#Stockholm here I come

[vanishintoyou]

beyonce please come to copenhagen please oooooh she wants to come to copenhagen so bad

[microwave-core]

I wish that music players on blogs still worked. If they did, I would put this on loop.

[fivefeetfangirl]

MISHA IS COMING TO SWEDEN AND I WONT EVEN BE HERE WHEN HE DOES 😭😭

[coffeebooh]

queen perdita getting captured by cassandra savage for ransom but instead of hating each other’s guts they fall in love along the way

[roseband]

...

[salamancers]

these guys are available as prints and stickers at Stockholms Internationella Seriefestival (SIS) today and tomorrow!

or just look at them here, thats fine too

[holdingontohouaylor]

JAG HAR BLIVIT UTVALD ATT KÖPA BILJETTER TILL TAYLOR I STOCKHOLM

[harrywavycurly]

Me eating this whole thing up like the snack it was:

Hidden | mcc!harry

Summary: You convince Harry to take you to the Halloween Haunted House downtown. Of course you’ll both be well disguised - hidden in plain site. Thanks to this request!

Warning: 18+ only, smut, public sex, mask kink, voyeur kink (+ this is kidnapper!harry x reader and so this might not be your thing)

Word Count: 4042

Mint Chocolate Chip masterlist

“Look, Harry,” you showed him the flyer stuffed between the loose mail that had come in that day, “Haunted House Halloween: An Erotic Masquerade.”

Harry peered at the glossy pamphlet with a creepy-looking old building and the words at the bottom with contact information. $45 per person at the door. Extras not included.

“Can we go? I really want to go! Halloween has always been my favorite and we’ve never done anything together on Halloween. Please?” You sat the flyer down and slotted yourself between Harry’s legs as he sat on the couch, getting to your knees and rubbing your palms up his thighs, “It would mean so much to me. We’d have masks on so no one would even know it was us.”

Harry gave you an expressionless look. He wasn’t quite sure. He wanted to make you happy but he hated to go out in public. And he was sure there would be a lot of people at the event.

“I don’t know, pup. It’s risky with so many people.”

“Harry,” you softened your eyes and took his ringed hand in yours, bringing his fingertips to your lips, dotting little kisses to them, “I love you. How can I convince you that it’ll be worth it? That no one will ever see us?”

Well, you knew the answer to that. You knew how to get your way when it came to Harry. Pushing your fingers over his crotch, you bit your lip with your eyes on his, and pressed over his cock.

“Puppy…” he warned. He knew what you were doing. And he knew he was going to give in. If you were both in masks what was the harm anyway?

You laid your head on his thigh, looked up at him innocently, and began fumbling with his pants button, “Harry… I’m gonna suck you off now, okay? Make you come really hard and get me all messy.”

With your eyes still on his, Harry cradled the back of your head and licked his lips, “S’this what you think it’s gonna take for me to say yes?”

You nodded, your cheek smushed into his thigh. You were thriving from the eye contact he was giving you with his warm hand at the back of your head, all loving and soft with anticipation.

When you’d opened up his pants you could tell he was already thickened up to your delight. You loved making him hard. Loved that you did that to him. Loved that he picked you out of everyone because you were his special girl.

You shifted yourself and sat up so you could reach into his pants and pull him out. Sticking your hand under the band of his underwear he grunted as he sat back and put his hands behind his head to let you do your thing.

It was a struggle to get him out fully. He wasn’t helping you at all. He kept his bottom planted firmly on the couch, where normally he’d lift up so you could pull at his pants. But this was your way of showing him how much you wanted to go out for Halloween.

But you did manage to pull his dick out. Your fingers came into contact with his girthy shaft and you pushed his underwear down so you could see all of him. As you began to gently slide your hand up and down over his foreskin you looked up at him and could tell he was already gone. Dark eyes, pink lips parted, small puffs of breath falling from his lungs.

You gathered a bit of saliva in your mouth and pressed your lips to his tip, pushing the moisture out with your tongue and over his cock, using your fingers to slip it over his skin and down as far as your hand could go before his pants got in the way. You repeated, getting his cock coated with your saliva, little by little as your hand worked it over his shaft.

“It’s so yummy,” you moaned as you swiped your tongue upward to his frenulum, eyes pinned to his.

You were a fucking pro at this. Harry had taught you exactly what he liked and you were a quick learner. And now you’d perfected the skill of giving head to his preference. So much so, that Harry was already growing angrily hard with your lips and tongue and fingers working him into a frenzy.

When you’d finally put him out of his misery and you wrapped your plush, wet lips around his bulbous head he moaned and closed his eyes. He loved to feel you. Feel your lips and your tongue taking him in. The way you suckled and lapped at him as you forced yourself down until he bumped into your throat always had him trembling.

He gasped when you swallowed around his cock and spluttered over him, almost gagging but not quite. When he looked down at you your eyes were fixed up at him, already tearing up a bit.

“Puppy… my best girl,” he smoothed his hand over the back of your head as you attempted to smile at his sweet gesture, though it was hard with his thick cock lodged deep in your mouth.

So you went down further, sucking in a breath through your nostrils, and lowered down until his tip wasn’t just nudging into your throat but was slid into the back of it and pushing past your tonsils. He groaned and that spurred you on further as you closed your eyes and nuzzled down, your nose hitting his tummy and your chin pushed into his cotton underwear. You wished you could take his balls into your hands but this would have to do as he still had his pants over his thighs and only his cock was out for you.

Once you began to gag over him and the tears in your eyes started to run down your cheeks Harry bucked his hips up and pressed at the back of your head. You put your hands on his thighs to stabilize yourself as you gurgled and squeezed your eyes closed.

“Fuck… c’mere pup,” Harry’s voice was strained as he whined his words.

You popped off of him, gasping for breath as you did so, and quickly climbed into his lap as he asked.

Harry pushed your little dress up to your waist and pulled you down over him, your bare pussy already wet and puffy with need. You never wore panties when Harry was around. That was the rule.

“Want to come, puppy? Want to come with me?” Harry asked as he cupped your face.

You writhed your slick pussy against his deliciously hard cock. He was already throbbing. So close to coming, “Yes. If it’s okay.”

Harry moaned and looked down at where you two were pressed together, “It’s my favorite. Of course it’s okay. Put me inside, puppy. Ride me and make yourself come.”

And what else was there to do but obey? You pressed his tip into your entrance and let out a shaky moan as you slowly encased him and he pushed your insides apart until you had him stuffed into your pussy so deep you were seated over him, wetting his pants.

With Harry’s hands on your ass, he helped you lift up and slip down. With little gushy sounds coming from your pussy as you moved over him.

You both moaned and gasped, “Can I rub it? I want to come…” you panted as you looked down to where you were both connected. You needed to slip your fingers over your clit and you’d be done for in moments.

“Go on, baby. Been such a sweet girl for me.”

You slid your hand between your bodies and circled your clit as you continued to take his cock into you deeply. He was trembling at the way you were squeezing around him.

“Ahh!” You moaned when you felt your pussy flutter and Harry’s dick press into your guts repeatedly.

