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the-wanderer-2022 · 29 days ago

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𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 Yandere God of Life x Reader

⟡ AN: Ahaha, I meant for this to be a short drabble like Sacrifice but here we are... ⟡ TW: 18+ ONLY, NON CON, somnophilia (sort of), strangulation (somewhat graphic), fingering, piv sex, a lot of drama (typical of gods)

500 years before Sacrifice

Mortals, he’s found, tend to misunderstand what being a deity entails. Their texts and mythos focus mainly on the glorious facets of godhood—the palaces built on clouds, banquets of ripe fruit and meat, the omnipotence and unlimited power.

And of course, immortality.

Of all the living’s desires, more time is by far the most pervasive. It’s natural to fear the end when you’re blind to what comes after it, he supposes, but mortals fail to think about the implications of living forever.

It’s not living really. In order to live you need to die.

Being immortal is more so… existing. Floating aimlessly through space, stuck in an endless loop of the same thing. Create new souls to be birthed, send them down the river. Look over souls approved for reincarnation, send them down the river. It gets rather boring.

There’s banquets and meetings with the other influential gods every so often, and he finds pretty nymphs to bed sometimes, but those are fleeting occurrences. Nothing substantial. The majority of his time is spent working. Working, and gazing longingly down at the earth, jealous of the electrifying whirlwind that is a human’s race against the clock.

He thought he’d have to settle with watching for the rest of eternity, but after a meeting with the other Gods about a war started between the goddess of wisdom and the goddess of pride, he had a realization.

Wisdom, sex, war, pride—none of those deities existed until he created humans.

Those… emotions, that passion. That’s what made human life so invigorating. The reason they feared death was they had so much to lose in life. They found purpose in connection, in love.

Love. Love. A deep, mutual adoration. Devotion strong enough to start wars; to bring the greatest warriors to their knees. He needed someone to love.

And he had the power to make that someone at his fingertips.

He sat at his workbench for quite some time, carefully crafting the perfect little lover. Pinching and squishing, sculpting her delicate features with the utmost precision. He smoothed her feminine curves, painted her soft pink lips, weaved each soft lock of hair into her head; she was gorgeous. A beauty to rival any goddess.

Then, the personality. None of the nymphs he slept with had much going on in their heads, so he didn’t want her to be like them, and the goddesses were too headstrong, too self important to be devout. Ultimately, he decided to model her after the love interests in the human’s myths. They were, after all, the ideal of what a lover should be. A woman desirable enough to lead men to their demise.

Kind, nurturing, and pious. Those were the core qualities he chose. He also sprinkled in some sub-traits, domicile, passionate, naturally good in bed—along with a plethora of other particulars. Most importantly, however, she’d be undyingly loyal to her lover; so madly enthralled that she’d do anything to be with them. She’d also never fall for a mortal man. He wanted her pure when she finally came to him. Wholly, unequivocally his.

He gave her little soul a kiss—his blessing—before sending her down the river to the fertility goddess, to whom he’d given instructions to send her to one of the vestal virgins in his temple. The miraculous pregnancy was supplemented with a premonition he sent to the temples seer, instructing the priestesses to raise the child as a devout. Then, on her twenty-first birthday she was to be sacrificed to him.

And so, you grew. Child to teenager to beautiful young woman. Living a quiet life of worship under the guidance of the priestesses. Blooming like a lily, driving men mad, turning women green with envy. He had to keep the goddess of beauty from killing you out of jealousy a few times.

He came to visit you the night you turned eighteen, slipping into your bedroom silently and with bated breath. Originally, he’d meant just to look, but he couldn’t help his lips from brushing over your soft skin, his hands from cupping your supple breasts, his nose from breathing your scent deep as he jerked his silvery load onto your stomach. You stayed asleep, he made sure of it. He didn’t want to frighten you.

But he admittedly giggled at how you shuddered when you woke up the next morning.

All was well. He had just three years left to wait until you were finally his—a blink of an eye to him. Nothing could go wrong.

Until it did.

A huntress, of all people. One of the Moon Goddess’s brats. She ruined everything.

You ran into her at the agora when the hunt stopped to rest in your city. Her, with her toned muscles, tanned skin and perfect smile. He should have paid attention to how you blushed when she offered to carry your jug of wine back to the temple, he should have struck her down right then and there for daring to look at what was his, but he foolishly didn’t think too much of it. He thought it was cute that you’d made a friend.

Friend. That’s funny. Friends don’t dance with each other at the solstice festival. Friends don’t hold hands as they stargaze. Friends don’t tell each other that their life is their own, they don’t have to die for a god if that's not what they want.

Friends don’t sneak into the stables in the dead of night and take each other's virginity.

As she broke your hymen with careful fingers, he realized the first of his three greatest mistakes.

He’d made it so you’d never fall for a mortal man.

To call what he felt anger would be a disservice to the word, even rage was too weak. No, he was explosive. Tempestuous. His blood boiled like lava, his breath heaved like hurricane winds, the earth's mantle trembled with him as you moaned her name. Not once in the history of his existence had he ever felt so hysterically violent.

His second greatest mistake was made when he stormed down to the earth and strangled your lover with his bare hands.

She put up a fight, he’ll give her that, but even with her brute strength and years of training she could never hope to stand up to a god.

Thick vines sprouted from the ground, crawling up the wall to hold the huntress in place. She kicked and cursed but he remained steadfast, squeezing harder and harder until it looked like her head might pop.

You pled and wept as she turned blue, promising him your devotion, swearing you’d give him your life if he just let her go, but the bargaining fell upon deaf ears. With her last ounce of strength, your lovers eyes darted to you. She couldn’t speak, but her soul whispered ‘I love you.’

He wasn’t thinking about how she was vowed to the moon goddess as he killed her. He wasn’t considering the ramifications of murdering another deity’s child; a deity with equal power, no less. All he could think of as he wrung out the last of her life was how she’d claimed to love what is his, the woman he’d built specifically for himself.

You sprung up when he dropped her lifeless body, darting to her side to cradle her corpse in your arms. You couldn't see it, but the silvery orb of her soul drifted out of her mouth, heading northward toward the river where she’d be ushered away to the underworld, finally out of his hair. And while her absence granted some solace, there was still your betrayal to address.

His third and final mistake was taking you then. Yanking you off of her corpse by the arm and wordlessly magicking you and him to his bedroom.

All of it was carelessness. A failure by him to see past his anger. But once you were under him, completely bare and at his mercy, there was no logic or force in the universe that could keep him from taking you.

He didn’t think of the year left before you were to be his when he took your supple breast into his mouth, sucking and biting with fervor, ignoring your screams entirely. The red ring left branded around the areola was enough to clear his mind of the fact that you hadn’t been sacrificed properly.

When his hand snaked down to you deflowered cunt—the underlying knowledge making him all the more zealous when he shoved his fingers in, stretching you so much wider and further then she’d been capable of—he only thought of how tight you were squeezing him, how delicious your cries for mercy were. Not the fact that since your soul was never formally offered to him, you wouldn’t exist eternally as his sacrifice. You’d remain mortal and rot.

No, none of that mattered when he finally lined himself up, tapping the fat head of his cock on your barely prepped entrance. You cried and pleaded, staring up at him with those wide, beautiful doe eyes that he’d sprinkled with stardust two decades ago. And then, to his utter delight, you prayed,

“P-please. P-please, I live in your service, I offer you the life you so graciously created. P-please, don’t hurt me.”

You’d only done yourself a disservice.

He licked his lips as he pushed in, leaning down and nosing into the crook of your neck with mocking reverence. An agonized scream tore from your throat as he reclaimed what was always rightfully his.

The warmth calmed him, at least. Slowed him down so he could savor your fruit—just as ripe, even with a bite already taken from it. Each languid roll of his hips bulged out in your tummy, filling you with unrelenting intensity, the pressure practically popping your eyes from their sockets. His grip on your hips was just as uncompromising as his grip on your soul. Tight and possessive. Binding you with his power and brute strength.

Tears glimmered like little pearls rolling down your cheeks. He licked each one carefully, thinking only how you tasted of seafoam, not how the beads were a byproduct of the agony he was forcing upon you. But even if your comfort had crossed his mind, he wouldn’t have cared. This was your lesson. Your punishment for renouncing your faith. Any pain you felt you brought upon yourself.

“Mine.” he growled, scooping you up so you sat upright in his lap, giving him full reign to jackhammer into your cunt, “Mine.” He roared this time, squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to stare into his stormy eyes.

“I sculpted your flesh.” A splitting thrust. “I put breath in your lungs.” Another. “The only reason you exist is because I chose to make it so.”

Then, he was voracious. Filling you greedily. Burying himself hard and fast into your guts, delighting in your miserable sobs and admissions of guilt. Manically he smiled, wrapping a hand around your throat as he approached the end.

“Yeah, fucking beg.” he ordered, “Say you love me.” his thrusts punishing now, “Say you love me, mortal.”

You could barely breathe, and yet, through the pain and grief you managed to rasp it out though a wobbly sob,

“I-I love you.”

That finished him, and the end was rapturous. He’d known heaven since creation, but spilling his load in your cunt somehow took him beyond it. Your little human heart fluttered like a bird, flapping it’s soft wings against his chest as he claimed you as his own.

“Mine.” he promised. And you didn't have the strength to argue.

There were nearly five more rounds before his anger finally quelled. Only then did the gravity of his actions dawn on him.

First, and most pressingly, the sacrilege.

The moon goddess had to have noticed that one of her daughters had died, and judging by the eclipse blackening the night sky, she was not happy.

She was likely in Hell now, bartering with the god of death for her soul so she could turn her into a star, that way she’d rest with her goddess and the rest of her fallen sisters in death. But once she was done there, he would be her next stop.

There was no way of covering it up. Between the vines miraculously grown in the middle of a barn and the natural disasters brought about by his tantrum, his guilt was pretty much cemented.

A fight between the two of them could be devastating. It would wipe out entire continents. This wasn’t a fickle spat like the secondary gods and goddesses got into, this was dangerous.

And then, there was you.

Obviously, he couldn’t allow you to remain mortal. It would be pointless to keep a lover that would rot away. You’d have to drink from the river, that was the only other way for a mortal to become immortal. But unfortunately, any decision having to do with the river tended to be a rather tedious chore. He only controlled the first half of the waterway.

The other half belonged to the God of Death.

He’d always been a pain in the ass, ever since inception. They had no true reason to hate each other—they actually complimented each other quite well, he’d go as far as to consider him a friend… or frenemy maybe—but they tended to squabble. Really, it was just pointless competition, but getting him to agree to let you drink would take time, if he ever agreed at all, and you only had so much life.

Really, there wasn’t much he could do but wait for the moon goddess and pray they could strike a deal.

Of course she came, absolutely fuming, demanding to know why he’d thought her daughter was his to discard of. For some time, they argued. Him that he’d created her daughter, and her that he’d committed blasphemy. It was a long and venomous fight, but shockingly, it didn’t result in war.

It resulted in something worse.

You came peaking out into the throne room—despite explicit instruction to stay put in his bed—and fell to your knees in front of the goddess. Groveling. Begging for her to bring you to her daughter, hysterically professing your love for the girl until his vines bound and gagged you.

The moon goddess looked at you, then back at him, and the terror on his face must have made things clear. She walked over to your trembling body and laid a gentle hand on your forehead. Before he could stop her, she pulled your shimmery gold soul from your head and released it into the sky. The vines went limp with your body.

“We're even now.” was all she said before disappearing, leaving him distraught and helpless as your soul began its journey north.

He’d tried to reason with himself. He could make a new lover, someone even better. But it was a fruitless effort. He wanted you. He needed you.

Finally, he understood why death terrified the humans so deeply.

He needed to get your soul back. There was no getting around it. But that would prove even harder then making you immortal.

You must have reached the banks of the river by now; started drifting downstream to the afterlife. Your soul belonged to death the moment it left your body. The only way to retrieve it would be if the scales of judgment decided you’d done enough good to deserve reincarnation. You’d denounced the God that protected you, so he highly doubted the odds were in your favor.

Still, there was another way. An incredibly dangerous way, but a way, all the same.

He could steal your soul from the river.

For him to touch it now would be an even bigger offense than murdering the moon goddesses daughter. Both he and death know that the souls in their care are the most sacred of their responsibilities, to take one that’s been transferred would be a betrayal of the greatest kind. When death found out, the results would be catastrophic.

But still, he did it. He did it for love.

He quickly brought your soul to his workbench, trying to push down the lump that grew in his throat when he saw how dim and grey it had become, and started rebuilding.

This time he was careful. He rectified his first mistake—made it so that you’d never love any mortal, choosing to focus all of your devotion on your god—and he gave the priestesses strict instructions to keep you sheltered from the world. You were to live quietly, shrouded from any of the worlds temptations, kept completely and wholly pure for him.

Then, with a gentle kiss for luck, he sent you down the river, marked for rebirth.

It would be years, he knew, until he saw you again. Reincarnation took far more time than regular birth. You’d likely be drifting on the stream for decades—centuries even—before you finally reentered the world. But that was ok. For you, he’d wait.

Shockingly, he didn’t hear from Death. He'd been prepared to fight, to spend years arguing and negotiating and trying not to destroy the earth, but he never stepped foot in his palace. The only acknowledgment that he'd wronged him came in the form of a shadow messenger, relaying in a crackling, ear grating voice:

I will let your offense go unseen, but know that I will only grant this charity once. If you come near me or my domain again, there will be war.

And truthfully, he couldn’t have been more pleased with the arrangement. Of course, he was saddened to have lost a friend and partner, but he’d gained something far more valuable: a second chance. He was content to never step foot into the underworld again if it meant having you in his bed where you belonged.

---

Not once did he think he’d step foot in his palace again. He never thought he’d have reason to.

But here he is, held down by his shadows. Blood boiling hotter than the flames surrounding him.

His counterpart smirks down lazily from his throne, where he has you sat on his lap, speared on his cock.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” he purrs, languidly petting your tear-dampened cheek, “Have you finally decided to repent, old friend?”

suguru geto + satoru gojo, hajime iwaizumi + tooru oikawa, aizawa shouta + hizashi yamada, bakugo katsuki + izuku midoriya, bakugo katsuki + kirishima eijiro

PART 1 - Sacrifice

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the-wanderer-2022 · 1 month ago

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To The One Who Just Wanted Some Fucking Peace

Trigger warning: Suicide, self-harm, swearing

I was raised a Jehovah’s Witness. I tell that to every person I meet even though I sometimes think it’s overkill. But that was 23 years of hell.

There is a line in Dreamgirls, in the song “I Am Changing”, that says “all those years of darkness, could make a person blind.”

I cannot fully describe what it is like to wake up from a cult. It’s like looking at your partner and realizing they were always a piece of shit and you just kept dressing them up nicely. You make excuses for them. You love them when their ugly side is glaringly plain to everyone else around them. And then one day they do something so ridiculously horrible, or maybe nothing, maybe it’s just you that changes. And you roll over. And you look in their eyes. And you know what you see? A big fat stop sign.

How do I describe what it took to get to the age of 23 as a Jehovah’s Witness. I don’t know how my family still do it.

You’re second class because you’re a woman. I still remember when my Dad asked me to send a WhatsApp message to the field service group because COVID meant it was cancelled. Oh no. A little black woman telling us door to door is cancelled? Not on our watch.

I wanted peace. I did everything I could. I studied. I read. I cried. I prayed. And when none of that seemed to work, it became obvious. God didn’t like me. “Just you?” My mom would say. Oh see you see it too then? He doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like any of us evidently because when you like someone, you don’t devote 90% of your time together telling them to be better or get a firestone with their name inscribed on it. You just don’t do it.

I had depression at the age of 13. By the time I hit 23, Christianity had given me just enough of a sampling of love that I concluded this had to be a knock off.

I lost my family. Any ex-Jehovahs witness knows they take their shunning seriously. But as Wonder Woman told her mother when she left Themyscira, “who would I be if I stay?” The answer for me, was a body bag. I wish there had been another way. But it was that or a judicial committee and I’ll be damned if they were going to say THEY kicked me out. No. I initiated that break up, not you.

You would think that meant things got better. After all, Christianity promises that God has a plan, and you just need to surrender, or maybe not quite so hard and some action is required, and maybe God likes you but maybe not so much if you don’t tithe properly and man my head is spinning just thinking about it.

Things. Things. Leaving Jehovahs Witnesses didn’t make the suicidal ideation go away. Because I still kept hitting walls. I didn’t like being here. On earth. Whatever they called it. I must have gone from new age to Christianity to new age to Christianity and back again 3 or 4 times. I could also just be an atheist.

But I don’t want to be an atheist because to be in atheist makes humans the highest authority and if that was the case, regardless of what my fellow humans chose, I would rather just be dead. It means you don’t believe in miracles and you don’t believe in magic and that means the world is just a cold grey lump, and so am I. I wrote that one off.

But what happens after new age fails you. You’re not aligned. You’re not perfect enough. You need to micro manage your thoughts to get the Universe to “bless” you. Sounds a lot like Christianity with some altered terminology to make it palatable.

But today something happened. And I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I don’t want to try and guess the next step in a path of which I am not certain.

Today, I looked in the mirror in the midst of my suicidal ideation. I was moving slow. Music didn’t help. My head was heavy. I was starting to cry which is kind of sad too because when you’ve finished crying and there’s still nothing to do, you’re just numb.

I looked in the mirror. And I named off, every one of my fears.

“I love the one who wishes she could fuck up my family the same way they fucked her up.”

“I love the one who wants to get the fuck off this planet.”

“I love the one who thinks life is a fucking joke.”

After 5 minutes, I felt better. I was so intrigued I did it again. I felt a bit better too.

Normally when I get suicidal, I just weep and grieve until it stops. I’m kind of at its mercy. This time, I was able to lift myself out.

What does it mean? I do not know. Could this be a sign?

To the one who just wanted some fucking peace. Maybe it’s time to start showing yourself a little more love. No one else will if you don’t.

#suicidal ideation #mental health #healing journey #ex jw #mirror work #trauma recovery #inner child #spiritual abuse #faith crisis #leaving religion

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the-wanderer-2022 · 2 months ago

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 17

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 17 Warnings:

GRAPHIC NON-CON AHEAD. Angst. A long-starved Snowball. You've been warned.

Replay Level 16

Ready? Level 17 Start:

“I still can’t believe he hasn’t at least tried to come up here and see you even once.”

Livia raises her eyebrow in curious disbelief as she lounges on the sloped armrest of the sofa at the foot of the king-sized bed. That’s the first thing she did after she came to your hotel room to drop off the wedding gown from Tigris – collapse dramatically on the sofa while you roll your eyes and give her a wine cooler from the hotel’s mini-fridge.

Sinking into one of the beanbag chairs across her, you give her a dispassionate stare and reply, “He’s called me in the mornings, mid-afternoons, nights…he calls whenever he pleases. He’s called so many times since, the hotel staff just gave him the extension number.”

“So, he’s horny all the time, but patient. Great combination.”

You simply ignore the comment while your maid of honour lolls her head around to observe your hotel room. Under your breath, you mutter, “Don’t worry. After three days he’s going to be seeing me for the rest of our lives.”

Your friend sighs at your morose comment and clutches her heart in a mockingly emotional display. “I know. Three days ‘till Day Zero. I can’t fucking believe it.”

She then gets to her feet and makes a beeline to the hotel mini fridge.

“This suite must’ve cost your honorary in-laws a fortune,” she says with a mildly impressed tone as she inspects the complimentary contents of the fridge.

A gift from Ma Plinth, who had kindly arranged your one-week stay in this lovely suite in The Palisades Hotel, citing how the bride needs some time away from the groom to make the preparations before the fateful day.

Livia settles on another bottle of wine cooler and pops it open. With eyes narrowed at you, she says, “Somebody’s been gorging on hotel chocolates…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She gives you a piercing stare as if she’s trying to catch you on a lie, but you meet her eyes with your bored ones. She decides to let it go and changes the topic. “Listen: remember that bridesmaid I told you about? The one with a sour look, large flat face like a frying pan?”

“No, I barely know half of them.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” she says with a curl of her lips in disapproval. “Anyway, you’ve already gone home by then, but she came to me after the dress rehearsals, complaining about the colour of the gowns – you know, like she doesn’t have enough craters on her face for her to complain about. And that hair colour! What was she thinking, dyeing it in that atrocious shade? She looks like she got dipped in a vat of expired ketchup. Talk about rusty nail chic –”

“Cardew, your point?” you interrupt, although you can’t help the amused grin on your face – you’ve always found it rather entertaining when she goes into one of her rants.

She just rolls her eyes in her classic fashion and continues, “Yeah, anyway, I told her that she has the right to voice her opinion, no matter how shitty and invalid – I mean, come on, the gown clashes with her horribly because of her hair – so long story short, I’m pulling in my cousin to replace her.”

You blink twice to make sure you heard her correctly before you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

“He’s not going to be happy about the sudden change in the entourage.”

“I thought we’re past caring what he thinks, Innis? Don’t tell me he’s already managed to snake-charm you?” She challenges you with a smirk before chugging the last contents of her wine cooler. “Have you actually fallen in love with Coriolanus Snow and his blue eyes and blon-”

You grab a mini bottle of whiskey from the nearby serving trolley and chuck it at her. She unfortunately catches the bottle with a high-pitched cackle and puts it in her pocket as a ‘souvenir.’

“But that’s not what I came here for.” She takes out a list from her pocket and hands it to you. “Your schedule for the next two days.”

You inspect the list with your eyebrows raised at her chosen stationery – pink, glossy and mildly scented with gardenias – only to develop a frown the more you read the to-do list she made for you.

Mani-pedi. Laser facials. Non-invasive face contouring.

“‘Full-body hair laser treatment?’” You give her a mildly horrified look which she just laughs at.

“What, you need me to hold your hand during the process?”

You shoot a half-hearted glare her way which she dismisses with another guffaw.

“No complaining, or I’ll throw in bum hole bleaching.”

The little threat seems to do a great job shutting down whatever grievances you initially had with the list. You decide to inquire about a more pressing matter.

“Is it done?” you ask her solemnly.

She sighs exasperatedly and turns to you as she picks up her bag from the couch. “Yes, yes it is. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little favour of yours. Did you really think I’m going to pass on the opportunity to piss him off just a little bit? It’s been taken care of. Stop worrying too much, you’re going to get bags under your eyes. They’re already too prominent as it is.”

“Hey!”

Putting on her coat, she scrunches her nose at you and continues berating you, “And stop eating too many sweets! Might I remind you, sweet little Nellie –” she puts on a mock-condescending tone as she adjusts your hair – “Photos are permanent. Think of the future generations of Snow! They’re going to look at your wedding photos and think their great matriarch gorged on a little too much cake on her wedding day.”

You grimace, not knowing what terrifies you more: the consequences you’ll face for not fitting in your gown on Day Zero or the implication of one day spreading his accursed genes.

“Cardew, kindly get the fuck out of my hotel room, thanks.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, Innis. See you tomorrow, maybe. At the hotel bar.” Another set of unhinged cackling and she’s gone, closing the door behind her.

But you were already shaking your head and laughing along even before she closed the door.

That door opens after a just few seconds, with Livia’s head popping in to tell you just this one final thing:

“One final thing: tell your dearly beloved – or your maids, I don’t care who – tell them to start packing your things for that beach trip if you don’t want me to pack for you. Swimsuits, beach coverups, the like. Coriolanus is dead set on that honeymoon.”

You launch yourself face-first onto the bed with a loud groan.

Day Zero.

Right before you in the full-length mirror is a woman you don’t recognise. She’s made to look ethereal, wrapped from head to toe in intricate white lace and veiled in delicate white tulle – every bit the virginal bride she’s meant to be.

It would’ve been perfect in every way if all this work meant you’d end up in Sejanus’s arms before the day was over.

“I hate to admit it, Innis, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

Livia’s backhanded compliment thankfully pulls you away from your spiralling negative thoughts.

She’s come to help make some last-minute arrangements for your gown, commenting, “Tigris did wonders on your wedding gown, I must say. I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts getting more clients after they see you in this number.”

You gasp for air involuntarily when she adjusts the lacing around your waist tighter than it already is.

“Fucking hell, there are more efficient ways to kill me aside from suffocating me in a corset, Cardew.”

“From drop-dead gorgeous to just dropping dead.” She snorts in laughter before feigning a contemplative look. “Hey, maybe then I can take your place. I think I’d look better in that gown, anyway.

“Now, stop whining. We’ve only got less than twenty minutes until the ceremony begins, so we better head downstairs.”

Livia helps lift the train of your veil as you both head to the hotel room door.

“Break a neck, Innis. Or Leg. Whichever’s more convenient.”

Inwardly, you take a deep breath and muster all the courage you have to step out of the suite.

This is happening, you tell yourself. There is no other choice and he’s made sure of it.

“Thanks, Cardew. You always manage to lift my spirits with your encouraging words,” you say in an attempt to be sarcastic, but she recognises the apprehension in your voice.

