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dark-fics-4-you · 3 days ago

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Worth It

Topper Thornton x Reader

Summary: After finally finding the strength to end your toxic relationship, Rafe thinks he can win you back, no idea that you've been sleeping with his best friend.

warnings: Non-Con, mentions of cheating, toxic relationship, semi-public sex, jealousy, secret relationship, mentions of side of Rafe x reader, kook!reader, non canon ages, p*rn with a plot

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies

➥ Can this be read as a one shot? Yes! Can this be read as a follow up to Escapism? Also yes!

⭑

You hated the way tears spilled over as Topper forced you to stare into his eyes. You blamed it on the alcohol in your system—your inability to fully control your emotions, right now. The living room was only lit from the glow of the TV, a movie playing that all three of you had long stopped watching, but you could see the blond—and the determination on his face—perfectly.

“Topper,” you quietly gasped, pushing your arm against his neck. “Stop. Rafe-.”

Your words were cut off in your throat with one particularly hard thrust from him, his hips smacking against yours as he fucked you on the floor of Rafe’s living room. The other blond was in the shower, slightly tipsy himself and none the wiser to what was happening downstairs. Topper snapping and taking matters into his own hands wasn’t surprising. Knowing how he could sometimes get about you, you’d expected it at some point…

Just not here and now.

After a tumultuous eight months with Rafe Cameron, you finally found the strength and resolve to break up with him and keep it that way. He was an okay friend, but he’d turned out to be an even worse boyfriend. The constant lies and disrespect and betrayal had finally gotten to you and pushed you to do something about it that didn’t just involve fucking his best friend.

No one was happier than Topper when a month went by and you still hadn’t given in to Rafe’s half assed apologies and pleas.

It was when it finally started to sink in for everyone that you were serious this time. Rafe wasn’t going to win you back this time, and especially not with the sorry excuses of apologies he always gave. You could see it in his eyes every time you were around each other—the barely contained anger and disbelief and most of all the aggravation that he couldn’t do anything about it.

To the public, you were a single woman.

It was a different story behind closed doors.

Topper never had a problem crawling into your bed every time Rafe hurt you, so he especially had no qualms about it now that you and the toxic blond had broken up for good. He could touch you and kiss you and fuck you without abandon. You no longer had to worry about the sound of Rafe’s knocks interrupting you or being quiet when he was asleep just down the hall or refusing sex with him because you were still sensitive from the feel of Topper’s cock only an hour before.

You and Topper were in heaven…

Until Rafe decided that he wanted to actually put in the work with earning your forgiveness.

“I treated you like shit,” he’d said to you one day, shocking you. “I always have and I know that and…you were right to leave me. You should’ve left me after the first time I cheated.”

There’d been a time when you would’ve killed to hear those words coming from Rafe’s mouth. Now though, now you didn’t care. Even though he didn’t know it, you’d gotten back at him in the best way possible, and it was only made better because that’d never been your intent. You hadn’t wanted to ‘get back’ at Rafe that night Topper told you about the other blond and some girl. You’d just been heartbroken…and craving the touch of another.

“Well…thank you for saying that,” you’d responded.

It was sincere. Even though you were at a place where you didn’t need to hear those words anymore, they were still nice to hear all the same. Rafe had nodded as he gazed at you, both of you in your own world away from the rest of the party.

“We’re over, and I get that now, but…we were friends once.”

You’d looked down at that, gathering where he was going with this and wondering how you and he could ever be friends again after all he’d done to you…and even you to him. He’d been your friend once but that hadn’t stopped him from cheating on you and embarrassing you and just overall treating you like shit. You were friends once but that hadn’t stopped you from sneaking around with his best friend once you found yourself at your breaking point with Rafe’s behavior.

“Look, I miss us being around each other and actually talking, you know. And I know I don’t have anyone to blame but myself, but I miss it…” your gaze met his. “I do, and I’m serious about showing you how sorry I am this time.”

You thought it was…nice.

Topper disagreed.

“We both know Rafe,” he spat at you that same night. “You know better than this. The normal routine isn’t working, so now he’s trying something different, and if you think Rafe has any interest in being your friend, I swear to God, Y/N, I will lose any respect-.”

“I am not some stupid bimbo! You don’t think I’ve considered that?” you threw your hands up. “...but I don’t see you cutting him off as a friend anytime soon, so unfortunately I still have to be around and interact with the man who broke my heart. That’ll be a lot easier now that he’s not trying to kill me with his mind every time we’re in the same room.”

Topper hadn’t had a response for that because it was true. Despite how awfully Rafe had treated you, he was still part of your normal circle—the two of you having way too many people in common—and it was something that bothered you but the alternative was isolating yourself from the people you cared about, and that just wasn’t fair to you.

It was obvious then that Topper wasn’t happy with the turn of events, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He was forced to sit back and watch as Rafe played nice with you and talked to you like nothing had happened and even flirt with you in that way he used to back before you dated. He hated it, and it was obvious long before tonight, but with alcohol flowing and trips down memory lane, Rafe got too comfortable.

…and right there in front of Topper, the other blond had thrown his arm around you before pressing his lips to your cheek.

It was only with your quick thinking that the kiss landed on your cheek instead of your lips, and picking up on the change in atmosphere, Rafe had pulled away.

“Shit,” he’d mumbled with a chuckle, running his hand through his hair. “I think I need to sober up a little bit.”

Neither you or Topper paid him much attention as he talked about needing a shower, completely oblivious to what he’d just done. You and the remaining blond merely stared at one another as Rafe made his way upstairs—his family out for the night—and it was only when you heard the bathroom door shut that Topper pounced. A hushed argument turned into something more, Topper’s anger only getting worse by the second, and you couldn’t hold in your pained gasp when his hand twisted into your hair.

Topper’s lips were on you, and his other hand was pushing at the skirt you’d put on this morning. He was a man with tunnel vision, completely uncaring about your ex—his best friend—just upstairs in the shower. No amount of times mentioning that seemed to matter, and despite the fact that you were not in the mood to have sex with Rafe so close by, Topper had reached his breaking point.

His fingers had started to curl inside of you before you knew it, one hand hanging onto him to keep from falling and the other pulling on his wrist as a means to get him to stop. Despite your slight inebriation, your feet had firmly planted on the floor to prevent Topper from pushing you down because you knew that it was over the moment he managed to get you onto your back.

With every push of his fingers into your walls, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter, his movements becoming smoother as his fingers and hand became slick with your juices. His teeth scraped at your neck, causing a shudder to travel up your spine, and you felt his thumb join his other fingers, circling around and over your clit. The way he massaged that bundle of nerves had you faltering, and Topper saw the opportunity and took it.

It was how you found yourself on your back, literally pushing at him and pleading with him to stop.

“I don’t care,” was his only response when you mentioned Rafe the first time.

You did though, and for the first time, you found yourself genuinely resisting him and trying to get him off of you. Your skirt was hiked up around your waist—the shirt you were wearing ripped open—and Topper had long pulled at your underwear and twisted them and stretched them to give him access to push his hard cock into you. You’d almost been unable to swallow down the choked gasp that threatened to escape your throat.

He was slow in fucking you at first, distracted by the way the length of him repeatedly disappeared inside of you. He always loved that, watching your cunt greedily taking him, watching the way you dripped around him and made a mess on the pink shaft. Every protest mumbled from your lips went ignored, and it was only because you could still hear the sound of Rafe in the shower that you didn’t panic.

However, mentioning Rafe again had the man on top of you changing his pace. His thrusts grew in temp, pushing himself into you and pulling out quicker and quicker. Topper had long discarded his shirt, his shorts pulled down to his ankle as he curved his hips against yours.

“Fuck,” he cursed, grinding himself against you. “Stop talking about Rafe, just stop.”

Your forearm was pressed to his neck, tears in your eyes as you attempted to get through to him.

“He’s right upstairs,” you angrily whispered, voice panicked. “Are you crazy? Get off of me!”

It came out louder than you intended, but you’d have a much easier time explaining to Rafe what a possible noise was than what he’d see if he came down the stairs at any moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that the thought turned Topper on, his blue eyes glinting in a way you’d never seen as he continued to plunge his cock into you. Every time he pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained just inside of your folds, you could hear the wet sound it made. When he thrust back into you, the squelch reached your ears, and you were too terrified to linger on how that normally turned you on.

You could only think about Rafe hearing the same thing and going on a rampage.

When Topper pulled back, you foolishly thought he decided to listen to you, but instead he only rested on his knees, his hands grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer. The moan you let out was loud and breathy, the action having caused you to feel the tip of him deep into your gut, Your legs rested over his own thighs, and Topper’s fingers dug into your hips as he jerked himself into you over and over.

Your chest was heaving, and you didn’t miss the way his hooded eyes traced over you, taking it in. Your toes curled with every push of his hips, and faintly, you could hear the distant sound of water running. A blue glow was casted over Topper’s tan skin, evidence of how much time he’d been spending in the sun. under any other circumstance, you’d reach out to run your hands over him.