“Coming, puppy? Yeah? Needed my cock, didn’t you? It’s okay. There you go…” Harry tried to sound put together but he was panting and whining as he spoke his words to you as you came around him.

You gripped him tight and spasmed around him, thighs quivering and eyes wide, “Fuck! I need you, Harry!”

Harry clenched his jaw as his balls tightened against his body until he was pouring himself into you. He pumped his orgasm into your tummy and held you down with his teeth gritted, feeling that euphoric relief that only you could ever provide him.

.           .           .

You ordered your masks online. Harry’s was a skeleton mask and yours was a jeweled black cat mask. Harry was iffy about yours because it didn’t cover your lips and chin but once you tried it on for him he nodded, “Okay. That should do.”

He wore a full black suit with a black tie and you wore a long-sleeved black bodysuit with black high heels. It was actually quite sexy. And you thought Harry looked sexy too.

The haunted house was downtown. It was at an old historical home that was preserved among the modern buildings and skyscrapers. It was often used for events, dinners, parties… This time it was decked out for a Halloween masquerade. The night sky above with the old-fashioned lights hanging from the front façade and creepy spider webs at the entry made it feel so real.

There was a group waiting at the front, as people entered one by one.

When you and Harry finally got to the door your payment was taken and black plastic bracelets put on your wrists. The interior was breathtaking. Tall ceilings, crystal chandelier, a big open space for people to dance a section with a bar and tables, and seating along the wall at the back.

“This is incredible!” You held onto Harry’s hand (or better yet, he wasn’t letting go of yours) as you looked all around. The decorations were scary but tasteful somehow. Everyone was wearing a mask. The music was instrumental and slow but had a touch of something spooky as it was on a minor scale.

You both stood at the bar to order drinks. Harry decided against drinking anything. He was still on edge and wanted to keep an eye out in case of anything that should happen. Even the bartender you ordered from was wearing a mask. She was Medusa and her entire outfit was sleek but she wore a wild wig of snakes.

Harry continued to keep your hand in his as you walked around the room to check everything out. Your drink was tangy and refreshing. The further you got into the space you noticed there were smaller areas behind doorways with activities. A Ouija board room, a room with a witch's cauldron and various ingredients set on a table to add, a dark room that, once you stepped in you realized was almost as large as the main room. Couches and settees lined the walls, rugs on the floor, dim lighting at the edge, and people making out in the dark shadows, “This place has everything, Harry!” You laughed quietly as you pulled him along to the various areas.

Harry wasn’t hating it. He went because he knew you wanted to and because he tried to do anything he could to make you happy. But he was feeling more and more confident about the whole thing the longer you were there. The setup was impressive. The space was packed with people and you both were well disguised.

And also, he thought you looked absolutely gorgeous in your outfit. A tight bodysuit hugged your curves and your lips were painted a deep red. He’d consider talking you into going to the dark room for a bit of fooling around if the moment was right. He now understood the ‘erotic’ part of the masquerade. This felt almost like a big sex party. Though no one appeared to be having sex in the open, things were definitely lustfully charged.

When you’d finished your drink you turned to look at Harry, “Let’s dance a little.”

Harry shook his head, “Nahh. I don’t want to.”

He could see the pout on your lips as you protested, “I don’t want to dance by myself, Harry,” you pushed your fingers in between his and pulled at him.

“Well, I wouldn’t let you go out there to dance alone anyway. You’re not to leave my side.”

“But that’s not fair. Look,” you pointed toward the large space where masked adults were griding and slow dancing with dim lights flashing, “Just a little. Come on. Please?”

Harry sighed and looked toward the darkest corners of the dance area. There were people there, swaying and moving in synch. He could handle a bit of dancing. If it was to make you happy he’d do it.

“Fine.”

You squealed as you pulled at his hand and moved into the dancing bodies, but Harry kept pulling at you until you were outside of the area where the dim lights couldn’t find you.

Harry put his big hands on your hips and immediately you both began to swing softly. You put your arms over his shoulders and he nudged you in closer, “You look really pretty like this puppy.”

His voice was deep and you grinned at his compliment.

A couple that was dancing a few feet away had their masks moved off of their faces and were kissing as they danced together. You bit your lip and looked back up at Harry’s skeleton mask.

“What is it?” You could hear the smirk on his mouth. You wished you could see it.

“Just feels like a place where we could get away with a lot of stuff,” you swayed your hips and Harry nodded in response to you.

It did seem like that kind of place. It was dark inside. Lots of rooms, alcohol, hidden corners…

Harry dipped down to speak into your ear, “Turn around,” he pushed your hips and you turned in his arms so you were facing away. Suddenly he pulled you into him, your back into his chest and you both continued to slowly move to the rhythm.

When you felt his hands smooth up your ribs and over your tits you gasped and turned your head as he spoke into your ear, “What kind of things do you think we could get away with?”

You raised your arms and put your hands behind his neck, “I don’t know. This is a good example,” you pressed your bum into his crotch teasingly. But when you tried to move your hips away Harry brought a hand down from your breast to hold you in place, keeping his hips glued to your bottom.

“Now you’ve gone and done it, puppy.” He whispered into your ear. He kept one of his hands on your breast, kneading and squeezing as he ground his hips into your ass. You could feel him getting hard behind you and a small moan fell from your throat involuntarily.

You rubbed yourself over him harder and heard a groan from him, “Better behave.”

But you didn’t want to behave. You were feeling the sensuality of the dancefloor and everyone around you. The masks hid everyone’s identities and if their masks weren’t on their faces, their lips were connected, hiding behind skin pressed together and dark shadows.

“I want to be naughty,” you nearly purred as Harry pushed himself into your bottom and he moaned into your ear. You whispered, “I want to be bad.”

Harry couldn’t get close enough to you. He didn’t know what had gotten into himself but perhaps it was the way everyone around you two were practically dry-humping and getting themselves off while still clothed. He was sure he heard a man grunt and whine as the girl in front of him, pressed into him, coaxed him through softly with dirty words. Of course, who knew? Harry couldn’t be sure it was the sound of someone orgasming in their pants because he couldn’t see them clearly.

He felt your fingers over his as you pushed his hand down between your legs. You were warm and you inhaled a sharp breath when you pushed his digits over your fabric-covered clit. You guided his fingers over yourself as you leaned your head back into his shoulder.

Harry nudged himself into you, gently rocking his thickened prick into the fabric of his pants and into your soft bum.

You were both panting and grinding together in the dark next to other couples who were doing the same. It was like an illicit sex corner in a haunted mansion where no one knew for sure what anyone else was doing.

Soon he felt that your warm center was growing wet under the pads of his fingers. He could tell your body was growing limp against him as he kept one arm steady around your middle to hold you up, “Hold on, puppy. You’re almost there aren’t you? Filthy girl getting herself off on my fingers right in front of everyone here. Making a mess of my hand already,” his husky voice gave away that he was painfully turned on himself. He couldn’t hide it anyway, his cock was throbbing and his skin was rubbing into his underwear as he rocked himself harder into your plush bottom, the perfect amount of friction for his foreskin to move over his tip repeatedly. As good as it felt, he didn’t want to come in his trousers. He had another plan, now that he was beyond the point of no return.