“You’ll be fine,” she says Give him hell. If not now, I’m sure we’ll find ways in the future.”

You get into an elevator and reach the hotel lobby, otherwise empty except for staff, and a man you’d recognise even just by a second-long glance at his hair.

“Good, the guests have all been escorted to – hey, where are you going, the hall’s the other way -!”

But you’re already frantically sprinting – which in your skin-tight gown, five-inch heels and trained veil, is a feat – to the man you have not seen in over three months.

“Uncle Cas!”

You can’t care less if your scream echoes in the lobby, or if you bust a seam in your gown, or if your maid of honour is running after you with indignant curses – you all but ram straight into your uncle in a bear hug.

“Plumcake – ow, easy there, plumcake, broken rib –”

That little wince in his expression makes you pull away, your joy at finally seeing him again after such a long time dampened with deep concern for his wellbeing.

“What?” You try to inspect his form for any other injury, which is hard because he’s wearing this fine, custom-tailored suit and he’s always been good with hiding these things from you. “Uncle, what happened to you? Did he do this? Did he have you beat up? Did he –”

But he silences you with a gentle, thrilled look. “I’m happy to see you too, you look like a vision. Relax. This was just from a…scuffle before I left that hellhole they call a work camp. Hey, don’t cry now, you wouldn’t want those ugly mascara tears all over your cheeks on your wedding day.”

You can’t help the laughter you let out despite your eyes swimming in tears. A tissue is shoved in roughly in your hands by a cross Livia.

“He’s right, be careful with your makeup. Gosh, finally. An Innis with common sense. Hello Mr Innis. It’s an honour to meet you. I’m Livia Cardew, Nellie’s maid of honour,” She turns to your uncle with a warm smile, putting her hand out which he shakes. “The organiser asked me to tell you that you’re going to give your speech shortly after the appetizers. I can give you and Nellie five minutes, tops.” With a final reproving look at you, she adds, “Don’t run off like that again, Innis, or I’ll tell your lovely husband-to-be, who I’m sure will have no problem having you strapped to a chair the entire afternoon.”

Uncle Cas’s gaze follows your maid of honour’s retreating figure with raised eyebrows. “New friend, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” you reply distractedly. “Uncle, what speech?”

“Nothing, just a father of the bride thing,” he replies with a shrug. “After all, I paid for all this shit.”

Oh no. Knowing your uncle’s penchant for passive-aggressiveness, he might just deliberately give your soon-to-be husband another reason to put him in exile.

“Don’t you worry about anything, my little plumcake.” Perhaps he notices your distressed expression and assures you with a gentle pat on your head and a sanguine smile. “You know, when I read your letters to that Plinth boy, I prepared myself for the possibility of one day handing you over to him on a day like this. I truly wish the circumstances were better. But hey…it’s still your wedding, so you enjoy the fuck out of this day, yes?”

You give him a subdued smile and nod, even if you know finding joy in this day is close to impossible.

The grin on Uncle Cas’s face widens and even turns gleeful. “Don’t let that milque-toast cunt ruin this day for you. You deserve to have some fun at your own wedding. When your aunt Marcelline and I got married – this was during the reception – I remember the two of us running off straight to the bushes to ma –”

You let out a dramatic groan to cut off what would’ve been another colourful recollection of his time with his ex-wife. “Uncle please, spare me the details for when I've had enough alcohol.”

He just erupts into bouts of lighthearted chuckles, which you find so infectious you find yourself giggling along. Livia clears her throat loudly from down the hallway and your uncle lets out an audible exhale, his expression turning a little bit more serious.

“Come on.” Uncle Cas holds his arm out for you to take. “I still have to hand you over to that bastard cunt.”

Coriolanus Snow rarely ever gets excited these days, but today is something else entirely.

This day is a culmination of years of hard work, careful planning, and – sometimes – pure luck, trying to get you to tear your walls down and let him in your life. This is the day he gets to whisk you away from your little world and set your path eternally on his in every way possible. And, if he’s being honest with himself, seeing all his efforts come to fruition, it isn’t what he expected.

It feels certainly much more fucking satisfying.

He watches with sharp eyes the guests that have gathered, enduring the entrance of the entourage as patiently as he can – if he knew it’s going to take this long for the procession to get to you, he would’ve done away with them altogether – while he maintains the image of a man who couldn’t be happier anywhere else in the world, because he is. He just wishes they’d hurry up and shove you right into the altar so you could both get the reception over with and then he can whisk you away to your new permanent home.

The procession finally comes to an end, and Coriolanus’s heart skips a beat, watching the door to the hall like a hawk and waiting for his beautiful, blushing bride to enter.

Except you don’t.

Granted, he’s just been waiting for all but six seconds. Still, he had expected you already awaiting your cue not far off from the hall doors and ready to march in with that bastard you call an uncle, taking slow, graceful steps towards your husband, your betrothed, your soulmate, so every second you’re not there, Coriolanus’ mind descends to the worst scenario his brain can come up with; it’s probably your uncle, the obtrusive little rebel-prick, who managed once again to derail his plans and keep you from him at the last minute. The fist inside his pocket curls and uncurls, his mind going on overdrive while he keeps his cool, unbothered composure – he has time to find you; if he just moves fast, he can get you back, even if that means he has to drag you back to the ceremony in front of Capitol eyes just so he can finally put that damn ring on your finger, sign the contract and –

His breath catches in his throat and any thoughts of hunting you down are dispelled – Coriolanus’s brain short-circuits at the sight of you, swathed in white lace with your white tulle veil…you’re a celestial vision, and everyone in attendance seems to agree. They let out a collective gasp when you enter, completely captivated.

Coriolanus is rarely rendered speechless, but at this moment, he’s utterly entranced at the sight of you, his bride, his wife, walking down the aisle towards him.

Aside from that affectionate warmth your sight evokes in his otherwise cold, dead heart, his eyes rake over that wedding gown hugging your form in all the right places. He feels something else stirring in him the more he burns this image of you, unblemished in white, in his memory – something raw and primal, wanting very much to corrupt that soft, supple skin teasing him through that delicate lace –

He blinks just once, shaking himself momentarily from his train of thought and makes a mental note to add more to Tigris’ allowance in thanks.

You pause just a few feet away from the altar, where the Innis prick readjusts his grip on your arm while Coriolanus steps forward to claim you from your father figure. He meets Acacius Innis’s eyes head-on, and for a fraction of a second, Coriolanus sees something akin to murderous intent in the older man’s stare. Of course, Coriolanus is too ecstatic to let him sully this moment for him. He looks on, feigning a fond expression, as you and your uncle hug one last time before you take your betrothed’s outstretched hand and let go of the other arm almost trying to keep you rooted to the spot.

Another wave of victory for the future patriarch of the great Snow clan: him symbolically wrenching you away from the clutches of the Innis patriarch.

“You look beautiful, Nellie,” Coriolanus whispers so only you can hear, his gaze unwavering and reverent. He could spend a lifetime just looking at you right now and it wouldn’t be nearly enough for him.

For a moment you meet his eyes as he guides you to the altar. Although it’s hard to gauge through the veil what you’re feeling, he can tell how nervous you are just by the tremors he feels in your hand. He gives it a little squeeze, doing his best to assure you that everything will be alright.

After all, how could it not? You’re marrying him. Everything else will right itself after.

The officiator, none other than President Ravenstill’s right-hand man and political advisor Rufus McClintock, clears his throat and begins to address the entire hall.

“We have convened on this fateful day for the union of two of the most brilliant minds in all of Panem. The couple standing before me today has proven, as it has been proven time and again, that out of the ashes of war and death and tribulation victoriously emerge a love so pure, that those here to behold it also behold a future so bright for our beloved City.”

Whatever. His head is buzzing with a single thought: you’re but a few seconds away from being his wife. His. Hishishis.

“Today, the youthful and rightful heirs of the noble Snow and Innis families allow us the privilege to witness their love, as they bring honour and glory to our country with their joining through marriage. To bear witness to this joyous celebration of love and trust is to get a glimpse of the future of the Capitol.

“To the bride, Prunella Innis: you are to take this man, Coriolanus Snow, to be your husband by law, and are to be bound to him – body, mind and soul – from this day henceforth until your death.”

McClintock turns to you and asks, “Do you consent?”

The entire hall waits in bated breath for your response. It takes you a few seconds longer than he had envisioned, so he gives your hand another squeeze. Whether you take it as an assurance or a threat, Coriolanus doesn’t care.

“I do.”

He tries not to show how relieved he is by releasing the breath he's holding in as imperceptibly as he can.

You said ‘I do.’

“To the groom, Coriolanus Snow: you are to take this woman, Prunella Innis, to be your wife by law, and are to be bound to her – body, mind and soul – from this day henceforth until your death.”

You said ‘I do.’

“Do you consent?” The officiator pauses for the groom, but he doesn’t really have to.

“I do,” Coriolanus replies without an ounce of hesitation.

McClintock smiles warmly and clasps his hands together. “Then, according to the laws of Panem, you are hereby declared husband and wife. To show your undying love to the people of Panem, you may now share your first kiss as an official wedded couple.”

Coriolanus does not need to be told twice. He lifts your veil for his eyes to indulge in your beauty for but a few seconds. With both arms pulling you close, he firmly plants his lips on yours, savouring this symbolic act – you’re now officially, undoubtedly, irrevocably his, and now the entire country knows it. He holds on to the kiss by cupping both your cheeks – he might’ve whispered ‘mine,’ too – before letting go. He would’ve loved to take it a bit further than that, but he figures he has all night to get it done. He pulls away just in time to see you flushed and just a little breathless.

The guests erupt to resounding clapping and cheering – with Festus and the rest of his former male Academy classmates whooping and barking – while a dozen or so cameras flash as they take snapshots of the newly wedded couple. He acknowledges the crowd with his best beam and flashes Festus a knowing smirk. The official photographer asks for a few more poses, all of which he complies with his usual flair, pulling you close to him and encasing you in his arms in an almost possessive fashion. He can feel your reluctance, but you follow his lead anyway. He wouldn’t even need to look at the photos later to tell that the entire wedding album would turn out great just because you’re in it.

After the photo-op is declared over, he gives you one more peck on the lips and steers you down the aisle. He stares almost longingly as you get ushered by a beaming Livia Cardew (for touch-ups, she says) away from his grasp and back to your hotel suite. He too, gets led away by Festus to his own suite for the day to wait until they’re called back to the reception, where by now, the guests should’ve been ushered to and plied with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

Coriolanus absentmindedly stares at himself in the mirror and fidgets on the rose boutonnière on his lapel. He automatically smiles at Tigris when she comes in to replace it with a fresher one. He feigns disappointment when she says she has to take the grandma’am home due to her aching limbs, but inwardly approves of the decision; he can’t have the old woman running her mouth and potentially offending his guests.

“Let the maid take her home,” he replies to Tigris with a big grin. “A lot of people are going to talk about Nellie’s gown; you might want to take this chance to secure new clientele.”

He nods in approval when Tigris seems to relent.

“I’ll walk her to the car, then.”

Coriolanus bids the grandma’am goodbye with a kiss on her cheek and smiles at her when she mistakes him for his father. There was a time he had wished as a kid that he looked more like his mother; he has since then learned how to take pride in his features, and he’ll be damned sure his future children will do the same, regardless of who they take after in terms of looks.

Besides – he muses, combing back a stray lock of his platinum blond hair – if they ever look like you, they’d be turning heads just as much as you do.

Satisfied with his sleek hair, he readjusts his bowtie and boutonnière almost obsessively as he waits for the cue to join the reception. He'll be with you again, and then after the reception, he’ll get you alone – the first night out of many more you’ll spend together as husband and wife.

Coriolanus can hardly wait.

The clicking of glasses in unison resounds in the grand hall, and the festive, lighthearted chatter dies down at once. Coriolanus had the both of you sit on a separate table alone at the reception, so you watch Uncle Cas stand from the table of close family members, with Tigris and the Plinths, as he begins his speech as the father figure of the bride.

Acacius Innis begins with his usual jovial, carefree tone, "Good evening to everyone in attendance tonight: ladies, gentlemen, those who refuse to conform to gender norms, and those who came here simply for the booze and the cake…”

He pauses, beaming at the laughter from the crowd before continuing, “I thank you for gracing us with your presence as we honour the lovely newly wedded couple on this lovely day.” He turns to me with an almost wistful smile. “I stand today, feeling a mixture of emotions seeing my niece, my only remaining blood, and the young man who’s tied the knot with her. There have been many twists and turns that lead us to this moment, from the first day my niece was first subjected to the groom’s relentless pursuit –” you immediately find Coriolanus’s hand and squeeze it so he doesn’t lunge at him “– and now to where Nellie, my beautiful, smart, independent, and brave little girl, will now be forever...in the clutches of Coriolanus Snow.”

The guests clap lightly, and someone from the entourage table, likely Festus, yells ‘Hear hear!’; Uncle Cas just has his eyes on you as you smile back, the meaning of his words lost on everyone in the hall except for you both. His eyes turn cold as he fixes them on the man beside you who’s clutching your hand as if he’s drawing comfort for this ordeal.

“Our enigmatic groom,” Uncle Cas drones. “With his deadly charm, his unmatched cunning, and lastly, his unwavering affections for my niece – all of which are at times a little terrifying, but admirable traits, nonetheless.”

Coriolanus’s grip on your hand tightens by a noticeable fraction.

“This union is nothing short of...impactful in the lives of everyone involved, and therefore a reason for us to celebrate, despite my niece’s occasional glances towards the nearest exit.”

The guests burst into collective laughter while you stifle your own with your palm. Even Coriolanus joins in despite his jaw tensing.

Uncle Cas waves a hand and the guests’ laughter dies down, and then he raises his glass to us – a gesture so bittersweet, you can almost feel your heart breaking just a little bit.

“A toast to this beautiful couple – may they flourish in their journey in life, love, and everything else in between. Cheers."

The rest of the reception passes in a haze of both familiar and unfamiliar faces, congratulatory words, free-flowing booze and delicious cake. You’re even on your third slice so far when Livia snatches it away.

“Innis, if you have to go through the five stages of grief, get to the ‘acceptance’ part real quick so you don’t drown yourself in cake.” She then curses softly to herself as she sits down beside you and takes a huge forkful of said cake. “Fuck, I keep forgetting you’re a Snow now. That’ll take some time getting used to…”

Only in the limousine ride back ‘home’ does it sink into you.

You’re married.

To Coriolanus Snow.

And he’s currently almost dragging you by the waist inside Corso I, to the elevator, and finally to the door of the original Snow penthouse.

“Even during ancient times, it was customary for the groom to escort the bride through the doors of their home,” Coriolanus’s cool voice drawls as he opens the door for you. “This practice indicated that the bride is now the property of the groom.”

He stares down at you with an almost haughty look, the corner of his lip lifting upwards as he gestures for you to enter, of course, with a rather threatening hand at the small of your back. With that gesture in mind, you cross the threshold of his home while he drones on about the tradition.

“The significance is lost today, but I understand why people still do it: it feels satisfying, knowing your wife, the love of your life, is now under your protection, a part of your property.”

As he closes the door behind him, you spot a couple of maids in uniform almost trying to blend in with the wallpaper.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm from the foyer to the sitting room. The last time you saw a glimpse of it, it was almost empty except for a few threadbare furniture – now, the entire home has been restored expertly and filled with all kinds of modern furniture, emphasising its art deco leanings.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Coriolanus whispers before pulling you flush to his chest and tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “Welcome to your new home, sugarplum.”

The entire Snow penthouse has always been impressive, but almost immediately, you spot what’s missing. It’s too quiet, too empty.

“Where are Tigris and the Grandma’am?” You ask in a hushed tone. What has he done to them?

“I moved them to the other apartment,” he replies dismissively as if he’s merely talking about a piece of furniture he gave away.

“Coryo, they’ve lived here for decades, wh –”

He shushes you with a forefinger to your lips before wrapping his arms around you. “Tigris can better focus on her career there. That place will be good for her. I hired a caretaker for the grandma’am, too, but because of my dear cousin’s little stint trying to help you get away, that caregiver has been made unavailable until after three more months.

“Relax,” he adds with a chuckle not quite reaching his eyes as he sees your horrified expression. He cups both your cheeks and smiles – this would’ve been an affectionate gesture if it wasn’t for those blue eyes completely devoid of warmth.

“But I suppose I have to be honest with my wife: I wanted this apartment for selfish reasons. This is the apartment where my father established his family. I want to do the same.”

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he places a lingering kiss on your forehead and whispers against your skin:

“It’s in this home where you and I will begin the Snow legacy anew.”

You’re frozen to your spot while he pulls away and clicks his tongue at the maids for them to come closer.

“I want her ready in one hour,” he demands cryptically before walking out of your sight.

The maids wordlessly gesture for you to follow them to what you presume is a guest bedroom, where one of them, a woman who seems to be in her fifties, starts making elaborate hand gestures that you recognise as sign language. An Avox.

The other maid, who looks like a younger version of her, meekly speaks without meeting your eyes, “She asks if she can take off your gown, mistress Snow.”

The moment you nod, that’s when they begin to work – the older maid helping you out of your gown, while the other prepares your bath – they’re given only an hour, after all. You choose not to ask them any questions or make it Any more difficult for them as it is, so when they present you with just a pair of lace panties and a sheer baby doll slip in white when you step out of the bath, you fight the urge to run away and instead ask them for privacy so you can put them on without complaints.

As you comb your hair right before the mirror, you stare at your scantily-clad self. Maybe back then, you were in denial about what was coming ahead, banishing it to the back of your mind until the absolute last moment. You realise now that it was naïve, even stupid of you, not to expect this at all, and now that you’re about to face it, all you can think of is how you’re absolutely not fucking ready for this night.

A knock on the guestroom door almost makes you jump out of your skin. They’ve come to retrieve you, so on impulse, you raid the nearby dresser for any kind of cover-up and settle for a silk robe a few sizes too big for you.

You follow them blindly to the opposite side of the hallway, halting when they reach the final door. They knock thrice before stepping back, and the door opens to reveal Coriolanus, who’s shed his wedding tux and replaced it with a crimson silk robe, with his initials C.S. embroidered on the breast pocket.

He steps aside, his expression unreadable, as he waits for you to come in. You hesitate only for a few seconds, and already his jaw tenses – he pulls you into the dimly-lit entryway, and, with a final cryptic order to the maids of ‘you know what to do,’ he nearly slams the door behind him and drags you further into the bedroom by the arm. He releases you just as the four-poster bed comes into view, and you remain standing at the end of the entryway as he crosses the threshold himself.

“This,” he waves around the room, explaining with a hint of pride, “Is the master’s bedroom, where my father and mother used to sleep. It’s only fitting that we spend our first night together as husband and wife in the same room they did.”

Those blue eyes, land on you, glinting with anticipation. He clicks his tongue when he notices the robe you’re wearing.

“That wasn’t part of the set I gifted you,” he chastises.

His next command makes your heart rate soar through the roof.

“Take the robe off, sugarplum, and come to me.”

You keep your feet planted on the floor and not move a single muscle.

“Nellie. Come here,” he repeats.

But the way his eyes seem to rake over your body makes your instincts flare, screaming for you to stay as far away from him as possible.

“Coryo, please...”

His eyes flash danger in the dim lighting and his jaw clenches at your disobedience.

“I said. Come. To. Me.”

Fight or flight, a voice in your head whispers.

It’s an easy choice, according to your legs – you run to the door, but your footsteps on the robe’s dangling tie and you almost stumble into the carpeted floor, but a pair of strong arms break the fall by grabbing your arms and pinning you to the wall face-first.

Coriolanus’s voice is a displeased snarl over your ear. “You will come to me when I say so, wife.”

It’s easy for him to yank the silk robe off your body now that the tie has been undone, so once he gets rid of the robe, he wraps his arms around your torso and hauls your struggling form back into the bedroom. He slams you to the bed and straddles your thighs with his knees.

Immediately, you flail your arms at him, but that doesn’t deter him from grabbing what he can of your dress and tearing it off your body.

“No, no…!”

Somehow, you manage to wriggle free with all that flailing and kicking, so even if he’s already succeeded in tearing off your gown, a little hope blooms in your chest when you reach the door. You try yanking it open, but it remains shut. Outside, you can hear a faint, dull rattling against the door and somehow, you just know:

He had the room locked from the outside.

That little hope instantly morphs into despair as you pound on the door.

“No, no, you can’t be fucking –”

An all-too-familiar sound makes you freeze – the jingling of a belt buckle – before you’re dragged away again, screaming, by the man whose impatience is rolling off him in waves. As soon as he throws you back into the bed, he’s on top of you, grabbing both your wrists and raising them to the headboard.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to fuck you, sugarplum?” he says, and you get a glimpse of him – his face contorted in frustration, his hair tousled from the struggle, his robe slightly hanging off his left shoulder – while he straddles your waist and ties your wrists to the headboard with his belt.

“No…” you whisper, tugging at restraints in vain. At this point, you’re fighting back a sob from escaping – he’s tied you so securely you can’t even wriggle your wrists.

“I’ve waited too long,” Coriolanus says. “Far too long.”

Your eyes sting as the tears finally come forth, and you start to plead, hoping he’d listen just this once.

“No, please, Coryo, please...”

But whatever plea you have forming dies in your throat when you meet his eyes.

They’re dark, heated, hungry, even, not quite matching the gentle way he cups your right cheek and attempts to comfort you.

“Shh, don’t cry. You have nothing to be afraid of, my sugarplum…I’m only helping you fulfil your duties,” he says as he dips his head closer to yours, capturing your lips roughly with his in a dominating, possessive kiss. You don’t bother keeping your lips shut, not when he’s kissed you like this many times before, with his tongue exploring as much of your mouth as humanly possible. He nibbles on your lower lip for good measure, and when his finally leaves yours raw and swollen, he whispers over your ear, his tone dark with a hint of glee and lowering in octave.

“I am not above putting you to sleep and having my way with you, just like I did when I first brought you home to my other penthouse.”

He holds your petrified gaze with half-lidded eyes as his meaning dawns on you.

“You tasted so delicious, sugarplum,” he whispers as he licks his lips, greedily taking in your restrained, nearly bare body effectively trapped underneath him. His eyes land on the lace panties, the only scrap of clothing you have left on, before flicking his gaze back to yours with a wicked gleam. “Like fresh, sweet honey…”

Coriolanus starts kissing your jawline and then the column of your neck. You can feel his mouth suck and his teeth scrape your skin while he ignores the way you stifle your sobs as you tug at your wrist bindings. As that mouth of his dips into your shoulder, he sighs, as if relieved, when he starts palming and squeezing your bare breasts.

“C-Coryo please…”

Your shaky whispered plea is also ignored, but he smirks when he feels goosebumps on your skin. His mouth travels downwards, kissing and nibbling in its path, and you attempt to squirm as soon as his mouth latches on your nipple. An unwanted surge of pleasure shoots through you and goes straight to your core, and no matter how hard you try not to let it get to you, you feel yourself gush between your legs.

You don’t want this.

“See? You want this, my little sugarplum,” he whispers against your skin as his tongue makes its way to your other breast. “I only want to take care of you. Make you feel good like a loving, devoted husband would do.”

He lavishes just as much attention on your other breast, but while he does, one of his hands snakes from your torso to your abdomen…

Just before his fingers dip into your panties.

You try to flail your legs, but that does nothing to deter him. He simply shushes you as his fingers part your increasingly dampening folds.

“Please, Coryo, n-no…” you whimper pathetically despite the sensations he’s making you feel. Through your tears, you can see his expression growing more smug as his touch makes you even wetter the more he rubs circles on your clit.

He leans closer to you to kiss you on the lips again, before groaning over your lips, “You have no idea what you do to me, my sugarplum.”

But you’re up to your wits trying to hold on to your tears, pleading without being heard, being touched against your will.

“Stop, p-please…”

Coriolanus’s eyes darken as you continue to defy him and his advances. He sends you a burning look and growls, releasing a deep sigh as he nuzzles your neck. He then pulls away, back to straddling your hips, as he looks down on you with a stern, cold expression. He starts to undo the tie on his silk robe in slow, calculated movements, never breaking his gaze on you.

When he peels it off his body, you look sideways so you don’t see him, but he grips your chin harshly and forces you to look at him.

“Do not look away from your husband, sugarplum,” he says through gritted teeth. “Not when I’m about to take what’s mine.”

As soon as he removes your panties with a single tug, tearing them off in the process, he starts to hover above you, and you get a glimpse of that massive thing hanging between his legs, angry, fully erect.

“Please, please, no, Coryo, no – !”

You thrash against him with all your might, but it takes just a tight grip on either ankles for him to still your flailing lower limbs, before you feel him part your thighs as far as they can go. Sobbing in earnest, you begin to panic, breathing shallowly as your eyes land upwards on the headboard, where your wrists are still bound by his leather belt. You yank your wrists as hard as you can go, but any harder and they would break. You feel his hips settle between your spread legs, his raging erection resting on your inner thigh.