Not tonight.

“Topper, please,” you breathlessly sighed.

It almost sounded like you were begging him for more, but as it were, you were begging him to stop being an asshole and get off of you. Your gaze trailed over his face and the intensity you saw there. His lips were parted, and his tongue rested just on his teeth as he looked down at you and enjoying the sight of you taking his cock. Your eyes traveled down his chest, taking note of the sweaty sheen it held.

Your gaze eventually stopped.

You watched the way his cock slid in and out of you, almost transfixed by the sight. He stretched you out so good, always had, and it was hard to ignore the way your body buzzed and your heart fluttered and your stomach tightened. You were torn between wanting to give in and adopt his ‘fuck Rafe’ mindset and trying your hardest to push him off of you.

You and Rafe weren’t together anymore, but him catching the two of you would open a whole can of worms that would ruin the dynamic between you three far worse than anything Rafe had done. Rafe had done you dirty so many times, and it didn’t matter that you’d only cheated on him with one guy. It was the right guy—the only guy that would turn his world upside down in the capacity that he’d turned yours. You didn’t want to experience the fallout of that.

More tears spilled over.

“You look so pretty like this, you know that?” Topper wondered, shifting and leaning over you as his hand circled your neck. “Panicked and teary-eyed and absolutely squirming on my cock.”

“Topper, I am begging you,” you tearfully pleaded, grabbing his hand and using your other to push at his chest. “Rafe…”

“You know what? I want him to see, and I’m tired of pretending like I don’t.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“It’d be more than what he deserves.”

The animosity and venom in his tone shocked you, and you didn't react to him brushing your tears away with his thumb. His nose brushed against yours, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he started fucking you harder, putting way more vigor into each thrust.

“He’s done nothing but treat you like shit…and he thinks he still can,” the blond quietly said, and you heard the sound of the shower turning off upstairs. “I want him to see me fucking the shit out of you.”

He reached down, gently pinching your clit and taking pleasure in the way you moaned.

“I want him to see me stretching you out and burying my cock into this pussy that only gets wet for me…”

Your eyes rolled at his words, and you almost forgot why you wanted him off of you so much.

“I want him to see me come inside of you,” Topper moaned, burning his face into the crook of your neck. “I want him to know that I’m spilling into you and you’re greedily milking me for every drop. I’ll happily tell him all the times I’ve done it.”

You shuddered at that, your nails digging into his arm.

“All the times I sent you right back to him with my cum between your thighs.”

“Fuck, Topper.”

You didn’t know if you were saying that in a good way or bad way. You didn’t know why, but you had never realized just how much animosity Topper held for Rafe. You supposed that he’d have to have a healthy dose to repeatedly fuck his girlfriend, but you’d always thought that had more to do with Topper’s feelings about you and recognizing that Rafe simply wasn’t good enough for you.

However, considering that the three of you were once the best of friends, it made sense that Topper would grow to hate Rafe more and more every time he witnessed him putting you through hell.

“I’m going to fill you up and I don’t care who sees.”

His words were doing a good job of convincing you, and you felt yourself caring less and less too the longer Topper fucked you towards your high. You felt your own hips lifting in time with his to meet his thrusts, getting to a point where he held himself still while you fucked yourself onto his cock.

Rafe had hurt you so much, and yes while his actions of tonight were probably driven by alcohol, he clearly thought he’d get the opportunity to hurt you again. He clearly thought you’d give in, and you two would be right back where you were three months ago. Not only did that make you angry, but it hurt. Choosing to try and be friends again was way more than he deserved, and once again, he was attempting to take advantage of your kindness.

For the first time ever, you wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt you.

Really hurt him.

…and when you found yourself on top of Topper, you didn’t care. He was lifting his hips up into you, one hand on your breast and the other on your hip to help guide you up and down his length. The tip of his cock was hitting something inside of you that had you gasping for breath. You couldn’t stop the breathless gasps and softs mewls that left your lips, eyes half closed as you fucked Topper in Rafe’s own house. You were making a mess on his skin, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t care that you were dripping around him, the inside of your thighs sticky from your juices. You didn’t care that your bra was askew as Topper pinched a hardened bud between his fingers. You only cared about pressing the palms of your hands against his chest to ground yourself and make it easier to bounce on top of him. You only cared about chasing your climax, feeling it come closer with every stroke inside of you, and when you tightened around him—Topper spilling into your eager cunt with a groan—you didn’t care when you looked up and fixed your gaze towards the stairs, locking eyes with his best friend.

#topper thorton #toxic!topper thorton #recrecrec #the ending???? GAGGED #this was so good yasss

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dark-fics-4-you · 6 days ago

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Crocodile Tears

Dark!Coriolanus Snow x f!Reader

You and Coryo are academy students who were both selected to mentor tributes in the Hunger Games. Coryo becomes competitive and refuses to realize that his unreturned affections have begun to affect his performance. Frustrated by what he perceives to be you leading him on, Coryo delves deeper into his obsession and eventually gives in to the desires he tried so hard to deny.

Warnings: noncon, oral (m!recieving), forced sex, Reader loses her virginity, unprotected sex, unwanted creampie, slight breeding kink, choking, slapping, degradation, slut shaming, misogyny, coryo is somewhat delusional (so basically in character lol), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Coriolanus’ palms were slick with perspiration as he flexed his hands anxiously.

Every noise in the room seemed amplified, his heart was beating so hard in his chest he was shocked his classmates couldn’t hear it.

Each name that Dean Highbottom read off that wasn’t his own was more painful than the last.

“Y/N Y/L/N!”

His head swiveled to look at you as you rose, pride written across your face at the confirmation of your place in the class.

The sounds of the applause filled the atrium and the classmates seated beside you congratulated you. After all, they were all within the top 4, districts that had much higher chances of winning the Games.

“Miss Y/L/N, you are assigned the District 4 girl, Coral.”

“Thank you!” You beamed, graciously accepting your place near the top.

Coriolanus’ face felt hot as he glared at you, toxic competitiveness rising in his chest.

It’s not like you were all that much better than him, you were a teachers pet and everyone knew it. Always kissing up to them and being so apologetic whenever you made even the most minor mistake.

It made him nauseous.

Not to mention the fact that there had been rumors that you had given a few favors to professors along the way in return for better grades.

He definitely believed it too.

Despite the sweet front you put up, Coryo just didn’t buy it. He had seen you in too many classes, it seemed like you were always stressed and complaining about school, despite getting top marks in almost every class.

The blond had spent many hours in class just staring at you, watching you pay attention in class and ask questions. He often found himself studying your face more frequently than he was studying his class work. Every facial expression that you made irked him to the core.

Each blank look you gave after being called on when you weren’t following along or the frustrated way you creased your eyebrows together was further proof that you didn’t belong at the same level as him.

But even more obnoxious was when you were right in class, which was a lot of the time. He hated the way your face lit up when you were told you were correct or the way you eagerly asked questions or got lost talking about a subject you found interesting.

He wondered who your family was, your last name wasn’t familiar but you had always seemed well off enough. Maybe your parents had bribed someone to keep you afloat? Or maybe the rumors were true, maybe you had been passing your classes just based off of your looks and extra time put in at their office hours.

It didn’t add up to him.

It wasn’t fair. His classmates were a bunch of idiots, so far below him they couldn’t even realize it. Even Sejanus, whose name had already been called, was much more insignificant than him.

So why hadn’t his name been called yet?

“Coriolanus Snow!”

His heart stopped at the sound of his name, blood rushing in his ears as he stood up.

He didn’t even know which district he was being called for.

“Runt girl, district 12, belongs to you.”

His stomach dropped when he heard the number.

12?? Could there be a bigger slap in the face? It couldn’t be right. He thought that he was better than that, he knew that he was better than that.

But he bit his tongue, metaphorically and literally, tasting the rush of blood in his mouth as he clenched his jaw, glancing at the screen as he watched the dark haired girl walk up to the reaping platform.

“What is that dress? Is she some sort of clown?” Coryo’s classmates snickered behind him.

He saw her reach behind her back before dropping a snake down the dress of a red headed woman in the crowd.

The students in the hall around him began to chatter loudly in disbelief.

Lucy Gray walked up the steps of the reaping platform only to be punched by a man at the front of the stage. A peacekeeper swarmed in, pulling him away from the fallen songbird.

Coryo couldn’t take his eyes off of the district girl, surprised when she approached the microphone at the front of the stage and began to sing.

Her voice cut through the crowd of the audience in District 12 and the academy hall, filling the space entirely.

“Nothing you can take from me

Was ever worth keepin'

Nothing you can take

Was ever worth keepin'

Can't take my charm

Can't take my humor

You can't take my wealth

'Cause it's just a rumor

Nothing you can take

Was ever worth keepin'

You can't take my sass

You can't take my talkin'

You can kiss my ass!”