You cried out as Harry hushed you. You could feel him solid, leaking between your cheeks as you came on his hand. Your legs buckled and you rocked yourself into his hand and grasped his arms. You couldn’t help yourself. You never could with Harry. He just did something to you. It had been that way since the beginning. It was as if your body reacted to him without you even needing to do anything.

You’d made a mess between your legs, which you felt when Harry finally moved his fingers from you and softly ushered you back to him, “Good girl. Needed to come didn’t you, puppy? It’s okay. You know I always give you what you want. Just like you always give me what I want.”

You opened your eyes and saw a couple staring at you. They were facing one another, griding to the music. Her lips were dropped open and she was moaning. Her mask barely covered her face so you could see her eyes on yours. The man, however, you couldn’t see, but his mask was aimed at you and Harry. They both seemed to be watching what had just happened. It was dark and perhaps they hadn’t seen everything but you had been loud.

Harry began to pull at you. You were too far gone to protest or to be embarrassed at what that couple might have just seen. Soon you were in the dark room with the plush couches and low lighting at the edges. Harry dragged you with him to the corner of a couch and made you climb onto his lap. You could hardly see his mask in the darkness but you could hear the moans and gasps of others all around.

Harry lifted his mask and pushed yours off your face and his mouth was on yours so fast you nearly fell backward off his lap. You could feel him fooling with his buckle and you leaned away, “What are you doing?”

“I need to come puppy and I’m about to burst. Need you to pump me in your hand and then put me in your mouth so I can come and we don’t make a big mess. Understood? I don’t think anyone in here will see us. It’s too dark. Besides, look,” he gestured toward the couple at the opposite side of the couch. You could hardly make out their bodies but you could see them moving rhythmically and you could hear what sounded like sex, skin sliding and gently thwacking together.

“Oh my god…” you whispered as you looked back toward Harry.

“Pup, I really need it. I’m in pain. Your wet pussy is all over my hand and it’s driving me crazy. If you take me in your mouth it’s the only way to keep me from coming in my pants.”

You would do anything he wanted. There was no way you’d say no. He had made you come moments earlier so it was the least you could do, “I could ride you. You can come inside of me. Might be even easier.”

“But your bodysuit–“

You interrupted, “Has a button to open it at the crotch for practical purposes,” you laughed. But it was truly meant for practical purposes. It’s why you selected the bodysuit. An opening so you could use the bathroom without having to take the full bodysuit off.

“Fuck baby, you don’t mind doing that?” Harry's vision was fuzzy he was so turned on. Normally he’d never go for something like that but the atmosphere of the place, and you were getting to him.

You straddled him properly, “Pull yourself out and I’ll get this open,” you whispered as you plucked at your button and unfolded the fabric from your wet crotch.

Harry was already out and stroking himself by the time you’d finally pulled the material off your crotch. He was so hard it almost hurt as he pulled you down on himself with a guttural moan. But you were so slick you had him coated and were gripping around him in no time.

Harry set his feet flat onto the floor and fucked himself up into you slowly. Each thrust had you bouncing slightly, and squishing down over him each time you fell. You both panted until Harry captured your mouth, his tongue finding yours right away. His mouth caught your moans as he slid himself into you deeply. Your head was spinning. You couldn’t believe you were having full-on sex in public with another couple likely doing the same thing as you just feet away.

The music and the noise from the others in the room covered the sounds that were coming from your own body. Your wet hole slopped over Harry’s wide cock and you were sure that despite him not wanting to make a mess, his pants were already wet and coated in your cream.

When Harry’s cock began to thrum inside of you and his groans into your mouth grew louder and more desperate he began to plunge into you faster. You held onto his shoulders tight and he shook as his thighs worked himself into your pussy eagerly. You knew he was about to come.

“Give me your come. I need it, Harry,” you whispered against his lips as a man not far from you let out a cough of ecstasy. It would be hard to deny that whoever that was had been coming at that very moment. The other man he was with moaning pathetically.

“Fuck, puppy…” Harry groaned against your lips as he held you down over his cock tight, “Coming… fuck ‘m coming… milking my cock like you need it…”

Harry leaned his head back and his mask slid down over his face as he released into you, small moans falling from his mouth. You loved making him come. Loved how it made you feel that he got so weak with you.

When Harry’s cock was properly drained he lifted his head back up and looked at you from behind his skeleton mask, “This is the best Halloween party I’ve ever been to.”

You laughed as you nuzzled against Harry, wrapping your arms around his neck, his cock still deep inside of you, “It really is. Want to go dance again?”

Harry chuckled lowly, “If we dance again we might just find ourselves back in this room fucking in this very spot. Or maybe I’ll have you bent over the couch arm next time…”

You grinned and leaned back to look at him, “Sounds perfect.”

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[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

wtf do you mean you have dinner with your advisor and his wife at their house every week

is your advisor actually supposed to be your friend? nobody told me this

wait

wait wait wait wait wait.

wait

really?

"my friend's advisor takes him wine tasting" "my advisor takes me hiking" "i went surfing with my advisor last week"

are you shitting me right now?

so youre telling me you can just easily have a good life as a social outcast if you get into research? and your advisor is your friend? youre supposed to?

and you research together?

theres hope for you, you odd and awkward kids. there's light at the end of the tunnel.

[empressawesomecoolness]

hi cutie you come here often

im doing my monthly tumblr stalk

omg I thought this ask was just another porn bot I almost blocked u sorryyy 😭😭😭😭

[muntitled]

Tic-Tac-Toe

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex

A/N: Hell is empty

4k Words

You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.

It's terribly annoying.

At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?

Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.

It should have bothered you.

The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.

But you want him to trust you, for some reason.

Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?

"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.

If only for a few hours.

You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.

Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.

You are in love with him, perhaps.

That's a logical response isn't it?

You laugh almost.

Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.

Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.

The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.

"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.

Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.

A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.

Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.

But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.

Although-

"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.

He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"

"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"

He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.

"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.

"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.

You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."

Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.

"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.

"Are we ready to begin?"

The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.

You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.

"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.

"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.

"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.

"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."

You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.

"Am I going to have to insert-"

"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.

"Hide and seek?"

He snickers, "A favourite-"

"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.

"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.

"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"

"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.

He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.

"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.

He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.

"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.

"With a twist, I presume?"

"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."

"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."

"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.

"You want to start or should I?"

"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"

He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.

"You pick which one goes inside you."

Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.

"Th-That's insane I-"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "

"What happens if you win?"

"Then I choose." He says.

Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.

"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."

You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.

"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.

Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.

Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.

"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"

"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.

"Anything you want, my little winner."

You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.

"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.

"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.

"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.

If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.

"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."

"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.

"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."

"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.

"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."

You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.

"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"

His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.

He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.

"Alright, My turn to start-"

"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.

"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.

"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.

"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.

You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.

You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.

You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.

"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"

"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.

"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.

"Fuck off."

"In that case, I have to win."

Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.

"Tic-" you block him again.

"Tac-" you block him some more

"Toe- I Win."

A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.

You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.

Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.

"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.

"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"

You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?

"PLEASE-NO-"

"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.

You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.

"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.

"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.

