me as the weight of everything crashed into me all at once—the fear of being seen, the rush of old memories, and the ache of loss.

Mehmed’s footsteps finally moved toward me again, though this time, I didn’t dare turn around.

“I see your embroidery has earned you a place among us,” he said softly, the words carrying an odd mix of curiosity and professionalism. “You’ve done well.”

I bit my lip, forcing myself to breathe evenly. “Thank you, Sultan.”

There it was. That distance. That formality. The man I had once known was gone—replaced by the Sultan, the ruler who needed to focus on the empire, on business, not emotions or past connections.

“You may leave,” Mehmed said, his voice no longer soft but firm, a command rather than a conversation.

I flinched at the coldness of his words, but I nodded, gathering my strength. My fingers fumbled with the fabric, and I could feel the cold air pressing against the back of my neck as I slowly walked toward the door.

But just as I reached the doorframe, I hesitated. A single word—his name—sat heavily on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say it. What would be the point?

And so, I left the room, the door clicking softly behind me, and a painful void stretching in my chest.

The harem awaited me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the deeper I went into this palace, the further I was slipping away from everything I had ever known.

The cold air outside was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room where I had just left Mehmed. My heart still raced from the encounter, my thoughts scattered like birds flapping frantically in the wind. I could still feel the lingering heaviness of his gaze, though he hadn’t looked at me directly—had he even recognized me? The question gnawed at me as I made my way down the marble hallways toward the harem, my steps echoing in the silence.

As I walked, the reality of my situation pressed in on me. Mehmed had been close. Too close. And for a moment, just a moment, it had felt like he might remember me. But I had turned my back, not daring to face him directly. It was a choice, but it had been a painful one. Was I really ready to confront him?

The halls grew quieter as I neared the harem, but I could feel the eyes of the concubines on me the moment I entered. Their whispers and giggles filled the air like the buzz of a thousand bees, the weight of their gaze impossible to ignore. I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Ayla’s voice called from one of the cushions, laced with sarcasm and mockery. “Did you find yourself a nice spot in His Majesty’s private quarters?”

I ignored her, my fingers tightening around the linen I still carried. I could feel the burn of her gaze on my back, and the sting of her words lingered like a bite.

One of the younger concubines, a girl named Zeynep, nudged Ayla and giggled. “I heard the Sultan was impressed with her embroidery. I bet she’s on her way to be his next favorite.”

The words cut through the air like a blade. The other concubines laughed softly, their eyes following me as I made my way past them. I felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on me like a thousand invisible hands. They were teasing me, yes, but there was something sharper in their words, something cruel. They all knew the power they wielded here—in his bed. And they were making sure I knew it too.

“You’d better be careful, girl,” another one chimed in—Fatima, her face painted with thick layers of rouge, her voice high and mocking. “It’s not every day a slave gets called to His Majesty’s private chambers. I’m sure he’ll have you woven into his bed linens soon enough.”

I could feel my face burn with anger, but I bit my lip, refusing to react. Instead, I kept walking, determined not to let their words break me. I had been through far worse, hadn’t I? I had survived worse than this.

“You’ve been in his chambers, haven’t you?” Zeynep teased again, her voice dripping with insinuation. “Don’t tell us you haven’t shared his bed by now. Look at the way he looked at you.”

The insinuation was too much. I stopped in my tracks, the weight of the words crashing over me like a wave. For a moment, I thought I might just explode, but then, I heard Menekşe’s voice behind me, soft and full of concern.

“Don’t listen to them, my dear,” she said quietly, walking up to me, her hand brushing my arm. “They speak out of jealousy, nothing more.”

I turned to her, grateful for the comfort in her tone, even as I could feel the sting of the other concubines’ eyes burning into my back.

“They know nothing,” she continued, glancing around to make sure no one was listening too closely. “But you must be careful, very careful. If they find out who you are… who you really are…”

I felt the familiar tightness in my chest—the fear that had been lurking ever since my capture. The fear that, somehow, they would find out who I was, that my true identity would be exposed, and everything I had worked for would unravel. The thought of being discovered, of being dragged back into the Sultan’s clutches… it made my stomach twist in horror.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I won’t let them find out. Not yet.”

Menekşe’s gaze softened, but there was a shadow in her eyes. “They’re already looking at you differently. Especially after today. Be careful, my dear. They’ll be watching. And not just for your embroidery.”