At the last line, madness broke out around him as the students and laughter and shouts filled the hall.

Whispered inquires and pointed looks were tossed Coriolanus’ way, but he paid no attention to them. No, his gaze was locked on you, still seated and appearing to be lost in thought.

How badly he wished he had access to what you were mulling over. Perhaps strategy to help your tribute win? Maybe you were comparing your tribute to the others. Or maybe… he contemplated, dark thoughts crossing his mind.

Maybe you were plotting a way to get his sickly tribute eliminated early on, so he would have no chance at the Plinth prize at all.

Maybe you were laughing at him in your head because he was at the very bottom of the list, despite how much more he believed he deserved your spot than you did.

Blind rage began to clutch at his heart and lungs. He was certain that you were looking down on him, pitying him.

He was stuck with some district 12 song bird, while you got a career killer.

Now your chances of winning the Plinth prize was even higher. Despite all the reassurances from their professors, Coryo knew that winning the games played a factor in their decision, and the odds were very much not in his favor.

The academy mentors all stood, filing out of the hall, each of them excitedly talking about their tributes.

Coryo scanned for your face and he was a bit surprised to see that you still looked troubled. There was a frown on your face as your classmates discussed why they thought their tributes were going to either win the Games or die in the first five minutes.

You almost looked sad, but why would you be? You had a career tribute, one that was almost guaranteed to do well in the Games and likely curry plenty of favor and popularity from the Capital.

The blond scoffed at you, thinking back to his underfed, musician of a tribute and he cringed. He deserved what you had, the success that you had achieved should have been his own.

He was ripped from his thoughts, ears perking up when he heard you speak.

“I think I’m going to go visit my tribute once she gets to the Capital. I mean, don’t they practically ship them over here in cages? They’re probably exhausted by the time they arrive, that’s no shape to win the Games in. And besides, they’re humans too, don’t they deserve a little kindness before going to their deaths?”

The genuineness in your voice made him pause, was it possible you actually cared for these district scum? But when he looked into your eyes, there was no glimmer of mischievousness, no sign of a sinister master plan.

Coryo wasn’t even quite sure what compelled him to speak because before he could realize what he was doing, he was offering to accompany you to the train station.

Your head swiveled to his, eyebrows knotting in confusion as you regarded him. “Oh, really Coriolanus? I didn’t realize you saw the people from the districts as anything more than animals?” You snickered, referencing some of his previous comments in class.

Coryo’s face felt hot and he was sure his cheeks were growing red. He clenched the fists that were resting by his side before taking a breath to calm himself. He wasn’t going to let you embarrass him in front of his classmates.

“I got stuck with district 12, I’m gonna need to take any opportunity I can to push her over the finish line. Someone’s gotta give that girl a meal. And like you said, they’re human, just like us.” Coryo’s response shocked him even as his mouth formed the words. Words he didn’t truly believe.

It was funny, he thought to himself, if he had heard Sejanus say the same, his eyes probably would have rolled out of his head.

It had never even occurred to him to go visit his tribute. Coryo didn’t really care all that much whether she lived or died, but for some strange reason, if going to visit Lucy Grey meant that he could spend a little extra time with him, Coryo would have said anything to tag along.

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, surprised when you saw him in a light you never had before. “Do you really mean that?”

Your naivety was almost charming and Coriolanus flashed you a kind grin before nodding. It was adorable how easily you accepted his lies.

The short walk to the train station was uneventful. You seemed reluctant to speak with him, no doubt put off by some of the past comments Coryo had made about the districts.

If you weren’t going to talk or even, at the very least, look at him, Coriolanus decided he could spend the time studying you. He had never spent this much time with you, aside from in his classes.

He had also never realized how nice you smelled, like lavender and honey, and he was having trouble remembering just why he disliked you so much, when your voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“I can’t remember, do we turn on this street or the next?” Your timbre was soft and sweet, it reminded him of his mother’s.

“It’s this one,” he responded, a memory of going to the trains frequently in his childhood in the hopes that his father would be coming back home from the districts pushed it’s way into the forefront of his thoughts.

The two of you walked in silence, and then stood in silence for over an hour while you waited for the train to come. When it finally pulled into the station, your respective introductions to the tributes were hurried. The Peacekeepers quickly ushered them away from the station before herding them towards a truck.

Coriolanus was ready to call it a day after meeting Lucy Grey at the station, put off by their strange interaction, do people from the districts regularly eat rose petals, he thought to himself with a chuckle.

So he was more than a little surprised when he saw you approaching the caged trucks filled with the tributes.

“Y/N?” He loudly whispered. “What are you doing?”

“I want to know where they take them, plus we could both get more time with our tributes,” you explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Coryo felt a pang of anger rise in him at you patronizing him.

“Well I knew that,” he responded, trying to cover for himself. “But don’t you think we should be more careful?”

But you didn’t even hear him, already climbing into the back of the truck that your tribute had disappeared into. Coryo knew that he couldn’t let you go all alone, what if those tributes hurt you? Or worse, what if you getting more time with your tribute right now could be the thing that won you the Plinth prize over him?

Before he was given the chance to really think it over, he found his legs moving him forward and he jumped into the truck behind you.

Despite how soon the Games were, Coryo found himself struggling to focus his thoughts on ways to help his tribute.

You had been the only thing that Coriolanus Snow could think about the past twenty-four hours.

He had tried very hard to think it over, and he had come to the conclusion that he had never met someone who could irk him so deeply.

Coriolanus had forgotten all about his lie to you that he was going to bring Lucy Grey food after meeting her at the train, but he was shocked when you pulled several sandwiches out of your bag. Apparently, you had been planning to offer food to any tribute that would take it.

It was an idiotic move if Coryo had ever seen one. I mean, why in the world would you think that feeding every tribute would do anything but hinder your own?? Now they would all be going into the stadium with semi-full stomachs.

Still, at least that meant that he had been able to feed his sad excuse of a tribute.

It was impossible for him to focus on Lucy Grey while you could be out there pulling another stunt to propel yourself towards the Plinth prize. Of course you already had it so easy with the tribute you were assigned.

Coryo’s mind could not shut off, racing a hundred miles an hour towards the same thought over and over and over again.

He had to do something about you.

You and your tribute were too much of a threat to him. Coriolanus needed to win the Plinth prize, and he knew that you were the biggest threat standing in his way.

There had to be some way that he could give Lucy Gray another advantage without being caught.

The addition of the drones providing food and water was good, but not good enough. And he had only given her enough rat poison in his mother’s compact to kill two tributes, or seriously injure four.

Dr. Gaul loved his proposal for the games, it was just such a shame that Clemmie had to try to take the credit for herself.

With a flash, Coriolanus sat up in his bed, an idea striking him like a lightning rod. He walked to the closet where his jacket was hung up and he grabbed the handkerchief he had given to dry Lucy Gray’s tears.

After quickly trekking across the city to Dr. Gaul’s laboratory, thoroughly pleased when the guards let him through to tell them he was there to see her, he headed to her laboratory, knowing full well that she had already left for the day about 2 hours ago.

Planting the handkerchief was easy, walking out without being questioned by the guards was easier.

With his head held high, Coriolanus swiftly made his way back to his apartment.

However, his euphoria wore off quickly when he remembered that even if he could protect Lucy Grey from the snakes, he had no way to protect her from the career tributes.

Coryo wondered what you had been telling to Coral, what strategies you were instructing her to follow. Maybe you told her to pick out the weakest links first, which would include that sickly tribute from 11, the young girl from 8, and Coriolanus’ songbird.

It made him feel sick, and he was happy that his father wasn’t around to witness his inevitable spectacular failure.

It just wasn’t fair at all. How had he been placed at dead last, while the dumbest girl that he knew probably had a 1-in-4 chance of winning the games.

Rage boiled inside of him, keeping him awake for hours as he tossed and turned in his bed, and he cursed you for costing him precious sleep at a time like this.

For reasons he couldn’t figure out, Coriolanus’ thoughts were fixated not on the Games, not on his tribute, and not even on his growling stomach.

No, he just could not stop himself from wondering, and picturing, whose cock you had to suck to get that spot.

The games were horrific, of course. Despite having seen them nine times at this point, you still felt so queasy when the first canon shot off and the tributes ran from their platforms.

You could barely stomach watching, even though you knew that you needed to if you wanted your tribute to survive.

After the initial bloodbath, the number of tributes was effectively cut in half. Surprisingly, Coriolanus’ tribute had been holding her own, but so was yours.

Each fallen tribute stung you, knowing that they were all just innocent kids, none of them were old enough to fight in the rebellion against the capital, and if you had been born in the districts, that could have easily been you in that arena.

You were sure that was heavy on Sejanus’ mind too.

The hours and days blurred together, your stomach was in knots as you lay in bed each night, hoping that no tributes would die as you slept.

The first day you returned, on the second day of the games, there had been a death in the arena overnight, the District 8 kid, Bobbin. None of the cameras had captured what occurred, and none of the tributes made mention of killing him.

