#marwoski

[fallout13-story]

The Neighborhood Watch

Episode 2

“And Then We Fall.” Part 2

Pages 120-129

[floatingdaisy7]

I loved this and let me list the top three reasons why. There are more then three but these are the top because they just made me feel so intensely! 

1. Andrea’s English improving when reader is trapped. How he uses the ‘language barrier’ to lull the reader into letting her guard down just a little bit is beautiful. I love how calculating and creepy that it is. 

2. Andrea having a crying kink. When he told the reader not to cry because it made him want him more sent me into a frenzy! 

3. Andrea tossing the reader’s engagement ring and promising to get her a new one. What a way to end it this. My mind can’t help but imagine what will happen later and I love it when a fic takes my mind beyond what was written.

𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 & 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕪 || yandere!Andrea Marowski x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 || if your fiancé were here, you wouldn't be so hung up on this mysterious, young foreign man who doesn't seem to care about the ring on your finger. but he's not here... and this stranger plans to use that to his advantage.

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 || 3.8k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 || smut (dubcon and noncon; this is a dark fic!), yandere trope, alcohol consumption (and sex while heavily inebriated), infidelity (see summary), slapping, unprotected sex and unwanted creampie (but not really breeding kink)

𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 || 'księżniczko' is a polish term of endearment meaning 'princess'!

You knew from the start that he was trouble because he was exactly your type.

New, different, mysterious. Blonde— why did you always have a thing for that?— with a bright smile but dark eyes. You might not have even noticed him before, when your fiancé was here to keep all your attention, but now? After this many months alone? You didn't have the willpower you used to, and you didn't used to have the hunger that you had now.

But nothing could happen, and nothing would happen because you wouldn’t let it happen.

Your first real interaction with Andrea Marowski was when you went he came through the market while you were selling your honey. While your husband’s military salary was just enough to make ends meet, beekeeping had proven to be a nice way to not only pass the time, but get some extra spending money; recently you had expanded from just selling raw honey and honeycomb to making honey-based soaps and lotions. For a while he walked with the women he was staying with— you knew them well enough, but you weren’t exactly close or anything— until he split off while they looked at some bread and ended up wandering by your stall.

“Ah, miód,” Andrea noticed as he picked up a jar. “Honey.” His pronunciation was good, if a bit stilted in that way one sounds when putting excessive effort into pronouncing foreign words.

“Mhm,” you agreed, “it’s all fresh, and the bees only pollinate clovers and lavender plants so the taste is incredibly pure. Want to try some?”

He didn’t seem to fully understand until you handed him one of the small glass sample vials. His fingers brushed against yours, ever so slightly, as he took the vial from your hands and carefully sipped on the honey inside. You grinned when you saw his eyes get just a bit wider.

“You like it?” you prompted as he licked his lips and swallowed.

“Is good!” he beamed. “Your bees?”

“Yeah! I keep the bees myself,” you answered, feeling a bit more shy when he seemed visibly impressed.

“How… how they not sting?” he wondered aloud, poking his arm with his fingertip as if to pantomime a bee sting.

“Oh, well, they’re very gentle,” you explained, “and they like me.”

You met his gaze again and found it a little glassy— clearly he didn’t quite understand what you were saying, but he still smiled and nodded. You admired how difficult this all must be for him: being in a foreign place, hardly speaking the language, knowing no one. So you thought you should be kind to him, just to make one thing a little bit easier for him if possible. Plus, not everyone was so keen on a foreigner in their quiet little town, and you wanted him to feel welcome in spite of that.

“I’ll give you the honey for free,” you offered, handing a smaller jar towards him. He tilted his head as he looked at it, letting out a small, awkward laugh when he looked up at you again. “Free!” you repeated. “It’s yours, you don’t need to give me any money.”

“Oh,” he sunk his shoulders as he realised what you meant, “no, I couldn’t—”

“Please, I insist,” you beamed as he shook his head. “Consider it a welcome gift!”

He hesitated for a few more seconds before relenting with a little sigh, taking the jar from you with a smile. “Thank you,” he nodded. “I buy something else. To make fair.”

Before you could promise that he didn’t need to, he grabbed a bar of your beeswax soap— the one with lavender and clary sage— and quickly shoved some paper notes towards you. “Thank you for your purchase,” you nodded politely.

"I see you again?" he asked.

"O-oh, I'm sure," you stammered. "I'm at the pub sometimes— maybe I'll see you."

“I hope so,” he agreed, giving you another smile as he waved and continued on his path; you tried not to watch him walk away, but found yourself glancing over at him more than a few times as he strolled down the road— and once he caught your gaze as he looked back himself.