I nodded silently, the weight of her words sinking into my bones. I knew she was right. Every glance, every whisper, every touch—it all carried a weight now that I had embroidered for Mehmed. A piece of me—the part of me that had once belonged to him—was now out there, in his quarters, in his hands.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in deeper than I had ever been.

As we walked toward the laundry room, I could hear the whispers behind me grow louder. They were still talking about me, still laughing. But I didn’t dare turn around. I couldn’t.

I barely had time to process what had just happened with the other concubines when I felt someone’s hand grip my arm firmly. I turned, startled, to find Gulbahar standing in front of me. Her expression was unreadable at first, but as she looked me over, I could sense the storm brewing in her eyes.

“You,” she hissed, her voice low but laced with venom. “You had the audacity to be summoned to His Majesty’s private chambers?”

I swallowed hard, my heart still racing from the earlier tension with the other girls. I could feel the weight of her gaze pinning me down like a net. What now?

Before I could answer, she gave a sharp tug at my arm, pulling me away from the laundry room and towards her chambers.

I felt a rush of frustration building in my chest—again. She had no right to speak to me like this, as if I were some lowly slave with no worth or voice. This was not the first time I had been belittled by her. And, today, it would be the last.

Once inside her chambers, she slammed the door behind us with a force that echoed through the hall. The heavy drapes were drawn, casting the room in shadow. Her eyes narrowed in on me, and I could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“What were you thinking, wandering into His Majesty’s private chambers?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You’re nothing but a slave! You have no business being near him!”

The words stung, but they also triggered something inside me—a spark of anger, a need for release. I took a step forward, standing straighter, my eyes locking onto hers.

“You’re right,” I said, my voice colder than I had intended. “I am nothing but a slave. But do not think for one moment that you are the only one who holds any power here.”

Gulbahar took a sharp breath, clearly surprised by my tone. But I wasn’t finished.

“You’ve spent years making me feel small,” I continued, my words gathering strength. “You’ve belittled me, treated me like dirt, and pushed me into the shadows, all because I don’t have the same status as you. But I am not just any slave. I am someone.”

Gulbahar’s brow furrowed in confusion, her lips curling into a sneer. “What nonsense is this?” she spat. “You think because you can embroider a few pretty stitches, you have a place here?”

I took a deep breath, feeling my chest tighten with every word I spoke. This was it. It was time to reveal everything, to stop pretending.

“No, it’s not just my embroidery. It’s because I am the Princess of Wallachia. The sister of Vlad and Radu.”

The words hit her like a slap in the face. Gulbahar’s eyes widened, her composure faltering for just a moment. But I wasn’t done.

“I’ve had Mehmed first,” I spat, my voice rising in defiance. “Long before you or any of the others ever touched him. You think you can speak to me like I’m beneath you? You have no right to treat me this way.”

There was a long silence between us, thick with the weight of my confession. I stood there, my fists clenched, waiting for her reaction.

Gulbahar’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “You dare? You dare speak to me like that? You think you’re entitled to anything here because of who your brothers are?”

Her voice was shrill, but something inside me snapped, and I stepped closer, not caring anymore.

“You have no power here,” I said, my voice steely. “Mehmed may be your Sultan, but I was his first. And I will not allow you to treat me like this any longer.”

Gulbahar opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could utter another word, the door to the chamber creaked open. I spun around, my heart skipping a beat, and saw Mother Mara standing in the doorway. Her presence was calm, but her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—seemed to take in everything in an instant.

“You’re raising your voice, Gulbahar,” Mother Mara said quietly, her tone soft but commanding. “And I do not think that’s appropriate.”

Gulbahar’s face twisted with frustration, but she remained silent, her gaze flicking between Mother Mara and me.

“I will not tolerate such disrespect in my presence, not from anyone,” Mother Mara continued, her gaze unwavering. “You, Gulbahar, have pushed this girl too far.”

Gulbahar opened her mouth to protest, but Mother Mara silenced her with a single glance.

“You will not speak of this to Mehmed,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Not a word, Gulbahar. Understand?”

The room was still for a moment, the tension thick as the weight of Mother Mara’s command sank in. Gulbahar’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She stood there, her hands clenched at her sides, clearly seething with rage. But she knew better than to challenge Mother Mara.

“Good,” Mother Mara said, her gaze shifting to me. “You are dismissed, child. Go back to your duties. I will take care of this.”

I stood there for a moment, my heart still racing, my hands trembling. I had said it. I had finally said it. And now, somehow, it felt like everything had shifted, but I wasn’t sure in which direction.