"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.

"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"

You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.

So desperate to please him.

In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.

Please him.

Just please him and you'll live.

"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.

"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.

You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.

You're free.

When did that happen?

"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.

You're free.

"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.

He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.

He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.

"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.

"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.

Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.

"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.

"Not yet anyway."

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[boneless-mika]

Say what you will about tiktok but it is the reason I found out Dan & Phil are going on tour together in time to actually buy a ticket

[autobahnmp3]

BILLLIE EUROPE TOUR?

[rapturously]

𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

┊ count orlok x fem!reader.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: intended to be a sacrifice for the strigoi haunting your village, your escape brings you face-to-face with death incarnate.

read part 2 here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dubious consent (mild hypnosis/dreamlike state), loss of virginity, monsterfucking, vampire antics (scent kink, bloodplay), stockholm syndrome, mild title kink (heavy use of my lord), shadow sex/fingering, female masturbation, voyeurism, extreme possessive/obsessive behavior.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is arguably the most enjoyment I’ve had writing a fic in a long time. I really hope that you love it as much as I loved writing it! any support is greatly appreciated! I would absolutely love to write more Count Orlok after this, for sure!

ICE-LADEN GALES NIPPED AT BARE FLESH, LIKE THE COLD PRICK OF A KNIFE — ONLY TENFOLD. ROPE CHAFED RAGGED AGAINST SOFT SKIN, AND YOUR FEET SEEMED TO CARRY YOU FAR AWAY, INTO THE DESOLATE HILLSIDES OF TRANSYLVANIA.

A sacrifice — a sweet, mourning lamb, given to the butcher, bound together to keep the darkness from devouring your village. That was what you were, some pious creature to be torn apart by a wolf that prowled through shadow.

Only the cruor of a virgin would expunge the evil that lay within the mountains, your blood, offered to the devil.

Many girls had come before you, maidens that willingly succumbed to their fate, screams snuffed out with the trees as their witness. There was not an ounce of subservience within you, no desire to meet your end alone, to become another notch on the post.

Tears stained your cheeks, liquid salt chilled as it settled upon your features, now steeped in dirt as you stumbled through forested wilderness. Winters were dangerous — the biting ice gnawed at your bones, threatening to rip away your extremities.

Before your fellow villagers could put you to the blade, you fled — naked, bitten by frost, alone with only monsters to nip at your heels.

Their desperate cries echoed into the night, the sound of begging — pleading to be spared without their tribute. Groomed to become an inevitable feast for the creature that tormented your village, you could no longer sit idly by and wait to die.

Beneath your breast, your heart clenched, pounding like that of a drum as it howled within your ears. The whiplike scratch of the wind raked across your body, leaving you heaving, fighting against encroaching exhaustion.

In the distance, torchlight grew dim — those who knew of Nosferatu did not dare venture into the woods or the nearby mountainside. Strands of garlic and crucifixes shrouded the borders of your village, superstitions workings to keep the creature at-bay.

Twigs and undergrowth beneath the snow scraped across your feet as you continued to blindly stumble through the forest, emerging onto the other side, where the bridge rested. Beside it, an obelisk — holy relics, strands of garlic, a sign.

‘TURN BACK, OR MEET DEATH’, it read, the script having weathered with the passage of time. The bridge led to a winding path, a path that could only lead to your inevitable demise. Blood began to ooze from your soles, flesh agitated, lips becoming chapped by the wind.

The Carpathian Mountains stood vigil, an impenetrable wall of ancient rock that kept you from the castle that lay between snow-laden peaks. Wisps of snow fluttered from dusky skies, illuminated only by silvery slats of moonlight.

A haze surrounded your vision — exhaustion coupled with the inevitable shroud of frostbite, and yet, something propelled your forward. Respite awaited you in the form of cold earth and maggots if you continued, the spectre of death hovering above you.

With weak steps, you crossed the bridge, hands still bound together, rope having ripped away at the velvety flesh around your wrists. Shadows became listless, alive, as if something moved within the forest, and still, you wandered forth.

There were worse creatures than wolves and bears in the forests, mere fodder to something archaic, an ancient evil feared by your village for decades. Old maids whispered tales of the Castle Orava, home to a den of monsters considered to be servants of the devil, a harbinger of hell.

Foul magic was at-work, they claimed — and yet, you felt drawn for reasons unexplainable. It was as if you were being lured into open waters, dark and treacherous, as black as a bottomless pit. Despite the heaviness of your body, you carried on, bare and blistered.

The path became even, a seemingly-endless stretch of black woodland that broke away to reveal a gate, as ancient as the landscape itself. Even through your blurred vision, shapes danced within darkness, as if they were grinning.

A wheeze of exhaustion bubbled up within your throat, parched and hoarse, flesh beginning to submit to the earth below. You could not recall when you had fallen, crawling toward the gate as if it would be your salvation.

Hoofbeats crackled against the dirt, a distant dream, like the wisp of a memory that soon dissipated — only, it was reality.

Before your body gave way to the blissful kiss of death, a shadow approached, casting its oppressive hand across you. It was veiled by darkness, a presence most enigmatic, something that you hadn’t experienced before.

Nails as sharp as talons ghosted above your satiny flesh, now marred by bruises and by nature’s cruel sting. Your breathing became shallow, strained by a sudden wave of nauseating terror as this shadow swallowed you whole, blanketing you in what you believed to be eternal darkness.

Oh, how you longed for it — for death’s final caress.

Dreams muddled themselves with waking nightmares — and you were trapped, the lamb screaming in the woods, unable to run free. It was the same stretch of dark forest, eyes following you from penumbra, a gloom so dour and terrifying that it rattled your spine.

Running, running, running — it was all you could remember, falling to your knees in the chilled earth, stone biting at your flesh, bones begging for rest. The gleam of torchlight and the shimmer of the blade still haunted you, the executioner preparing to give your blood to protect your village.

In the howl of your terror, the wood seemed to close in around you, like a wrought-iron cage, its thorns drawing blood from your ragged skin. You wanted to scream, to cry out, beg for a savior — and yet, no sound emerged, only ash.

There, in the endless obscurity of a long night, was he — the creature.

Claws that extended from ashen digits reached for you, took hold, and you felt his grasp close in around your throat. No pleas of mercy escaped your tongue, now turned to stone. Death was what you expected in the maw of this shadow — and it never came.

Its hands did not squeeze, with no intent to snuff the air from your lungs. It wasn’t the hold of one desiring death, like that of strangulation, but the embrace of lust. It was unfamiliar — cold, exhilarating, unyielding — and yet, you never wanted anything more.

No visage ever emerged, only the sheen of crimson-stained fangs that sought your breast, the stench of something foul permeating your surroundings. There was no pain — his bite was akin to the caress of a lover, lacking maliciousness, lacking the gnash and tear of a predator.

Hunger — you could feel it burning like an open flame within your throat, his famine. A creature that starved, with an appetite so unorthodox that it was your blood he craved.

With a strangled gasp, you awoke.

Woodlands were exchanged for the frigid, stone interior of an ancient castle, fixtures remarkably old, possessing macabre decor. Your gaze flickered to the ghoulish countenance of a gargoyle hanging above a roaring hearth, heart nearly leaping from your chest.