Your heart was pounding, just from a small interaction like that… because you knew exactly how dangerous it was.

Even though you told him you might see him at the pub, you weren't expecting it to happen so soon… even though you'd been coming to the pub more often just in case he would be there.

Yeah, you were down bad. And the pit in your stomach told you that you were asking for trouble. But when he walked through the door and spotted you right away, waving with a smile and crossing the dancefloor to join you at the bar, trouble started looking pretty damn good.

"May I buy you drink?" he asked as he leaned in beside you.

"Oh, um…" you stalled nervously.

"Another whiskey?" the bartender asked before you could even decide if you should let Andrea buy you a drink. Well, you already knew that you shouldn't, but you were on the fence if you were going to let him anyways.

"Sure," you nodded, giving Andrea a small glance.

"And beer for me," he added, putting coins down on the bar where drinks soon appeared instead.

Your eyes met his for a second as you both sipped from your glasses, him smiling at you slightly around the gulp of beer. You glanced away, taking a larger swig of the whiskey (even though it burned a bit), hoping the butterflies in your stomach would drown soon.

Once you’d both set down your glasses, he broke the silence quickly. “I use your soap,” he informed you, leaning in closer and yep, you could smell the scent you’d created on his skin.

“You like it?” you asked, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“And I put your honey on toast,” he added with a grin.

“Always glad to have another satisfied customer,” you chuckled.

The first two drinks went down easy, but you hardly remembered the next three— it was all just little glimpses, snapshots of flirtatious touches and unsubtle glances and his hand around yours as he guided you out the back and around to the secluded alley just behind the pub. You remembered his fingers tracing over your back through your dress. You remembered laughing and purring as his lips hungrily explored your neck, you remembered tongues tangling together and your fingers weaving into his hair. His hair was so soft…

You remembered his hand sliding up your thigh, under your dress, until you slapped it, instinctively.

“N-no,” you slurred, “Andrea, this is wrong.”

More kisses over your pulse soothed you for a moment until you felt his hand moving up again. You squirmed a bit, trying to shake him off, but his body was pressing yours against the wall and his mouth was silencing yours with a hungry kiss and maybe you just melted into it after that, too tired of denying him and yourself.

You remembered all that. Funny enough, though, you didn’t remember how you ended up in his bed.

For a moment, it was peaceful… soft sheets, sun streaming in through the window, his arms draped over you as a satisfying sort of ache filled your body. But then, of course, you realised who he was and who you were and, perhaps most importantly, who your fiancé was. That being: your fucking fiancé.

“Fuck,” you hissed, starting to jump out of bed right away, but his grip on you tightened and he pulled you back into him, the feeling of his skin on yours making it clear that both of you were naked which made you a bit (more) nauseous.

He mumbled some Polish against your neck; his voice was deeper when it was heavy with sleep. His arms still held you tightly, and you shivered against them. “Do not leave,” he requested softly.

“I need to, though, if somebody sees me here— oh god, if somebody knows what we…” you trailed off, realising you didn’t know the exact end to that sentence. “What did we do last night?” you finally asked.

“I can remind you,” he whispered as he kissed the shell of your ear; and when you felt his erection press up against you, you yelped and just barely managed to wrangle yourself out of his grasp to throw the sheets off and stumble out of the bed, ignoring how it made your head pulse with pain.

“Oh, fuck, I need to go,” you reminded yourself as you searched for your dress in a pile on the floor and quickly slipped it on. You turned around to find him exposed completely since you’d pushed the sheets away, and your face burned when you got a glimpse of his cock; no wonder you were sore between your legs. He seemed a little too proud of himself when he caught you looking, giving you a smug grin. “I need to go,” you repeated firmly.

Slipping on last night’s clothes— wrinkled and still smelling faintly of booze— you managed to stumble out of his room and down the stairs. You were lucky beyond all reason that none of the women of the house caught you here; you weren’t sure if they were the gossipping type but it would’ve been humiliating regardless.

As soon as you were home, the phone rang.

“Hello?” you answered, still breathing heavily— oh god, what if it was your fiancé?!

But it was maybe the only thing worse than that: “I didn’t want to chase you,” Andrea’s voice came from the other end, “but want to know why you run so fast…”

“We can’t talk anymore,” you assured him quickly, “don’t call me again.”

You hung up with a sigh, feeling tears burn your eyes already. You were so caught up in washing yourself with a thorough bath and trying to forget about last night that you didn’t even stop to think about how he could’ve possibly gotten your telephone number.

You spent most of the day biting your nails and pacing. It didn’t help your hangover, but you were desperate to find a solution other than the only one you’d thought of so far.