As I turned to leave the room, I heard Gulbahar’s voice—quiet now, almost a whisper—threatening me as I walked past her.

“You’ll regret this, girl,” she hissed. “You can’t hide forever.”

But I didn’t let her words sink in. I knew the game had changed. There was no going back now. I had drawn a line, and for once, I felt the rush of power coursing through me.

Mother Mara’s voice followed me, gentle but filled with warning. “Remember, girl, that it’s not just your enemies you need to be wary of here. The walls have ears.”

And with that, I left the room, feeling a strange mix of relief and fear. The harem was a dangerous place, and I had just taken my first real step into its heart

The days in the harem moved slowly, but there was a tension in the air that made everything feel sharper, more immediate. Mother Mara had intervened, protecting me from Gulbahar, and while it was a relief, I could still feel the storm brewing. I had a choice to make: I could cower in silence, or I could use this moment of power to my advantage.

I wasn’t the type to shy away from confrontation. If Gulbahar thought she could bully me into submission, she was sorely mistaken. In fact, I would turn the tables on her. It was time for some payback.

I found Gulbahar that afternoon in the harem, lounging on a cushion and casually chatting with some of the other girls. As I passed, I couldn’t resist. Her sneering gaze followed me, and I turned to face her, a sharp smile curling on my lips.

“You look deep in thought, Gulbahar,” I said, my voice sweet but dripping with mockery. “Thinking about your night with Mehmed again?”

She stiffened immediately, her expression darkening. She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with a casual wave of my hand.

“You know,” I continued, my voice dropping lower, just loud enough for her to hear, “I remember when Mehmed and I were younger. He used to sneak into my room every night. No one knew—except Mother Mara, of course.”

Gulbahar’s eyes flickered with a mixture of confusion and disgust. She sat up straighter, her hands clutching the edge of her cushion, but I could see the unease creeping into her posture. Good.

I leaned in, making sure my voice was just loud enough for those nearby to catch snippets of my words, but still quiet enough that Gulbahar would feel the heat of it.

“He’d sneak in, so quiet, like a shadow. I used to wonder how he managed it. But then, once he was in, he’d spend the entire night in my bed.” I let the words linger for a moment, watching her face change. “He wasn’t exactly the Sultan back then, was he? Just a boy, trying to escape from the weight of his future.”

I paused, letting the tension settle in the air like a heavy fog. Gulbahar was stiff, her lips pressed tightly together as she watched me with something that could only be described as jealousy and rage.

“But, of course, it wasn’t just talking and giggling in the dark,” I went on, my voice a little sharper now, savoring the discomfort in her eyes. “Mehmed touched me, Gulbahar. Touched me.”

Her eyes widened, and I could see her fists clench, her entire body going rigid. But I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t finished playing this dangerous game.

“You want to know more?” I asked, tilting my head to the side, a challenge dancing in my eyes. “Perhaps you’d like the details, the real details. The things I’ve never told anyone.”

I let the words hang in the air, letting the tension stretch long enough that even the other girls in the room were beginning to shift uncomfortably. I didn’t need to say more. The implication was enough.

Finally, Gulbahar stood up abruptly, her face twisted in fury. “You’re lying!” she spat, her voice rising in anger. But I could see that doubt was creeping into her expression. She didn’t know if I was lying. And that, in itself, was the victory.

I watched as she stormed off, no longer able to stand my teasing. It was a satisfying feeling, but there was no time to relish it. I still had my role to play. As Gulbahar walked away, I heard her murmur something under her breath, something about Mother Mara. I knew she would go to her immediately, desperate to get to the bottom of my words.

The confrontation came sooner than I expected.

That evening, as I was walking down the hall, I noticed Gulbahar standing at the door to Mother Mara’s chambers. She had been talking for a few moments when the door creaked open, and Mother Mara stepped out.

I tried to retreat into the shadows, but it was too late. They both spotted me.

“Ah, there you are,” Gulbahar said, her voice clipped, still filled with bitterness. “I was just telling Mother Mara about your little confession.”

I could see the anger in Gulbahar’s eyes, but Mother Mara’s face was unreadable. She looked between the two of us before speaking.

“Tell me, child,” she said softly, though there was an edge to her voice. “Did you tell Gulbahar that nonsense about you and Mehmed?”

I didn’t flinch under her gaze. Instead, I met her eyes with a steady, unwavering look. I couldn’t back down now, not after everything.

“It’s not nonsense,” I said. “It’s the truth. I think it’s the one thing you never told her.”