He cradles your cheek and caresses it with his thumb – it’s deceivingly gentle, like all the other romantic gestures he had once tried on you to win you over.

“Shh, shh, my perfect sugarplum, my darling wife, I will forgive this blatant defiance tonight.”

You can’t help that desperate bout of sobbing you let out as he starts positioning himself over your entrance, leaning closely to your body while he keeps you spread with a bruising grip on either thigh.

He plants a kiss on your forehead, and, with a tone you can only describe as heartless, he whispers “Nellie, I want you to remember: I tried to prepare you, but you made it come to this. You made me do this.”

From above you, Coriolanus takes his cock in his hand and drags the tip through your wet folds.

“Please, Coryo, I’m b-begging you, please, d-don’t do this, no, nonono –”

You feel his swollen tip touch your entrance, and the next thing you know is pain.

A piercing cry erupts from your throat when he pushes the tip of his cock inside you. It’s a sudden, overwhelming agony, and since the cause of it is still firmly lodged inside you, the unbearable ache does not let up; the pain just worsens as more of Coriolanus’s girth burrows further into your core. Even the stinging around your wrists courtesy of the leather belt is eclipsed by the way his massive cock is stretching you apart for the first time. Your tearful screams drown out his coarse groans, and you’re left with no choice but to lie down and keep perfectly still so it doesn’t hurt any more than it does. You dig your nails into your palms and choke in your own tears as your husband forcefully takes you for himself as he had promised to do many times over.

“H-hurts – it hurts, Coryo, pl-please…”

You’re cut off from your own plea by a breathy moan of pain – he’s buried himself at the hilt, and your entire body trembles just trying to adjust to his sheer size.

In a misguided attempt to comfort you perhaps, he starts planting butterfly kisses all over your face, shushing you in between while he keeps his hips still.

“Please, please…”

You keep repeating the word like a prayer, but his mouth captures the rest of it, and he only pulls away when your heaving and your weeping dies down to mere whimpers.

“Relax for me, my little sugarplum,” he mumbles in between his laboured breathing, as if it’s taking his entire being to hold back for you. “It’ll feel good soon, I promise.”

Unable to control himself any longer, he starts pulling out of you almost completely, dragging himself out until the tip before thrusting back in. He repeats this slowly until he finds a rhythm, and no matter how slow it is, it still sends a jolt of pain from your core to your spine, making you keen and whimper and wish you had fought more – maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be underneath him right now, trying to keep your sanity intact while your husband makes the most out of your wedding night.

“So tight, so perfect,” he whispers heatedly over your ear before licking the tears off your cheeks. He starts to pick up his pace even though you haven’t fully adjusted to him yet, and while he does, grips your chin and forces eye contact.

There’s nothing behind those blue eyes and black, blown-up pupils but long-contained, now unbridled lust.

He proceeds to drive into you with increasingly harsher thrusts and even changes his angle by a fraction – he hits something in you that makes your breath hitch, surprising even yourself. That evil grin of victory on his face only grows wider as he starts hitting that soft spot repeatedly, making you arch your back to him in what you can only call your body’s act of betrayal.

He looks down on you arrogantly as he releases your chin in favour of exploring every dip, every curve of your body.

“See, I don’t understand how someone as smart as you still fail to learn your lesson,” he whispers condescendingly, his warm breath hitting your face. “You’re mine. Mine the minute I decided you were mine. Mine, even beyond death...all mine.”

He leans back so he can squeeze both your breasts while he thrusts harder, faster, deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots. The wet, slapping noises your bodies make are nearly enough to render you nauseous. As if you’re not in enough distress, your walls start clenching him, which just intensifies the pleasure for you, no matter how unwanted and forced. So while you’re moaning wantonly at the way his cock splits you open repeatedly, your tears don’t abate in your utter shame.

“Fuck, that’s it, sugarplum, so fucking tight – squeeze me harder, that’s a good little wife…”

Your skin prickles at the way he seems to thoroughly enjoy ravishing your body. It’s not supposed to feel good, certainly never this good.

So before your body does something you’ll regret – like admitting it feels fucking amazing – you plead. Perhaps your final bid tonight to this man you now will call your husband for the rest of your dreary, miserable life:

“Coryo, s-stop, please, j-j-just stop, pl -mmph – ”

Before you can even finish, he silences you with another kiss, all while he continues pistoning inside you like a man starved.

“Take it, my pretty little sugarplum…I’ve been dying to fuck you like this for almost two years…you think I’m going to stop just because you begged me to?” He seems to amend his rather acerbic tone by adding softly, “You just have to trust me, your husband will take care of you. Only I can make you feel this good…”

He starts grunting at the effort of his nearly punishing thrusts and he grips your hips and brings it to meet his, earning hoarse, desperate cries from you.

“You’re close, I can feel it,” he whispers, his own breaths ragged as he keeps his constant pace. “Let go, my sugarplum, I got you.”

Just a few more thrusts and you’re reduced to a moaning, sobbing mess, your core clenching around him so hard like it wants to keep him there – your body tenses and shakes at the overwhelming sensation, making you close your eyes momentarily as it spreads like wildfire through your limbs.

Your first-ever orgasm while he’s inside you, and it’s ecstasy like nothing like you’ve ever felt.

When the feeling of floating in the clouds finally subsides, you come crashing back down to reality, where he’s still using your body for his own depraved, lustful desires. He snaps his hips with a loud groan before he stills inside your aching, abused core – he’s spilling himself inside you, his white-hot cum coating your insides before it spreads, and when he seems to have pumped the last of it, he finally, finally halts all movements. He stays buried deep inside you while he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face at the groove of your neck.

Together, you and your husband stay like this while you both steady your breathing. He recovers faster, obviously, while your body is just beginning to feel the after-effects of this vile act – the stinging around your wrists from the way the leather has dug into your skin to the way your core starts throbbing in pain – but you’re oddly calm. Maybe the worst is over. Maybe the next time won't be as physically and emotionally taxing.

Coriolanus whispers over your ear, tender and affectionate, like he hadn’t just finished defiling your body and taking your innocence:

“I love you, Nellie. I love you so much. My wife. Mine.”

Despite everything he's done to you that led you to this very moment, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that you've yet to see the worst in him.

Enter Level 18 - soon

Next on Level 18 - The newly-wedded Snows go honeymooning on the beach; you make a last-ditch attempt to throw a wrench in his plans; some unexpected (but much-needed) soft moments

Author notes:

THANK YOU, THANK YOU for waiting and sticking around!!!

I've decided to write an entire chapter dedicated to the honeymoon instead of including it here lol basically the next Level is just an excuse to write more smut

I hope I can still get as much writing as I can even if I've been given more responsibilities at work on account of getting promoted (more money for cat treats, yey!) and I sincerely hope we don't have to wait AS long to get Level 18, and the newly added Level 19!!!

Thank you so, so much for reading and rereading (I see you, my dears!!!) and I love you all 😊😘🥰

Please reblog and comment, I appreciate it!!!

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the-wanderer-2022 · 2 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇, 𝐈’𝐌 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐖˚ ༘ 🌱⋆｡˚

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐂𝐎𝐖/𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 . MDNI . TW// Naked man . Yandere . Suggestive? . Darling is breastfed by yandere. Male lactation . Forced affection

𝐒weat dribbled down your forehead, your scratchy sleeve running across your skin hastily before any sweat got into your eyes.

The hay bale in your arms irritated your forearms but you pushed through, throwing it inside the loft of your classic red barn.

The horses neighed, a little greeting for you, making little circles in their stalls as if brimming with energy.

You mustered a smile, trying to ignore the aching pain at your temples. Your head felt like a watermelon wrapped in rubber bands, about to explode at any moment.

You turned, exiting out the other end of your barn, picking up a tin bucket and kneeling in front of your large collection of flora.

You grumbled as you picked fat caterpillars off your Bougainvillea and unceremoniously tossed into a bin.

A deep frown marred your face as you looked at the various bite shaped holes in the leaves of your pretty flowers.

You sent a scorching glare to the bucket full of caterpillars.

“You handful of bastards better be grateful I’m not feeding you to the barn cat..” you hissed, voice filled with genuine resentment.

The loud thunk of a truck made you jump out of your shoes, accidentally dropping the bucket, the caterpillars flying into the luscious green grass.

You bit back a groan, knowing you would have to pick out the little creatures by hand later.

You lifted your head, peeking at the men in white lab coats, who were throwing something extremely large into a pile of dirt near your house.

Now what the hell? They have no right to be dumping their shit in your backyard! Not after you had busted your lower back to keep it clean!

You were about to stomp over and throw some hands, however the men got into their high tech van and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

You coughed as you approached the garbage site, seeing if there was anything to loot off of.

It looked like there was something massive swaddled tightly in styrofoam wrap.

You prodded the cocoon with the tip of your timber, you let out a small scream as it pulsated under your foot.

You jumped back in fright as the thing inside started moving even more, all out of the sudden, a muffled voice yelled.

You raised your brows, a person? Was a person wrapped in that? You could just stand by and act as if nothing happened but.. cleaning the mess up would be annoying.

You scrambled to dig your nails inside the wrapping and pulled as hard as you could, ripping the tough material to shreds.

You fell back to the ground, a large, naked man emerging from the dirt, styrofoam doing a horrible job of covering up his.. bits.

You kept your eyes up.. sorta, his well endowed chest was the first thing that popped out to you. Quite literally, it had its own shadow and everything, they were definitely bigger than yours.

He was tall, taller than any creature or human you had ever seen in your life.

You painstakingly tore your eyes away from his chest, mourning the loss of titties.

You scanned his head, his hair was light blonde with brunette highlights, curling towards his face at the slightly curly tips, a curl of hair covering his left eye.

His skin was tan with patches of lighter skin, resembling the spots of a cow.

A golden nose ring gleamed under the sunlight, you just barely noticed the stubs of horns on his head, along side the blonde cow ears.

..Wait hold on a minute, ears and horns? What in the nudist cosplay is this?

The man tilted his head, his ears flicking as he followed you movements, like a baby bird mimicking its mother’s actions.

You didn’t stick around a moment more as you watched the strange male’s strangely beautiful face light up with wonder.

“Master!” He lunged. Missing you only by a hair, you swore you felt his thick fingers tickling your back.

“Stop following me! I am not your master!!” You hollered, speeding up your pace as you tried to jump over the fence of your barn.

“Wrong!” He giggled, strong arms stretching out to grab you, making sure to take victory this time.

“(Y/N)!~” he called out sweetly, opening and closing his hands, resembling of a toddler demanding uppies.

“HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!?!” You never got an answer, simply a jolly laugh.

You ran around for 40 minutes.

And the strange bull cow hybrid didn’t stop, he wasn’t even breaking a sweat, it wasn’t very long until you dropped on the ground.

The man plopped down behind you, grabbing you by your armpits like he would hold a cat. Only to begin having a cuddling session, he didn’t let you go.

You begged him to let you breathe, but he had gotten too attached to let you go, at one point you had decided to take the drastic measure to bite his arm,

Which was a failure.

Because he let out the most pornographical moan you had ever heard.

You slowly retracted your teeth from his arm, deciding to never do that again.

“Well.. Can you at least tell me who you are? Why you are here? Why me?” You bombarded him with question, he hummed, his tail wagging on grass while rocking you side to side like a baby.

“Mm~.. m’ name’s Briar.. I’m a gift for you! And.. Because I saw you first!” He finished with a wide smile, his simplistic answers not actually giving away anything.

He rubbed his cheek against the side of your head, your back cushioned by two very prominent pillows.

You glared at him, wriggling out of his beefy arms and rolling onto the grass.

“Let me stay with you!” He chirped, getting up to follow close behind you.

“No.” You didn’t budge, looking down to dust your jeans off, but when you looked up Briar was giving you the most sopping wet pathetic puppy eyes you had ever seen.

Your harsh glare softened for a moment, no! No! No! You weren’t going to get emotionally manipulated by a fucking cow.

He dropped to his knees, getting on all fours and dirtying his knees with soil. His hands wrapped around your calves as if they were the size of water bottles.

“Please…”

That disturbed you more than you would think, this thing dwarfed every aspect of yours, only reminding you of how quick and effortlessly he could rip an arm of yours off.

“..No!” You grumbled more defiantly, closing your eyes for a second as you looked away.

you curiously cracked an eye open and saw how large drops of tears welled in his eyes, his bottom lip trembled, threatening that he would cry if he needed to.

A strong gust of wind blew in your direction, to your dismay, sending the last piece of wrapping around Briar’s hips off into the breeze.

You almost screamed in terror at the sheer size of that thing, because there was no humane possible way you could call it a penis.

That thing was the fuckin’ size of your arm.

“Okay. Fine. Come inside.” You grabbed his arm roughly, dragging him into your cottage in a panic.

He cheered as he allowed you to throw him inside your room, you skimmed your closet for something—God dammit! Anything to cover his big ass up!

You shakily exhaled as you found the baggiest jeans you owned, your hands gripping the widest flannel you had.

You screwed your eyes shut. Not wanting to see more than you already had.

“Thank..you!” He beamed, you could already imagine the sparkles around him.

You picked up the rustling of clothes, opening your eyes to see how your clothes fitted him.

You didn’t have underwear for him for now, so you had to compromise with just hoping that your jeans would be enough to cover his shame just a little bi…

Nevermind, you could still see the outline of it.

The supposed ‘baggy’ blue jeans hugged his thighs sinfully. This is a stranger, you tried to reprimand yourself, a complete stranger that you should not be ogling at but.. holy cow.

That shit was juicy. The pervert inside you was foaming at the mouth, trying not to pounce and bite the flesh off his legs and ass.

The flannel was hanging onto a single button, the fabric stretched over his chest so disgustingly tightly.

You had to unbutton the very first few buttons to let him breathe properly, it was killing you slowly. The need to bury your head between those glorious, magnificent tits.

You covered your face with your sun hat in shame, wishing to slam your head against the walls.

“Just..Just go.” You fumbled with your words, flush climbing the back of your neck all the way up to your ears.

Briar held his arms pinned to his sides, fingers flexing as he stared at you in awe. How he just wanted to aggressively cuddle you, he wanted to squeeze you so bad.

He thought humans were weird and mean.. But when looking at you he just wanted to bite you, not to harm you per say, just to somehow cope with the warm feeling in his chest.

“Okay!” He skipped out the front door, leaving you in ruins as he waltzed into the barn where the cattle resided.

You watched him interact and play with the cows for hours upon hours, at one point stealing a bell and wearing it around his neck.

“I’m your belle now!” He said, brimming with excitement. He had now taken the title of being your.. helper from now onwards.

You really did try to get rid of him, you tried selling him, abandoning him— Hell, even tying him up.

But annoyingly enough, he always returned, it didn’t matter what method you used, he somehow evaded it.

So you just decided to keep him around under a condition, that he helps out around the place.

He mowed the lawn.. He milked the cows.. He did some weird type of trick on the plants so the caterpillars wouldn’t eat them.. He was magic.

You made the mistake of introducing him to a friend, thinking that since he was so docile towards you, he would be the same way with others.

Could you be any more stupid?

Sometimes your neighbors would show up to chat and exchange goods or take horse back rides around the lands, Briar didn’t like it.

He was possessive and hostile, you had to stop him from trampling your friend to ground meat, you had almost pissed your pants in fear, never had you ever seen Briar with such a hateful look in his eyes.

Luckily, it seemed like he learned his lesson after you gave him silent treatment for two hours. He was in tears, sobbing that he would never upset you again, clinging onto your feet while nudging your stomach with his horns.

He had went as far as tagging his own ear after he got envious of a calf, he saw you clipping the babies ear and immediately begun to pester you to do the same thing to him.

You tried to make him understand that it was solely for identification, that he was already pretty identifiable, but he kept insisting.

You caved in, letting him plop down in your very much weaker and skinnier thigh. You tried to warn him that it would hurt, but he shook his head, affirming that he would take it like a good boy.

You sighed, monotonously counting down from three, before snapping clips closed.

He didn’t even make a face, you told him it was done and handed him a mirror to look at his brand new piercing.

It was a yellow, blank tag. You didn’t bother giving him a number, he wasn’t a legit cow to be kept in the barns so it wasn’t necessary.

You watched with curiosity as he grabbed a alcohol pen from your nightstand and slowly wrote your name on his tag.

“Baby!” He clapped his hands, ears slightly raising to reflect his mood, his tail wagged like a dog’s as he let out a little moo.

“You’re heavy. Get off.” You pushed him off, hoping that this was the end of his strange behaviors and urges.

He whined and pouted but you eventually peeled him off of you, the warmth and squish of his chest against your face leaving and letting you breathe properly.

Well, you thought that was the end of it.

You didn’t ask any questions about his origins or what he was, because in your book ignorance is bliss.

That was until you couldn’t ignore that your pillows and clothes were beginning to go missing, appearing as if by accident in the barn loft.

Briar was beginning to disappear more often, appearing after a few hours and dropping unconscious on your bed.

You noticed that the flannels he usually wore began to look tighter around his chest, more of the buttons on his shirt beginning to suddenly fly off like bullets, narrowly hitting you in the head.

You whistled a little tune, small pebbles crunching under your boots as you walked into the cattle house.

You swung a tin bucket in your hand, turning to your fluffy little cows to milk them of their milk. You spoke in a high pitched voice to them, reaching out and kissing their furry foreheads.

“MnHgh!” A familiar voice suppressed his aroused sounds with their hand, hoping he had fooled you and had slapped a hand over his mouth quick enough.

You stopped petting your cows, walking towards a closed closet door behind you. Your hand wrapped around the doorknob, the metal being slightly warm, someone with overwhelming body warmth had just touched this.

You groaned, Briar. What the hell was he doing now?

You swung the door open, your figure casting a shadow over Briar’s crumpled body on the floor. Another sweet whimper escaped him accidentally, he tried to cover his chest with his arms, as if shielding a secret.

His tan patchwork skin gleamed with sweat under the dim lighting, his eyes were irritated and glassy, like he had been crying for hours before you got there.

“Briar.” You sternly called his name, causing him to look into your eyes, his ears drooped in embarrassment, attentively listening to what you were going to say next.

“Show me your chest.” Your voice ordered, putting the tin bucket down by your feet. You watched as Briar slowly did as you said, looking away in shame as he revealed himself.

Your eyes widened as you glanced down at his swollen pectorals, his nipples cherry red and tender. His chest was significantly heavier than usual, and even that was saying a lot when it’s common knowledge that he is very much above average.

“What..What happened?” Your eyes darted to his face, worry slowly seeping into your expression.

His obscenely large hand grasped your own, putting it gently on his chest.

You looked down, trying to decipher what his intentions were.. That was until you felt something warm trickling down your hand.

Something white and watery, slowly dribbling down your hand at a steady pace. It was shameful, down right perverted— But you brought your hand to your mouth, licking the substance.

It hit you like a tractor, it was silky—Sweet, better than any liquid you had ever tasted, it’s taste was one too similar to.. Milk?

“Y..Y-You can do that?” You blurted without thinking, pulling the tin bucket under his chest to catch the liquid.

The slightest shy nod of his head, the most bashful smile you had ever seen of him confirmed all your suspicions.

..You actually had to milk him.

Your face turned warm as your hands reached out to him, wrapping around his soft boobs, softly but methodically squeezing the milk out of him.

They produced milk steadily, squirting into the bucket, the sound of milk splattering against the tin making your gaze hazy.

You knew it was game over when the bucket was full, his chest didn’t seem that decreased in size by much.

You got off your knees to get a new bucket, only for Briar to cling on to you, making you fall between his legs and into his chest.

He didn’t wait, his nipple gently introducing itself into your warm little mouth, milk spilling onto your tongue in a moments notice.

You let out a strangled yell, trying to unlatch but Briar’s hand stopped you, pushing your head closer to his chest, forcing you to swallow the soft liquid.

“Hush, let mommy feed you..” he cooed, hearts forming in his eyes as he forced you to digest his milk.

“HMMPH.” You tried to protest, but didn’t make a move to stop Briar, he just shushed you, acting as if your protests were just a hissy fit.

He overpowered you, that sensitive shy act he put on before, being years light behind him.

You closed your eyes, knowing there was no escape from bosom jail. Your throat was dry from dehydration and the warm milk being force fed down wasn’t the most unpleasant thing you had experienced.

He cupped the back of your head, a million dollar smile on his plump lips, you were embarrassed.

You pressed your nose close into the soft muscle of his chest, just letting yourself be smothered by warmth, milk dribbling from the corners of your mouth.

You could barely hear the overgrown cow’s deep voice over the sound of your heartbeat.

“What a sweetheart you are..” ♥

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the-wanderer-2022 · 2 months ago

Text

Like Hoarded Gold (Part 13) Yandere!Gojo/Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 12 TBC in Part 14

Summary: Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo are complete strangers to you, but when they unexpectedly learn of the tragic news that has irrevocably shattered your life to pieces, the two of them become determined to help you and make you happy again, whether you want them to or not.

Warnings: Stalking, obsessive/possessive behavior, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, gaslighting, voyeurism, explicit smut, implied kidnapping, toxic manipulation, breeding kink, talk of baby-trapping the Reader, VERY YANDERE!!!, see tags for more...

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this or any future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

You didn't get a wink of sleep for the rest of the night, as you remained far too paranoid that one or both of them would come sneaking in to try something nefarious with you while they suspected you were asleep and still in an emotionally vulnerable state.

And the glaring lack of a lock on the door in this room had never at all bothered you before, but it sure as fuck did now.

The first thing you had done as soon as you were able to think with a bit more clarity was to snatch your birth control from your bag, because until you could find the right moment to make a break for it and run, you wanted to know exactly where it was at all times. You had no intention of ever having sex with either of them again, but if their obsession with you and need for control went as deep as you now suspected it did, you wouldn't put it past them to try and force themselves on you to get what they wanted.

You just prayed you would be long gone and far, far away from them before you ever had to find out if that was a bridge they were actually willing to cross.

The second task you had seen to handling, was packing two small bags and getting everything ready to go and hidden safely under the bed, so you could quickly and quietly leave the moment an ideal opportunity presented itself to you. You weren't taking much; your legal and personal documents were a must have, some clothes for both hot and cold weather, since you weren't sure where exactly you were going to end up once you left, and going back to your hometown seemed pointless now, as you had no one to go back to. Not to mention that might be one of the first places they will try and look for you once they realize you’d flown the coop.

The real and biggest issue for you though was money to make this plan happen.

You didn't have any of your own savings left, and you obviously couldn't buy a plane ticket or withdraw any large sums from their accounts without raising at least some kind of suspicion, but thankfully, it didn't take you long to realize that the answer to your dilemma was scattered all over the room, and the rest of the apartment.

One of Satoru’s biggest love languages was gift giving, and he always did so with extreme and excessive abundance.

Since the moment you made the mistake of agreeing to be their girlfriend, Satoru had been finding every excuse in the book to love bomb you with all kinds of expensive gifts; from clothes and jewelry, to little trinkets and household items, even the groceries and self-care products you now used all had much bigger price tags and a bougie quality to them.

So you highly doubted that either of them would notice if a few little things disappeared from around the apartment.

If this were any other situation, you might have felt a modicum of guilt for deciding to pawn off such expensive items that had been gifted to you, but given the circumstances of the situation you now found yourself in, you felt it was more like karmic justice. They're deceptive actions and deplorable behavior were the reason you felt like you had no other choice but to flee from them in secret, so it only seemed right that they should be the ones to pay for and facilitate it, even if they never learned of their unintentional involvement in your sudden disappearance from their lives.

But now, as morning dawned bright and clear, the day started off with you in the bathroom, thankfully behind a blessedly locked door, retching over the toilet bowl as the thought of actually having to face them filled you with a noxious sort of dread.

After learning the horrible truth about them, the idea of seeing them in the morning hadn't exactly been a pleasant thought, but you had been willing to tolerate it because you knew you had no other choice. However, the moment you heard their soft voices coming down the stairs, gut wrenching panic had swiftly set in and you soon found yourself racing for the bathroom, the only space in the room that had a lock on it.

*knock knock knock*

You nearly jumped out of your skin as the quiet rapping of knuckles on the wooden door echoed in the otherwise quiet space, and you hated that you were so in tune with them that you immediately knew it was Satoru standing on the other side of the flimsy barrier, just by the pattern and tempo of his knock.

“Cupcake? Are you in there? We noticed you didn't eat your dinner last night, so we made breakfast and thought you might want to join us this morning.”

His soft and tentative voice cut through what little composure you had managed to gain in the last hour or two, and the sound which had once filled you with light and joy now served only to terrify you as another wave of nausea hit and you loudly heaved the already depleted contents of your stomach into toilet once more.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?!”