See, the thing was, you really needed to speak to Andrea to make sure he wasn’t going to tell anyone what had happened. You felt sick to imagine seeing him again, but it needed to be done. Everyone in the town knew you were engaged, many of them even knew your betrothed himself, you just couldn’t afford for anyone to know what had happened.

It was a drunken mistake, maybe someday you would find the strength to tell him that yourself… but what he absolutely did not need was an anonymous telegram about how some polock was running around town talking about fooling around with his beloved bride-to-be behind the local pub.

So, even though it made you feel sort of nauseous and you knew that it might be sending him sort of mixed signals, you carefully dialed the number for the house where Andrea was staying. When the housekeeper answered, you tried to change your voice so she might not recognize you as you asked to speak to Andrea.

It still made an uncomfortable, guilty chill run down your spine when he picked up the line and greeted you; he sounded like he already knew who it was, probably just because he knew nobody else would call. You still told him who it was, just in case.

“Could we… meet somewhere? Just to talk?” you asked quietly, whispering even though your house was empty. “I don’t want to go there, in case anyone sees me there— and I don’t want you to come here, in case anyone sees you here…”

“I know a place,” he assured. “Private. No one will see.”

When you arrived, though, you noticed it wasn’t totally private: the house itself was empty, and the door was unlocked, but there were neighbors who could recognise either of you. Fortunately, that wouldn’t be a problem as long as you came in the back and didn’t yell out your conversation loud enough for them to hear— which would never happen anyways.

He was already inside when you stepped in, and by the time you’d shut the back door he was already almost on you, trying to pull you into an embrace.

“No, Andrea, we can’t,” you mumbled, pushing him back— and he relented, thankfully. You took a shaky breath as you began the speech you’d practiced over and over in your head on the bike ride over. “What happened last night…” you trailed off, and he must have understood what you were talking about because his smile widened, his eyes sparkled a bit as he looked down at you, tilting his head a bit to try to meet your gaze. “No one can know, okay? My fiancé… I know he’s not perfect, but if he found out, he’d be heartbroken. And he didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looked at you somewhat blankly, but nodded after a moment.

“So, it needs to stay a secret, okay?” you pressed, stepping a little closer and hoping he would understand. “Okay? Secret. Shh,” you demonstrated, placing your finger to your lips.

“Shh,” he agreed, repeating the motion. You smiled, and he did that, too. But then he held the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss, ignoring the way you pushed against his chest.

“A-Andrea, no,” you mumbled against his lips, gasping a bit when he stumbled forward and pushed you back against the table, lifting you onto it and placing himself between your legs as he pulled your skirt up to your hips.

“It will be secret,” he promised, moving his kiss down to your neck while he ran his hands up to your thighs, “no one will know.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you assured, fighting him harder but finding it just as futile. “Andrea, stop!”

“I no understand,” he mumbled, holding you close with one hand and quickly unbuttoning his fly with the other. “You like so much before.”

“I-it doesn’t matter,” you promised, failing to move your hips enough to stop him from tugging your panties down. You couldn’t even remember how much you had apparently liked it, though you sadly believed him. “We can’t— I told you, we can’t do this!”

“I make you feel good,” he whispered. You couldn’t tell if he meant it as persuasion, or if he was promising what he was about to do. Though you tried one more time to tell him not to, he lined himself up to your entrance and suddenly pressed forward.

It stung sharply when he filled you, making you cry through your teeth for a moment; you were still sore from the last time this had happened. His mouth fell slack with a gasp as he buried himself so deep in you that your chest seized up. “O-oh, księżniczko,” he groaned under his breath, “so tight… warm, like I remember.”

He didn’t waste any time getting right to it, speeding up and slamming into you so hard that the table shook beneath you and your whole body jolted with every thrust. “A-Andrea,” you choked on your sob, somewhere between pleading for mercy and pleading for more, digging your nails into his shoulders and letting your head fall back.

It hurt, in a way, but your body was just as conflicted as your mind by everything that was happening. You felt betrayed by yourself as you heard your own moans, watching your fingers clutch at his back and feeling your legs wrap around his hips. As much as you hated him and hated yourself, you couldn’t deny that you’d never felt anything like this. You and your fiancé had been intimate before, and it was good— gentle, comfortable, patient. But he never kissed you like this, he never held you like this, he never claimed you like this. No one had.

“Oh, fuck, Andrea,” you blurted out, whimpering as he held you tighter and leaned into your neck.

“Scream louder,” he demanded against your ear. “Say my name one more time… I want them to hear. They can all know you are mine now.”