Mother Mara’s eyes flickered with something like recognition, but she didn’t show her cards. Instead, she looked at Gulbahar, her voice low and calm.

“It’s true, Gulbahar,” Mother Mara said quietly. “I’ve caught Mehmed sneaking out of the Princess’s room more than once. He was a boy, and it’s a thing of the past now. Let it go.”

Gulbahar’s face went ashen, her anger replaced by embarrassment. “You mean to tell me…?” she started, her voice weak.

“Yes,” Mother Mara interrupted, her gaze hardening. “It was a long time ago. It’s not something you need to concern yourself with. Leave it be, Gulbahar.”

But the tension was far from over. Mother Mara turned to me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And you,” she said softly, but with an undertone of warning. “You will keep these things to yourself from now on. Such words only cause trouble, and you’re better than that. Don’t speak of this again.”

I wanted to protest, to tell her that I wasn’t afraid anymore, but I knew better. Mother Mara was powerful, and right now, she was my protector. I couldn’t afford to lose her favor.

I nodded, my jaw tight, and turned to walk away. I heard Gulbahar behind me, still muttering under her breath, but I didn’t care. The battle had been won for today, and I was content with that. But I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.

In the harem, power shifted with every whispered word. And I had just made my first move

[oracleoftheveil]

Love your writing, keep up the good work 💕

(Also, are you going to make a tag list? If so, I will be honored to be part of it as I am in love with your blog)

Thank you so much, of course I can make a tag list. Are there specific post you want to be tagged in?

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Cihangir x Favorite Concubine

His love for you is pure... until it isn’t. Your heart becomes his obsession, and your freedom, a threat to his fragile world.

The First Connection

Cihangir initially finds solace in you. You see beyond his physical imperfections, his pain, his quiet demeanor. For him, this alone is enough to spark an obsessive attachment. You are the only person who makes him feel normal, the only one who doesn’t pity him for his appearance.

When you first speak to him, when you give him a kind word, a gentle smile, something inside him breaks — in the best and worst ways. To him, you represent a source of comfort and escape, someone who can make him forget about the harsh realities of the palace and his own self-doubt.

"You don’t look at me like the others do," he says softly, eyes shining with something more than gratitude. "You don’t see me as broken."

The Growing Obsession

As you continue to treat him kindly, Cihangir becomes increasingly fixated on you. Every time you show him affection, even in small gestures, he believes it means you belong to him. Your kindness isn’t just an act of compassion; it’s the beginning of a deeper connection that only he can understand.

"Do you feel the same?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes searching yours with a desperate intensity. "Do you care for me as I care for you?"

If you reply with even the smallest affirmation, he becomes convinced that you are meant to be together — forever. But if you hesitate or show any sign of uncertainty, his mind races with thoughts of loss and rejection.

The Subtle Possession

Cihangir’s love for you is not loud, not boisterous. It’s quiet, suffocating. He subtly begins to mark his territory, making sure you are always near him. He asks for you to stay close, whether in the palace gardens, during royal events, or while attending to him.

"Why don’t you sit here with me?" he suggests, his voice gentle but firm. "I can’t stand being alone. I need you by my side."

He goes out of his way to ensure you don’t get close to anyone else. If another prince or concubine talks to you, Cihangir’s eyes darken, and he might pull you away, as if to silently remind you that you’re his, and no one else’s.

If you ever laugh or speak with someone else for too long, he becomes quiet and withdrawn, but his sadness quickly turns to frustration and jealousy. "Why do you spend so much time with them? Don’t you see I’m the only one who understands you?"

The Dangerous Jealousy

Cihangir’s jealousy is slow to develop but incredibly intense once it sets in. He doesn’t raise his voice or act out violently, but his jealousy manifests in subtle ways — pulling you close, clinging to you, and making it impossible for you to spend time with others.

"I don’t like when you talk to him," he says one day, his voice low, almost pained. "You’re mine, and only I can make you happy. Why don’t you understand that?"

He becomes possessive of every interaction you have with others, and if you dare to speak too freely with another man, he will make sure to isolate you, to lock you in a room until you realize that he’s the only one who can give you the attention and affection you need.

"You’ll see. No one will care for you the way I do," he murmurs, stroking your cheek softly. "No one will protect you like I will."

The Subtle Threats

Cihangir doesn’t resort to physical violence, but his threats are chilling. He manipulates situations to ensure that you stay close to him, giving you no room to escape his grasp.