This time it was Suguru's panicked and worried tone that sent your stomach roiling as he banged on the door with a little more force than his partner had, even jiggling the handle to try and test if they could just bust in, because of course they never had any kind of respect for your boundaries or personal space, hence why they entered the bedroom before getting any kind of permission from you.

Not that you would have given it.

Seriously, how the fuck had you managed to ignore all these red flags this whole fucking time?

As the knocking continued and their pleas for you to open up turned from desperate to demanding, you suddenly found yourself losing what little composure you had left, and, in a fit of blind rage, you hurled the metal water bottle you’d been drinking out of at the door as hard as you could.

“For fuck’s sake!” You practically screamed through a fresh wave of tears. “Take a hint and leave me alone for five goddamn minutes and stop with the desperate clingy bullshit!”

It hit with a satisfying crash, leaving a decent sized divot in the door, but it got the desired effect when it immediately shut them both up for a few seconds.

“A-Angel?” You heard Suguru whisper, as though he couldn't believe what you had just done.

You expected them to overreact as usual, to begin trying even harder to get inside, but they were suspiciously quiet for far longer than you anticipated and all you were able to make out were the vague sounds of whispered words too hushed for you to properly make out.

And then, to your even greater shock and disbelief, they did something you never would have expected, not in a million years, and especially not considering what you now knew about them.

They backed off and walked away, without any further complaint…

“Alright, it's clear to us that you need a little more time in there, cupcake.” Satoru announced, and it didn't take a genius to pick up on how the words sounded so… happy?

“We’ll keep your breakfast warm for you, and in the meantime, we'll leave for classes whenever you're ready, and when we get home tonight, we'll get this whole misunderstanding cleared up so the three of us can go back to normal, m’kay?”

He sounded genuinely pleased by something and you immediately knew, deep within the fear center of your brain, that whatever conclusion his delusional mind had come to in order to warrant such an out of character response, you didn't want to stick around long enough to ever learn what it was.

You needed to leave, and it needed to happen today.

----------

The moment they were out of your general earshot, Suguru whirled on his boyfriend, demanding answers for his very legitimate concerns.

“What the fuck, Satoru?!” Suguru hissed between clenched teeth, as every single atom of his being roared at him to get inside that bathroom and take care of you, to make sure you were safe and well and unharmed. “Why are we just leaving her alone in there when she's clearly not in a good place mentally or physically?!”

But as he watched Satoru’s beautiful expression contort from one of contemplation, to one of overjoyed and gleeful excitement, he knew there had to be a good reason for the young man's change in attitude and willingness to walk away when you so very clearly needed their love and support right now.

“Babe, how long do you think it usually takes for pregnancy symptoms to kick in?” Satoru asked as he turned to fix his blinding smile and quizzical azure gaze on him. “Probably a few weeks at the very least, or maybe closer to around two months, does that sound about right? Though I guess it's probably different for everyone, since I've heard that no two pregnancies are ever the same.”

At first, Suguru wasn't sure where he was going with this line of questioning, because, yes, the both of them now desperately wanted to get you pregnant, to see all the ways your lovely body would very soon be changing as it remolded itself in order to accommodate for the precious new life it would have growing inside of it. But this was clearly not the time to be bringing that up, not when you were in such a terrible state and on the outs with them. They needed to deal with this current situation first and get back in your good graces, then they could work on swapping your birth control and spending a few months trying to fuck a baby into that perfect womb of yours.

“Satoru, baby…” He started off gently, not wanting to sour his good mood, but needing to get them on the same page. “I get that you're excited about our plans, I am too, but don't you think we should be focusing on the more immediate issues first, like getting her out of that bathroom so we can make sure she's not coming down with something more serious?”

But, much to Suguru's own confusion, Satoru’s smile only grew wider before he spoke the words that turned his whole world upside down.

“What if she's already pregnant?”

…

Suguru blinked rapidly as he tried to process the words, to see how exactly his boyfriend had come to this particular hairbrained conclusion, but Satoru wasn't giving him time to think as his eagerness spilled over and now that he'd said the thought out loud, he couldn't seem to keep his excitement contained for a single moment longer.

“I know it sounds so fucking crazy, but just think about it for a second!” He said, his wide grin showing way too much teeth and his eyes bright with a kind of all consuming mania that likely would have left anyone else fleeing the room in terror. “Birth control isn't completely full proof, which means there's still some margin for error, and she's already showing signs!” He happily explained as he listed off his observations. “Her appetite has been strange here lately, like last week, remember how she kept insisting on having pickled onion with dinner every night, that's a pregnancy craving if I’ve ever heard of one, and now she's held up in the bathroom puking her guts up, like it's morning sickness.”

“Satoru-”

But the white haired menace wasn't finished with his tangent quite yet, as he still had a point or two to make.

“And come on, that stunt back there with the water bottle!” He exclaimed, motioning towards the bedroom door and the locked bathroom beyond it. “When has our (Y/N), our good and obedient babygirl, ever acted out like this? She doesn't throw temper tantrums over badly timed comments, or snap at us for trying to take care of her. There has to be something else at play going on here, and no matter how I choose to look at it, the signs are all pointing to her being pregnant.”

Suguru didn't want to get his own hopes up, but the longer he let Satoru go on, the more he began to wonder if he just might be onto something with this.

To a certain degree, he understood why you got so upset with them yesterday, what Satoru said had been thoughtless and, even if he hadn't meant it to sound so, was also very unkind. You were allowed to have bad days, to get angry and have a bit of time to cool down, and they were more than willing to allow you those basic emotional necessities. What they weren't willing to tolerate however, was you icing them out and giving them the cold shoulder for such an extended amount of time. Especially when neither of them had anticipated you still being angry with them by this point, in fact, they'd even expected to have you coming to them sometime in the night, finally unable to keep up this facade of anger as the ache of missing them grew too strong for you.

And the fact that you hadn't, was more than a little concerning to the two of them.

There was no reason for you to still be acting this way, not when they had already profusely apologized, but it seemed your anger had only grown stronger in the hours since yesterday, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

There had to be more to this than just what took place yesterday, and as much as he tried to ignore the signs and evidence, Satoru’s conclusion was beginning to sound very probable the longer he dwelled on the possibility of it being real.

Until finally, even he, with all his level-headed thoughts and rationality, was unable to keep his growing smile from splitting his handsome face in two.

“We're gonna have a baby!” He whispered, the words filling him with a quiet wonder and immense joy he couldn't hope to contain, even if he tried.

Satoru however wasn't nearly as reserved as he grabbed Suguru by the waist to drag him closer in his embrace so he could kiss him senseless and share his joyous breath with him.

“Fuck yeah, we are!” He exclaimed as loud as he could without alerting you to their change in attitude. “We're gonna be the best fucking parents in the whole goddamn world!”

If Satoru was correct and he was reading the signs with as much accuracy as Suguru knew to expect from him at this point, being the prodigy that he was, then you were indeed pregnant and already going through the symptoms of the first trimester, but that was only if he was correct.

“Alright, let's stop and think about this for just a second.” He said, trying to get himself back into a speculative mindset before their imaginations got too out of hand. “If you're right about this-”

“Oh, I’m damn fucking sure I’m right! I’d be willing to bet my entire inheritance on it.”

Suguru rolled his eyes at his overly exaggerated claim, but he did have to admit that Satoru’s abundant confidence was most definitely helping his own stay so high.

“As I was saying, you brat.” He chided him, but there was zero heat behind the words, especially with the smile that adorned his face. “If you are right about this, and she really is pregnant, it likely would have had to occur during our time at the cabin, so perhaps she unintentionally missed a day or two of doses without any of us realizing it.”

Satoru nodded in agreement, and Suguru could see that his dick was already at half mast as he too was no doubt thinking about those blissful two weeks, where you were so relaxed and there was no talk of school or looking for a job, where you were content to simply let them take care of you and love you how they saw fit to do so. It would be so nice once the three of you were back on that routine, once you had nothing and no one else to focus on but them and the baby. You could spend your time however you wanted, doing whatever hobbies or tasks would make you happiest, even if it was nothing more than binge watching a series you had never had time for before, and they would do it all with you.

“Look…” Satoru said gently as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around him. “I know you're wondering if I’m overthinking this and have it all wrong, and maybe it's a very small possibility, but even if that is the case, we're still gonna have this baby one way or another, we just have to be a little patient. And yes, I am well aware of how ironic that must sound coming from me of all people.” He flashed him a soft and beaming smile.

“Just a few more weeks and then the three of us, soon to be four, are going to be living our best life together in peace and solitude, far away from all of this.” He gestured to the overpopulated city outside of the large wall of windows, and for once, despite his insane but still very believable claim that you were pregnant, Satoru was being the level-headed one, and that alone was more than enough to help Suguru calm down.

Because he was absolutely right, as happy as it would make them to learn that you were already pregnant, if it turned out that Satoru was regrettably wrong, it would be a massive disappointment, but it still wouldn't matter much in the end. They were going to knock you up one way or another, even if it meant waiting a little while longer, they would just prefer for it to happen sooner, rather than later.

“I’ll get a doctor's appointment set up for her sometime this week so we can get a more definitive answer, and in the meantime, we'll still swap out her birth control for something ineffective that just looks similar, then all our bases are covered. Does that sound like a good starting point to you?”

Suguru smiled and leaned in for another long and lazy kiss that left both of them feeling like they were walking on air.

“It’s perfect, just like you and her.”

----------

Standing near the entrance to your first class of the day, you couldn't help but wonder how you had allowed yourself to tolerate this disgusting behavior from them for the past eight months.

The way they both clung to you like used gum on the bottom of a shoe, constantly fussing and cooing over you like you were some sort of fragile porcelain doll or a clumsy toddler that could break and shatter at any second, it was maddening in a way you'd never realized before.

“We’ll be here to pick you up right after your class lets out!” Satoru exclaimed, his voice disturbingly cheerful in a way that made your skin crawl like never before, something about it making it seem all the more forced and at odds when compared with the cloud of angst that currently surrounded you.

Though, perhaps it had to do with the way he kept raking his hungry blue eyes up and down your body, bringing forth the memory of the things they had said about you last night, and the way they had sexualized their twisted fantasy of baby trapping you.

The idea of facing them in person was the most daunting thing you had ever done, but you knew that if you had any hope of escaping them today, you needed to put your big girl panties on and go to class. It was your only window of opportunity, and conveniently, you had a two hour lecture and a mock-test that morning in Sociology and Social Thought, while both of them also had classes to get to at the same time, and that was when you would make your move.

“So please don't leave for your next class, or to the cafe or something if one of us isn't here right away.” Suguru added, his tone not nearly as bright and overly cheerful as Satoru’s, but it was so soft and gentle that it had the same sickening effect on you. “We know you're still upset with us about yesterday, but please don't go off on your own just to prove some kind of ridiculous point.”

You didn't say anything in response, not trusting yourself to speak without snapping back and possibly revealing that you knew everything. Instead, you simply turned to silently walk away, hoping that this was the last time you would ever see them. Sadly though, you didn't get very far before a set of long fingered hands had snagged you by the wrist, the touch firm but gentle as it halted your progression and stopped you in your tracks.

You froze at that casual touch, at the sheer audacity they had that allowed them to think they still had the right to touch you after what they had said to you yesterday, and that included all the things they weren't aware had been revealed. But when you turned around to face them, the pleading looks on their tired faces almost made a small part of you want to cave in and pretend that everything was fine again, to push down the hurt and betrayal you now felt and let them have their despicable way, if only so you wouldn't have to be alone once more. However, that small part was the piece of you that still stupidly loved them, or rather, who you thought they were, the rest of you just wanted to lash out and claw those pretty blue and purple eyes right from their sockets and shove them down their throats until they both choked to death.

“Look, we know we fucked up, and words can't begin to express just how sorry we are for hurting you like we have, that is the last thing we have ever wanted to do, but even despite all of that, you have to know how much we love and adore you.” Satoru said, his expression and tone taking on that saccharinely sweet quality that usually had you melting for him as he tried to tug you just a bit closer. “You do know that, don't you, cupcake?”

Everything about what he was saying pissed you off to no end, but what really got your blood boiling was that you actually believed him, or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you believed that they believed what they were saying. Because there was no doubt in your mind that they both thought that what they felt for you was true and genuine love, but with the hindsight you now possessed, you could see it for what it really was at its core, and it wasn't love, not real love anyway. It was a dark obsession, one that you weren't interested in learning the twisted origins of anymore than you were interested in sticking around to become their personal incubator and housewife.

“Yeah, is that right?” You drawled, not bothering to hide your sarcasm or bitterness from them, they didn't deserve any kind of emotional mercy from you. “Well the two of you have some really fucked up ways of showing it.”

And with that, you ripped your wrist free from his hold and turned on your heel to head inside the lecture hall, wanting to let those be the last words they ever received from you.

As you turned right around a corner though, you decided to take one last discreet glance at them out of the corner of your eye, and what you saw chilled you to the bone, because it simply made no sense, none at all.

After those parting words, you would have expected to see them with frowns on their faces and slumped shoulders, since their efforts at “apologizing” had failed so spectacularly, but instead, the brief glimpse you got of their faces showed them watching you with the most lovesick expressions you’d ever seen.

Both of them wore soft smiles as they leaned against one another, with Satoru resting his head on Suguru’s broad shoulder while their fingers intertwined between them, and you swore that if you had been close enough to see better or had made the mistake of stopping to look longer, you would have seen their cheeks flushed and hearts dancing in their overly bright eyes.

It was unsettling for a wide range of reasons, not the least of which was how it made you wonder if there was something more going on with them that you weren't fully aware of yet. If maybe, just maybe, you were making a grave mistake in trying to leave so quickly. But you had to leave now, there was no way you could stay with them any longer after what you had learned last night, it just wasn't feasible. You couldn't even force yourself to be the slightest bit pleasant with them anymore, let alone tolerate their suffocating behavior for however long it would take to devise a better, more cunning escape plan.

It was a moot point though, no matter what their reasons were for their strange and backwards reactions today, it shouldn't matter to you because you weren't going to stick around long enough to find out what those reasons might be.

As of today, you were finally washing your hands of them.

----------

As Satoru sat at his favorite corner booth of the campus cafe, he knew the smile he had on his face was the cringiest it had ever been, but he truly couldn't bring himself to care.

You were pregnant, he was sure of it!

There was no other explanation for your sudden change in behavior, not one that he could think of anyway, and even the ones that did cross his mind were thrown out the metaphorical window as soon as he thought them into existence.

He’d already ruled out pre-period symptoms being the cause.

He and Suguru had been tracking your menstrual cycles religiously since your first month with them, not because of a desire to get you pregnant, that was a more recent development that had come about after seeing your nurturing treatment of the twins and only came to the forefront of their minds during their discussion with each other the previous night. No, paying attention to your cycles was simply a result of their desire to know how to best accommodate you during that time of the month and take care of you the way you deserved. And after careful observation and a lot of subtle questioning over the months they’d known you, they both now knew the general signs of it like the back of their hands. And right now, you weren't showing any of your usual tip offs, not to mention the fact that you were still two weeks away from your usual start date.

And he refused to even consider the possibility that you could truly be upset with them, and especially not when they had already so profusely apologized for their lack of tact the day before.

He hadn't meant for what he’d said to come off sounding like something so negative, but looking back on it, he could easily see that voicing that thought aloud to you had been more than just a poor choice on his part, it had been downright stupid. But to the two of them, your trusting nature and inability to say ‘no’ to them was just another example of how utterly perfect you were for them, and why they loved you so much. Because, as well matched as he and Suguru were for one another, there had always been a little something missing that they couldn't have with each other, but then you entered their already blissful life and tied everything together for them.

You gave them everything they needed to feel complete, just by virtue of being yourself, and they in turn did the same for you.

He knew exactly how he and Suguru were perceived by others, and while his boyfriend was much better at keeping a lid on it, Satoru had never once tried to hide the fact that he himself, just like Suguru, was indeed a raging narcissist with a god complex.

Call it egotistical or whatever else, he didn't give two shits, he knew full well that both of them had it all and he wasn't the least bit humble or modest about it. They were both good looking, rich beyond measure, prodigies at nearly everything they put their minds and hands to, and they had the personalities to charm the pants off of almost anyone when they actually cared enough to try. But beyond all that, they also had what he was sure a psychiatrist, or any other professional, might call a 'savior complex’.

Perhaps that's what had drawn them to you in the first place, the fact that you wouldn't be in such a stable position if it wasn't for them and the love they had for you.

The fundamental differences between he and Suguru's relationship and the relationship they had with you was the knowledge that, even without one another for comfort and support, he and Suguru would still be just fine on their own. And while it was no secret that their lifestyle and every other expense was paid for with his own trust-fund and inheritance, they were both comforted by the knowledge that, even without one another, they were still independent and competent enough to make things work by themselves if the need ever arose, if not emotionally, than at least in every other way that mattered.

You, on the other hand, were a different story entirely compared to the two of them.

There was no logical way to try and explain why they so greatly enjoyed the thought of you being completely dependent on them for anything and everything, but they truly did. Because from the moment they had witnessed your first breakdown all those months ago from the back of that equipment room, they had known that you needed them to care for you and look after you. That you were too fragile and weren't cut out for a life of independence, because the world around you would chew you up and spit you out like it did with so many others who weren't fortunate enough to have found the kind of loving partners that you had with him and Suguru.

He and Suguru loved you unconditionally, there was no doubt about that; you weren't greedy or super materialistic, you were always more than grateful for everything they did for you, and, the events of yesterday notwithstanding, it was obvious you loved them for who they were as people, not for what they could give you. But sometimes he really wished that you would allow yourself to be more selfish, ask them for things, let them spoil you without putting up a fight about it every other time, that sort of thing. And thanks to this pregnancy, whether you wanted it or not, here very soon, you wouldn't have any other option but to let them have their way with things.

Once they convinced you to finally take a step back from school and job hunting, you would see that everything they had been pushing for was the right thing all along. You would relax, you would be happier, you would stop letting outside sources distract you from focusing all your time and attention on them, and best of all, once you learned you were carrying their child, he was certain that convincing you of all these things would be made so much more simple. You weren't the type of woman to put your own stubborn pride above what was best for an innocent child, especially not when that child was going to be your own flesh and blood. Even if you wanted to argue with them about it, they knew you would have to eventually concede that the best course of action for you and the child was the one where you allowed them to assume all responsibility and decision making over you and the baby.

You would no doubt be scared and worried at first once everything was out in the open, that was completely understandable and expected, especially since he knew how horribly your abandonment issues would play a part in it. You would likely immediately assume that this would change things for the worse between the three of you, that they wouldn't want you any more or that they would be angry with you for some reason. But, he and Suguru were more than prepared to do whatever it would take to reassure you of just how solid their love and commitment to you and their baby was.

You were pregnant with their child, and whether the baby was biologically his or Suguru's didn't matter in the slightest, they would love and care for them regardless of something as trivial as genetics.

The three of you would be nothing like the people who called themselves parents to any of you. This baby would be so unbelievably adored, loved without measure, and supported in every single way that mattered, not just financially. They would never grow up wondering if their parents actually loved them or not, never worrying if anything they did or said was going to be met with cold indifference or anger, they would always know just how special and important they were. He always knew, even at an early age, that if he ever had kids, he would sooner die than treat any child of his the same way his own parents treated him.

You were going to make a fantastic mother and wife, just as he and Suguru were going to make excellent fathers and husbands. Not that there could ever be a true and legally binding marriage between the three of you, but legal or not, he still considered the two of you his spouses, and no piece of paper or ceremony could make that fact any more true than it already was.

Although, he did quite like the idea of seeing a ring on your finger, or maybe a pretty little choker around your neck would be a better option instead, one sealed with a little lock that only they would have the keys to and stamped with his and Suguru's initials.

Fuck, he always knew his sexual preferences were more than a little freaky and out of pocket by most people's standards, but having a pregnancy/breeding kink wasn't one he ever thought he'd have to come to terms with. But he couldn't deny that just the thought of you waddling around with a very obvious pregnant belly and milk-swollen breasts was nearly enough to make his cock explode. He remembered hearing somewhere that a pregnant woman's sex drive could skyrocket while she was still carrying, and he prayed that trait would prove true with you. You were already so fucking sensitive, never needing much from them to get you off, so he could only imagine how all your new and changing hormones were going to affect that pretty body of yours.

A few minutes later, he found himself staring longingly at a photo on his laptop he’d taken of you and Suguru and was utterly lost in his newest fantasy, one that had you seated on Suguru’s lap, your ass wrapped snugly around the dark haired man's thick cock while he got down on his knees to kiss and suck on those perfectly heavy tits of yours, kissing his way down your chest and straining stomach, worshipping the tight skin and newly formed stretch marks with his lips and tongue before spreading your thighs and dripping pussy wide open for his drooling mouth. It was so vivid to him that, were it not for the insistent vibrations of his phone on the solid surface of the table, he might have totally missed seeing the incoming notification that suddenly had his blood freezing in his veins and his heart nearly leaping from his chest.

Months ago, well before winter break, they'd made the decision to plant a handful of high end GPS trackers in the lining of some of your favorite coats, jackets, and even a few pairs of your shoes, since a phone or purse could be too easily lost. All of them were top of the line, all weatherproof, and all of them were set to silently alert the two of them if you ever went a certain distance away from them.

It was only ever meant to be an over the top precaution, one made to ensure your safety and their peace of mind, a precaution that they believed they would never have to actually worry about because you were never very far from either of them. The furthest you'd even been since moving in with them had been to the other side of the campus, and that was the trigger point. One end of campus to the other, that was how far you could get before they were sent a quiet notification, and so far, they hadn't had to think about such a thing too much.

Until now…

With trembling hands he opened the tracking app and saw, much to his rising stress level, that you were already a few blocks away from the university, and moving quickly, meaning that you had to be in a cab or on the bus or some other mode of transportation. But from the looks of it, you were making your way back home to the apartment, so at the very least, he was confident you hadn't been kidnapped by someone who wanted to extort him for ransom money, which had been his first terrified assumption.

Just as he was about to call you to demand some answers though, a text from Suguru came through that made his already shaky relief deflate in an instant.

Suguru: Don't bother trying to call her, it just goes straight to voicemail and her phone is turned off. Meet me in the car and we'll head her off at home. I don't care what her reasoning is or how angry she might be with us, this behavior is unacceptable and we're putting an end to it, before this escalates any further.

As he gathered up his belongings as fast as he could without alerting anyone to his less than calm state of mind, Satoru had to admit that he agreed wholeheartedly with Suguru's statement. This was completely out of character for you and made no sense. Even if you were still angry at them, you should know better than to go wandering off on your own, especially without telling them where you were going. This wasn't just about their obsessive need to control your life, although that was definitely a large part of it, but you had to have realized by now that just being with them came with its own set of risks and dangers.

He wasn't in the spotlight as much as his parents had been, so most of the time, the rare moments of harassment he and Suguru dealt with were limited to people who just wanted to try and make a quick bit of cash off of them with some kind of fabricated blackmail or threatening to release a questionable photo or two. But, every now and then, there were a few dangerous individuals who had tried to take things a step further; the worst being back when he was still in elementary school and someone had kidnapped him to try and get a sizable ransom from his parents. The guy had been sloppy though and he'd been found in less than 24 hours, but after that, he’d insisted on being enrolled in self defense classes and martial arts lessons.

Something his parents had been more than happy to arrange for him, not because they actually cared about him the way parents were supposed to care about their child, but because they considered him an investment in their long term business plans, and making sure he could potentially defend himself in the event of another kidnapping was just extra security for said investment in their eyes.

Suguru had already been practicing Aikido for a few years when they met, and it was one of the many things they had first bonded over, but you had no such knowledge on how to defend yourself. You were like a stray kitten, weak and vulnerable and far too trusting for your own good, and the two of them would sooner lock you away with a collar and chain around your throat then let anything like that ever happen to you, especially now that they were certain you were pregnant with their child.

But, as he raced out of the cafe in the direction of the parking lot, he couldn't help but wonder what this tantrum was really all about. Were you just trying to get a rise from them and piss them off because you wanted to get back at them, or were you just that genuinely angry at them for what he'd said yesterday after they chased off that annoying little pest?

He was fairly confident that you weren't in any sort of imminent danger, based on your pinging location and how he could see now that you were definitely heading back home, but that still didn't bring him any closer to answering his own nagging question.

It was highly unlikely that you went home solely to spite them and their authority, the first hour of your lecture wasn't even done and you had been preparing for it for over a week, there was no way you would just up and skip class for something so blatantly petty. Or, perhaps the pregnancy symptoms just got to be too much for you to handle and you went home thinking you caught a stomach bug of some kind, since assuming you're pregnant is probably the furthest thing from your mind right now. But, there was always the slim possibility that you were already beginning to suspect the possibility of it and the stress and subsequent worry drove you to leave early and neglect telling them, maybe because you thought they wouldn't be happy about an unplanned pregnancy.