Each day that you returned and found your tribute alive, you thanked your lucky stars. Coral was very strong and cunning and you felt very lucky and proud that you had received such a good tribute assignment.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself but worry about Lucy Grey and her mentor. Lucy’s song had genuinely moved you during the tribute interviews and you felt very sad at the idea that your tribute’s victory would mean Lucy Grey’s death.

Coriolanus genuinely had surprised you when he followed you to the train station, you hadn’t expected him to care at all about his tribute outside of what her winning would mean for him.

He was scrappy and you had to give him that. Perhaps there was a side to him that you hadn’t considered before.

Although, you still were wary about keeping him at arms length, the way that he had talked about the districts in your class rubbed you the wrong way, especially when you knew that Sejanus, his best friend, was from the very same districts Coriolanus trash talked.

You were less than amused at some of the actions he took throughout the game. After discovering that the arena water drones were primitive at best, and likely to slam into whatever they targeted, when your tribute and several other cornered Lucy Grey, Coriolanus called in several drones that smashed into your tribute and the others, allowing Lucy Grey to flee to safety.

“He can’t do that! It’s cheating!” You fumed furiously, hoping that Dr. Gaul or the other officials would listen to you.

“I’m just sending them water,” he smirked back at you. In the end, nothing was done to punish him.

More tributes fell, some meeting more gruesome deaths than others, but your tribute was still doing very well.

The days dragged on tortuously, but the final day was the worst of all.

The tributes had all moved from the sewers and into the main arena area, before Dr. Gaul announced her intentions to drop the snakes into the arena following the rebel bombing of the arena before the games and the death of the President’s son.

The snakes erupted into the arena, easily taking out the remaining tributes until only Lucy Grey and Coral were left, vying to stay alive, trying to attack each other

As the snakes slithered over both of them, Lucy Grey began to sing.

Coral was overtaken by the colorful serpents, but for some reason, Lucy Grey didn’t met the same fate.

“Why aren’t they attacking her??” You questioned.

“I think it’s the singing!” Coriolanus responded and you narrowed your eyes at him, feeling a strange suspicion growing in the back of your mind.

Dr. Gaul had clearly not expected the academy students to react so strongly to Lucy Grey’s performance, her voice captivated everyone in the hall, even you.

“Dr. Gaul, please!” Coriolanus implored her again, and to your surprise, the rest of the students in the hall began to chant.

“Stop the games! Stop the games! Stop the games!”

She clearly knew when she was outnumbered, and she stared at the screen as the snakes crawled over Lucy Grey with a sour look on her face before finally conceding. “Get her out of there!”

Lucy Grey was announced the winner of the 10th Hunger Games, and although you were happy that she had survived, there was a nagging feeling that Coriolanus hadn’t won the games fair and square.

How had Lucy Grey survived the snakes? Where did she get the poison she used to kill Dill? Was it fair that Lucy Grey would have been dead by Coral’s hands had Coriolanus not stepped in and launched the water drones at the career tributes?

The celebrations in the capital among the students after the games lasted several hours, going well into the night.

You had stuck around for most of it, but you found it hard to celebrate Coriolanus’ win.

Because you knew that he hadn’t followed the rules. And the more you thought it over, the more it began to piss you off. You decided that you needed to leave the party, opting to head back to the Games control room you had been in the last several days to see if you could rewatch some footage.

Coriolanus hadn’t seen you in a couple hours, and he couldn’t figure out why that upset him. After all, hadn’t you raised a stink about him using the drones during the Games? If anyone had given your words any merit, he could have been penalized, or maybe even disqualified.

Maybe it was a good idea to try to find you and make sure that you wouldn’t say anything else about it.

When he couldn’t find you at the party, he headed to the Academy, searching through rooms until he found you seated alone, reviewing the games in the control room.

“Funny finding you here.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, surprised when you whirled around and saw Coriolanus.

“Coriolanus,” you breathed. Why did you suddenly feel so anxious to see him? Could he know that you had suspicions about him? “Why aren’t you still out celebrating?”

“To be honest, I was looking for you.” He admitted, taking a step forward and allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

“You were?” You asked, heartbeat picking up at the sound of the door closing. Coriolanus walked further into the room, eyes locked on you.

“I just.. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened during the games, it wasn’t my intention at all for that water to hit your tribute and her teammates.” You could tell that he was trying to put as much charm on as possible, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were being lied to. “I’m sorry that Coral died in the end.”

“Bullshit.” The words came out of your mouth before you could think them over.

The blond’s eyebrows raised in surprise, jaw clenching as he realized you weren’t buying it. He advanced further, now only a couple feet away from you, and you took a step back. He was now so close that he could smell your familiar floral scent.

You didn’t know why he was trying to get closer to you, but you knew that you really didn’t want him to, continuing to back away from him as he followed.

“You don’t get to just cheat and get away with it. We both know that those snakes should have killed Lucy Grey.”

“You think that I don’t deserve the Plinth prize?” The smell of lavender and honey was clouding his thoughts. Why did you always smell so good?

“Coriolanus I never said-”

“No!” he cut you off, moving closer, and you were surprised when you backed into a wall, feeling intimidated by, and maybe even a bit afraid of, Coriolanus Snow for the first time. Before this moment, you had never really noticed how much taller he was than you. Sure he may have been underfed, but you couldn’t help but take in the muscles that strained the fabric near his biceps and shoulders as he towered above you. “I work harder than everyone else here, and what do I get most of the time? Scraps! All you have to do is cry once in class and every professor would line up to fuck you, and yet you still never took me seriously, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his harsh words, frustration building in your chest. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, even though you could feel a lump forming in your throat and tears began to blur your vision. You couldn’t understand what his problem was with you, why he seemed to hate you so much. The snippy retort you had planned died on your lips when you saw his eyes darken.

“What? It’s not like it’s not true. Everyone has heard the rumors about your good grades. The only reason your tribute got as far as she did was because she was District 4!” His words were taunting, cruel even, and you hated the way he was looking down at you, as if you were nothing to him. Despite how furious he was with you in this moment, he couldn’t help but fixate on the scent of your perfume, it was clinging to the air and choking him, taunting him.

“I can’t believe this, I helped you out through the entire games! It was my idea to visit the tributes! I let you give my food to Lucy Grey! You know, there was a voice in the back of my head, Coriolanus, a voice that I tried to ignore, but I knew all along that letting you come with me to meet them was a bad idea!” Your harsh words stung him, and a fire was building inside his chest. He didn’t know why your anger towards him was affecting him so much.

“The only reason Lucy Gray won was because you cheated and everyone is going to find out-!” You were cut off when his large hand grabbed your throat, pushing you against the wall behind you and constricting your airflow. Your eyes widened, and Coriolanus thought to himself that he enjoyed the utter fear and panic in your eyes.

“You’re right,” he looked down at you, a smirk beginning to tug at his lips. “I never would have thought to go to visit the tributes. Because of your idea, I was able to turn the spotlight on to Lucy Grey instead of you.”

Suddenly he realized why he had been so fixated on you for so long, why he had been so eager to follow you to the train station the day of the tribute assignments, why his thoughts torturously lingered on the smell of your perfume and the way your hair framed your annoyingly perfect face, and why he got hard as a rock every time he imagined you pleasuring your professors to pass your classes.

All his life, Coriolanus had been desperately searching for control. After the rebels took everything from him, he had spent his childhood and teenage years powerless. Even Lucy Gray couldn’t completely be his, they said she was going to be shipped back to District 12 after the Games, but Coriolanus was sure he would never see her again. You had been handed everything that he had ever wanted, save the Plinth prize.

Maybe, the Plinth prize hadn’t been what he was after all along, he realized with a shock. Coriolanus hadn’t spent all those hours obsessing over you because he believed he was owed the Plinth prize. He had done it because he believed he was owed you.

Fear had your feet frozen in place, your body felt paralyzed. Was he going to hurt you or, worse, kill you??

The very last thing that you expected Coriolanus Snow to do in that moment was kiss you.

With his strong hand practically crushing your windpipe and pinning you in place, you had nowhere to turn when he pressed his lips to yours. His lips were warm, and softer than anyone else you had kissed, which was a horrible thing to notice in a situation like this.

You struggled against him, trying to shove him off of you to no avail, and the hand at your throat tightened. When you gasped for breath, Coryo took the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth. The feeling stirred something between your legs, a warmth began to dampen the panties you were wearing beneath your skirt, and your cheeks heated up in tandem, a hot flush breaking out across your face.

Tears began to prick at your eyes, and you let them gather there, foolishly hoping that if they could blot out the man in front of you, he might just go away.

Within a moment, your brain began to work again and you used your nails to scratch at the hand at your throat, breaking free at last. Your reprieve was much too brief, no sooner than the hurried “help!” fell past your lips, the blond struck you across the face, shocking you into silence again.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’m going to hurt you, do you understand?” He hissed in your ear, not giving you any time at all before pulling you away from the wall by your neck and then forcing you to your knees in front of him. “No one else is here, they’re all out celebrating my victory.”