Whatever dream you awoke from, you could not discern it from reality, a thought that frightened you to no end. Surrounded by the thick, cured hide of a grizzly, you found yourself bare, still lacking a scrap of clothing. The hide was large enough to preserve your modesty, if you had any left.

The rope that had shackled your wrists together was no more, nonexistent — only raw wounds remained. This castle was cursed, a place of horrors beyond your imagination; you could not explain the semblance of reprieve that you felt.

Licks of comforting heat soothed your icy bones, the simmering fire bringing you a semblance of peace, no matter how threadbare. This newfound environment seemed haunted, decrepit — the furnishings were covered in a layer of dust.

It was luxurious, fixtures fit for that of nobility, a lifestyle that eclipsed your own existence back in the village. Now, you belonged to nothing, with no home to return to. Your traitorous actions would be met with punishment, if you were to return.

The floor beneath you was crafted of stone, covered in a layer of dust. Tangles of cobwebs stretched across the mantle above the hearth, roused only by the ghost of a draft that fluttered throughout the room.

Beside the hearth, sat a tub — the gold had tarnished, making it appear dilapidated, as if it were weathered by the elements. Steam rose from the water inside, as still as a silent pond.

A soft groan escaped you, body wracked with the frigid sting of agony, one that made your stomach turn as you approached the bath. It was unusual, the placement — your desire for cleanliness outweighed your skepticism.

Wobbling legs trembled like leaves upon a windswept branch as you sank into steaming water, causing you to hiss at the intrusion against your wounds. The heat did wonders, offering relief from the stab of ice, from the cruelty of the Carpathian cliffsides.

It was still dusk, the hour of the bat, a night that left you with a constant presence of dread. The creature, the man you saw — his shadow had not left you, as if pieces still lingered within your heart as you scrubbed yourself free of grime.

The groan of withered hinges gave way to the weight of the cast-iron doors, adorned with the heads of snarling hounds. Light pooled in from the crack in the door, causing gooseflesh to rake along your spine, followed by a shiver.

Something pulled you — like a puppeteer orchestrating a show, strings that bound you to some medieval presence beyond the doors. The flames within the hearth began to flicker, their light diminishing, waning to little more than smoldering embers.

Fear took root within your heart, its tendrils seizing within you, filling you with a wave of disquiet. Despite the warmth of the water, your flesh screams with an icy chill, throat growing thick as you reached for the bear’s hide.

Shame rippled through you, still bare and exposed beneath the mountain of fur. Firelight illuminated the next room, far more vast than the one you awoke in. Shuffling forward, you grasped at the edge of the door, benumbed iron firm beneath your palm.

A dining hall stretched before you, an ornate table lined with tall chairs that were made from the finest of pelts, yet worn by time. In another lifetime, this castle might’ve been beautiful — instead, it was a mausoleum of the damned.

An ornate candelabra sat atop the table, wisps of smoke drifting from extinguished wicks. A sizable pitcher sat beside a pair of wine glasses, glass contained within some metallic design that twisted around the base.

Two chairs had faced the roaring fireplace, a hearth that dwarfed the size of the one in your quarters. Your footsteps were feather-light as you crossed the threshold, carrying yourself closer to the table.

“Hello?” Whispers to an empty room stirred something within the shadows, accompanied by the garish bark of hounds. Icy dread coalesced within the pit of your stomach as you looked around, fearful of your intrusion.

A door opposite of you opened, moved by a nameless shadow, whose frame eclipsed all slivers of light — an ominous void, as black as pitch. Two hounds snarled at the spectre’s heels, leering through the corridor’s darkness.

Strigoi — the revenant of pestilence, now standing before you. You should’ve been terrified, thrown yourself at its mercy, but instead, you remained petrified where you stood.

For the briefest of moments, your eyes fluttered, and the shadow no longer occupied the space within the hallway. The door slammed shut, the thunderous crack of iron reverberating throughout the room.

The hounds paced forth, growling at you as they settled somewhere along the fringes, laying down alongside scaling stone columns. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Flames shuddered in the wake of an archaic presence, akin to an icy gale, and with it, the aura of something horribly foreboding. The shadow appeared at the head of the table, each ragged breath evoking a low, guttural growl.

“Sit.”

It was inhuman, his voice — akin to thunder shaking the mountains, like the roll of a dark tide, dragging sailors into its unforgiving seas. He spoke your native tongue, Dacian, and yet it sounded harsher from his lips, wrought with blades.

Through pools of dim firelight, you caught a glimpse of his visage — sharp and pointed, stone-faced and garish. His features, whilst gaunt, possessed all of the markings of a nobleman, attire bearing sigils of royalty, crafted of fine pelts.

With trembling hands, you lowered yourself into your seat, shrouded by the warmth of the grizzly’s hide, ensuring that you were concealed from his view. That pang of hunger you felt in your dream, a ravenous appetite — you could feel it again.

The plate placed before you is nothing more than a generous portion of bread, somewhat stale from constant exposure to acrid air. Your stomach gnashes with hunger, the sting of starvation — you dared not touch it.

“Eat,” His command reverberates throughout the hall, enough to cause a wave of gooseflesh to permeate your skin, dancing along your spine. “Thou shall refer to me as thy lordship.” You had not yet extended your gratitude — he must’ve plucked you from the snow.

Without an ounce of hesitation, your teeth greedily sank into bread, pulling it apart with the fervor of some wild animal. You were not a noblewoman, nor a maiden with any title or dowry — merely the daughter of a carpenter.

“My Lord,” What did one say to a creature that once terrorized your home, to a myth now manifested into flesh? “I — I must thank you, for your hospitality.” Reduced to a mere shrew in his presence, you chewed whatever piece of bread lingered in your mouth.

It was you, his lamb — intended to be his sacrifice, his sated hunger, sparing your village from the terror of his curse.

Another snarl emerged from him, accompanied by each rasp of his breathing, a noise that perplexed you to no end. Strigoi were dangerous — servants of hell itself, creatures born of dark sorcery, ones that had no place in the natural world.

Akin to a mere wisp of shadow, he manifested at your side, pouring a goblet of wine for you, the liquid a dusky crimson. Your gaze never dared to look him in the eyes, feeling the ghost of his finger dance across your cheek.

Such warmth, such feebleness — the beating of your heart only seemed to race with a pang of exhilaration. His flesh was akin to an endless winter, as cold as ice, like roughened leather, decaying beneath the earth.

“Drink.”

Your lips had not tasted wine as lavish as the chalice he presented you with, and it felt saccharine upon your tongue. Greed consumed you, prompting you to drink as if it were your lifeblood.

Long had this castle stood, many centuries of history contained within walls as old as time. A Count, a nobleman he had been in life, a black sorcerer. You, this enchantress, maiden of nothing — you would be his bride, his obsession, his unmaker.

From the rotten gloom of his fortress, he had preyed upon your village for years — years spent in-fear of this serpent, feeding upon the young and old. Blood was blood, and it did not matter the age, so long as his appetite was satiated.