If you ever try to distance yourself or express discomfort with his behavior, he becomes visibly distressed, even angry, but he’ll hold back, choosing to play the role of the heartbroken lover.

"If you leave me... I don’t know what I’ll do," he confesses, voice shaky, eyes wide with panic. "Please, don’t make me beg. You’re all I have. Without you, I’m nothing."

His words seem like an emotional plea, but they carry an undertone of dark obsession. He doesn’t just want your affection — he needs it. And if you give him the smallest excuse to feel rejected, he will take it as a personal betrayal.

The Control

Cihangir’s need to control you grows as his obsession deepens. He begins to keep tabs on where you are at all times, subtly making sure you aren’t talking to anyone else.

"I can’t bear to see you with them," he whispers, holding you close, his grip tight. "They don’t care about you like I do. You’re mine, and I need you to stay by me. Always."

He arranges for you to be with him during private moments, making sure that no one else can have access to you. The more time he spends with you, the more he becomes convinced that no one else can love you the way he does — and that means no one else should have you.

The Emotional Manipulation

Cihangir is not above emotional manipulation. He will use your kindness against you, twisting your empathy into guilt and fear. If you ever show kindness to anyone else, he might pull away, acting hurt, trying to make you feel responsible for his emotional state.

"You don’t love me, do you?" he asks softly, his eyes downcast, making it clear that he expects you to beg for his forgiveness. "I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?"

His love is a constant cycle of affection and guilt — he gives you everything, but only as long as you give him what he wants: your undivided attention and loyalty.

The Breakdown

The tipping point comes when Cihangir becomes convinced that you are slipping away from him. Whether it’s a conversation with another prince or a simple smile exchanged with a servant, he sees it as a betrayal, no matter how small.

He confronts you quietly, pulling you into a private room, his face pale and eyes wild with fear and jealousy.

"You can’t leave me," he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can’t go to them. They’ll hurt you. You belong with me."

There’s no anger in his voice, but the desperation is palpable. The longer he holds onto you, the more unstable his emotions become. He will do anything to ensure that you never leave his side — and if that means forcing you to stay with him, then so be it.

The Court’s Perception

Suleiman the Magnificent: He is somewhat oblivious to his son’s deeper emotional struggles, seeing Cihangir’s gentle nature as a strength. He doesn’t notice how dangerous his attachment to you is, and how it could spiral into something darker.

Hürrem Sultan: She sees the signs of Cihangir’s obsession and, for the most part, ignores it. She has her own concerns and doesn’t see her son’s fixation as a threat — yet.

Rüstem Pasha: He is shrewd enough to pick up on Cihangir’s growing attachment and watches closely, aware that an obsession like this could eventually lead to a palace scandal.

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Bayezid x Favorite Concubine

He will protect you. He will love you. And if anyone dares to take you from him, they will regret it.

The Initial Obsession

Bayezid's initial attraction is tied to a deep need for reassurance and validation. In a court full of intrigue and shifting loyalties, he seeks someone who will be his unwavering pillar, his unyielding source of affection.

You stand out to him as someone who doesn’t see him merely as the Sultan’s son but as a man with a heart — vulnerable and needy. The moment you give him even a fraction of your attention, it’s enough to spark a dangerous obsession.

Bayezid’s obsession doesn’t come on suddenly; it’s slow, subtle, creeping in as he grows more fixated on your every movement, the way you smile at him, the way you speak. Every interaction feels intimate to him, even if it’s only a brief moment of eye contact.

The Softness Masks a Darker Need

On the surface, Bayezid can be tender with you. He’s affectionate in a way that feels personal, a kind of care that is meant to show his devotion. He speaks to you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

"You are the one who truly understands me," he says softly, running his fingers through your hair or brushing your cheek. "Everyone else only sees the prince, but you see me. You see my soul."

He lavishes you with gifts, makes you feel special — but in his mind, these aren’t just tokens of affection; they are symbols of ownership. He believes that if he gives enough, you will owe him your loyalty, your love, and your very existence.

The Growing Control

Slowly, Bayezid starts to isolate you from the other members of the harem. He doesn’t do it aggressively at first. Instead, he convinces you that the others are not worth your time.

"Why would you waste your time with them?" he asks one day, his voice dripping with the sweetness of possessiveness. "You should be with someone who truly appreciates you. Someone who understands you."

He arranges for you to be in his presence more often, whether it’s at banquets or in the royal gardens. You find yourself spending more time with him and less with the others, and with every passing day, his hold on you grows tighter.