You winced at the sharp pain in your kneecaps, but more alarming was the look on your classmate’s face. You had always thought that Coriolanus held himself with dignity, that he was maybe even handsome, but this was a side of Coryo you had never seen before. His hair was disheveled from pushing you around, and his breath came in fast, uneven bursts. There was a deadly glint in his eyes that terrified you. He was clearly amused by your frightened state, the way his eyes drank you in pityingly did nothing to calm your nerves.

“You’re going to show me how you passed your classes all these years, Y/N,” Coryo sneered, laughing mirthlessly at his joke. To your horror, he brought his hands to his belt, undoing the buckle before unzipping the fly of his pants.

Your stomach dropped, shame blossoming through your entire body.

The honest truth was that you were a virgin.

You had never given any professors sexual favors or used your good looks to advance further than your classmates. Yes, you sometimes struggled with concepts in class, but you more than made up for it with after school study sessions and the frequent office hour with the academy professors. But you had never done anything close to what he was suggesting.

And yet, here you were, forced to your literal knees, all because Coriolanus Snow was jealous of something that had never happened.

You were pulled from your thoughts with a light slap on the cheek, not intended to hurt you that much, just enough to put you on edge again and get your attention. He was starting to get impatient.

His hard cock was thrust towards your face, and you were surprised and intimidated by how big he was. Coryo’s large hand wrapped around it and began to stroke himself.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” He asked gruffly, his free hand gripping your chin and forcing you to peer up at him, “you didn’t have any problem opening your pretty mouth earlier.”

Your stomach rolled at his twisted joke and you blinked more tears from your eyes before glancing away. You couldn’t stand to look at him.

“Ah there are those crocodile tears. I wonder, did you cry like this when you came into our professors’ offices after hours? ‘I don’t know how I will pass this course, please, I’d do anything.’” He mocked you, or rather the version of you in his head, with a scowl before spitting out his next words. “So fucking pathetic.”

“C-coriolanus please,” you begged him, eyes shiny with tears.

For just the briefest second, doubt about his actions tonight passed through his heart, but it was gone the next moment when he felt his cock harden at your sweet voice whimpering his name and the delicious sight of you kneeling before him. You wanted this just as bad as he did, he knew it.

Coriolanus grabbed you by your chin, pulling you even closer before guiding his cock towards your trembling lips. When you didn’t open your mouth, his fingers clenched down on your jaw, and after you cried out, he took the opportunity to tilt his hips forward, pushing the tip of his cock past your lips.

He groaned at the feeling of your soft wet mouth enveloping him. Coryo slowly thrusted his dick deeper and when you gagged on him, throat closing up after he pushed you too far, he could have sworn he was in heaven.

The blond tangled his fingers into your hair, pushing you to go faster as you bobbed up and down. He didn’t want to close his eyes for one second, drinking in every detail he could. The way you glanced up at him through your teary eyes in fear, the lewd sounds of you sucking him off, how you could barely take all of his throbbing dick into your mouth, and the spit that gathered sloppily on your chin only drove on his pace.

There was something deeply satisfying to Coriolanus about breaking you, about shattering the idea that you were ever anything but a cock drunk whore. He knew that he had to be correct, because the evidence was right in front of him.

An innocent girl wouldn’t have led him on for so damn long. An innocent girl wouldn’t know how to take cock so well. An innocent girl wouldn’t be choking and gagging on him like one of the pin up girls he’d seen after his school buddies found their fathers’ old snuff film collections from before the war.

“You might have fooled everyone else, but you can’t trick me, Y/N,” he whispered, pulling harder on your hair and you yelped, or maybe moaned, around him, sending a sinful vibration across the tip and shaft of his cock.

“You’re doing such a good job, it’s only right I give you what you’ve wanted all along.” Coriolanus slowed his movements, using the fist in your hair to move you and let his cock slide out of your mouth. You gasped for air then, but your relief was short lived and bittersweet.

“Take off your clothes and get on your back, Y/N.” His voice was cold as snow, leaving no room for disagreement. You were terrified, completely unprepared in every way for what was coming. Coriolanus glared at you threateningly when you didn’t move for a few seconds, and resignedly, you stripped off your shirt and skirt, shifting yourself onto your back on the cold hard floor.

You already felt utterly exposed in just your bra and panties, but the look of disapproval in his eyes told you that you had to remove your underwear as well. You slowly unhooked your bra, sliding the straps down your arms to pull it off and Coryo felt his mouth water at the sight of your perfect breasts. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, climbing on top of you before you could get to your panties, straddling you and covering your lips with his own again.

This time, he noticed that you were resisting less, even kissing him back now. He had been right, you were teasing him and leading him on this entire time! This thought both encouraged and infuriated him, and he knew there was one way to confirm his suspicions.

His hand wandered lower past your stomach, eagerly reaching for your barely covered pussy. He pushed the material of your panties to the side, slowly dragging the tip of his finger down your embarrassingly wet slit.

You tensed at the feeling, biting your lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to sneak past, and Coryo noticed your efforts.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I know you want it too,” he whispered above you, slowly pushing two fingers into your tight cunt. “You don’t have to pretend that you don’t.”

His intrusion was painful and uncomfortable, you had never experienced anything like it. Coryo’s eyes were locked on your face as he lazily pushed his fingers in and out. His cock twitched every time you moaned, and he was eager to stuff your pretty swollen cunt.

Tears were filling your eyes again and you sniffled pathetically, shifting your hips to try to adjust to the foreign pressure between your legs, which Coryo interpreted as you trying to fuck yourself deeper onto his fingers.

“Greedy little slut, can’t wait till I split you open, hm?” He sneered cruelly and your face burned with shame. “Don’t cry, I’ll give you what you’re too proud to admit you need.”

He pulled his fingers out of your already sore pussy, smearing your juices on the soft flesh of your inner thigh, before grabbing your panties and pulling them down your legs, not caring that his force ripped them. Coryo grabbed your thighs, holding them open and pressing them down against the floor, not allowing you to squirm in his grasp, before lining his now throbbing cock up with your slick entrance.

Primal fear clutched your heart again, was this truly happening right now? How in the world did you get yourself into this situation with Coriolanus Snow of all people? Your first time was supposed to be special, shared with someone who felt love and compassion towards you.

Instead, you were utterly terrified of the man leering above you. You were surprised when you felt his hand clamp over your mouth, but you didn’t have any time to linger on that thought because Coriolanus was slowly pushing the head of his cock into your heat.

You couldn’t help but whimper against his palm at the feel of him beginning to stretch you out, and Coryo cursed under his breath when he slid deeper, feeling you squeeze tighter around each inch until he felt himself bottom out inside you. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, giving him better leverage.

He took a moment to just bask in the feeling of you enveloping him, you were clenching around his cock so tight it was almost painful for him. He began to move his hips slowly at first, and when you let out a breathy moan at the feel, he felt confidence surge inside of him.

Coryo could literally feel you growing wetter with each thrust, allowing him to pull further out before plunging himself back in. You were gripping him so tight and your arousal only let him fuck you faster and harder. He hooked one hand under your thigh, pulling it up to wrap your leg around the back of his waist.

The new angle allowed him to go deeper, and you felt like you were being split in half, the pressure was so intense.

He slid his large hand away from covering your mouth and brought it back to your throat, wrapping the hand around it and applying pressure. You tensed around him and Coriolanus cursed at the sensation.

The blond was pushing his cock into you faster now, snapping his hips against yours at a pace that had your head spinning. Every drag of his cock against your walls made your toes curl. Coriolanus was addicted to way he could feel every moan and whimper in your throat against the hand that was choking you. Even if you wouldn’t let him hear them, he knew that he was making you feel good, whether you wanted him to or not.

His free hand creeped from your hip to find its home between your legs, earning a whine from you when he swirled the pad of his thumb across your clit. Coryo could feel you quivering around him, twitching beneath every touch.

He wanted to be closer to you still, and you flinched when his lips found yours again, his chest now pressed to yours and caging you in. You were too disgusted to kiss him back at first, but fear overtook your reservations when he clenched his hand around your throat harder. Your lips moved in time with his and you moaned against him when he rubbed your clit again.

The blond broke the kiss to attach his lips to the soft skin at the side of your neck, moving his hand to allow himself access to bite and suck at your tender flesh.

“Don’t fight it, I can feel your cunt pulling me in,” he growled in your ear and you shuddered at his words.

As his sharp thrusts rocked your frame, you realized that your cheeks were damp with tears. Had you started crying again? Maybe you had never stopped.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Coryo breathlessly admitted, to both you and himself. His eyes were fixed on your face, trying to commit every detail to memory.