“What do you intend for me?” Your voice was little more than a trembling mewl, expecting to be submitted to dark magics or something far worse. A low grunt stirred within his throat, nail dragging along the curve of your jaw.

With great restraint, his hand recoiled, leaving your warmth as he considered your inquiry in silence. You were intended for him — not as a sacrifice, but as something more, if you were willing.

Centuries spent in his eternal tomb, centuries spent waiting for you — Orlok had crossed oceans of time, wading through endless night to find you.

“Thou must rest — no blade shall find you here.” He rumbled, looming like some dark cloud above your head. It was your scent that drove him to madness, drowned within the concoction of oils placed into the bath. It was a scent he would covet fervently.

A hitch formed within your throat, and your terror had diminished, but only enough to keep you from shaking with dread. You did not understand what he wanted from you, why he did not tear you limb from limb, the fate that had befallen many of your kin.

No blade that wasn’t his own, you pondered, chewing at the inside of your cheek until the flesh was raw. Blood coalesced, sanguine drops attracting the sudden, sharp ire of your host, whose black eyes glittered with bewilderment.

“My Lord, I — I do not understand …” Uncertainty began to permeate your tone, cadence wrought with a newfound fright. Your blood ran cold, heart leaping into your throat as your chest tightened with a great and terrible worry.

“Rest.” His growl ripped through him, reverberating from his chest like the snarl of a feral beast. You skittered from the chair, still swathed in bearskin as you retreated to the room you came from.

Perhaps, he had mistaken your fear as something ungrateful. He had not slaughtered you yet, making you an unwitting guest within his home — you should’ve been offering your gratitude without protest.

The flame within the hearth had dissipated in one fell swoop, as if some storming gale had swept throughout the hall, stealing all light with it. Darkness swallowed your surroundings, and the Count had disappeared entirely, as if he had manifested into shadow.

A shudder coursed along your spine, sending you clamoring into the false comfort of your chambers. The door had shut before you, as if propelled by some unseen force, prompting you to move towards the bed behind you.

Not even the velvet curtains could offer you security, as if they were transparent, or nonexistent. You could still feel the chill of his breath against your cheek, the sensation of his claw tracing along your jaw — you should’ve been repulsed.

Instead of abhorrence, you felt a deep-seated yearning — a blistering desire that you hadn’t experienced before, a tether that anchored you to this being. You feared yourself, the amalgamation of sensations rousing within you as you crawled beneath the sheets.

Sleep would not find you — not here.

Your dreams were no longer yours, bound to him — whatever slumber you could find, you were subject to these visions, lascivious in nature. Whatever rest you could find was disjointed, interrupted by dreams so real that you were convinced of their tangibility, as if you could reach out and touch.

It was him you dreamt of, coming to you at an ungodly hour, claws raking across your bare flesh as he unraveled your sheets. The constant penumbra kept him concealed from you, and yet, you burned to see him fully.

He touched you in your dreams, appearing between your legs as you bared your soul to him, a figure so impossibly large and intimidating. It was guilt and trepidation you should’ve felt, laying with the scourge of your people, a baneful serpent.

Instead, it was euphoria — a desire to bind yourself to him, to cage yourself within his grasp. Spindly digits caressed along your body, nails ghosting above your breasts, traveling to the plane of your stomach.

Unclean — that was what you were, piety now stained in his shadow. Even that did not perturb you as you reached for him, wisps of air being stolen from your lungs as he leaned closer, teeth scraping against your sternum.

“Please,” You had begged him to continue, to bring you a pleasure that you had not yet experienced. “Do not stop.” Whatever pleas fell from your mouth had been for naught — and you awoke with sweat-slick skin and startlement.

As your eyes fluttered open, you were flustered to find the heavy warmth of arousal between your thighs, sheets tangled around your body. Embarrassment turned to frustration, throat dry as you adjusted yourself to the darkness of your chambers.

“Thine body yearns, starved for embrace,” Like the clash of thunder, his voice shook the room, emerging from the pitch surrounding you. You did not know where he was, but he was here with you — physically. “A lamb seeking the shepherd.”

An icy breeze fluttered throughout your quarters, moonlight glistening along the curtains surrounding the bed — and you saw his shadow beside you. Exposed, you drew the sheets around you, with a shame so sharp, and yet your skin gave so easily.

That familiar knot of dread bubbled within your stomach, gooseflesh crawling along your body as you wrapped your arms around you. “I feel your shadow upon me — I should not want you.” You whispered into the gloom.

A growl stirred from the strigoi, and he burrowed into your shame, settling into your bones. “Thine will is your own — it is in your nature,” He rumbled, and that was when you saw him, lingering at the foot of the bed. “Give thyself to me.”

It was your agonizing shame that kept you from crawling to him on all fours like some beast, starving for any scrap of touch. You wanted him, in your own twisted way — wanted him to shield you from your kin, to take you, to live within your ribs.

There was no life left for you in the village — the kin that amassed to put you to the blade, left in the woods for him were not your friends. Perhaps, that was what drove you all along, pushing you into his embrace.

His tendrils wrapped themselves around your mind, no thoughts left untouched, each crevice now surrendered to the Count. He could taste your burning lust, your desire to belong, to belong to him — and he craved such sentiments.

“What little life you had, now belongs to me. Give thyself, willingly — I shall satisfy this craving, and your flesh will be mine alone.”

In the slim fade of silver, you saw him — gaunt and pale, like that of an apparition. In life, he might’ve been called handsome, comely — your disgust should’ve kept you away, made you flee. You were rooted to the bed, able to meet his stare.

Hues as black as pitch, swirling with a hunger unending, an eternal appetite that demanded to be sated by you. He watched you hawkishly, his shadow descending upon you, the phantom sensation of fingers dancing across your collarbone.

Enraptured by the Count, your enticement only seemed to blossom, unfurling from your chest with a wave of want. Instead of hiding yourself from him, you sluggishly allowed the sheets to drop, breasts pebbling from the chilled air.

“I am yours — and only yours, my Lord.”

With a breathy declaration of your devotion, a snarl bubbled from his throat, a sound that sent shivers cascading down your body. Your legs untangled themselves from the sheets altogether, nakedness now exhilarating instead of humiliating.

It was as if you were eased down by some unseen presence, as clawed, shadowed hands bid you to recline into the feathered bed beneath you. The Count did not move from the foot of the frame, leering at you with an ugly obsession.

“Think only of me.”

Whatever supernatural abilities he possessed, he used them, as if you were placed back into the vision you’d had before. His tone rattles your insides, a booming timbre wrought with something dark and enigmatic.

Phantom sensations drift along your body, the touch of another foreign to you. You have used your own hand before, but this feels exhilarating, like a gale of frigid wind ghosting across your frame.

Arousal coalesces between your legs, a slick heat that oozes onto the sheets. It is your scent that vexes him so, the scent of a siren, the call of your sanguine soul.

Without a thought, your hand shyly drifts to your chest, kneading into one of your breasts. Your skin prickles when he makes a sharp, throaty growl of satisfaction. His ghostly claws rake along the supple flesh of your thighs.

A moan escapes you, one of delight as you begin to sink into his presence. For now, he is content to observe, his shadow partaking instead of his physical being — it will not be that way for long.