Even the smallest acts of kindness toward other people—like a shared smile or a passing word—send waves of jealousy through him. "Why do you talk to them? They will only hurt you, just like everyone else."

The Jealousy Turns Dangerous

Bayezid’s jealousy is not the type that fades with time. The more attention you give others, the darker his feelings become. He never raises his voice or makes public scenes. Instead, he becomes quiet, calculating.

He keeps track of every conversation you have, every glance you exchange with someone else. If he catches you speaking to another man, you’ll find yourself alone in your chambers, waiting for him to appear.

"Do you want him more than me?" he’ll ask, his eyes dark with jealousy. "He doesn’t know you like I do. No one will ever take care of you the way I can."

His jealousy becomes suffocating. If you show any affection toward anyone else, he responds by withdrawing, making you feel like something is missing. His absence is always more powerful than his presence, and when he returns, he’s determined to remind you of who owns your heart.

The Possession

Bayezid believes that you are his. Not just his favorite concubine, but his everything. You become the object of his fixation — something he cannot bear to lose.

He’ll say things like, "You are the only one who truly understands my pain," or "I will do anything for you, anything to make you stay by my side." He wants you to be completely devoted to him, and in return, he’ll protect you from anyone who dares to take you away.

Every gesture becomes an act of control. The gifts, the kisses, the private moments shared between the two of you — they are all ways for him to mark you, to ensure that you will never stray.

"No one else will love you like I do," he murmurs as he pulls you close. "You will see, no one else will understand your needs like I do."

The Dark Side of Love

If you ever try to pull away or express any desire for independence, Bayezid’s love quickly morphs into something more possessive, more controlling.

He won’t scream or shout, but his anger will manifest in cold silences and subtle punishments. He might have you locked away in your room, isolated from the others, or he might make sure your movements are monitored at all times.

"You think you can leave me?" he’ll say quietly, his voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of danger. "You belong to me. Don’t forget that."

His love isn’t just affection. It’s control. It’s domination. And every time you try to break free, he tightens his grip even further.

The Isolation

Bayezid gradually isolates you from everyone. He arranges for your time to be completely monopolized by him, making sure that you have nowhere else to turn but to him.

"You’re the only one who can fill the emptiness inside me," he says one night, his voice tinged with a quiet desperation. "I can’t let anyone else have you. I won’t share you with anyone."

He arranges your world to revolve around him, subtly ensuring that you don’t have time for anyone else. The more isolated you become, the more dependent you are on him — and the more he feels you are truly his.

The Threat of Loss

If you ever give any indication that you might leave or betray him, Bayezid will react with a chilling calmness, knowing exactly how to twist your emotions to keep you by his side.

"If you leave," he says softly, "you will regret it. I will make sure no one else can have you. Ever again."

It’s not a physical threat. It’s an emotional one — the quiet promise that he will ruin your world if you even think about leaving him. You will be isolated, forgotten, and lost to the world.

"No one will ever love you as I do," he whispers in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. "You are mine, and I will do anything to keep it that way."

The Court’s Perception

Suleiman the Magnificent: He sees Bayezid’s obsession as a sign of weakness and is largely unaware of how deep it runs. He views Bayezid as his successor, but he remains blind to the darkness beneath his son’s exterior.

Hürrem Sultan: She sees the warning signs and tries to manipulate the situation for her own gain, but she knows better than to get involved too deeply. Bayezid’s possessiveness could easily turn dangerous.

Rüstem Pasha: He is aware of Bayezid’s obsession and fears what could happen if the prince loses control. He tries to remain neutral, keeping a close eye on Bayezid’s movements without drawing attention to himself.

The Breaking Point

One night, you accidentally speak to another man for too long — a fellow concubine, a courtier, anyone. Bayezid finds out and quietly arrives in your room, locking the door behind him.

"Why did you do it?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know I can’t stand it when you look at someone else."

You try to explain yourself, but he’s already made up his mind. With a cold smile, he moves closer. "You will never leave me. You belong to me, and I will do whatever it takes to remind you of that

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Selim II x Favorite Concubine

Your love is his need. His obsession knows no boundaries.

The First Attraction

At first, Selim doesn't notice you. He’s too absorbed in his own world of indulgence and excess. But something changes the moment he sees you interact with someone else in the harem, a fleeting smile exchanged with another prince or even a servant.

That brief interaction awakens something inside him, a desire for something he never thought he could have — your exclusive attention.