“I thought you hated me,” you whimpered quietly, not sure if it was even loud enough for Coryo to hear. The whole building was silent, aside from the crude sounds of him plunging his cock into your slick folds and your stifled moans. You had almost forgotten that you had said something until he suddenly spoke.

“I thought I hated you too,” his voice was strained as he held back groans. “But then I realized how useful you could be if I kept you around.”

You already wanted to crawl out of your skin at his words, but the next thing he said made your blood turn cold.

“Did your parents pay for you to get birth control so their stupid daughter doesn’t get knocked up by her professors?” He asked you with a cruel glint in his eyes.

You understood his meaning instantly, shaking your head with widening eyes, “N-no! Coriolanus, please don’t-!” You were cut off by his hand clamping over your mouth again.

“Hmm, pity,” he taunted you, chuckling darkly, “better hope they’ll be willing to pay for an abortion.”

At this, you found your last bit of strength to fight back, scratching at the hand that was at your throat and trying to force him off of you, but your pathetic attempts only made him laugh.

Coryo’s hand clamped down around your throat, choking you harder than he had before. You could hear your heartbeat racing in your ears and the edges of your vision had started to go black.

His cock was hitting a spot that had your toes curling in unwelcome pleasure, and when you felt his fingers twitch around your throat again, the overstimulation was just too much for you.

You whined loudly as your orgasm forcefully washed over you, the tension that had been building inside you finally releasing itself. Coriolanus could feel you clenching and fluttering around him, squeezing his cock so fucking tight.

With another flex of his hips, he came, spilling his sticky seed into you as he groaned your name. You were pulsing around him, milking his cock of every last drop.

When he stilled, he stayed on top of you, finally releasing your now bruised throat. You tried to turn your head away from him, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eyes for a moment before his lips smothered yours again.

When he finally pulled away, he grinned down at you wolfishly, “fuck, Y/N. If I were one of our professors, I’d pass you too.”

#rereading this rn and um why have my writing skills gotten worse with time like 😭😭#coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow

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dark-fics-4-you · 6 days ago

Text

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.”

#YOU ATE THIS OMG #LOVE THE PROSE SO MUCH AHHHH #there was so much good tension too wow #friedrich harding #dark!friedrich harding #friedrich harding x reader #nosferatu #recrecrec

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dark-fics-4-you · 7 days ago

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Sorry I haven’t posted at all recently. I have no motivation to write at the moment 😭😭

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dark-fics-4-you · 11 days ago

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“do you think you’ll still be writing fanfic when you’re 90?” yes, I do, and I hope AO3 is still here with me when I’m a 90 year old childless fanfic writer who writes slow burn dead dove do not eat dubcon gay sex enemies to lovers. next

#imagining myself writing fanfics abt shows from now 70 years in the future lol

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dark-fics-4-you · 13 days ago

Note

i feel like rafe has a major housewife kink

warnings: mentions of traditional stuff (just for the sake of the kink, please don’t stone me ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১), rafe is kinda misogynistic, fingering, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, headlock, reader is too fucked out to think about anything else, degradation, slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, baby tapping threats

“i can’t— oh my, god. rafe!” your eyes fluttered shut for what felt like the hundredth time already, your thighs trembling as both pleasure and pain wracked through your body. rafe had no regard, nor did he care about this being your fourth orgasm as he rubbed your clit into overstimulation like his life depended on it. “yes, you fucking can,” he grunted, forcing your thighs open as they threatened to shut around his hand, “m’gonna keep you cumming until i see tears running down those cheeks.” you cried out at his words, your back arching into his chest at the overwhelming sensation.

rafe hadn’t even fucked you yet, and you were already on the verge of tapping out. flipping you over, rafe snaked an arm underneath your tummy before pulling you up, wasting no time in pressing your face into his pillows. stroking the small of your back, rafe groaned at the sight. he could see the body glitter on your skin, the little specs glinting underneath the dim lighting of his room. “fuck, i wish you would just let me have you already.. i’d make sure to slut you out every single day.” you whimpered when he delivered a harsh smack to the globe of your ass. “you just don’t know,” his aching tip prodded at your entrance, “i’d make sure you’d never have to lift a finger ever again.”

wrapping your hair around his fist, rafe slid into you without warning, drawing a shriek to leave your lips. “you shouldn’t be working in that fucking club,” he said through gritted teeth, “you should be here with me, letting me take care of you. i’ll come home and you’ll be waiting for me with a hot plate,” leaning down, rafe yanked your head back so his mouth was next to your ear, “you’ll keep this place spotless and i’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want,” just then, he wrapped a bicep around your neck, your chin tucked between the crease of his elbow and his forearm, “fuck you however you want.”

rafe’s words were punctuated by his thrusts, your acrylics scratching at his skin as you held onto him for dear life. “just picture that; me using you for all that you’re good for.” maybe it was because everyone who knew you, especially your girlfriends at the club, knew you wouldn’t be settling down anytime soon, or at all for that matter, but the idea of locking you away in tanneyhill and never going anywhere without you hanging off of his arm, making you fully reliant on him, financially and emotionally, it turned him on beyond words could describe. “you don’t even know what i’m saying,” he laughed, “you’re too cock drunk to understand.”

you whimpered pathetically, tears running down your face as he planted a slap to your cheek. “gonna fill up this cunt and trap you, maybe then you’ll understand what i’m saying when i put my baby inside of you.”

#recrecrec #toxic!rafe cameron

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dark-fics-4-you · 13 days ago

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↳NOSFERATU THE VAMPYRE (1979) dir. Werner Herzog ↳BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA (1992) dir. Francis Ford Coppola ↳NOSFERATU (2024) dir. Robert Eggers

#nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #ellen hutter

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dark-fics-4-you · 13 days ago

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𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖚 (2024)

It was our wedding, yet not in chapel walls. The scent of the lilacs was strong in the rain… and when I reached the altar, you weren't there…

#nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu #ellen hutter #thomas hutter

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dark-fics-4-you · 14 days ago

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Teenage Dirtbag XII

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, mentions of DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

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

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

When you woke up, you were alone.

Even if you didn’t remember how drunk you’d gotten the night before, everything about the way your head pounded and the tightness in your throat told you so. Sunlight was bleeding through your curtains, but it wasn’t the kind of brightness associated with the afternoon, so you knew it was still morning. You were slow in sitting up, holding the sheet to you as you glanced around, your gaze briefly landing on the familiar fabric on the floor.

You stared at it for too long, raising your hand to press to your forehead in both disbelief and horror. A strange range of emotions were all fighting for dominance within you, and you forced yourself to close your eyes in order to calm down. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the feeling of dried bodily fluids between your thighs…but it was hard. You could feel a familiar sting behind your eyes.

You’d cheated on Rafe.

Sure, you’d been doing that for some time, now, but last night you’d really cheated on him. You didn’t know why a few kisses and some touching didn’t make it feel as real to you when it most definitely should have, but last night was a point of no return. Last night was a line you weren’t even sure you’d wanted to cross. Your stomach turned, and you swallowed it down.

You and JJ had sex.

Right here…in your bedroom.

There was a part of you that wondered if you could even call it that. You’d been so drunk, and while things were still a little fuzzy, you knew for a fact that you’d been so unsure. JJ hadn’t seemed to care, but JJ wasn’t like Rafe. Surely, if you’d tried harder to stop him, he would’ve stopped…right…? You did want to be with JJ, that was no secret, but maybe the events of the previous night showed you that you weren’t as conflicted as you’d thought. After all…

You could’ve protested more.

…but you didn’t.

Your mind was going a mile a minute, and after briefly dropping your face into your hands, you threw the covers back. You weren’t in the right headspace to analyze anyone’s actions and motives, pushing yourself to your feet to seek out a much-needed shower. You grimaced at the sight of your clothes on the floor, forcing yourself not to think about that, right now.

You were thankful that your perusal in the mirror brought up no unwanted marks, and that allowed you to rest easier. The warm spray of the shower did help with the hangover and fatigue, but it did nothing for the heaviness in your chest. Pressing your wet hands to your face, you allowed yourself to remember the way JJ held you—how gentle he was in doing so. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt like that.

You swallowed down a sob at the memories of his lips pressing kisses all over your face as he laid you down on your bed. By that point, you’d forgotten why it was a bad idea, wrapping your arms around JJ and lifting your hips to meet his. The alcoholic fog made it hard to decipher how long he’d slowly thrust into you against your sheets, but it was long enough to make you shudder just thinking about it.

…but it was wrong.

It was so wrong, and not just because of Rafe, but because you hadn’t even wanted to in the beginning. You wondered if that even mattered at this point. You wanted JJ. You’d wanted to know what it felt like to be with him and be with someone who made you feel safe. Even if you hadn’t been quite ready yet, did it matter? Whether it was last night or two months from now…did it matter?

Telling yourself that you couldn’t stay in the shower forever, you turned the water off.

Rafe was the last person you expected to see when you finally opened the door.