Either way, no matter what your reasoning turned out to be, it didn't excuse you deliberately going against what they had specifically told you never to do. However, he wouldn't hold that against you this time around, not when they were still trying to get back in your good graces, and definitely not when he was terrified that too much stress could put unnecessary pressure on you while you were still in the very early stages of your pregnancy.

Once they got home and made certain that you were totally and completely fine, the three of you would finally, at long last, get past this minor bit of unpleasantness and things could go back to normal. You would return to your usual happy self, laughing and smiling for them, and they could finally set about convincing you to move all the way to Hokkaido without pitching a fit about it. That was the only outcome he was willing to imagine, anything less than your complete acceptance of their apology was, well… completely unacceptable.

…

But then, unbidden, as if by some divine force or anxiety driven stress, an unwanted and even more terrifying thought crossed his mind, sliding across the synapse of his brain like liquid ice as he recalled the angry expression he'd glimpsed on your face that morning in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

What if you made this decision with no intention of still being at home by the time they got there?

There was absolutely no way that what he'd said yesterday could be enough to drive you to try and leave them. Such a thing was simply out of the question, right? You needed them, you loved them just as much as they loved you, and it would take much more than one poorly timed comment to drive you to that extent… right?

They had never said it in so many words, but you had to know that they would never let you go, that no matter where you went or how far you ran, they would always find you and bring you back home to them. There was nowhere in the country you could go to hide from them, probably nowhere in the entire world actually, if his money and resources had anything to say about it. And that's even if you had the money to support such a risky endeavor, which he knew for a fact that you absolutely didn't. Your personal bank account had been near empty for the last four months, and he hadn't received any notifications or emails alerting him of any large purchases or withdrawals being made with the cards they had gifted you after coming back from winter break.

And that thought was enough to quell his worry for a few moments, at least until another memory surfaced when a conversation from months ago flitted through his mind. It was back when they first met you, maybe a month or two after that initial dinner together, but if memory serves, it was definitely before you had fully moved in with them.

It was the one and only time you had ever made mention of going back to your home country to try and make things easier on yourself, as if they would ever allow you to make such a monumental mistake, but he and Suguru had made such a frantic fuss over the whole idea that you had, after a while, dropped the topic intirely in favor of keeping them from having a total meltdown. After all, even back then, you didn't have nearly enough money to afford the trip back home, especially when you had already told them that you would have had nowhere to stay anyway. No family, no close friends, and no money for accommodations while you 'figured things out’, would have made for a very poor fresh start.

But when he’d pointed all those details out to you, as gently as he could, hadn't you already had a plan for that as well?

“I could always pawn a bunch of my belongings for extra cash, the stuff in the storage unit back home could probably sell for a fair price, depending on what my… what they chose to leave for me.” You said, your voice sounding too distant for their liking, as if you had already made the decision in your mind, as if your fate wasn't already inextricably tied to theirs.

“It wouldn't exactly be easy, but I could live off of the absolute bare essentials for a while until I got a job and a place to live. Hell, if worse came to worse, I could always go to a homeless shelter or a woman's refuge.”

In his 26 years of life, Satoru Gojo had never once had to worry about money, and he would be the first to admit that, as brilliant as he was with finances and the like, he still spent said money like it was going out of style. He always had the best of everything and he made sure that you and Suguru did as well, nothing was too good or too expensive for the loves of his life. And he most certainly never had to consider pawning off his own belongings just to make ends-meet and get by, so thoughts of homeless shelters and other such places were also far removed from his incredibly privileged lifestyle.

But you had spoken about doing so as if such things were totally and completely normal, or at least not outside the realm of possibility for you, and now he couldn't stop wondering how much better off you might think yourself capable of being if you were to sell off a few of those nice and very expensive gifts they had been showering you with these last two months.

With mounting dread, it left him wondering, after everything they had done for you, would you actually have the audacity to try and leave them…

He didn't need to think about it anymore though, whether his growing worries were justified or not, he knew they needed to get home to you as quickly as they could, before you tried to do something that couldn't be undone, something that would change everything between the three of you for the worse.

----------

By the time Satoru made it to the parking lot, he was breathless and gasping for breath, with a cold sweat dripping down his temples and the back of his neck, but he didn't stop to try and catch his breath, not until he was in the car and tossing his belongings carelessly into the backseat.

Suguru was already there, waiting impatiently, his fists tense and white knuckled around the steering wheel as the car engine silently purred, already set to peel out the moment the passenger side door slammed shut.

“Drive! Now!”

He didn't bother wasting time asking pointless questions before he was expertly backing out and maneuvering his way through the maze of other tightly packed vehicles and narrow streets, and all the while, he listened intently as Satoru frantically told him that it was a very real possibility that you trying to leave.

“She wouldn't, there's absolutely no fucking way she’d try something so goddamn reckless.”

He wanted to believe his own words, he really fucking did, but even as he said them out loud, they already tasted like bitter poison on his tongue.

Satoru’s impeccable memory and observations made complete sense when looked at as a whole, much as he wished they didn't. You were angry, and when people were angry enough, they often made rash and irresponsible decisions, decisions like leaving the ones they loved and who loved them in turn just as much.

“I really don't know, or maybe I just don't want to know, but my gut is telling me that something about this is very wrong, and if we don't get home quickly, we may very well lose her for what could be a very long time.”

Suguru could hear the raw terror and desperation in his partner's voice, because it perfectly mirrored his own, so without taking his eyes off the road or screwing up his driving speed, he reached out to take Satoru’s icy hand in his own before giving it a tight squeeze.

“It won't have to come to that, we'll make certain of it.” He promised, and hoped that the words would help to reassure him, even though he knew they may very well be nothing more than a cold comfort at this point, especially if his intuition was right about your intentions.

“She won’t get away from us, not ever.”

Sorry for the long delay on this one, life and motivational issues happened, but here it is!

I hope you all enjoy the angst and aren't too traumatized by the cliffhanger. 😂 Hopefully the next one won't take as long to write and edit, but I make no promises. In the meantime though, please don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me. I know I'm not great at replying to comments or the stuff in my inbox over here on this app, but just know that I do read everything and I appreciate all of it. ❤️

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME! And who has also started their own Yandere!Overhaul fic called Crossroads and is set in a 1920′s prohibition style era, it’s amazing and you need to check it out!

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the-wanderer-2022 · 4 months ago

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Honey! What happened to your arms?

Alright, alright, had to pull my usual tomfoolery on this story. Jokes aside, ancient Eldritch God impersonating your missing husband in hopes you'll love him the same is a scrumptious (and horrifying) idea.

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the-wanderer-2022 · 6 months ago

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Every breath you take

You heard of Corpse husband, now get ready for corpse wife–

tw: female reader, necrophilia so non - con, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dirty talk, overall nasty shit that i needed to get out of my system, pls don’t read if such stuff makes u uncomfortable

Jack couldn’t bear to look at you without feeling his stomach crumble and twist sharply and violently. You looked almost normal. Besides the empty stare in your now dark lightless eyes and the dead weight of your arms stilled tightly by your side. Besides the necklace of pretty sky - coloured bruises and purple bite marks around your delicate neck. If your boyfriend was to simply press his lips against yours in a desperate attempt to savour your final cries, he might just be able to feel their silky softness - the smooth edges of your tiny side smile against his cheek, the pure scarlet warmth of your slightly open mouth and the millions pained whispers falling out with each heartbeat of your very soul. And If the man was to hold your hand he could pretend it wasn’t colder than ice itself.

Keep reading

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the-wanderer-2022 · 6 months ago

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The Ghost of Harding Manor

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: Your marriage is haunted by the ghost of the wife who came before you, and the walls of Harding Manor bear witness to your husband's descent into madness.

warnings: Dub-Con, loss of virginity, obsession, unsure if stalking counts if it takes place in your own home, implied chronically ill!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

♱

You were not Anna.

You were reminded every day from the moment you wed Friedrich Harding and became his missus that you were not Anna. Anna who was perfect and said the right things and walked the right way and was a walking temptation to the man she called her husband. Anna who—even in death—called to Friedrich from beyond and was nearly successful if it were not for strong hands and strong voices keeping the dark-haired man from throwing himself into her coffin with her. Anna who was well on her way to giving your husband a third child.

Anna whose touch still lingered in this home and along these walls and in the long dead flowers that Friedrich refused to throw out.

Anna who haunted you much more than she haunted your new husband.

Illness had not just taken the angelic beauty, but her three children with her, one never even getting the chance to take his first breath. In your solitude, you sometimes thought that you did not know what was worse—their two daughters remaining and forcing you to fill the void the other woman left in multiple lives…or your life as it were as you were forced to give Friedrich a whole new family and reason for existing.

You knew from the moment you became betrothed that you had a heavy vacancy to fill…but it seemed that Friedrich had no intention of you filling it.

“He does not touch me, mother.”

The words were whispered in the quiet home one day, and you looked around, ignoring the feel of the older woman’s gaze in favor of imagining what this house must have been like before the tragedy. You imagined how loud it must have been with two animated little girls running around. You imagined how good Friedrich must have been with them, and thoughts of Anna welcoming him home with a kiss and her arms full made your heart sink.

You were not her.

The advice of your mother went into one ear and out the other. You had long accepted that you were a poor replacement that Friedrich could hardly stand to look at. You were alone on your wedding night and again the night after that and the night after that. You were always alone, and the few glimpses that you got of your husband since the wedding day only proved fruitful in your gazes meeting for a stolen moment…and then he was gone again.

You were always alone, and he was always gone…

Until the morning you would not rise from your bed.

The fever struck you in the night, and by the time morning came you felt weighed down by sand. Any strength you had was used to keep your breathing as even as possible, unable to even muster an attempt to open your eyes and tell your cold husband that you were well. Conversations swirled around your head for what felt like days, and in between the feverish dreams, you caught diagnoses and assurances here and there.

“It is merely a cold,” the doctor told Friedrich. “Her body is fighting it quite well, and she will be like new in a matter of days.”

You recalled agreeing with the assessment, feeling more fatigued than anything else—you’d always been rather sickly—but your peace had been broken for the first time in months. The voice of your husband had reached your ears—so broken and angry and unlike anything you had experienced with him.

“...and how exactly did this come about? She never even leaves the house, for God’s sake.”

You heard the rustle of fabric and heavy steps and an even heavier sigh.

“In a matter of a night, my wife has taken ill, and I am assured that she will recover in no time, but I have heard that before…” his voice shook. “I will not bury another wife—I cannot!”

It all seemed so unlike him, and so you convinced yourself that you merely dreamt it up. The fever was clouding your mind and making you conjure up your innermost desires, namely Friedrich caring for you for more than just a societal duty to bear sons that would carry on his name. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness and dream some more.

A masculine hand in yours, a finger tracing patterns into your stomach through the fabric of the bedding, soft lips brushing along your fingers and facial hair tickling your flesh. Your mind conjured up all sorts of things that simply could not be true, and yet when you fully opened your eyes for the first time in days, you were not alone.

It was not easy to place the look upon Friedrich’s face as he stared down at you, towering over your bed with a smoke in hand and dark circles beneath his eyes. He did not look well himself, and you could not help running your eyes over him, wondering just how much sleep he had gotten this past week. The room was quiet as you two just stared at each other, and just as you parted your lips to inquire about his own health, he was abruptly turning away from you. His voice rang throughout the house as he demanded someone send for the doctor.

It was only hours later that it was professionally confirmed that you were almost as good as new and would probably only have to put up with a light cough for the next day or two. Hearing those words relieved you, and when you looked up at your husband, you could not tell if he shared your relief. You frowned up at him as the doctor poked and prodded at you, wondering, for the first time, just what the dark-haired young man was thinking.

He only stared back.

In fact, he only ever stared these days.

When you were walking through the silent house much like the ghost that haunted your marriage, you could feel the heavy weight of his stare pressing down on you. It was not easy to ignore—nor did you want to—but whenever you turned, no husband was there to meet your gaze. The only sign of his presence was the flutter of a broad shadow passing along the walls. He was much bolder when you found your nose buried in a book, and oftentimes when you lifted your gaze to catch him, he did not shy away.

“Yes?” you would wonder, voice quiet as both uncertainty and unease filled you.

Sometimes he did not answer, merely content to gaze at you, and other times he took his time in responding. He would exhale smoke and it would billow between you, briefly obscuring his features before he swiped his tongue between his lips.

“Supper will be ready within the hour.”

You would nod, and he would make no move to leave, and you would be forced to turn your eyes back to the pages before you…resolving to ignore the silent presence in the doorway that was your husband. You found yourself doing that a lot—resolving to ignore his presence. Otherwise, you would never get anything done.

His gaze clung to you when you ate, the dinner table silent outside of the sound of food and utensils hitting dishes. When your eyes would meet, you would send him a small smile, thinking to yourself that your marriage was just progressing slower than most, but he never returned it. He never smiled at you, only preferring to stare. When you ate, when you read, when you found yourself outside amongst the flowers…even when you slept.

You had never once shared a bed, so it was startling to answer a knock on your door one night, coming face to face with your other half. Your nightdress kissed your feet, and the sleeves tickled your hand, and despite that, Friedrich gazed at you as if you were standing naked before him.

“I only wish to make sure you are well throughout the night.”

You did not know how you felt both relief and disappointment, but you managed.

It took you some time to respond, nodding with a small ‘of course’. You still let out a cough here and there, and you did not miss the way Friedrich’s head would abruptly turn with every heave of your chest. Your marriage may have been cold and strange, but it was obvious that your husband had grown paranoid with the fear of burying a wife for a second time. You imagined that it would not reflect well on him.

…and so you laid beside him and closed your eyes and even in the cover of darkness…

You could feel his gaze.

It unsettled you, and you had half a mind to seek the advice of your mother the next time your parents came for a visit, but she—ever zestful and bold—completely took hold of your train of thought.

“...and when might I expect a grandchild?”

There was a teasing smile on her lips as she regarded you, and you merely sighed before taking a sip of your tea.

“You know my situation, mother,” you murmured, setting your cup aside.

Father was with Friedrich, and you hoped that he was enjoying his company much more than he seemed to his daughter.

“Yes, but that was months ago, and I can tell that things have shifted.”

At that, you frowned, turning to face her.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Your marriage was just as cold as it was in the beginning, only now a strange voyeuristic atmosphere had descended over it. Your husband had gone from ignoring your very presence to shadowing your every footstep in the house. Her light chuckle made you flinch, and she gazed at you as if you were playing some joke on her.

“Darling,” she took a sip of the warm drink. “I saw the way he was looking at you when you welcomed us through those doors.”

Your frown deepened.

“That is the gaze of a man fighting with all of his might to resist his beloved wife.”

Now it was your turn to think she was playing a jest with you, but you had no more time to linger on that for the voices of your father and husband soon filled the house as they made their way inside. You could only swallow as mother stood to welcome father back, slowly rising as your own husband neared you. When you traced his face with your eyes, you noticed the ease upon it, and you felt relieved to see that he and your father got on well. He looked like any normal man alight with the mirth that came from being in the company of other like minded men, and so you disregarded your mother’s words.

As you stepped past him to approach your father, your back felt aflame with the heat of a familiar gaze.

You saw them out and wished them safe travels and your father placed his hand on your cheek before he went, speaking good health over you. While he may have been used to your sickly nature, any instance that required bed confinement for his daughter always worried him. He wanted to leave with the trust that you would be well looked after…and well looked after you were.

“Your father was very transparent with me about your health.”

Friedrich towered over you as you sat at the table, having been unsure where this conversation was heading when he interrupted supper. A small container was in his large hand, and when your gaze lifted from the bottle to his eyes, you swore that you saw him falter, his words momentarily stuck in his throat.

He placed the bottle down before you, his hand remaining on the table, and the scent of him filled your nose.

“I have gotten the doctor to make a tonic for you. You are to take a few drops with your meal once a week… It will keep your strength and health up.”

He only moved again to open it, and despite the fact that you felt it was hardly necessary—having survived so long without it—one look into the eyes of your husband told you that not only could it not hurt, but for his peace of mind, you needed to do this. You two gazed at one another as he held it in his hand, and after some time, you realized what he wanted. Parting your lips for him, you swallowed down the few drops he administered to you, but even after you swallowed the herbal mixture down…Friedrich continued to stand over you.

It was in this moment that you finally started to voice your thoughts, asking him why he stared at you so when his movements completely stumped you.

His thumb found the corner of your mouth, startling you, and it remained there for some time before he brought it to his lips, tasting whatever had been lingering there. His blue eyes—normally so cold and unreadable in your presence—suddenly glinted with a look you could not place. It happened so fast that you would have missed it, but you did not, and the intensity there was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Friedrich parted from you as if nothing had happened, and you watched him round the table to take his place across from you once again. It took you some time to pick up your utensils again, rejoining him in eating your supper, and now it was your turn to stare at him…unable to forget that shadowy something that passed through those blue eyes.

He was staring again.

The wind howled outside of the window with the storm and flashes of lightning lit up the otherwise dark room from time to time and your chest and shoulders moved evenly as you feigned sleep. You stared at the wall before you, and Friedrich stared at you. If at all possible, he grew more shameless with it, and if you were a normal loving couple just so wrapped up in each other—as you were sure he was with Anna—then some part of you might have found it romantic.

Tantalizing even.

As it were, you were not, and as silly as it seemed…you felt hunted in your own house.

You constantly felt like prey under his ever watchful eye no matter how justified he made it seem. Concern for your health, making sure no food disagreed with you, seeing how fair you slept. The paranoia of losing another wife suffocated you both for different reasons and in different ways, and you felt as if you were moments away from choking. Your mother’s voice crawled through your mind, and words that you had once dismissed now rang through your thoughts like a melody.

The room glowed with another flash of lightning…and you felt the gentle feel of fingers on the side of your face. You sharply inhaled, startled from both the sudden touch and the foreignness of it. His hand rested on your hair, ensuring that he could gaze upon your face no doubt, and when you felt the bed jostle, you closed your eyes. His lips found your tresses, and his hand found your shoulder, and you both heard and felt him breathe you in.

Friedrich’s nose traced the curve of your ear and he descended until his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Despite all of this, your heart remained steady, and you remained still as he gently pressed his lips to your skin and traced patterns through your sleeve. You felt his larger frame shifting closer, and at that—at the feel of him pressed so closely to you to where you could feel every curve and ridge of him—you shuddered.

Yet you still feigned sleep.

“You will never be her,” the words he murmured into your skin had your brows furrowing. “...and I will never let you.”

Contradictory to the words that left his lips, the hand on your arm found its way to your waist, his arm completely circling you and holding you to him. That was how he remained throughout the night, and only when you accepted the permanence of his position, did you finally allow yourself to find sleep.

It was dreamless, and when you woke up, you woke up alone.

You chose to ignore the relief that filled you at that discovery, telling yourself that Friedrich was still grieving. It was an easy answer to his behavior and treatment of you, and yet, you wondered how much longer you had to endure it. You wondered how much longer you would feel watched and shadowed in your own house.

At breakfast, you parted your lips for Friedrich as he gave you a few drops of the tonic, and he watched you eat, and you pretended not to notice. For some time that is. Finally, after a while, you placed your utensils down, and you lifted your gaze to meet his head on. Ever bold, he did not look away, those blue eyes momentarily making you lose your train of thought.

“Why do you stare at me so?”

You finally voiced your concerns with him, and you watched the mustache twitch from the movements of his mouth at your sudden and brazen question. Friedrich looked as if he had never anticipated you asking that of him, but eventually he straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he studied your face.

“I am afraid you will slip away.”

His answer made you blink, eyes widening slightly.

“I fear…” he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “...like my Anna, you will slip from my grasp.”

Your lips parted at the unexpected answer, and you were unsure of how to respond. Friedrich took a deep breath before digging into his own breakfast, those blue eyes finally refusing to meet yours.

“I will not allow you to become her…lost to me too.”

It was in that moment that you realized you completely misconstrued his words from the previous night, and you stared at the man before you who was so desperate and driven to uncomfortable lengths to ensure he did not bury another wife. Some part of you felt awful for feeling so put off by his uncanny behavior…but some other part of you recognized that your husband was slowly being pushed to madness.

If he were not so already.

“She vexes me so…”

Those were the words you overheard a week later, your house hosting a small handful of people that Friedrich knew. The wives took to you well despite your quiet disposition, and when they proposed an evening walk along the beach, you went in search of your husband to inform him. When you found him, he was in the company of three other men, the smell of tobacco reached you first and then his words followed.

You froze the moment you realized it was you he was referring to.

“She is so quiet and frail…like a mouse” there were a few chuckles. “...and I so desire to hear her squeak.”

You felt yourself take a step back.

“...but it is because she is so fragile that I cannot bring myself to touch her…” you heard Friedrich inhale. “I fear I would ravage her.”

How was it possible for his words to both terrify and entice you? It was a relief to know that your husband did not balk at the sight of you as you once thought, but you did not hold the same sentiment in confirming you were indeed being hunted in your own house. Friedrich had made no moves to warm you to him and progress this marriage in a way that a normal man would. After all these months, he was still little more than a stranger to you.

A stranger that was increasingly losing himself more and more at the thought of ever losing you.

“...but Friedrich we only just got here.”

You looked to him with a slight frown, the ocean breeze a soothing feeling against your skin. So turned around by his words from the other night, you had completely forgotten all about the beach, returning to the other wives in a bit of a daze, something they happily sat you down and fetched some water for.

With one look at you surrounded and feverish with some water in your hand, Friedrich had cleared the house out immediately, saddening you. You were at the beach, now to make up for it, but you were sure that you had only been here all of ten minutes.

“It is a bit airish out,” he said to you, keeping your hand in place on his arm. “I do not wish to see you fall ill again.”

You struggled to argue with him about your health, understanding both the sensitive nature of the topic and the determination in his eyes to see you back inside the house. Despite what you wanted, you allowed him to guide you away from the water and sand. His hand remained on yours the whole way, and the closer you got to your home, the more your unease grew.

“Perhaps we can try again if the weather is better tomorrow,” you proposed the moment you were inside the warm walls of the house.

Your husband did not answer right away as he removed his coat, and for a moment you feared he never would, but his eyes met yours as he turned to you. He was gentle and meticulous in unbuttoning your own coat, his chest so close to yours as he slowly peeled it off of you. The words that he did not know you heard were on your mind as he looked down his nose at you, and he only answered when your arms were finally free.

“We shall see.”

His tone and his words did not seem to be in agreement, and you were unsurprised when tomorrow came and went and you did not leave the walls of your home. You found enjoyment in your books instead, and like always, you eventually felt goosebumps crawl over your arms as you became the subject of his scrutiny yet again.

Only this time, you were surprised to hear him approach.

“Read to me,” he quietly asked—demanded—of you, and you felt his hand in your hair as he sat down on the couch behind you.

It was an unexpected request, and you were silent for a few moments more as he made himself comfortable behind you. His legs were on either side of you as you relaxed on the floor, the fabric of your dresses and undergarments cushioning your bottom. It took you some time to do as he asked, but once you did, you started to forget that he was even there.

Until his fingers started to move over your scalp and he drew himself closer, his knees in your line of vision now, and his gentle breathing started to accompany the sound of your own voice. You read to him for what felt like hours, both of you only pulled from the moment when the cook informed you that dinner would be ready soon.

Much of your time was spent reading to Friedrich these days, and you wondered if he thought it a sufficient enough distraction to ensure you hardly noticed he never let you out of the house anymore. Your requests to go to the beach grew less and less with every denial and every ‘maybe’ that would just turn into a denial. The day you asked to accompany one of the staff to the market, he visibly blanched, his head shaking as he snarked at you how completely out of the question that was.

You finally spoke up when the monthly visit from your parents did not come to pass.

“I did not think it wise for them to be here,” was his only defense, and you gaped at him.

“...and why not? Why am I the last to know this?”

His hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you away from the curious eyes and ears of the kitchen staff, guiding you through the house with that long stride of his that almost made it hard to keep up. When he noticed, he slowed down, eventually halting his movements just outside of his study, and when you hesitantly reached for your arm, Friedrich loosened his hold.

You watched him use his free hand to gently brush his fingers over the appendage, looking down at it with a frown before meeting your gaze with a more even stare.

“...because they are always trotting off to God knows where around God knows who, and I will not allow them to bring even so much as a shallow cough into this household.”

You blinked at your husband, understanding dawning on you, and you struggled with a response. You realized now that appeasing his paranoia—not fighting it and letting him have his way—was doing more harm than good. Friedrich was so good at hiding his emotions from you—even the ones you wanted to know about—but in the dimly lit hallway, you could see it clear as day in his eyes.

He was consumed with the fear that you would wind up just like Anna and his children.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly reached for his hand, removing it from your arm. You did not break your gaze, wanting him to listen to you loud and clear, and you swallowed down the unease that filled you as you stood under his unwavering gaze.

“Friedrich…” you whispered to him, so unused to the feel of his name on your tongue. “That is no way for me to live a life.”

He pushed his shoulders back at that, and you knew that he was going to argue with you, so you continued.