From that moment, you become a possession he must have. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s your beauty, or maybe it’s the way you stand out from the other women, but whatever the reason, he begins to fixate on you.

The Subtle Approach

Selim begins his pursuit in a way that seems harmless enough — a few compliments here, a light conversation there.

“You are unlike the other women here,” he says one evening, his voice softer than usual. “There’s something about you... I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

At first, his attention is flattering. He is the Sultan’s son, after all, and being noticed by him should feel like a privilege. But it becomes increasingly apparent that his attention is suffocating, always lingering, never letting you out of his sight for too long.

The Possessive Gestures

He begins to seek you out more, arranging for you to be near him during meals, ceremonies, or even during casual gatherings. You notice the way his gaze follows you, the way he always seems to be in your space, even if he doesn't speak.

“Why did you speak with her?” he asks one day, his tone casual but underlined with something darker. “She’s not important, not like you.”

His presence becomes overwhelming, a constant weight that you can’t escape. Every time you try to pull away, he pulls you back in with small, gentle gestures — a hand on your shoulder, a brush of his fingers against your wrist, a soft kiss to your forehead that feels more possessive than affectionate.

The Jealousy and Control

Selim’s jealousy grows rapidly. If you so much as glance at another man for too long, he becomes cold and distant. It’s as if he can’t tolerate the idea of anyone else having your attention, let alone your affection.

“I see how you look at him,” he’ll mutter, his eyes dark with jealousy, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t need anyone but me. Don’t you understand that?”

He makes sure no one else gets too close to you. When other men show interest in you, they find themselves mysteriously reassigned or removed from the palace. It’s never direct, but somehow they always end up gone.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “They’ll never come near you again. You’re mine now.”

The Obsessive Love

Selim believes that he is the only one who can truly understand you, the only one who can provide you with the affection and attention you deserve. His love, in his eyes, is special — and no one else can give you what he can.

“Do you know how much I’ve given up for you?” he’ll ask, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and affection. “You are the only thing I need. Everything else... it doesn’t matter.”

He becomes fixated on your every movement, watching you constantly, learning your routines, your desires, your weaknesses. Everything about you becomes a part of his obsession.

The Isolation

He begins to isolate you from the other women in the harem, either subtly or with force. He'll make sure that you’re always near him, ensuring that no one else has the opportunity to talk to you or get close to you.

“Why are you so close to her?” he’ll ask sharply, his tone rising with jealousy whenever he sees you talking to another concubine. “You don’t need them. You need me.”

Your world shrinks to the walls of his quarters and the distance between the two of you. He is everything to you, and in return, he demands you be everything to him.

The Quiet Fury

Selim’s anger is not loud or violent; it’s quiet, simmering beneath the surface. If you ever try to escape or defy him in any way, he’ll punish you in ways you never imagined.

A stolen glance at another man? He won’t shout; instead, he’ll lock you in your room for days, leaving you to think about how much you belong to him.

“You don’t get to choose anyone else,” he’ll say, his voice low but carrying a dangerous edge. “You will never leave me. Not now, not ever.”

The Subtle Threats

His love grows darker and more suffocating by the day. One night, after you spend some time with a fellow concubine, he gifts you a beautiful bracelet. It’s a silent promise — but there’s an edge to it.

“I’ll make sure you never forget your place,” he says, brushing his fingers across your wrist. “Everyone here knowsyou belong to me.”

The message is clear: he controls your fate, your relationships, and everything in between.

The Court’s Perception

Suleiman the Magnificent: He sees Selim’s growing obsession but dismisses it as an impulsive phase. He doesn’t understand the depth of Selim’s fixation or how dangerous it could become.

Hürrem Sultan: She recognizes the signs of Selim’s obsession but sees it as an opportunity to manipulate him for her own gain. She tries to make you aware of the dangers, but it’s unclear whether you will heed her warnings.

Rüstem Pasha: He is shrewd enough to understand what’s happening but keeps his distance, not wanting to get involved in Selim’s emotional turmoil. He knows that if the prince ever loses control, the consequences could be deadly.

The Breaking Point

One day, you try to speak with someone else — another man, another prince. Selim catches sight of it and calmly walks over to you.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks quietly, his hand gripping yours with surprising strength. “Do you want to make me destroy everything for you? I’ll do it. I’ll burn it all down.”

His gaze is intense, almost predatory. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine

[oracleoftheveil]

Yandere Shehzade Mehmed x Favorite Concubine

His love is a cage, and you are his prisoner.