You actually froze at the sight of him, tightening the towel around you just as he sat on the edge of your bed. The sight of him there…sitting where you and JJ were only hours ago…it made your stomach turn. He looked better than you felt, dirty blond strands freshly washed and the short sleeves of his white polo stretching against his skin. You surmised that it was a warmer day outside.

“I’m surprised you even made it upstairs last night,” was his pleasant greeting.

Finally telling yourself to move, you made to pick up your dress…and underwear.

“I managed,” was all you said, moving to put the dirty clothes in the hamper.

There was no way Rafe could know, but part of you felt like he could just sense it. Rafe had this way about him that made him seem larger than life, like he had abilities and senses the rest of you—namely you—didn’t. As you looked at him, you couldn’t stop your eyes from watering, recalling the feel of JJ shuddering against you as he came, his blue eyes staring into yours. The tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you watched the way Rafe’s lips curved.

“I take it you remember last night…and how shitty you were being.”

You wiped your face, looking away from your boyfriend, remembering something else entirely. Yes, you were shitty, but not for the reasons he thought. When you heard him stand, you pressed your hand to your face, and you didn’t protest when Rafe gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Rafe shushed you, slowly rocking you, but there was nothing comforting about it.

“You know I hate it when you drink like that,” he murmured into your hair. “You know I hate how…fussy you get.”

You nodded, your mind preoccupied with the sweet nothings JJ had whispered into your ear instead.

“…and then I have to be the bad guy when you start embarrassing yourself.”

You recalled the sigh you’d let out when JJ pulled out of you, conflicted between wanting him to leave as soon as possible and pulling you against him again. You remembered his hand on your face and his lips on yours after he’d gotten dressed, telling you he wished he didn’t have to go. You could still remember his fingers against your lips as you’d drunkenly kissed them, vision blurring and room tilting. You didn’t remember him leaving…only closing your eyes.

When you pulled back to look at Rafe, the expectant glint in his gaze was evident, and before where it would’ve made you bristle… Now, it only made your heart sink. You looked over his face, telling yourself that Rafe was a thousand times worse to you than you could ever be to him, and yet, that did nothing to ease your guilt. He was still your boyfriend…and you’d had sex with someone else.

You’d made love to someone else.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him.

Even though the apology wasn’t for what he thought it was…it was genuine.

You ignored another call from a familiar face, swallowing down the bad taste it left in your mouth. You felt all kinds of horrible for ignoring the blond for literal weeks—especially after having sex with him—but you needed time to think. About Rafe, about JJ, about that night… Your feelings about said night were still so complicated and confusing, and you still didn’t know if you liked the way JJ handled things—and if you did, was it because you were drunk?

You chewed on your fingernails, telling yourself that JJ wasn’t Rafe.

You’d experienced rape many times, and that night with JJ wasn’t quite the same.

So, why did you still feel weird about it?

“We could go to the beach…”

You were pulled from your thoughts by another blonde teenager, Sarah’s budding smile filling your vision when you refocused on her. She sat back down before you on the couch, handing you a glass of lemonade as she gave you a hopeful look. You swallowed a sigh, knowing that if you agreed, her friends would show up somehow…and you weren’t quite ready to face JJ just yet.

You knew that he was still periodically sleeping at the pool house, catching glimpses of him through the window sometimes while everyone else slept. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that he was waiting and hoping you’d come see him, whether to talk or repeat what had been done that night. You had too many things to sort through—your confusion, your guilt, your feelings for him.

You didn’t know how to feel about JJ, right now, and that worried you.

“I better not…”

As your voice trailed off, you watched her face fall. You knew what she was thinking about before she even voiced it.

“I really am sorry about what happened at John B.’s,” she sheepishly told you. “Nothing went as planned.”

“Sarah, it’s fine-.”

“It’s really not though,” she sighed. “I…”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

“I hate how Rafe treats you,” she forced out, voice cracking. “He behaves like you belong to him.”

Your gaze fell to your lap at that.

“He treats you like you’re his fucking property, and…”

Her expression was a mix of confusion and disgust when you looked up again.

“I just don’t understand why you stay,” she spat, scoffing to herself. “Sure, you love him, but…”

She shifted on the couch, giving you her full attention.

“Does he love you? Do you like being treated like this?”

“Sarah-.”

“I don’t care if I’m overstepping, help me understand,” she cut you off, looking between your eyes. “Why do you stay? Why do you put up with it?”

You were trying not to let her words anger you—after all, how could she know—but it was hard when she looked at you like you were some foolish and dick-struck girl she just didn’t get. Swallowing down all the things you wanted to say, you merely shook your head.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re right,” she fired back. “I don’t get it.”

Your jaw clenched.

“I don’t get why you let him talk to you any kind of way. I don’t get why you blindly follow him around and do what he says! I don’t get why I’m trying so hard to help you have some kind of life outside of my brother when you don’t even seem to want that,” she said, face pinched in confusion. “My friends like you, and…if you asked them, they’d probably consider you their friend too.”

You looked away at that.

“They ask about you and they worry about you— because they see it too! —but you seem so,” she dragged the word out. “…happy to revolve your entire life around Rafe.”

You blinked back tears, struggling to handle the range of emotions her rightful frustration brought on. Sarah didn’t know the truth, so you couldn’t fault her for feeling disturbed by your dynamic with her brother, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Especially so since it seemed like everyone only saw you as the girlfriend that obeyed Rafe like a well-trained dog.

You would love to have friends outside of Rafe and his friends. You would love to be able to go anywhere you wanted without your phone and car being tracked. It would be nice to tell your boyfriend you were going to hang out with Sarah or whoever without it being some big thing that needed approval and a million questions about who else would be there—if any guys would be there. You would kill for a normal relationship with a normal boyfriend that didn’t put the fear of God into you, but that wasn’t the hand you were dealt.

“What do you want me to say, Sarah?” you eventually sighed.

You could see the way her face fell as she studied yours, and you didn’t miss the guilty look to cross her eyes. She touched her forehead, huffing.

“Nothing, I guess,” she quietly answered. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… I just think you could do better.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you only nodded, ignoring her soft sigh as you stood. When she said your name, you didn’t acknowledge it, only throwing her a small smile.

“You should go to the beach, anyway, Sarah,” you told her. “Your friends always look for any excuse to get in the water.”

You forced yourself to go upstairs, hating how right everything Sarah said was and how awful it made you feel.

When Rafe finally returned hours later, you weren’t in the most contagious of moods, wrapped up in his bed and still thinking about things that made your chest sting. Sarah’s words only served as a reminder as to how trapped you truly were, and that in turn made you feel less crappy about what you’d done with JJ.

It wasn’t like you could actually leave Rafe…

JJ was right when he’d called your relationship a hostage situation. With that being said, you couldn’t let go of that part of you that recognized Rafe as your boyfriend and recognized what you were doing with JJ as cheating. As awful as he was…Rafe was still your boyfriend, and while his jealousy got the better of him more often than not, you both knew that deep down, Rafe would never in a million years expect you to cheat on him.

Maybe that had more to do with control than trust though…

Rafe wouldn’t expect it because of his ego…not because he loved you. Besides, many would argue that he’d betrayed you first and a million times over. Crossing boundaries and breaking trust was a betrayal, and Rafe had done that the night you’d turned nineteen, slapping you at your own birthday party, and all he’d done since then was continue to betray you.

When the bed sank underneath his weight, you closed your eyes at the feel of his fingers on your face.

“I ran into Sarah on the way in…”

He continued when you didn’t respond.

“She told me to check on you…said she probably said some things she shouldn’t have.”

You squeezed your eyes tighter, and when you didn’t deny that, you heard him mumble something under his breath. It was about her, no doubt.

“Was it about me?” he wondered, voice dropping.

Licking your lips, you found your voice.

“Rafe, I don’t want to talk about this…”

“Don’t let Sarah get into your head…” he drawled. “She’s a bitch, alright?”

You were pushing yourself to sit up before he could even finish, frowning at him.

“Don’t call her that,” you argued. “She’s your sister.”

“…and she’s a bitch,” Rafe repeated, lowering his head so that his eyes were level with yours. “She hates that you’re with me, so I can only imagine what she was saying.”

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” you whispered.

Rafe didn’t respond to that, but the way he blinked at you told you that maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you stared at him, and he just watched you wipe your face.

“My life revolves around you, Rafe,” you quietly cried. “Will it ever not?”

By the way he rolled his eyes, you could see that he didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I don’t have any friends-.”

“You have my friends,” he interrupted, and you shook your head.

“Your friends. What about friends of my own?”

More tears spilled over when Rafe stood, and you frowned at him.

“I do everything you ask,” you whispered. “I’ve cut people out of my life, I wait on you, I dedicate just about every minute of every waking moment to you. When will it end? When will you let me have something like a life?”

You were unsurprised when Rafe’s hand found its way to your jaw, fingers firmly pressing into your skin and making you wince. His face was so close to yours, and you reached up to rest your hand on his wrist. At the feel, Rafe only tightened his hold, and more tears spilled over. Your boyfriend’s breathing was even as he looked between your eyes.