“You have gotten me a tonic from the doctor…I am the healthiest I have ever been…and I would very much like to see my mother and father.”

His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth curved upwards at your attempt to put your foot down. The both of you stood there for a lengthy amount of time, just staring at one another, and for the briefest of moments, you thought that Friedrich would see reason. Your hand was still on his, and your husband maneuvered them so that your hand was now in his, and when he stopped closer, you knew then that you were not getting your way.

“Perhaps some other time.”

You knew what that meant as you watched him walk away, and dread began to fill you as the reality of your predicament was truly setting in. Your eyes roamed along the walls, no longer feeling haunted by Anna, but her husband instead. He was haunting you, and she was haunting him, and in his desperation to keep you from suffering the same fate as his previous wife, Friedrich seemed content to keep you behind a gilded cage, a manicured box.

Like a porcelain doll.

Your days were consumed with only him and the house—reading to him, tending to the flowers, picking out patterns for some new drapes or a new rug to be made. It was enough to ignore the obvious for a while, enough to keep your mind off of the prolonged absence of your parents and the unmet desires to see the water and the way Friedrich stared at you like he expected you to crumble at the drop of a hat.

He was driving you nearly mad as he, and perhaps that was why you did it.

The caretaker was new and had not yet learned that Friedrich Harding preferred to keep his new wife locked up like some sickly child. Why would she? You were sure that you would be back home before he returned, but when you entered your home—the sun still at its peak outside—you did not miss the way some of the servants avoided your gaze. Only one approached you, quietly taking your coat as her gaze found the floor.

“Mr. Harding is waiting for you both…”

Your heart sank at her words, and you looked to the caretaker, knowing that you just cost her employment. That had never been your intention, and you walked ahead of her, prepared to plead her case to your husband, but he let her go on the spot before you could get a word in. Everything you said went ignored, every plea and every excuse, and it was only when the staff made themselves conveniently scarce did your proper and mighty well-to-do husband finally…

Break.

“Do you wish to ruin me? Is that it?”

His voice bounced off of the walls, and your lips parted as he stared you down. His eyes were alight with every emotion known to man, and his shoulders heaved with every breath he took. You only just started to shake your head when he spoke again.

“For surely it will be the end of me if I have to say goodbye to another wife,” he angrily whispered, and you took a step back. “I do not ask much of you.”

“I know-.”

“I have not forced you to my bed, I have not demanded any sons or daughters,” he let out a tearful chuckle. “I do not even demand you greet your husband with a kiss when he returns home.”

All of this was true, and yet…

“All I ask is that you remain here.”

He said it so casually, as if he were not asking the world of you to remain prettily seated in a cage. You had never known how to gently broach this subject, understanding the sensitive nature of it, but as you stared into the face of your husband—driven mad with trauma and paranoia—you accepted that there would be no gentle way to do it.

“I am not Anna,” you breathed.

The man before you froze in place as you said her name, and you swallowed.

“I am in good health now,” you licked your lips. “You saw to that…”

You slowly reached for him, and you did not miss the sharp look in his gaze as he followed the movement with his eyes.

“I am not going anywhere, and I implore you to have faith…”

Your words trailed off as the sound of his bitter chuckle reached your ears. Friedrich moved closer to you with no intention of stopping it seemed, and your back hit the wall.

“Faith,” the dark-haired man sneered. “Why would I trust faith to keep you with me when that very same faith failed me before?”

You had no answer for him.

His fingers touched your face, and you looked between his eyes. His chest heaved, and his heavy breathing was the loudest sound in the room. His fingers trailed down the expanse of your neck before his hand moved to rest on the back of it, moving closer.

“You are so frail,” he murmured. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He forced your face closer, and you pressed your hands to his chest. The conflict was evident on his features, a furrow between his brows as he drank you in with those sad blue eyes of his.

“I fear that a change in the wind would rip you from my very arms.”

“Friedrich…” he gave no indication that he was listening to you. “I have not seen my mother and father in months. I know they must worry and… All I ever see are these walls and the staff and my books and you. Do you wish for me to be unhappy?”

He tilted his head.

“Do you wish for me to be alone again?”

“Friedrich, please,” you begged, and he was shaking his head as soon as you said his name.

“I cannot do what you ask of me,” he forced out, eyes becoming glassy.

You pulled at his arm and pushed at his chest, but your husband was a mountain of a man, and it did you no good. The room was filled with both of your voices at once, both of you pleading with the other—you for freedom and he for understanding.

“You do not understand the lengths I go to…”

“I will be driven to madness!”

“...the nights I refuse my own desires,” he tearfully spat.

“So you would have me be your doll then? Placed on a shelf where only you and the staff can see me? To only be looked at like a trinket until the end of my days?”

Your poor choice of words had him freezing, his voice dying in the air as he gazed at you with a stricken look in his eyes. He did not move for a concerning amount of time, and as he stared into your eyes, tears kissing his own, you wondered who he saw, right now.

You or Anna?

The wife he had lost or the one he was scared of losing?

“I cannot bear it,” he choked out, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. “It is an impossible thing to ask of me.”

You said his name, but he felt lost to you, mumbling to himself and kneading at you through the fabric of your dress. When his soft lips pressed against the skin just above your bosom, you tensed. You could feel the wetness from his tears on your flesh, and you said his name again.

In this moment, you were wholly aware of your disadvantage.

“All I do is try to protect you, and all I ask is that you help me…”

“Friedrich.”

He was on his knees, now, burly arms circled around your waist, and blue eyes wide and bright and tearful as he looked up at you.

“Yet you fight me every step of the way.”

“I am not Anna,” you said to him, trying to get him to see reason.

��but he knew exactly who he was talking to.

“...and you will never become her if I can help it.”

You felt his hand slide to your backside, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirts.

“Night after night…day after day…I fight with myself for fear of hurting you, of doing irreparable damage.”

His arm tightened painfully around you, and you gasped, reaching down to pull at his sleeve.

“...and for what? For a wife who still leaves these walls and puts herself in harm’s way even after her husband begs her not to.”

“I cannot…”

You struggled to breathe, and you no longer just wanted him to let you go…you wished to get away. You both heard and felt him press a lingering kiss to your stomach, his tears wetting the fabric of your dress.

“If I am to risk you in any capacity…then surely it should be for the betterment of us both.”

So focused on trying to take in air, you did not fully register his words and the implication behind them. Your chest was tightening and your stomach was hurting, and your husband was losing his mind, and you did not know how to convince him that he would not lose you too. You pushed further back against the wall in an effort to relieve some of the painful pressure when you could suddenly breathe again.

You sharply inhaled…and the sound of tearing fabric reached your ears.

The pressure around your abdomen was loosening in more ways than one, and when you looked down, Friedrich had his hands quite literally inside of your dress. It was one that your mother had commissioned for you, but you could not find it in yourself to mourn the loss of the beautiful gown. You were more focused on your husband’s sudden animalistic nature.

You said his name, pushing at his hands, but you were no match for his strength.

“I cannot stop,” you heard him murmur, making your blood run cold. “Do not dare ask me to stop.”

With his hand at your back under the fabric, it was not long before you quite literally felt the fabric and strings of your corset being pulled taut against your flesh before ripping and popping completely. A panic seized you as you fought to get away from Friedrich, and he fought to rid you of the mountain of layers that covered you.

“Friedrich,” you gasped, pushing at his face and head, but with his arms around you in a vice-like grip, you had nowhere to go.

You pushed one foot forward, a difficult feat with a grown man attached to you, and your husband did not like that. He pulled at your dress some more—pulling down—and the action had you careening forward as you attempted to get away from him at the same time. With the floor fast approaching, you were prepared to crawl away from him, but Friedrich was much quicker on his feet than you.

Arms that were now increasingly familiar to you wrapped around your waist, catching you midfall, and Friedrich’s chest was to your back as he stood and brought you with him. You could feel his facial hair tickling your skin as he leaned in, deeply inhaling and kneading his fingers just under your chest.

“I cannot…”

His words trailed off as he forced you to face him, pink lips parted and blue eyes glazed over. Every step back from him was followed, and his nose touched yours while one hand found a home on your cheek. His lips touched yours for half a second before you pulled away, and he let you, frowning at you as if you confounded him.

She vexes me so.

You recalled those words that were not meant for your ears.

“I cannot…” his frown deepened. “I cannot resist you any longer.”

He finally stole a kiss from you, his lips covering yours in a way that no one ever had before. The kiss at your wedding was sweet—chaste even—but this was nothing of the sort. Friedrich deeply inhaled your every breath and pawed at you and pulled you closer if at all possible. The kiss made your head spin, and every time you attempted to move your head back, he followed. It was hard to breathe with his lips on yours.

You realized that what you felt against the back of your thighs was the bed, but only too late and when Friedrich’s hands tightened on the neckline of your dress. His lips sought out the flesh of your throat as he pulled and ripped it open completely. His blunt nails softly dragged against your skin as he yanked it down, moving closer, and with nowhere else to go, you felt yourself backed into a corner.

Your resistance was clear, and your husband wrapped an arm around your waist, briefly lifting you before dropping you on the soft surface. His large frame found solace between your legs, and you felt irreversibly trapped. He towered over you and his mouth held yours captive and his arms did not allow you anywhere to go.

You gasped his name into his mouth, a protest in your tone.

“I no longer have the strength to keep myself from you,” he murmured into the kiss. “Do not ask me to for I cannot do it.”

His hand slithered between your legs like a serpent, and you squirmed in a way you never had before. You had never even touched yourself there on lonely nights, recalling how unclean and unchaste it was said to be, but Friedrich was your husband. Surely that made it okay…but then why did it not feel okay in your chest? Perhaps it was because he scared you and isolated you and kept you locked away like some prized possession.

You felt yourself growing wet beneath his touch, and a low hum climbed from his throat as you laid your hand on his arm. When a finger slid into you, you dug your nails into his arm. The feel had you blinking, and when he added another, your eyes widened. A third had you gasping and him cursing—something you rarely heard. You felt stretched, and when he moved closer, forcing your legs to part more to accommodate him, you hissed.

“Lie back, my love,” he murmured to you. “It will feel much better.”

You refused to, one hand on the bed behind you in some weak hope that you could stop this before it went any further. You simply wanted freedom, and pleading with Friedrich for something so simple had ended in him seeking out his own pleasures instead. You could feel yourself dripping around his hand with every thrust of his fingers, and shame filled you.

When you were unable to swallow down a moan, you hid your face.

“There she is,” he slowly whispered, and when his thumb brushed over you in a way that had your arm weakening, he took advantage.

In one fell swoop, you found yourself on your back, your husband on top of you and his fingers still pushing into you. Your ruined dress hung off of you in tatters, and Friedrich tasted whatever visible skin there was. His large frame kept you pinned to the bed, and your eyes rolled and lashes fluttered from the way he moved his fingers and his hand between your thighs. You weakly murmured his name, and beyond that, in the quiet room, you could hear his movements. You could hear the wet sound of it, and more shame filled you, but you were not given time to linger on it.

He sat up on his knees, reaching down with his other hand so that he played you with both. You felt your back arching, and your breathing grew more shallow, and one hand gently massaged your mound while the other continued to push his fingers into your slick walls. He curled them into you over and over, massaging your insides and pressing the pads of his fingers against you.

It was unlike anything you ever felt, and when your stomach tightened—a rope or a coil or something deep within your gut—you let it until it could not any further, and you were suddenly gasping and whimpering in a way that made you sound possessed. You could feel Friedrich’s gaze on you, and when you managed to focus your own on him despite the difficulty, he wore an expression that you were sure you had never seen before.

It made you want to cover yourself and shy away, and when he pulled his fingers out of you—a tinge of red on them—that was exactly what you set out to do.

Feeling hot and confused and unsettled by the man before you, you reached for the covers in an attempt to hide your nakedness, but your husband would not have it. He climbed over you, keeping you pinned between his thighs as he peeled off his light jacket, his tie and shirt and undershirt quick to follow.

You imagined that your wedding night would have been something akin to this, but only without this level of unease and fear and confusion. As it were, your wedding night was nothing like this. You had been alone, convinced of your husband’s lack of care for you, and now almost a year later, you were squirming beneath him and wanting to be as far away as possible from the man who metaphorically locked you in the tower and tossed the key.

“Friedrich,” you choked out, pushing at his chest.

He leaned in and kissed you again, and you felt every bit of him as he forced you out of your garments completely.

The tip of him brushed against your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered beneath him. He would not stop kissing you, tasting the inside of your mouth and inhaling every gasp that escaped. His normally perfect hair was in disarray, and when he reached down between you, his other arm was proactive in holding you tight and in place for him.

The feel of his cock pushing into you almost made you wish for his fingers instead. You thought that you felt stretched before, but it was nothing in comparison to the slow way in which he sheathed himself inside of you. You felt unnaturally full, and it took your breath away. Friedrich groaned from above you, and you felt a shudder crawl up his back as he rested inside of you.

“I tried,” you heard him whisper. “I tried so very hard…but I cannot go another day without having you.”

He slowly pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained before sinking into you completely. You could not stop the movements of your body, your hips lifting with his as if being carried by a wave, a breathless sigh escaping with every thrust. His bare chest was pressed to yours, and his burly arms kept you right where he wanted you, and you felt yourself slowly forgetting why you had ever resisted him.

“Endless nights of lying awake and knowing you were a mere room away,” Friedrich breathed against your skin. “So close…and so forbidden to me.”

The speed of his hips grew, and your nails dug into his skin, dragging over it as he plunged his cock into you with a vigor you did not know he had. He was always so cold with you, keeping you at arm’s length even when he was touching you. You recalled the feel of his hand on your hair and his fingers on your mouth and a brush against your waist. Always giving in just a little bit more until he no longer had the desire to hold himself back. Always staring and watching and craving.

It was so clear to you, now, and all you could think was that your mother was right…

…and you were a fool.

“I feared I would break you,” he panted, thrusting into you so strongly that the bed beneath you shook. “I still fear that I just might.”

He pushed himself up onto his hands so that he could look down at you, and the dull tender ache had started to subside, replaced by something that far exceeded the pleasure his fingers had given you. Your back arched, and Friedrich wasted no time in dipping his head to wrap his lips around a heaving breast. His tongue swirling around a hardened bud had you reaching up to thread your fingers through his dark locks.

He groaned at the action, and when he lifted his head again, his intense blue gaze sought out yours. You softly moaned every time his hips curved into yours, his cock smoothly sliding between your folds, now and stroking you in a way that momentarily convinced you your freedom was not all that desirable. Your husband did not look away from your eyes again, and it felt overwhelming to be beneath him and staring into his eyes and feel him within you.

One of his hands reached up to touch your cheek, and a frown formed between his brows.

“So fragile… It would take nothing for me to break you, to snuff you right out,” his words made your heart skip a beat. “You test my self control in ways that terrify me.”

His hand traveled to your neck.

“I was right to fear the monster that I would unleash if I ever got my hands on you…”

His fingers danced to the back of your neck, and he gripped the hair at the nape there, slowly and gently forcing your head back. His hips did not relent once, meeting yours again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin reaching your ears among other things that filled you with shame. So much shame.

“For I will never be able to resist you again.”

He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the expanse of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the damp skin, humming at the salty nature the thin sheen of sweat gave it. You whimpered when he reached down with his free hand, fingers brushing against you and circling you as you greedily clenched around his cock.

“If anything happened to you,” he whispered into your neck. “It would be my undoing.”

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the-wanderer-2022 · 6 months ago

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𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆!𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓/𝑺𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

A/N: I apologize for being absent these past few weeks, I posted a fic which was horrible too which I apologizie for, I just brainstormed it. I watched squid game s2 (Fell inlove with Gong Yoo and his character in squid game once again🤭) and I am happy to inform I have updated my request rules abit and you're more than welcome to check it out! I have included squid game s1-s2! Due to many changes going on in my life I haven't been able to post. Again I apologize and will try my absolute best to post more for you all, love ya mwah!💋

Warnings: Yandere Themes: These headcanons explore the recruiter’s obsessive, possessive behavior, turning his charming exterior into a facade for dangerous love. Manipulation and Control: The recruiter uses emotional manipulation, guilt, and control tactics to keep the reader dependent on him. Jealousy and Isolation: His extreme jealousy leads to the isolation of the reader from friends and family, ensuring he remains the sole influence in their life.Emotional and Psychological Abuse: Expect elements of emotional and psychological manipulation as the recruiter justifies his actions as protection and love. Potential Triggers: Themes of obsession, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, and isolation may be unsettling for some readers.

>>𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

>>𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞?<< >>𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠?<<

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

The recruiter’s charm is his most dangerous weapon. He’s smooth-talking and persuasive, drawing you in with a mix of flattery and subtle manipulation. At first, he seems like a harmless, even kind, figure offering a way out of your financial troubles. His charisma is irresistible, and he uses it to get close to you, weaving himself into your life in ways that feel comforting but are anything but.

He carefully crafts situations that make you reliant on him, slowly eroding your independence without you even realizing it. His words are laced with subtle commands, and before long, you find yourself doing things his way, believing it’s for your benefit.

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

The recruiter becomes increasingly possessive as his obsession deepens. He sees you as his, someone he has the right to protect and control. His demeanor, while still polite and charismatic, hides a deep need to dominate every aspect of your life. He ensures that you’re always within reach, keeping tabs on your whereabouts and activities through surveillance or by planting people to watch you.

He insists that you consult him before making any decisions, framing it as him looking out for your best interests. In reality, it’s about tightening his grip, making sure you never stray too far from his control.

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

Despite his polished exterior, the recruiter is deeply insecure when it comes to you. He cannot stand the idea of anyone else taking your attention away from him. His jealousy is masked behind polite smiles and soft words, but his eyes darken at the slightest hint of someone getting too close to you.

He might arrange for those he sees as threats to "disappear" from your life, subtly ensuring they lose contact with you or are dissuaded from pursuing any relationship with you. His methods are calculated, ensuring that no one suspects his hand in their sudden absence.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭

The recruiter justifies his actions as protecting you from the harshness of the world. He believes that the world is a dangerous place, filled with people who would harm or exploit you, and only he can keep you safe. This overprotectiveness manifests in suffocating ways—he’ll shield you from any outside influence, ensuring that you depend on him for guidance and safety.

His version of protection involves isolating you from friends and family, anyone who could potentially "corrupt" you or turn you against him. He convinces you that those people don’t have your best interests at heart, unlike him.

𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

The recruiter is a master manipulator, using your emotions against you to keep you tethered to him. He frequently guilt-trips you, reminding you of everything he’s done for you and how much he’s sacrificed. He paints himself as your savior, the one person who truly understands and cares for you.

He often creates situations where you feel indebted to him, making it seem like you owe him your loyalty and love. When you try to assert your independence, he plays the victim, making you feel guilty for hurting him and doubting his intentions.

𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

The recruiter’s obsession grows to the point of delusion. He begins to believe that you are destined to be together, that your connection is something fated and unbreakable. He interprets every interaction as a sign of your bond, twisting your words and actions to fit his narrative of mutual love.

His delusions often lead him to believe that any resistance you show is just a phase, a misunderstanding that he can "fix" with more time and effort. He sees himself as the only one who truly understands you, dismissing any objections you have as confusion or fear that he can soothe away.

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞

Beneath the recruiter’s polished and charming exterior lies a dark, intense side that emerges when he feels his hold on you is threatened. His anger, while rare, is terrifying. He may lash out at those who he sees as trying to take you away from him or use more subtle, manipulative tactics to remove them from your life.

When he feels that his control is slipping, his actions become more desperate. He might resort to threats or even violence, justifying it as necessary to protect your relationship. His love, in his mind, is worth any cost, and he’ll go to extreme lengths to ensure you stay with him.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

The recruiter often talks about a future where the two of you are free from the troubles of the world, living in perfect harmony. He paints vivid pictures of a life where you’re happy and safe under his care, free from the stresses of the outside world.

This future is his ultimate goal, and he’ll stop at nothing to make it a reality. He’s convinced that once he "saves" you from the world’s dangers, you’ll see that he was right all along and willingly stay by his side.

>>𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝: This fanfiction is inspired by the characters and universe from Squid Game (2021), created by Hwang Dong-hyuk and owned by Netflix. All rights to the characters, settings, and related content belong to their respective creators and Netflix. This work is a fan-created piece and is not intended for commercial use. All original content and ideas presented here are the property of the author. No infringement on the rights of Hwang Dong-hyuk or Netflix is intended.

Thank you for respecting the original creators and their intellectual property

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the-wanderer-2022 · 6 months ago

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the-wanderer-2022 · 6 months ago

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hiii, i wanna request aegon’s bastard twin daughters helping him unwind after a long hard day of being king, and maybe they just so happen to have a daddy kink ;)

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

“Does she not feel good, daddy?” You purred into the King’s ear; a soft smirk coming over your face as you rested your arms around his neck from behind. His bare, soft body on the seat with his legs spread. His fat cock pushed to the back of your twin’s throat as she gagged on him just as Aegon enjoyed.

His head fell back to look up at you and you could only smirk as he leaned in and mouthed at your heavy breasts. Your fingers brushed through his locks as his eyes fell shut. “So good.” He purred. His tongue brushed across your nipple whilst his free hand moved towards your other breast.

His hand moved to force your sister’s head down and her eyes flashed up. His chuckle sounded out at her gagging and you knew he felt her drool on his cock. Cheekily, you reached for his hand and began to guide him between your legs. Your wetness had your inner thighs soaked already.

His slender fingers slowly moved into your weeping pussy with ease. Two of them stuffing you and curling against your soft spot. It took his intense attention from your twin who slowly bobbed up and down now; paying more attention to his fat head with her tongue and sucking harshly onto him.

You softly smiled at her before you gently cupped Aegon’s face. He practically melted into your touch as you leaned in and lovingly captured his soft lips. His thumb brushed against your clit with ease as you only soaked his fingers some more. Your own stomach tightening in pleasure as he moved his fingers deeper.

Your legs shook as you only deepened the kiss; your tongues messily dancing together as the act only became wet. The King’s hips began to rock as he resumed fucking your twin’s face. Her gagging echoing around the room as Aegon’s greedy hands moved to roughly palm at your breasts.

You knew he was getting closer to his release; those bright eyes of his so dark as he moaned out. Whispers of praise falling from his lips that you knew your twin was eating up. Such a delicate girl she was; it was why Aegon enjoyed ruining her so much. A third finger of his was pushed inside you; deliciously stretching you.

It was enough to push you over the edge as his thumb quickly brushed against your clit again and again. “Oh ..oh gods..” You whined; eyes flashing to Aegon as his amused smirk only widened. Those locks of yours cascaded down your back as your orgasm ripped through you with ease.

You squirted around his fingers and softly leaned into him. Your head resting on his own as he brought his soaked fingers into his own mouth. Aegon softly moaned; sucking on them before harshly bobbing your twin’s head. “Good girl…I just might keep you.” He purred down to her; smirking darkly.

She whined and looked up with those pretty, matching bright eyes as Aegon’s release finally came over him. His hand softly squeezed at your breasts some more as his cum flooded her mouth. Her gagging continued as she tried to take all he could give her. “Help her clean me up.” He ordered you.

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the-wanderer-2022 · 7 months ago

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that which terrifies ; Count Orlok x Reader

summary: You're a housemaid who is sent away by her employer to an estate nestled deep in the Carpathian mountains. On the first night, your dreams become very bizarre, and you are no longer so sure of your purpose at the Castle.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.7K | female reader, smut, period cunnilingus, vampire coercion, invasion of privacy, scent kink, technically dubious consent and somnophilia (cos Orlok likes to touch when reader is sleeping and it gets a little blurred there), blood mention, decay mention, monsters, vampires,, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering), possession kink.

a/n: I feel like I should apologize in advance because this one feels weirder than my last one. again, you either get it you don't. nevertheless, I hope it is as good! thank you for reading if you do!!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

With a sharp crack of a whip and a high-pitched whinny, you are alone.

It’s snowing when you arrive. You look back down the pathway, unable to see the carriage any longer; the flurries obscure your vision. The coach that brought you to the looming doors of the entrance is long gone, as is the safety of it. The only sound that can be heard amongst the deafening silence of snow is the fading squeak of hinges and the clip clop of the horses’ hooves as they return home, wherever that may be… far away from this dreadful castle. As you gaze skywards, looking up at the castle, you wrap your shawl around your frail shoulders, shuddering. There is something that roils in your stomach like a malady, twisting and turning your insides until they ache so. Foreboding…

You had been sent here by your employer, a ruthless man who lacked any empathy, only possessed an insatiable greed for fortune. He had requested that you be sent away, to tend to a man who resided deep in the Carpathian Mountains. He had a large estate – a castle in every sense of the word – and needed it maintained. Your darling mother fretted the entire night, feeling as though it was an unwise and dangerous proposition; a young, unmarried woman going into the dark and cursed woods of Transylvania, forced so under the pretenses of mere employment. Though, you had been promised riches. This man, Count Orlok, would reward you handsomely for your duties. Or so it was said.