The Initial Obsession

Mehmed first notices you in passing. At first, you're just another woman in the harem, someone he's expected to overlook. But something about the way you look at him — as if he matters beyond his royal blood — catches his attention.

He doesn’t know why he feels drawn to you, but every glance you share feels like a silent promise. It’s not love at first sight. It’s desire. He wants you to belong to him, to be the only one who can make you smile.

He becomes distant at first, watching from afar. But the longer he watches, the more possessive he becomes. Every smile you give to another man feels like a betrayal.

The Subtle Claim

At first, Mehmed is polite — respectful, even — but there’s a growing intensity in his gaze when you speak. His compliments become laced with a deeper meaning.

“You are unlike any of the other women,” he’ll say softly. “There’s something in your eyes... You know it too, don’t you? That we are meant to be together.”

He’ll often find ways to be near you — just long enough to breathe in your scent, touch your hand, or brush against your shoulder. He never forces himself on you, but he’s always there, like a shadow you can’t escape.

The Manipulation Begins

Mehmed knows the harem's politics, and he is calculating. He plays the game of favors — giving you gifts, making sure you’re always in his sights. He gives you everything you could want, but in exchange, he expects your attention, your loyalty, and your compliance.

He convinces you that his love is the greatest gift, that the other men only want to use you. He manipulates your emotions until you begin to depend on him.

When you laugh with another man or even speak too long with one of the servants, Mehmed’s temper flares beneath the surface. His control is measured, but it is absolute. He will not tolerate anyone else’s influence over you.

The Obsession Turns Dark

Mehmed begins to feel entitled to your love. He no longer simply wants you; he believes you were meant for him.

If you ever try to distance yourself, he won’t shout. He won’t demand. Instead, he’ll quietly withdraw, his absence making you feel an emptiness you can’t explain. When he returns, he’s colder — sharper.

“I didn’t think I would need to remind you,” he says one night, his voice like silk, “but you are mine, and I will not share you with anyone.”

His kisses feel like a mark of ownership. His touches linger longer than they should, leaving a trail of desire you cannot ignore. He’s always watching, always waiting for the right moment to remind you that you belong to him.

The Destructive Jealousy

Mehmed’s jealousy is quiet but intense. When you speak to another man, he doesn’t get angry. He simply makes sure that man is no longer in the palace.

A courtier who dares to laugh at your joke? Mehmed quietly arranges for their position to be demoted. A guard who glances at you too long? They’re reassigned without explanation.

“No one can have you but me,” he’ll whisper to you, his voice low and threatening, yet somehow still tender. “I will protect you from everyone... especially from yourself.”

The Cage He Builds

Mehmed’s obsession leads him to control your every movement. You are no longer allowed to leave your quarters without his permission, and he makes sure that no one else can get too close to you.

He arranges your daily routine, ensuring that you’re always in his sights. When you visit the gardens, he’ll walk beside you. When you eat, he sits across from you.

He begins to isolate you from the other women in the harem, making it clear that you belong to him and him alone. The more isolated you become, the more you begin to crave his attention.

The Threat of Loss

Mehmed is terrified of losing you. If you ever even consider looking at another man or seem distracted by someone else, his anger simmers below the surface.

One day, you receive a letter, sealed with Mehmed’s mark. The note is simple:"I will always protect what is mine. You will learn to love me, or I will make you."

It’s not a threat he needs to make aloud. The quiet certainty in his eyes tells you everything. He won’t let you go.

The Court’s Perception

Suleiman the Magnificent: He’s unaware of the depth of Mehmed’s obsession. He sees his son as an ambitious young prince with potential, but he remains blind to how far Mehmed will go to claim what he desires.

Hürrem Sultan: She sees the signs of Mehmed’s obsession early. While she may try to manipulate the situation for her own gain, she’s also wary of Mehmed’s potential to destroy everyone around him in his pursuit of you.

Rüstem Pasha: He understands that Mehmed is dangerous. He plays along with the prince’s whims, always keeping a close eye on him, but never letting on that he knows exactly how deep the obsession runs.

The Moment You Defy Him

One night, you try to speak with another man in private. Mehmed is nowhere to be found, but the moment you turn around, there he is — standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with fury.

“You thought you could escape me?” he asks, his voice calm, but there’s a terrifying edge to it. He walks toward you slowly, as if savoring the moment. “I let you have your space. But I will never let you forget who you belong to.”

He pulls you close, his grip tight enough to remind you of his control. “You will learn to stay where you are needed, my love. For you have no choice but to stay with me.”