“Did you forget that it was only less than two months ago that I was racing down the streets of Kildare County to pick you up from The Cut?” his tone was sharp. “Hmm?”

He continued when you blinked.

“Or what about when you talked to JJ before that behind my back?”

The mention of the other blond had you squeezing your eyes shut.

“You make it sound like…”

“I don’t care why you did it,” Rafe spat. “Point is, you did.”

He shook your face, making you peel your eyes open. Rafe’s face was even save for the clench of his jaw as he stared you down. Suddenly he looked over you, face softening just a tad, and a smirk danced along his pink lips.

“Is it that time of the month?” he chuckled when you jerked your face out of his grip. “Is that where this is coming from?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and he paused.

You watched him touch his tongue to his lip.

“…or maybe that’s it,” he whispered. “Maybe you need me to fuck this attitude out of you, and you just don’t know how to say it.”

When you moved to get up, Rafe stopped you, hands tight on your arms.

“No,” he dragged out. “Don’t get up…”

You jerked away when he leaned in to kiss you.

“You’ve been moody for weeks, ever since you got drunk that night and made a fool out of yourself…”

He was rough in pushing you down.

“My dad’s had me so tied up with family business stuff… I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, harshly shoving his chest. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, okay,” the blond chuckled, and it was genuine. “If I relied on you being in the mood, I’d never get any.”

You struggled with his hands as they pulled at your shirt, and eventually you gave up, striking him clear across the face. The slap was loud, and your hand stung, evidence of just how hard you’d hit him. You could tell it shocked Rafe too, and your lips parted, silence descending over the two of you. You reacted before he did, using his momentary shock to climb off of the bed.

You were already in the hall when you heard his door swing open, banging against the wall.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His voice was loud, and that was all the confirmation you needed that you were alone in the house.

“I told you I’m not in the mood,” your voice shook, and rightfully so.

You winced when Rafe caught your arm, yanking you back and making you face him. There was a deep frown between his brows as he stared you down, and you swallowed at the redness you saw on his cheek.

“Am I supposed to care about that or something?” his tone was clipped as he looked between your eyes. “You think I give a fuck? You think I won’t fuck you right here in this hallway?”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you bit out, fighting to push at his chest.

“What is your problem?” he repeated his earlier question. “Did Sarah put some ideas into your head or what?”

You winced when his other hand roughly grabbed your neck, and you grabbed that arm too.

“Have I ever cared if you’re in the mood? No? So, why would I now?” he wondered. “…and more importantly, why would you think I would?”

“Rafe, please,” you begged when he leaned in, turning your face away.

When his lips touched the corner of your mouth, you hit him again.

He hit you harder.

Your face was on fire when you landed on the floor, eyes watering. You bit back a sob, covering your face as you heard Rafe sniff above you.

“I’m a guy, baby,” was all he said. “I promise you, I can hit you ten times harder.”

Your breathing was uneven, and when you refused to move, your boyfriend huffed.

“Get up,” he quietly told you. “Get the fuck up.”

His hand was under your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today–fuck, I don’t know if it’s something Sarah said, but cut it out,” he sneered, shaking you. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”

“Oh, when you’re not in the mood to deal with my ‘bullshit’, I have to shut up, but when I’m not in the mood to fuck you, I should lie there and take it anyway, right?”

Rafe reared back a bit, looking down his nose at you, and the way he studied you made your heart skip a beat. You winced as his hand tightened, and you hated the way his lip twitched. There was a glint in his eye that made you nervous, and you watched him slowly smile. Letting you go, both of his hands started to gently drag up and down your arms.

“I think you’ve been hanging around Sarah too much,” he told you, an amused lilt to his tone. “We both know things go so much smoother with us when you know your place.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, tearfully blinking at him.

“I’m not leaving you, Rafe,” you whispered. “You have made it abundantly clear that I am never leaving you, so why can’t you give me something to work with here?”

Rafe tilted his head at you, a frown on his face as he reached up to gently touch your own face.

“You can leave,” he said to you, making you roll your eyes. “Baby, you can leave me anytime you want…”

You didn’t look at him, refusing to dignify this farce. His fingers were gentle on your skin as he trailed them down your jaw and neck, and you shuddered, tears kissing your eyes at the way he was toying with you.

“So long as you know what’ll happen if you do…”

You didn’t say anything, and the tension in the air shifted when he spoke again, tone venomous.

“You want to leave me, you go right ahead, but don’t think I won’t smile in your daddy’s face after wringing your neck,” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re never leaving me like that’s supposed to be some comfort to me or some bargaining chip.”

He took your face into his hands, making you look at him.

“I know you’re never leaving me,” he calmly said. “It’s not something I worry about, so there’s no need to reassure me. I don’t need it.”

“I could,” you choked out.

That bloodthirsty glint in his eye came and went, and Rafe smiled again.

“Okay… Let’s say, for argument’s sake, you do leave me… Who in this town would touch you with a ten-foot pole?” he shrugged. “You’re mine.”

You licked your lips.

“Kildare isn’t the only place in the world,” you whispered.

“You’d have to get off the island first,” Rafe bit out, visage void of all humor, now.

His nostrils flared as he looked between your eyes, his blue gaze cold, and you took a step back when he moved forward. The look on his face was unreadable, and you struggled to figure out what he was thinking.

“Is that what this is about? You’re thinking about leaving me?”

“No.”

You denied that before he’d even finished talking, heart skipping a beat.

It was your boyfriend’s quiet moments that you found unpredictable. When he was irritated and loud and pacing like a bull, you knew what to expect and how to handle him. In the moments where most of that was going on inside of his head, you didn’t always know how to proceed or how to prepare yourself.

“I just feel like if I say I’m not in the mood, it shouldn’t become a big thing,” you tearfully continued.

“…and why should I care if you’re not in the mood?” he wondered, leaning in. “Why should that matter to me…?”

You took a deep breath, voice shaky.

“…because I’m your girlfriend.”

“…and as my girlfriend you don’t think it’s your duty to fulfill your part in this relationship?”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I spoil you, I buy you flowers and gifts, I take you out to places some people on this island will never see,” he said. “So many girls want what you have, and you can’t even put a smile on your face and fuck me when I want you to?”

“They wouldn’t want what I have if they knew you were a violent piece of shit,” you spat, tears in your eyes.

Rafe’s expression shifted at that, and although you couldn’t name it, you knew you didn’t like it. You watched him glance away, jaw ticking as he slowly nodded. When his eyes met yours again, you braced yourself. You were prepared for a slap.

Not a punch.

Your scream bounced off of the walls as you covered your face, and if it weren’t for Rafe, you would’ve collapsed right there. His arms were tight around you as you held your nose, blood seeping between your fingers as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your whole face hurt, but your nose especially, and if all the blood didn’t make it obvious, the God-awful pain did.

It was broken.

You couldn’t stop crying, the most gut-wrenching choking noises escaping your throat, your sobs coming out too fast for your body to handle. Rafe was moving—walking you somewhere—but you were too preoccupied with the pain in your face and the blood on your arms to concern yourself with it.

Until there was air beneath your feet.

It was too late for you to grab the railing, the blood on your hands making it impossible to slow your descent down the stairs. Each step was like a hit to your arm or your leg or your side, and even throwing your hands out before you didn’t help much. When you landed at the very bottom—right onto your knee—you didn’t register the pain at first. There was too much pain—mostly in your face—to take note of the one that was prominent alongside your nose.

When you did, you gasped, keeling over and holding your knee to your chest.

Your other hand was still holding your nose, and you were growing lightheaded at both the sight of blood and the feeling of the loss of blood. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and the sharp pain in your knee had you momentarily forgetting about your nose. When you tried to move your leg, you cried out, and you only pulled your gaze away when you heard Rafe walking down the stairs.

Through tearful eyes, you watched him steadily take out his phone. His face was as calm as ever when he finally joined you on the first floor, and you flinched when he reached for you, hand coming to rest on the top of your head as he made you lean your cheek against his leg.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the operator’s voice traveled from the phone.

“Yeah, um…my girlfriend… She just…she just tripped down the stairs,” he breathed. “I think she’ll be fine, but she’s bleeding a lot, and I think she hurt her knee.”

You shook against him as he gave her his address, and when he hung up, you avoided his gaze when he slowly knelt before you. Against your will, he pulled your hand away, and you flinched again when he tried to wipe some of the blood off of your face. Rafe’s voice was soft as he shushed you, but it only made you cry harder.

When he didn’t say anything, you knew that he was waiting for you to look at him, and when you did, he took a deep breath. His blue eyes stared into your own.

“How’s that for a violent piece of shit?”

With a screaming leg, and a face that felt like it was on fire, you had no choice but to let him pull you against him. His arm curled around you as he rested his chin on top of your head, hand playing with your hair while you both waited for the ambulance.

#to reread

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