At first glance, the looming castle provides no welcome, nor does it beckon you inside. Though, the longer you stare, shivering in the snow like a lost child, the more inviting it becomes. As fearsome and ominous as it is, you know that within those stone walls, lies a comfort, a warmth of some kind. Another person to provide company.

With footsteps crunching down into the snow, you approach the doors. Your fist raises to the doors, poised to knock as hard as you can to alert the occupant that you’ve arrived. As you do, your knuckles pounding against the wood but once, both the doors swing open slowly, revealing a grand, but barren, courtyard. White blankets everything, obscuring any foliage that might have greeted you.

“Hello?” Your voice is swallowed up by the snow.

All at once, you hear scampering beside you, accompanied by a huff of breath from something and quickly pivot around, clutching your breast. When you turn back around, you’re met with a startling visual; a tall, intriguing silhouette, stands near another entryway. He’s stock still, the only movement is that of the furs that he wears, which blow delicately in the wind. After a moment, he turns, and disappears into another open door.

“Sir! Please, I beg of thee, wait for me!” Gripping your satchel in one hand and holding your shawl shut with the other, you hurry behind him, praying to get out of the biting cold. He does not wait for you.

Once inside, the castle provides little reprieve. It, too, is bitterly cold; the stone walls have absorbed the chill of the winter and seem to radiate out onto anyone who dares pass by, like long fingers, reaching out to pilfer any warmth that passes.

The staircase is dark, staggeringly so. It curls around a column, trailing ever upwards. He is gone from your line of sight, until you climb the last step, and enter the main room. It is dark, save for a robust fire that consumes the left hand side of the room, drenching it in warmth. Dropping your belongings, you hurry over to it and quickly stretch your palms towards the glow, the heat licking at your frigid fingertips.

Casting your glance over your shoulder, he stands near the table. You hum quietly to yourself, and turn back to the fire.

“Count Orlok…” you start, your voice feeble. You stare at him now, desperately trying to discern his features. Though he is unmoving as he watches you, the shadows which dance across his face obscure him. You swallow. “Pardon my –”

“Thy lord…!” he bellows, startling you. Despite the volume, his voice was low, deeper than any man’s voice. It was almost a growl, carnal and demanding obedience. You dare not defy him, not when he sounds as such. You furrow your brow to the fire, looking deep into the flames to hide your shame.

“My lord,” you started again. “I mean not to offend. I was only going to ask you to pardon my urgency in coming to the fire, I fear I may have caught my death had I been out in the storm any longer.”

“You,” he booms, his voice seeming to vibrate the air around you. He gestures, extending his long fingers towards the table. “...are weak with hunger… eat.”

You glance apprehensively at the expansive feast behind you; fruits, roasted meats, breads. It was enough to satisfy several men. “Are you not… not joining me, my lord? Surely, this is too great for my appetite.”

“…I shall sate myself… later….”

His response serves as nothing but confusion to you, for it is nightfall. Perhaps, you think, you are not accustomed to the habits of the area. You turn your attention back to the table; you are unable to deny the gnawing in your belly, and the enticing aroma of the food calls to your hunger, seducing you with promises of a full stomach, and a delightful, food-induced sleep. You get to your feet and approach one the chair, carefully setting yourself down upon it, smoothing out your petticoats as you do.

Wordlessly, you reach forward, plucking a single piece of fruit from the plate. Its glossy skin glistens underneath the flickering candlelight, and as you bring the succulent fruit to your mouth, its sweet nectar coats your tongue. You hum happily, and savor the taste, rolling it around on your tongue before gnashing it up with your teeth. Next, you reach for the fork that sits at the plate’s edge, and pierce the flesh of a morsel of meat. It’s tender; the prongs of the fork giving way, and the intoxicating aroma of herbs and spices fill your nose.

Though the food is delicious, it does little to distract you from the fact that you’re being watched. The Count sits across from you, his presence an ominous shadow that threatens to swallow you whole. You chew once, twice, and raise your gaze to his. It’s dark and envelops you like an embrace, one you cannot deny.

“My lord,” You say, swallowing the remainder of the meat. “Pray tell, who cooked this delicious meal? I was told that you resided here by thineself, hence your need for a ma–.”

Before you can finish speaking, his words slice through the space between you. “No… more questions. Eat.”

“I was only –”

“Hush now. You are too weary to have such… conversations.”

His words rang true; you were exhausted from the journey and the food was only increasing your fatigue. Now, with a full belly, you felt the first, soothing touches of sleep running its fingers through your tresses, beckoning you closer. You stifle a yawn, not wanting to appear rude in your present company.

“I long to become familiar with you, my lord. I have many questions… but perhaps, I’ll rest…” You say as you wander over to the fire, longing for its warmth once more. You fold yourself to the floor, resting your arms and head on the seat of the ornate wooden chair that sits in front of it. “If only just for a moment.”

With the crackle of the fire lulling you away, it isn’t long before the drowsiness takes you, your form drooping slightly in the chair as you nod off. It is not a restful sleep, however; it is a disturbed slumber, filled with bizarre dreams that feel like waking nightmares.

Shadows claim your body and soul as you sleep, drifting farther and farther away from your consciousness. Slender, phantom fingers graze over your heartbeat, feeling it, tasting it with physical touch, and they graze the fullness of your breasts. Lingering touches chill every inch of your flesh; your neck, between your legs, and along the length of your arms. You dream of being intertwined eternally, though if asked, you couldn’t explain what that meant. Pain, braided with throngs of indescribable pleasure.

You aren’t sure how long you sleep, but awake when the sun’s rays reach through a nearby window. You stretch your limbs as far as they’ll go, the muscles shaking with exertion. Then, unexpectedly, your palm flattens atop a cotton pillowcase, the tips of your toes feel sheets beneath them. A bed. The fire, you think. I fell asleep at the fire. He must’ve carried you to bed in the night – a thought that, while somewhat comforting in its thoughtfulness, concerns you. You remember not the feelings of him cradling you in his arms, carrying you to bed like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. You remember not the feelings of being tucked in like a child, delicate and small. But you remember your dreams.

Pleasures that capture your sleeping body, controlling it so that you thrash and turn on your bed. Long, slender fingers ghosting over your jawline, desperately twitching to pull your mouth into a bruising kiss. The overwhelming scent of Earth, the irony scent of blood, paired with a sickly scent that you can’t place. Stinging pains as the shadow in your room consumes you. Whispers of promises, of ownership, of eternities. Things that you cannot comprehend, but wish to agree to willingly.

Your eyes open fully, having now adjusted to the light. The realization dawns on you; your lewd dreams had been about your new employer, the mysterious man who had only insisted you eat. Knowing not what time it is, you quickly throw the covers from your form, and get to your feet. You’re still clothed, but the buttons on the front of you are peculiarly undone. Your fingers work fastidiously to redo them, before you cross the small room to the door.

Hurrying down the stairs, you return to the once warm dining room, now flush with sunlight, but still freezing. The fire has burned itself out, and the table remains full of food. The meat has likely spoiled, but the fruit and bread… You eye them both hungrily.

“My lord?” You call out into the emptiness as your heart pounds in your chest, a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. You wait… but nothing comes, no response, nor sound. Satisfied that you are alone, you rush to the table, hurriedly taking up a piece of bread and some of the fruit. You scarf it down in a very unladylike fashion, but no guilt taints your urgency; you’ll need energy to do your duties.

As you chew, you decide to meander some, and still, fail to find the Count. Your exploration yields very little aside from the discovery that this castle looks all but abandoned in the daytime. At night, at least there is a fire in the hearth to tell stories of the living craving warmth, but during the day… It is nothing but emptiness. The castle itself is so vast, so decrepit, that you have a hard time navigating it without feeling like you’re running yourself in circles. Most everything looks the same, and frustratingly, most of the doors are locked, try as you may to enter them. How is one intended to clean if they do not have access?

After several hours of cleaning to the best of your ability; sweeping up leaves and dusting away long abandoned cobwebs that hung in the recesses, you pause to wipe your brow, and in doing so, catch a glimpse of the setting sun. Like an overripe fruit, it hangs heavy atop the silhouette of the castle, and disappears, sinking into the horizon as you watch it. Has it been that long? Or had you originally slept much longer than you’d thought?

Gradually, the castle is submerged in darkness. You hum to yourself, retrieving the rag from the floor and return to the main room. The visual before is laid out as it was the night prior and you are equally as perplexed.

The fire roars once again, and the Count, with his tall, menacing silhouette, stands in front of it. As soon as your foot hits the last step, he turns, gripping his fur coat at the side. His fingers seem to go on forever, only lengthened by his sharp, pointed nails. You bring your hands to your lap, shifting nervously.

“You have been hard at work, I see…”

“I… yes, my lord. Though, most of the rooms are locked. Might I have access –”

“No.” He says lowly, curtly. There is an unsaid warning, discouraging any persistence.

“My lord…” You quiver, fighting against your own nerves. “Might I ask… what is my purpose here then? If not to clean thy castle… why for?”

He is suddenly beside you, his tall frame dwarfing yours. “You will… provide me… company.”

Your heart squeezes within your chest, tight, as though his hand had reached through your skin and gripped it with all his might. The rag drops from your grasp, falling to the stone floor silently.

“I’m afraid I don’t… I don’t understand.”

But you do. You understand that you were sent here under a falsehood, an arrangement disguised as employment. As you recollect, the terms in which you were sent away were very sudden, very demanding and very specific – he had requested a young unmarried woman. You thought it to avoid any incessant mail, perhaps, but realize, the reason is far more personal.

“Fret not,” he says, his fingers reaching up to brush across the warmth of your cheek. They are cold to the touch, frigid even, and you shudder underneath the gesture. His dark eyes suddenly seem to widen, his nostrils flaring. As he inhales sharply, he dips closer to you, his claws reaching towards your clothed hips.

All at once, his long arms wrap around you, seizing you, pulling you into a desperate, hunger-driven embrace. He tastes your flesh, licking from the nape of your neck to the hollow between your full breasts. It is not tender, nor is it heartfelt. It is insatiable, it is dark, yet… your supple frame melts into his grip, allowing him to support your wilting body in his grasp.

You feel the edge of his nails gently caress your body, fingers wrapping around the flesh of your arm with their length. Your lids flutter as his mouth nears your ear, his labored breathing hissing into the tight space between the two of you.

Deep between your legs, an incessant want pools. It is hot, greedy, and coils in your stomach like a venomous serpent. Your lids grow heavy with need. Above you, Orlok nears ever closer, dipping down until the bridge of his nose presses into your sternum. He inhales deeply, as though inhaling your very essence. He makes a sound akin to the low, warning growl of a wolf, though it’s tinged with something far more satisfied.

“That which terrifies you….” his full-bodied voice snarls above you, consuming you. “....pleases you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s just done, what provoked such a bold claim from his lips. He had smelled your blossoming state, your throbbing arousal and inhaled deep into the confines of his very lungs. No man has ever done such a thing, and the thought leaves you reeling, shuddering in his grip. Because, you know… he is no man.

“My lord,” you whisper. “I… I…”

“Speak,” he urges, his voice thickened with lust, with hunger. You can feel his breath upon your breast, upon the exposed column of your neck. He nears closer.

“I cannot! My words fail me, my lord… I know not what I speak of… what I feel deep within my chest.”

He growls, considering that for a brief moment, before speaking again. “Your body speaks loud enough.”

With your breath catching in your mouth, you quickly utter your next words. “I think I may retire… early this evening, my lord. I feel faint.”

“If you are… unwell, it would be in your best interest to do so.” His words are strung together so laboriously, punctuated by wheezing breaths and his heavy accent. You swallow again, looking up into his unimaginably dark eyes. There is a hunger there, a flash of something that frightens, but moreso, arouses you, and you gasp, turning quickly on your heels, heading back up the nearby steps. “I bid thee goodnight!”

You run down the corridors as though he is pursuing you. Hunting you. And as soon as you are in the safety of the room that he once carried you into, you shut the door, collapsing against the back of it. You pant, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but you cannot ignore the clawing lust that you feel.

You dress yourself in your nightgown, and quickly get into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as though that is some ward, some protection from the shadows which plague you. As before, it is not long before the warmth carries you off to sleep, the comfort of the bed acting as a tranquilizer for your nerves.

The dreams come again, wrapping themselves around your body and cradling you in their enticing embrace. They are heavy, like the weight of a lover atop of you, and they ghost along your legs, trailing along the curve of your thigh. You whimper, taking fistfuls of the sheets.

“I beg of thee… please…” you murmur, sleepily. Still, it is a call, a beckoning, and the shadow in your dream heeds it. Immediately.

You shift, kicking your legs and thrashing your head to the side, whimpering pitiably in your slumber. The sheets are cold and seem to cling to your thighs, bringing you no comfort and do not free themselves when you move your legs. There is a pressure, a pulling deep between your legs. You whine again, bucking your hips. Against something.

Your eyes snap open, your body jerking with unimaginable arousal. The first thing you see is the ceiling, decorated with shadows and uncertainty. The second thing is that your nightgown is pushed up to your waist, exposing your lower half to the chill of the room. The third, and perhaps the most startling, is that Count Orlok is nestled between your thighs, his lengthy fingers gripping your hips tightly, not fazed by the rocking of them as you feel, feel deeply, what he is doing. He pulls you closer, and you immediately feel his cool tongue as it laps at your center. He swallows loudly, wetly, and you immediately smell the harsh, irony scent of blood. As he gulps, you feel an ungodly pulling sensation, as though the essence is being drained from between your legs.

Realizing, you yelp and push your hips into the mattress, pulling his mouth from your cunt with a slick sound. His mouth chases you, but in the second in which the moonlight hits his angular face, you see that the lower half is coated in blood. You wince, and tighten your grip on the sheets. You had heard stories as a child of a mystical, monstrous creature… strigoi, nosferatu, vampyres… many names for one being you’d never thought you’d meet. And certainly not in this way. But you realize, as his mouth hovers over your core, his cool, wheezing breath washing over you, you do not want him to stop. The nerves, the anxiety, it had all been because his aura had captivated you, called out to you like a beacon in the storm.

“Give thyself to me…”

You nod once, unable to hide your true nature. Your hand drifts to his bare, decaying shoulder, urging him back between your legs. Orlok’s tongue snakes out once again, delving deep into your entrance and lapping up the viscous fluid that leaks from it. You nestle back against the pillow, allowing yourself to feel everything, to drown in the sensations. It is unclean, monstrous but you cannot contain your cries, the lascivious sound echoing off the stone walls. Your hips continue bucking into his mouth, your hand gripping his aged flesh with all the power you have left.

He laps at your cunt, starved for the sanguine nectar mixed with your sweet arousal, and your body quivers and shudders with each pass of his tongue. You feel the sharp points of his fangs grazing your swollen clit, a teasing, dangerous feeling. You dig your nails into his cool flesh, pulling him closer still and you feel that serpent return, coiling around itself until it threatens to burst.

“Pl-please… my lord…! I’m… I feel as though I might…!” But he does not relinquish his feasting, nor does he slow.

Your body seizes up, muscles spasming as your back arches desperately, the fire of your orgasm reaches a peak, crashing over you like waves on a shore. Your hips buck violently up into his greedy, hungering mouth, crying out.

Finally, as the pulsing subsides betwixt your thighs, he is above you, lowering himself down upon your breast. His lithe fingers spread apart the pieces of your nightgown, exposing your skin to his waiting mouth. A white, hot lance of pain erupts over your sternum as his teeth puncture the waiting flesh there, the ache sprawling its stinging tendrils down the length of your arms and to your fingertips.

You gasp, your pupils dilating. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you know, unlike anything you’ll ever experience again – a feeling, a craving that only he can sate. The room is filled with your weakening moans and the slick, gulping sound of Orlok as he drinks from you. Your menstruations were not enough, and yet, neither was a singular orgasm. Your hips writhe with a desperate plea, though he is too far buried between your breasts.

A dark cloudiness rings the edge of your vision. No… not sleep. Not now…. I beg of thee…

The world fades from your grasp, like water through thine fingers, the only sensation is that of your skin chilling, paling as he drinks your sweet, warm blood.

“M-my lord…”

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the-wanderer-2022 · 7 months ago

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"A Maiden's Token" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, count orlok is his own warning, blood kink, penis in vagina sex, sexual tension, creampie, oral (f receiving), death is mentioned, no aftercare, reader probably has stock-holm syndrome.

Fourteen days, that's how long you've been here. That's how long you've been left on your own every daybreak and then expected to entertain death itself every evening. As the sunset on the snowy horizon, you made your way back into the castle, dragging your tattered dress by what remained left of it through the snow. Upon entry, you were shocked to see that the fireplace was still lit. Occasionally, it would flicker out during sunset as if the castle consciously knew a force of darkness would be awakening.

With a sigh, you lifted your dress and dropped down by the fireplace suddenly out of breath. Maybe it was the consistent blood loss or the freezing temperatures of the European mountains that you were succumbing to. As far as you knew, he hadn't given you any reason to believe that you'd have an extended stay at the castle. At the end of the day, your chances of reaching the next morning relied solely on the temperament of a man. Your mother had taught you well enough about men to know that when they get bored, they tend to move on.

You felt the presence of tears threatening to depart from your eyes as you thought of your poor mother. She must be so worried and heartbroken. Ever since the two of you arrived in Europe after leaving America, her overprotectiveness of you has grown enormously. When you told her of a Count from a neighboring country requesting your services for painting a self-portrait of him within his own castle, she warned you against going and you decided to shelve away her concerns as mere fairytales. You gripped the silver locket necklace hanging around your neck for security and sighed. Your mother had gifted you this locket on your most recent birthday, and holding it helped you think of all your fondest memories with her.

Now, here you sit, sleep deprived and undernourished. He left you only bread, some grapes, wine, and a bucket of water. You were thankful for the water as you refused to be inebriated in your current situation. It was almost shocking to see he had the decency to have the water refilled each day, but you knew it was only because he'd hate to let his food source run dry.

Suddenly, you were startled when you heard the pouring of wine into a goblet behind you. You hadn't even heard him ascend up the stairs of the castle, and yet there he was in his full glory at the head of the dining table. Now, whether he did ascend the stairs and walk right past you or he simply just appeared at the table was something only god himself would know.

"You have been crying." The Count's thick accent hung heavy in the air, his voice sending a rippling wave of goosebumps over your skin. The tone of his voice was accusatory and not at all sympathetic. Even with English clearly not being his first language, you could hear his overwhelming disappointment. Over the two weeks he's kept you here his English had somewhat improved either by hearing you speak it whether you were asking to excuse yourself to find somewhere to use the bathroom in the empty bucket he gave you. Or from your begging and pleading for him to just let you go home.

Your cold hands desperately wiped the tears from your eyes, and you stood to your feet. He watched you approach the elegant dining table, and you took your seat as far as you could away from him. It was painfully obvious that this night would go just about the same as every other night. You two would intensely stare at eachother while you'd ate your bread for dinner, he'd make you get up and walk to the guest bedroom where he'd make you strip naked and feed from you and then you'd pass out from the pain and awake in the morning to the Count missing and nowhere to be found.

It wasn't even like he needed to feed from you. From your understanding, as he explained it, he'd go into the nearby village and 'have his fill' after he had siphoned a small amount from you. It made you feel like some kind of appetizer or twisted desert for him to be keeping you alive this long. Even with his figure shrouded in darkness, you could still tell by his posture that he was growing impatient with waiting for you to finish your 'dinner'. It was almost like the flickering flame of every candle avoided his very figure as if the fire itself was scared of this entity.

When you finally finished, you stood up from the table and waited till he rose from his seat before you allowed him to lead you to the guest room. You had gotten so used to his grotesque heavy breathing that when he suddenly stopped, the silence was deafening.

"You are crying again." At least when he said it this time, he sounded somewhat amused. It was like he knew that you've accepted your fate and that there wasn't anything you or god could do about it. The door to the guest room opened slowly without him having to touch the handle, and you stepped inside, fingers already loosening the ties of your corseted dress. "Forgive my tears, my Lord." You cringed at the title you gave him. Of course, an entity this dark would be so egotistical to have you address him as a Lordship. You had wondered if this kind of evil was something that would come from inside someone or from the beyond.

"Why would I need to forgive such fragility? You are a human girl. It is in your nature to be weak and fragile." A vein could have popped in your forehead, and you wouldn't have even known it. His words made you seethe and boil with anger, you had to bite your tongue so hard not to say anything that would get him to eviscerate you on the spot.

"Ah, there she is, my cochetă, my minx, be angry so that all your blood may flow freely." Your body winced at the nickname he gave you. He had called you it frequently rather than your real name. Even when you had unknowingly signed away yourself to him in a contract, he addressed you only by 'cochetă' which he explained was romanian for Minx since you weren't at all fluent with the language yet. You dropped your dress and undergarments off in a chair away from that bed so that you may spare it from any more trauma. After taking your seat on the bed, you draped the blood-stained blanket over your shoulders in an attempt at making you feel like you haven't soiled your modesty.

"I have seen all you have to offer. You will not hide from my eyes." With in an instant, you removed the blanket, not from your own will but because he compelled you to do so. Another tear fell down the side of your face, and this one he wiped away with the side of one of his long pointed nails. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and the Count leaned over you and dropped his face to below your exposed left breast. His breath against your skin felt like ice, and you shut your eyes in order to brace for the pain that never came.

Instead of the feeling of two fanged teeth penetrating your heart, you felt the knuckle of one of his fingers brush against your clit and your back arched. Your eyes widened, and you sat up to meet his stare. There he stood, completely unafflicted by your reaction. In fact, it was almost as if you were the one who did something wrong. Impulsively, a heat pooled in your lower abdomen, it's warmth radiating down your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut in hopes to catch your breath and calm yourself down. What he did to you was only causing a natural response from your body, and you had no control over such responses.

Nonetheless, you still felt the urge to mentally shame yourself for being a such sinful whore who's body responds like that to the touch of something - someone so heinous. It was almost as if the devil himself had cursed you with such blasphemy with the way your nipples hardened to a peak and your thighs squeezed together, trying to prevent you losing yourself to sin any further.

You didn't even open your eyes back up when you felt his cold hand grab a hold of one of your thighs, you were then pulled further down the mattress closer to the edge of the bed and to him. A hand that was so cold that it felt like it was devoid of any life and any warmth worked it way up your chest and grabbed one of your breasts. You bit your lip to hold back a gasp when the peak of your nipple was rubbed back and forth by his thumb. It wasn't until you felt the contact of his mouth around one of your nipples that your eyes shot wide open.

You looked down to see that he had your left breast peaked in his mouth while he suckled on your nipple. Your body betrayed you once again, and that heat you were feeling at your core seemed to grow much hotter. A swipe of his cold tongue against your nipple made you look down again, and you got a good look at the head of the man doing this to you. He had since discarded his hat in the dining room, and now you have a much closer look at the spirit you were dealing with. The back of his head was rotten and decayed even under the several thin tufts of brown hair on his head. It felt like you were looking at a corpse of a man that should have been locked far away in a coffin in the depths of hell.

You weren't even paying attention when a hand parted your thighs and brought attention back to your clit, he pulled back the hood and started rubbing slow deliberate circles around it, being mindful of his claws. He switched to your right breast, and at this point, there was no use controlling your gasps and whimpers anymore. He was so gentle with you. Maybe this was foreshadowing that tonight would be the night he'd finally get rid of you, and this was just him rubbing salt in the wounds and making the evening last as long as possible. He'd never touched your nether regions before, but when he fed from the blood of your heart, he'd often rub his hands around your waist as if he was mockingly consoling you the way a lover would.

The hairs of his thick mustache tickled your nipple and you weren't ready for when he dragged downward a long lick from your breast, to over your stomach and then finally stopping at the mound between your legs. You exhaled deeply when he resumed and dragged his blackened tongue down your slit, getting a taste of your wetness in his mouth. This wasn't something you should be enjoying, just the symphony of approving noises that left your lips made you feel appalled with yourself. It wasn't until you felt his lips lock around your clit that you became heavy lidded and utterly defeated.

You settled with the idea that he's being so cautious with you because he's going to make you reap what you sowed when it was time for him to experience his own pleasure. And regardless of how good he made you feel in this very moment, you still hated him. He tricked and imprisoned you in this hellish imitation of a castle. He left you alone and unattended during the day, allowing a pack of wolves to ensure you never take your leave. It was because of him that your mother was a several weeks journey away, worried sick about you, and you weren't even sure if you'd ever see her again.

You were on the verge of crying again until he rose to his feet, his figure demanding your full attention. His clawed hands fiddled with the buttons of his trousers, and your breath hitched. The hefty fur cape he wore would frequently would drape over his frame and seculde him in almost total darkness. You never knew what his daily wear looked like since he seemed content in hiding in the shadows of your vision only to reveal slightly more of himself to you when he fed from your body. What came to your vision when he glanced back at you was the erect bulbous head of his cock. It was engorged and jutted upward toward the ceiling as if it demanded your gaze on it.