Your gut sank. “N-no, Andrea— they can’t know, no one can know… my fiancé—”

“Will he want you when he knows?” Andrea interrupted you sharply, his left hand squeezing yours so you could feel the sharp diamond on your finger. “Will he want you when I tell him?”

Your eyes fell shut and your stomach twisted— guilt, shame, terror, all of it. You should’ve known better than to believe him when he promised it would stay a secret. Because what difference did it make anyway? It was still wrong, it was still an awful thing to do; and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was what you deserved, in the end.

“You will be mine,” he assured, because you both knew exactly what would happen when he told your fiancé about this.

“Oh god,” you sighed, but not in the sexy way; in the ‘fuck, this is real, he’s going to ruin my life’ way.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice a little deeper. “Yes?”

Angry and confused and beginning to cry, you whimpered but instinctively shook your head ‘no’; he slapped you across the cheek for that, and again when you yelped.

“Mine. Say it,” he demanded. He raised his hand to strike you again and you panicked.

“Yours!” you yelped. “Yours, Andrea, yours— fuck, I’m yours!”

He kissed you suddenly, roughly, and your whimpers were lost to his lips. Even with his hand clutching your jaw, you held your lips shut tight— but he had a plan for that, too, slapping you on the cheek again, not that hard yet hard enough to force you to gasp which gave him the space he needed to shove his tongue in beside yours and taste every moan you let out.

In spite of everything, you were already on the edge; you did everything you could to hold it back, but he forced pleasure onto you faster than you could swallow it down. He could feel it, too, when you came… you were sure of that, from the way he let out a quiet, mocking chuckle, holding your jaw and watching your face as you gave into it.

“This was how you look before, when you come for me,” he purred. “I want to see it again.”

For all your brainlessness and naivete, this time you did notice the way his English had improved drastically now that he had you cornered: as if he knew that dumbing himself down would make him seem less threatening, and give him an excuse for why he didn’t accept your rejection. But it was much more than a language barrier that kept him from understanding the word ‘no,’ that was clear now.

It was almost too much when he didn’t slow down after that, your sensitive channel clinging to him tighter than ever— but you didn’t take much longer to give him what he wanted, either, coming even harder than the first time after probably less than a minute of his cock spearing into you with reckless abandon.

You were putty in his arms after coming twice, going totally limp and giving in to being used however he wanted; he moaned against your skin as he sucked marks onto your neck, even biting down occasionally. He knew exactly what he was doing, leaving bruises on you this way. Of course he was staking his claim over you: marking territory, if you will, but you didn’t understand just yet how far he was willing to go.

You did just a moment later, though; it took a few more of his deeper, breathier moans, and his hand clutching tighter at your back, for you to realise what was about to happen. “Pull out,” you requested quickly, catching him smiling in the corner of your eye and knowing right away that he had no intentions to listen to you. “Andrea, no, you have to—”

He clapped his hand over your mouth, the other fumbling to push yours away as you tried to shove him off, anything to stop him from coming inside you. “This is what you want,” he promised, having to speak louder over your muffled screams, “you want to belong to me. You will.”

As his hips sped up and the tip of his cock bruised the deepest parts of you at the end of each thrust, his moans got louder and rougher between hissing breaths through his teeth. You choked on a sob as he grunted lowly and you felt warmth bloom from your core, his cock flexing against your walls.

He swore in Polish under his breath, holding your waist to keep you pinned as he stayed as deep as he could go— sure to give you every drop, clearly. Only when he was completely finished did he relax his grip on your wrists and drop the hand covering your mouth… but you had no will to fight now, along with no strength and no purpose to.

Both of you caught your breath for quite some time, just staying that way without moving much at all; you sniffled as wetness began to burn your eyes, and he smiled through his exhaustion as he leaned down to kiss away the first tear that fell.

“Oh, księżniczko,” he cooed softly. “Don’t cry… it only makes me want you more.”

You shuddered, looking away as he lifted your chin with a finger gently stroking beneath it.

“Look at me,” he requested gently. “Look.”

The second demand was a lot less patient; more scared of his violent side than of his oppressive stare, you finally made eye contact and he softened again with a friendly smile.

“So pretty,” he praised, brown eyes scanning your face for a second. “Even when you cry. But you cry because you are happy, yes? Aren’t you happy?”

Too afraid to do anything else, you nodded shakily.

“I know, so am I,” he smiled. “We will leave this place soon— you can come with me to America. A new life for us.”

He hugged you tightly as he kissed your lips again, ignoring the way they quivered while you cried harder.

“It will be so wonderful,” he promised, slipping one hand down to gently remove the engagement ring from your finger. You reached for it but he tossed it away before you could grab it. “Shh, don’t worry,” he soothed, “I will get you a new one soon.”