Soon, your flesh would join — you would become bound to him, and he to you, a union abhorred by many. He reveled at the thought of you, flesh eternal, revealing yourself to him like the unfurling petals of a flower.

No longer shrewd beneath his covetous glower, you freely touch yourself, squeaking out a myriad of sounds from your throat. “Take all of me, beloved.” You exhale, the pad of your thumb flicking across your swollen nipple.

The use of such an intimate title evokes a ragged, strained exhale from your paramour, whose obsession rages like that of a tempest. His phantom claws trace along your body, circling your unattended breast.

It kneads just as you do, sharp talons continuing to tease the pebbled bud, drawing out a mewl from your sweet lips. Gooseflesh erupts across the back of your neck, another wave of arousal flushing through your frame.

A heated ardor burned between your thighs, soon to be soothed by the ghost of gnarled digits. Spectral claws continue to revel in your velvety flesh, seeking your arousal as the shadow traces across your cunt. It makes you writhe, one hand grasping desperately at the sheets.

A strangled whimper emerges from you, back beginning to arch into his salacious embrace. He continues to watch from his place at the foot of the bed, breathing unnaturally hoarse, strained with a wanton need.

Warmth exhumes from you like the lick of an open fire, extinguishing his gravely chill. The Count’s gaze greedily consumes your contorting form, able to hear the erratic beating of your heart, your mouth torn open, his name upon your lips.

No curse had befallen you, save that of devotion.

Phantom digits find the pearl of your cunt, teasing the clutch of nerves before vigorously circling it. Your knees buckle, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to such unholy appetites.

“Give in to thine own desires.”

That gravelly purr coaxes you to seek your satisfaction, and you mechanically obey, as if transfixed by his voice alone. A sharp exhale splits your ribs, and the hand that once grasped the sheets soon finds its way between your legs.

An unnatural sheen permeates his black hues, one that seems appeased with your subservience. No dead heart could beat — his skeletal frame had not felt such fervor for centuries.

Again, you look to him, as if wanting him to witness your lust, fingers dancing along your swollen folds. Your digits seek to roll across your slit, eliciting a whine from you as you begin to touch yourself.

Dragging your legs against the sheets, you keep them parted, two fingers sluggishly rutting against your nethers. A phantom hand caresses along your stomach, nails raking from navel to sternum, and then to your throat.

The pressure sends a spike of adrenaline through your body, the sensation unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You think of him in an untoward manner, unbecoming of a maiden, lascivious fantasies that make you sigh.

Ghostly caresses layer themselves across your chest, and you swear you hear him shift throughout the room, drawing closer to you. Your thumb languidly circles your pearl, teeth gnashing at your lower lip.

A throaty moan rips from your diaphragm, wrought with ecstasy as you pleasure yourself, one palm kneading at your breast. The other is spirited, ministrations laced with desire as your digits find your entrance.

His shadow is oppressive, a force that blankets itself across your body, and for a moment, you see a vision of him, crawling over your flesh. Your thoughts are molded to him, able to be toyed with — your Lord makes you see his own whims.

It became difficult to discern dreams from reality, imagining his hands roaming your form, claws sinking into your flesh, his brand. You call out to him, a whimpering plea that begs him for release.

Arousal mounts, burning heavy within the pit of your stomach as you squirm, pushing two fingers into the tight heat of your cunt. The noises are sinful, a myriad of strained moans intermingled with crass strokes of your digits.

The Count’s phantom hand continues to squeeze at your throat, nails digging into the silken flesh of your neck. A sharp exhale emerges from your lips, toes beginning to curl at the concoction of sensations assaulting your body.

You alone had grown intimately acquainted with your own body, and yet he handled you as if you had been lovers for centuries. Ghostly digits begin to toy with the pearl of your cunt, causing your muscles to twitch.

“Please,” A supplication to the shadows, wanting some release for your overwhelming pleasure. It swarms you from all around, senses invaded with his dominating presence. “My Lord, please!” Your cunt clenches around your fingers.

A growl erupts from the pitch, his gaze fixated upon you as he looms closer, hovering above your writhing frame. The scent of your cruor ensnares him like a wolf to a rabbit, and he finally moves to perch beside you.

His garb only makes him seem impossibly statuesque, hand hovering above you as his sorcery intensifies. Your back arches, feeling his shadow purse around your pearl, enough to make you fist at the sheets.

Ecstatic digits piston themselves in and out of your nethers, coated in a thin layer of slick, thighs shifting together in an attempt to relieve any ounce of friction.

Higher — you climb toward your release, chasing after it with a thinly-veiled desperation. Shadowy sensations move across your body like liquid smoke, squeezing beneath your jaw, continuing to circle around your clit.

You are temptation incarnate — his devotion to you is a powerful thing, just as yours is to him. Sharp, jagged teeth hover above your breast, and the Count succumbs to his hunger, at last.

Pain blossoms throughout your breast, and yet you hadn’t felt an ecstasy quite like this. It was blinding, white-hot as it consumed you whole, swallowing you within the abyss of lust. Teeth break flesh, tasting your cruor upon his tongue.

No drink could compare to that of your sanguine ichor, no sensation — the Count drank from your breast, a possessive snarl ripping through his chest. He bristled at the feeling of your warm palm cupping the nape of his neck.

A crescendo of moans tore through you as you approached your peak, digits continuing to dip inward, curling within your cunt. It became strained, body trembling with an onslaught of ecstasy.

Claws begin to stroke along your tresses, as if easing you into submission, coaxing forth a release that makes you scream. Your body curls toward him, cunt slick with your mess as you find your satisfaction, at last.

A warm rush of your essence soaks the sheets, the scent enough to drive your paramour to madness. It furthers his bloodlust in a way that entices you, another wheezing exhale leaving him.

A rough tongue slithers against your sternum, stained in crimson as he openly feasts from you, and you do not recoil. Your peak seems to work in-tandem with his appetite, feeling his claws ghost above your breast.

Muscles ache with spasmodic twitches, chest flourishing with the sting of agony as it spreads throughout your sternum. Instead, you invite him closer, digits stroking at the greying, decayed flesh, allowing him to sup upon you.

His gravelly voice seems to intensify within the recesses of your mind, speaking to you through a distant haze. “Thine flesh belongs to me,” He rumbles, and you hold him closer. “As this flesh belongs to thee.”

He does not touch you, leaving you with some aching void that can only be filled by him — he alone will satisfy the craving.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: yandere, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

“I’m back,” he calls out softly once opening the door.

You’re already there—must have heard him drive up then padded over—standing there, wordlessly awaiting his kiss. You don’t notice it yourself, though he does, how you get up on your tippy-toes and meet him halfway. You’ve been doing it for a while now. It’s really cute. And so he doesn’t say anything on it—doesn’t want to spook the habit.

“Welcome home,” you say, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you soft and snugly against his chest—smiling at how you nuzzle into it—yet another cute thing you’ve started doing lately.  

“Mh-thank you, sweetheart—feels good,” he coos into your hair, petting it smoothly while you stand there, neither of you pulling away. “What did you do today?”