He crept closer to you, staring intensely as if trying to gauge your state of mind, trying to see whether you were going to fight or flee. Instead, you just allowed your head to fall back onto the mattress. It was pointless to do either of those, and deep down in the darker realms of your subconscious, this behavior from him was welcomed. When the head of his thick member prodded at your entrance, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes tightly.

Instead of thrusting inside, he thrusted his shaft upward, dragging it along your slit to coat himself in your wetness. When the shaft slid up against your clit you couldn't help but mewl out, still feeling that knot in your lower belly that was just waiting to be undone. When he finally seized the moment to thrust inside you, your eyes shot open, burning and stinging with tears. The Count let out what sounded like an inhuman hiss as his length seeped into your heat, inch by inch. The stretch was almost unbearable. It felt like you were being split right down the middle into two halves of yourself, and you weren't sure what half you pitied more. Your mouth opened to make a noise, but nothing came out. Such an intrusion of this nature left your throat speechless and strained. He pulled his hips back, and a clawed hand shot up to your face and held you in place upon his re-entry.

Those pointed nails of his were so sharp it felt like you had needles digging into your skin. Beads of red came into your vision dripping down your face from how much pressure those thick claws of his put into your flesh. When you tried to snatch your face away from his hand, he only pulled out and thrust into you more harshly. The squelching noise your cunt made around his length felt nothing short of sinful. To your disbelief, you learned he still had more of his shaft left to give you when he pushed himself further inward to the hilt. The thick head of his cock struck your cervix like hammer and a painful cramping sensation followed behind it. He hummed a noise of satisfaction as if he was he was impressed you were able to take all of him to the hilt.

Your breasts bounced on your chest when he roughly pulled out entirely only to shove himself back in. You gave a whine in response, and it was only then that he had seemingly guaged a fine line of pleasure and pain for you. Adjusting himself, he started up a pace of feverent rutting that made your legs tremble pitifully around his waist. The pressure of his hand on your face left when he leaned over to get a taste of the clotted blood that dotted across your forehead. His body was so much larger than your own that he had to contort himself over you to be able to taste the crimson he created and be able to continue his rutting.

The frequent movement of your body from the impact of his hips against yours was beginning to loosen that knot you felt in your belly. Your moans grew louder, and so did the beating of your heart against your rib cage. Inducing this creature to feed from you because your heart enticed him was the last thing you needed right now. The pace of his thrusts harshened, and so did the primal look he had in his eyes. Having him over you and staring at you like this, as if he were a lion and you were a weak gazelle soon to be eaten. For such an entity of darkness, he had such expressive eyes, sometimes they were so black you could see your reflection. Sometimes, they were so white and cloudy, you'd wonder where he had come from, heaven, hell, or neither.

"Please..." You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, but in your heart, it felt like it was for release. Release from the built-up pressure in your belly, release from the castle, or even release from life itself. Your hand reached up, and you cupped the flesh of his face. His skin was so cold, so rotten, and yet there was a feeling of life as if there was perhaps a soul present, but you knew better. There wasn't any life within him, as he was death itself. There was no soul within him, as he claimed the souls of others.

The closer his body, his cock, brought you to this peak of of pleasure that you pleaded for, the wider the smile grew on your face. A smile that didn't go unnoticed as his lips claimed the skin of your neck in what felt like possessive kisses. Perhaps this union of flesh solidified the extent of your stay at the castle through your own submission and your yield to the power he had over you. Those kisses trailed up to your own lips, and you tasted death from his mouth to yours. You tasted your own blood from him, and you tasted his hatred and his darkness, and yet you no longer had fear for it. With a painful clench of your walls, you came undone, your release washing over you in thick waves.

The spasming, clenching, and squeezing of your canal made the already deep and ragged breaths he took erratic, as did his rutting a few quick snaps of his hips and you felt a spurt of cold fluid inside you. The chill of it rose up your spine as it felt as if death itself had released into you. A deep animalistic growl vibrated off of the stone walls around you and bounced around in your skull. When he removed himself from you, you felt the remainder of his spent coat your inner thighs.

You looked away as you sat up on your own elbows, trying to balance yourself, and when you looked up, expecting to meet the eyes of a starving beast, you were met with an empty room. He had left you, spared you even. You couldn't imagine the type of carnage and havoc he'd wreak upon those villagers tonight. Reaching up to clutch your necklace for security and your hands found nothing but skin. He was gone and had taken your necklace with him. He took it as if you had bestowed upon him the honor of having a maiden's token.

#thank you so much #so hot

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the-wanderer-2022 · 1 year ago

Note

imagine your partner has an oral fixation so they latch onto your boobs whenever it is possible... one day when they're sucking on it, they get a sudden call from someone so they stop. suddenly your boobs feel heavy and you feel something trickling and voila! it's milk!

Per usual, your boyfriend was suckling on your huge breasts in bed.

It was your nighttime routine, one that had started shortly after you were dating. He had been pretty upfront with his preferences; his oral fixation and his complete obsession with big breasts hadn't bothered you one bit. Any opportunity that man could have your tits in his mouth and suck, he would.

For your part, it was quite enjoyable. Not only was the feeling arousing, but it also felt nice to feel like you were nurturing someone, to provide them comfort. You hadn't overly decided if you wanted kids until this man suckled your teats at every chance he could get. Especially when he was stressed, you knew pulling your breast out for him perked him up, and he would nuzzle against your chest and suck on your nipple until he felt better.

The changes to your boobs were also a surprising addition, though. When it had started, admittedly, you already had extremely large breasts. But after your boyfriend's comfort had become a habit, your tits didn't stand a chance in hell fitting into that 36G anymore. Last you measured, you would have been up to an M cup, but with how frequently he needed to suck on your breasts, buying another bra seemed silly when they just would not stop growing. Your shirt was an obstacle enough when he was getting into it.

Besides, recently, you had swollen beyond that M cup measurement anyway. Your breasts were massive expanses, with super sensitive nipples that perked up at the slightest breath against them. Hell, even the thought of him wanting them in his mouth got them to stiffen and make your breasts feel tight. Their weight had suddenly increased too, making walking or sitting up a labourous affair; then again, your boyfriend was often hypnotized when you'd move. Your massive mammaries would sway, your always-hard nipples poking this way and that through see-through shirts you always found yourself spiling out of.

As soon as you walked through the door, your nipples hardened as you saw the expression on your boyfriend's face change. His pupils dilated, like he had taken some sort of happy pill, though realistically you knew it was the mere sight of your breasts that did it for him. The poor guy literally had to wipe drool from his mouth; lately, the action had made your breasts feel super right, almost like they were full.

With a smirk, you walked across the room past him to the kitchen to drop off the groceries.

"Fuck... I can't believe how big they've gotten, babe." He came up behind you and cupped your nipples in his hands before hoisting your breasts up. You released an immediate sigh of relief; sometimes it was easy to forget how heavy they had gotten.

He bounced them up and down, sloshing your fat around, which only made your nipples harder.

"C-Can I...?"

It was honestly surprising it took him this long to ask. With a giggle, you pulled your tits out for him. He knelt down and suckled at your right breast as you continued to put groceries away.

His mouth sucked the entire areola hungrily as his tongue did a run against the nipple. He moaned at your breast, which only made them feel tighter and fuller than they already did. His saliva against your skin made you ache; it made you want nothing more than to fill him up with liquid warmth.

Snaking your hand through his hair, you pushed his face closer to your breast. He suckled deeper, getting a moan out of you. With a chuckle, he massaged your breast, his fingers working into blue veins you had noticed appeared last week.

But your ecstacy was short lived when his phone rang. With a growl, he pulled away and looked at it; the scowl on his face told you it was his boss, a call he simply couldn't ignore.

"I'll be back, okay babe? Keep them out." He clicked answer on his phone as he left the room. "Hey, what's up?"

Keep them out.

They were swollen from the sucking, and you doubted you'd be able to out them away any time soon anyway. Your glands felt sore, like they had no more room, or like they were... full.

You shifted uncomfortably as the feeling persisted; your boyfriend hadn't been gone that long, but the longer he left you, the more needy your breasts felt. You wanted nothing more than to be suckled on until you both fell asleep.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

What was that?

You had to take a step back to see two small puddles of white fluid on the counter. It looked and awful lot like--

"Milk?"

You turned to see your boyfriend, phone still at his ear, staring with his mouth agape. His eyes were transfixed to your apparently leaking mammaries. Throwing the phone over his shoulder, he nearly raced to your side. Drool dribbled down the corner of his mouth as he knelt down and grabbed your breasts in his hands.

The touch was gentle enough, but it must have played against a swollen gland, because a squirt of milk sprayed against his lips.

Though it was only a little, the express felt amazing, and you moaned in relief. You felt his hard cock rub against your leg.

"I'm gunna fucking drink you dry."

His hot breath against your breasts made you ache even more. You pulled his head close as he took your breast in his mouth and began suckling.

It was absolutely ecstacy. You filled him wkth milk, just as you knew he was going to fill you with his seed later.

---

🐮❤️

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the-wanderer-2022 · 1 year ago

Text

All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed Pt. 2

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, Homelander being a stalker, innocent reader, naive reader, Homelander being a basic menace, some uncomfortable parts, dubcon, secrets, manipulation, grooming (feel like that's what Homelander is doing), age gap, power imbalance, there will be one more part after this then i think i'm gonna wrap up this little story

Words: 3472

Summary: Starlight unravels the secrets which Homelander and Vought so desperately wanted to keep in the dark.

Part 1 Part 3

Annie was still reeling from the events of yesterday. She'd barely stepped foot into her apartment before a Vought assistant was scrambling to reach her. They inform Annie about the dinner being held that night to introduce a Seven-Trainee. This only further raised the hairs of alarm on the back of her neck.

Worst of all was that you nor anyone else saw a problem with this. Maeve wore her mask well and kept her thoughts to herself though their conversation was till fresh. Maeve really wanted to ignore how odd it was.

Maeve rose her glass with everyone else, a smile plastered across her face. And you, you were beyond happy; unaware of the wolf that paraded beside you. Annie could barely stomach her meal, forcing down bits of lamb but the richness of it soured immediately on her tongue.

Thankfully once everyone seemed to finish, the group parted ways with you and Homelander walking away together side by side.

That night was hard to sleep, even after calling Hughie and telling him all about it. He'd said that him and the Boys would look into it. See what they could find on you. That did help enough to lull Annie to sleep.

Reality was there in the Seven's conference room though, cheerfully beaming up at Annie.

"Good morning Starlight!" You chirp, the mug in your hand is put down forgotten by her entrance. Homelander is taking slow sips of his coffee, watching their interaction like a hawk. Annie didn't have to look at him to know that. She could feel the drilling of his piercing blue eyes. The eyes of a sociopath.

She puts on her best face, similar to the ones she wore when meeting fans. "How was your first night in the Tower?"

"It was great!" Really, it had been a great night. Probably the best one in your life. After the delicious dinner Homelander took you out around the city, giving you an aerial tour. Then he got ice cream for the two of you to enjoy back on Vought Tower's roof. You listened to the urban music it made at night. Honking of cars, sizzling of food, the chatter of people; the city was so alive. Your nights at home were spent quietly.

The warmth that Homelander made you feel took you by surprise. From the moment he showed up at your house, you felt an immediate connection. Like the two of you meeting was fated, written in the stars. In a short amount of time, Homelander had embedded himself in you. Last night all you could think about was spending the next day with him and the rest of the Seven. He gave you comfort in a way your parents never did. They loved you sure but they never really understood you. They were fearful when you started flying. You didn't even want to remember the conniption your father had when you'd accidentally fried an expensive painting with your lasers. To them your powers were somewhat of a burden, not something to revel in.

Yesterday you'd used your powers more than you have in your entire life. Homelander encouraged you.

A bit of a cliche, you already felt yourself really falling in love with him. You'd already been fairly attracted to him to begin with. When you saw him on tv, he was your ideal of the perfect man. Well spoken, handsome, chivalrous- everything you thought your future partner would be. He ticked off all of those boxes.

Chances though that he reciprocated such feelings so soon was low. He must see you as still a child. The age difference didn't help either.

"She'll be shadowing me today." Homelander tells Starlight as she stops by the breakfast buffet that was set up for the Seven. Her hand lingers on the cup of coffee she'd poured herself. "Just to get an idea of what we do on a daily basis."

She raises her brows. "You're taking her out on the field so soon?"

It's obvious that Homelander doesn't like Starlight questioning his choices when it comes to you.

You cheerfully nod. You memorized the schedule Homelander had given to you a few moments before Starlight had entered the conference room. Holding out the sheet of paper to her, she takes it and looks it over.

Starlight doesn't remove her eyes from the paper. "Don't you think she'd benefit from shadowing myself or Maeve one of these days? It looks like she's mainly going to be with you and Black Noir."

He keeps his tight lipped smile. "I'm giving her the basics. Once she's advancing to my satisfaction she can work with you and Queen Maeve. For now I want to be hands on with her training. After all, anyone would kill to be taught by America's number one hero." Homelander's smile that he gives you sends your tummy in a flurry.

Taking everything in you to maintain a professional appearance, you hide your blush by taking a sip of your coffee. You didn't want Starlight to see you obviously simping for him. That would be embarrassing. You wanted to be taken seriously during your time here. This was a once in a life time opportunity that you didn't want to squander. You planned on absorbing everything you learn during your time with the Seven. Maybe one day. . . you'd be able to join their ranks. Wasn't that every little supe's dream?

Starlight was actually happy to see Black Noir and Maeve walk in, A-Train trailing behind them; his eyes glued to his phone.

You straighten in your seat, showing them that you understood the great privilege it was to be there with them. Your heart raced being around so many big names.

You listen attentively as the Seven get down to morning business.

The next few days are spent integrating yourself into the lifestyle and schedule of the Seven. Homelander took control of your training in the beginning, but he had other priorities that pulled him away from you. Much to both of your chagrin. He handed you off to Maeve during his busy hours. Unlike Homelander, Maeve isn't quite as warm. She's a tough teacher. Even when you walk around with her in public she keeps everything professional. She holds herself perfectly which you catch yourself trying to replicate. Maeve had you learning the different districts of New York. Important to understand the diversity in each and the crime statistics that reflected upon it.

"You need to know the streets like the back of your hand. Especially when criminals try to run. They'll do whatever it takes to shake you from their trail." Maeve explains. "Since you can fly, it'll be especially important for you to memorize an aerial map too."

You diligently studied any and all maps you could get ahold of. Even went as far as spreading all of them out around your apartment.

Problems came at the prospect of Maeve sparring with you. With someone like Maeve it was necessary to take care to not use the full capacity of your powers on her. She wasn't completely indestructible, unlike you and Homelander. Physical training would have to wait until Homelander's schedule freed up.

He texts you as you wait for him in Vought's state of the art gym. The both of you make plans after training to hang out.

Finding yourself internally swooning, you shake your head free of any thoughts of that ilk. You wanted to remain professional. He's just being friendly and must know that you might be missing your family.

And it was weird that you hadn't received any calls or texts from either your mom or your dad. When you'd attempted to contact them yourself they never answer. Your messages go unreturned.

You'd thought about paying an actual visit with this concerning behavior. They'd gone from helicopter parents to ghost quiet. Your schedule was just so busy. Maybe you'd take the time to ask Homelander if you could take time off to go.

When Starlight shows up, gym bag hanging off of her shoulder, she's pleasantly surprised to find you alone in the locker room. "Hey! I feel like I haven't seen you in a while."

She was still in her supe outfit but lacked her long lashes that she wore to public events and patrol. Still she was so pretty.

"I've been shadowing Queen Maeve during the day. And then training in the afternoons whenever Homelander's available. I tried sparring with Queen Maeve, but even when I tried not to punch so hard. . ." You rub your knuckles. Even when you held back you still sent Queen Maeve a couple of feet away before she steadies herself to get back up. Really, it was you who insisted to train with Homelander after that. You knew nothing you did would seriously hurt him.

Pressing her lips together, Starlight suggests "You know, I may not look it,, but I'm pretty tough." She offers you a tentative smile. "If you want to try sparring with me? I don't have much to do today."

"Really?"

"Sure! You're supposed to be learning from all of us, right?"

You enthusiastically nod and close your locker door before you hop to your feet. "Okay! Guess I should get a warm up in before Homelander gets here."

Both of you laugh as you exit the lockers side by side. It was odd when you remember that Starlight is only a year or two older than you. She carries herself with such confidence. Each stride she takes is strong. Every block she makes, calculated. She'd only been in the Seven for little more than a year and she fit in so easily.

As much as you idolized Homelander, you loved Starlight. Even after Vought decided to change her supe uniform to something more scandalous. From the first photoshoots she'd done in her new outfit, there was a look of contempt that shadowed her eyes. Clear that this change wasn't her decision. Whatever Vought was trying to make her out to be, Starlight would remain herself. She was still the bad ass girl that gave you hope that you could one day join the Seven officially.

Starlight proved to be a competent sparring partner. Dodging any of your offensive attacks. You had to move quick around her. She was fast, even impressing you.

Neither of you noticed when Homelander strolls into the gym where supes honed their skills. You don't see the twitching of his jaw or the haughty way he folds his arms in front of his expansive chest. His eyes are particularly glued to Starlight, the interloper. It was one thing letting you follow and learn from Maeve. Homelander didn't trust Starlight one bit. He'd always felt something off about her. She just felt fake to him. And he didn't like how her expression had become hostile when he introduced you. Like he was doing something wrong by bringing you to the Tower. He wonders if she knew the truth about you.

A trickle of sweat was rolling down the side of your face when you finally turn to where Homelander was standing. "Oh! Hey Homelander!" You use the front of your tank top to wipe your face.

He forces his iciness to melt just enough so that he could return your bright smile while still shooting Starlight eyes that could only mean 'watch yourself'. "I thought you didn't feel comfortable physically training with anyone but me?" Homelander puts on a tone of faux hurt.

"Starlight assured me that she's sturdier than she looks. And she was right! Plus she's fast and I hardly landed any serious blows to her." Confidence made your smile widen and Homelander felt that familiar clenching in his chest. How precious and perfect you were to him. Starlight threatened that. She could be a bad influence on you. He could already see you dressing in a skimpy outfit like Starlight wore. And while he wouldn't mind seeing that, he would mind everyone else's penetrating gaze. That was something he couldn't risk.

"You almost got me a few times." She chuckles in return, already feeling the both of you were becoming actual friends.

"Well," Homelander inserts himself between you two "thank you for warming her up, but I'm here now. I'll take over."

Starlight's smile waver, her dark eyes hardening toward the leader of the Seven. "Of course." Her warmth returns when she addresses you. "We should do that again. I had fun."

You felt like you could explode. "Y-yeah! I had fun too. I'll see you later!" You didn't have many friends, at least not organic friends that you made yourself.

Yeah, your friendship with Starlight was definitely not Homelander approved.

The entire time it takes Starlight to leave the gym, Homelander's glare didn't move from her back. He didn't like her around his sister one bit.

"Alright!" Your cheerful hum brings him back to you. "Now I can really go all out. You ready?"

Corner of his mouth curling up into one of affection. He'd put a pin in it, wait until later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy being around you and having you beam up at him like he was your own personal deity. Your main god whom you would always rely on.

With Homelander distracted, Starlight takes the opportunity to slink out of the Tower and to the Boys' hideout. Her gray hoodie covers her signature gold hair. Hopefully that and her ripped pants would deter anyone from her identity. What she was doing was not only stupid but dangerous. For her, for Hughie, even for Butcher who wasn't exactly her favorite person.

"Annie! I was about to call you." Hughie immediately opens the door once he spies her through the peephole. "That girl-"

Annie holds her breath, waiting for what information they'd scrounged up.

"Another fuckin' supe." Butcher steals Hughie's opportunity as his heavy gaze lands on Annie.

She blinks and turns to Hughie. "What's he talking about?"

Hughie ruefully glances at Butcher before finishing what he was going to say earlier "That girl is Homelander's sister."

"That's. . ." The air in her lungs was stolen for her as it sunk in. Homelander's predatory claim of her, his hovering. But did you even know? It didn't seem likely.

Sitting her down, Hughie goes on to divulge more of Vought's dirty secrets that they tried to bury. A lot of hard work went into finding anything about you. All they had to go off of was your name. Any lead they managed to get was followed up. It was a wonder that they ever came upon the truth of your origin.

Staring at the blotchy piece of paper that Frenchie handed her, Annie felt her mouth go completely dry. The page was weathered, an old copy that held stains on the surface. Some words were so faded that they were intelligible.

John [the Homelander] failure uncontrollable neutralize

Lack of normal childhood had greatly damaged the psyche of Homelander. The problem lay in the fact that Homelander was indestructible. There was no known way to seriously maim him.

That was where the conception of you was truly developed. You would be raised entirely different than how Homelander was. That was Vought's mistake.

This was a tightly held secret. No one was meant to know about it. It sounded like Stan Edgar and his gaggle of scientists did everything they possibly could to ensure that you being related to Homelander would never come out.

"I guess with the truth of Ryan, he must have grown even more suspicious and found the information himself." quietly mused Hughie.

"Where did you get this document?" Annie forces her eyes up to him.

That has Butcher scoffing "What's it to you?"

Hughie intercedes. "We broke into Vogelbaum's home. Wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do. He was one of the scientist in charge of Homelander when he was growing up."

Worriedly chewing on her bottom lip, Annie closes her eyes to replay all of Homelander's interactions with you. Something still wasn't right. Why didn't you know? And why hadn't Homelander told you yet?

All of those questions plague her trip back to the Tower. It was never a good idea for her to be gone for too long. Others might grow suspicious of her outings.

She shouldn't be poking her nose deeper into Vought's business. But she couldn't let you be influenced by someone like Homelander. He was lying to you like he was lying to the rest of the world about how much of a good person he was. He wasn't golden. He was tarnished and distorted. And by how you gaze at him, Annie worries that you'd be all too willing to be corrupted by him. Eventually Homelander will show his true colors. When he does it will be too late for you to back out. He won't let you. Annie could see your future unfold before her. How you'd be stuck in the Seven similar to everyone else, including herself.

Slipping back in easily, Annie had to shed her sweatshirt and pants to dawn her Starlight uniform. Well, it felt more like a costume to her now. Losing all meaning when she discovered the Seven were not as honorable as she'd first imagined.

You'd done so well during your training, Homelander deemed it only right that you get a special treat: a special viewing of the new Vought supe movie. Better was that it would be screened in Vought's private theatre that was only accessible for the higher ups in the company. For tonight, he'd call in a favor to reserve the whole room just for you. Gourmet treats would be included and anything else you wanted.

Going back to your room to shower and change, you show up in a comfortable pair of yoga pants and an old graphic tee. You're about to put on a lightweight jacket until you catch the buzzing of your phone.

Hope that it's your mom and or dad, you rush to where your phone was charging only to be disappointed. Just a useless app notification.

You try not to let it get to you but it was already nearing a month since you got there and you hadn't spoken to your parents once. Weighing the phone in your hand, you contemplate trying to call them again. Mind changing when you notice the time. You replace your morose mood to one of giddiness and slip your phone into the pocket of your yoga pants.

You were a little surprised to see him still in his uniform and partially embarrassed for yourself. Maybe you should have dressed up a little bit more?

Homelander didn't appear to mind. In fact his smile grew.

"Should I go back and change?"

"No, you're perfect. Just the way you are." His smile disarms any concern you may have previously had. "In fact I feel overdressed."

"Next time we'll have to coordinate outfit aesthetics." You chuckle and follow him in. The theatre was no yet darkened. This wasn't like any screening room you'd been in before. Each seat was the size of a couch that were capable of reclining. Except for the two of you, the room was completely empty.

Seeing Homelander in such a setting was a bit weird. Homelander was doing something as normal as sitting down and watching a movie was bizarre. He even used the reclining button for his own seat.

Before the movie started, he calls in for food and drinks be brought to the both of you.

Once you were in possession of your snacks, the room darkens and the screen comes to life.

You like when Homelander becomes your personal commentator. He tells you behind the scenes bloopers that others would not be privy to on the special features. Both of you are loud and don't care when you laugh or talk. Honestly you didn't pay much attention to the movie. You were more entertained with talking to Homelander and spending time with him.

The feeling was mutual. Homelander had never felt as carefree as he did when he was with you. Your laugh was a beautiful one that he wanted to hear all the time.

And with you looking at him with eyes that shine lightening strike blue from the light of the movie, he really couldn't hold himself back. He removes one of his red gloves and moves it to tenderly brush against your cheek, asking without using his words for your lips.

From that single point of contact, your entire body is set aflame. Your breath lodged in your throat as you realize what is about to happen. To show your consent you tilt your face up and allow him access.

Homelander doesn't waste a second in closing the gap.

Taglist:

@the-maladaptive-daydreamers

@demodemo909

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