You sigh and sink further into his embrace, mumbling, “Same as any other day…” almost sulkily. “Just waiting for you.”

He chuckles, “Oh, that’s not true. I saw you watching something—anything fun?”

You hum, hiding your face in his chest, mumbling into it, “Not really… just binging another franchise they decided to ruin...” You shift and look up at him, keeping your chin on his chest while grumbling, “I don’t understand why they’d reboot something just to completely disregard everything it originally stood for—and all the effects just make it look cheap.”

He can’t help but chuckle again, ruffling your hair with a fond smile. “You’re such a nerd.” He could eat you up the way you are right now, plated on a silver platter for him all so willingly. “A cute nerd, though.”

You pout, “Honestly, what’s going on out there? I barely understand anything I’m watching anymore—it’s all alien to me.”

His hug on you tightens, but you don’t flinch like you used to—even as the look in his eyes darkens along with his words. “Yeah, the world’s gone mad. You’re better off in here.”

You smile then—agreeing for once. It’s also a new and adorable habit. And then you unzip his jacket for him, helping it off his shoulders and hanging it up for him—all so naturally. Looking back at him while asking, “And how was your day?”

He smiles while beholding you—to think such a question would ever leave your lips all so domestically—it’s enough to make his chest swell. Then with an exaggerated sigh, he whines, “Absolutely horrible without you,” wrapping you up in another hug, this time from behind, nuzzling his chin into the ticklish skin of your neck—making you giggle. Arms around your front, swaying you back against him. “Every second, I was counting down ‘til when I could come home to you.”

“Is that right?” You grin at his gesture—twisting around so that you could look at him straight. Slouched as he stood, all but draping you with his taller form—eyes leveled with yours, half-mast and adoringly admiring you like his most precious thing—his sweet loving girlfriend.

You cup his face in both hands, thinking the same of him—your sweet loving boyfriend. You’re about to kiss him, but then, struck by the thought, there’s a sudden freight in your chest that follows, and you jolt back as if he’d burned you.

He stills, warm expression twisting to one of concern. “Hey—” Stepping after you with his hands laid on your forearms, giving you a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You don’t know, you think. Something’s off. Something’s not right—about his touch, about your heart, about all of it. “I’m just…” 

You think about it, eyes skittering over his face—did you always look at his face? Since when did he become so familiar? Since when did you walk around wanting to see it?

“I just…” the words feel all strange in your mouth, but there’s no denying there’s truth in them. “I missed you.”

His features blank at that, blinking at you. “Oh…” Then he softens—smiles with a chuckle, “Well, I’m home now, so…” His head slants, looking at you in askance as he gently brings a hand up to thumb your chin. “What’s with this pouty face?”

You bite your lip. There’s so much noise in your chest—so many conflicting feelings. You’ve begun missing him when he’s gone—when he leaves you. You’ve started wishing for his return, spending your day in wait. Since when did you start doing that?

It’s not right.

“I’m slipping,” your voice is shaken and weak, eyes welling up with thick water enough to have him look blurry—you shake your head and squeeze them shut—making the tears fall quickly. “I’m not supposed to miss you—” you cry. “That’s not right. I’m not—you’re not—”

Not your boyfriend.

“Hey, hey, sweetie. It’s okay,” he cuts your sob off with two warm hands placing themselves on your wettened cheeks, holding you tenderly. You layer yours on top of his, feeling it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling into oblivion. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he coos, smearing out your teardrops, making them dry. “It was gonna happen sooner or later, right?”

Your eyes peel and look at him—through the veil. His face is a comfort—though you feel strange seeing it as such, when you know, even though most of you has decided to forget, that he’s a psychotic stalker who’s kidnapped you and held you captive for what must be closing in on a year already.

“Don’t feel bad—it’s only natural,” he assures, pulling you into his chest again—both arms around you snugly with his chin on top of your head, gently rocking you from side to side. “Everything’s fine. So you’re losing your mind a little—we’ll just find something else for you to think about. Right? Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you? More clothes? Sweets? Something fun? Maybe you can take up another hobby?”

He loosens his hold to look down at you—his face warm with devout for you, with a wordless vow saying he’ll do everything, give you anything in return for your happiness.  

You love him, you realize then with a shudder.

You’re in love with your crazy captor—your batshit lovesick oversweet captor who shares your bed and treats you like a spoiled pet. And it’s so fucked up—so, so very fucked up, so very fucking fucked up. But it’s true—you’re in love with him. And you have been for a while.

“What do you say?” he asks in hope.

Yet, you can’t say it out loud. No, not yet—it still feels all so wrong. But, at the same time, you don’t think there’s a need for you to put it into words for him. He’s always known you better than you have yourself, after all. And that wholesome smile on his face says it all—he already knows.

“No… I just,” you start, staring into his eyes—those full-loving eyes that look at you as if you’re the only thing of value in the whole entire world. “I just want…” It’s a scary confession—both admitting it to yourself and him. “You.” 

You look down, curling your fingers into his shirt.

“I don’t need anything else.”

It’s the truth and nothing but the truth—albeit a somewhat sad truth. It’s your one wish—your only wish. You just want him—to stay, to hold you, to kiss you. You can’t even think of wanting anything else anymore.

“Oh, well, that’s easy, isn’t it?” he says, stroking your cheeks, fishing for your shy gaze—smiling once hooking it—pretty teary puppy eyes, lost and looking for directions. 

Don’t worry—he’s here to help.

“Where do you want me then, sweetheart?” His lips near your forehead. “Here?” He gives it a chaste kiss, earning your sniffle, then ducks down to your neck. “Or here, maybe?” Giving that a kiss as well, this time with more behind it, sucking the skin with a soft bite. 

“Or maybe…” His voice is low, and it makes your skin buzz with a desire just as dark—shivering with it as his lips ghost yours. “Here?”

You hang in his hold, leaning after it.

But he just smiles, “Tell me, sweetheart—where do you want me?”

Your lip wobbles, brows cinched as your balled fists needily pull him close—yearning for it.

“Everywhere.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi ♡ HxH – Chrollo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[darkbluekies]

What do you want from me?

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: the cops take you away from Silas

Warnings: mafia, kidnapping, killing, blood, Stockholm syndrome

Word count: 5k

The candles are lit. You and Silas are having dinner in the dining room, finally. He’s been wanting this for weeks, just you and him together, no one interfering. Not a minute has gone by where he hasn’t thought of you, fantasized about you, but now he finally has you. Every time he’s been trying to get close to you, someone has butted in and demanded him to do something else. There’s always something, someone, that needs something. SIC has tried to take care of a few things, but the final say always belongs to Silas. 

“I wish we could do this more often”, he says and takes a sip of his red wine, scoffing. “Without people pulling me away from you. One more person disturbing me and you’ll have to sedate me—I’m not joking.”

Your lips tug on a smile as you poke the food with your fork, trying to make it look like you’ve eaten more than you have. Silas picks up on it immediately. 

“Are you not hungry?” he asks. 

“I am, just …”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“I did, I’m just not feeling like eating right now … but I don’t want to ruin your dinner … you’ve been thinking about it for so long. I feel bad.”

“Baby, sulking won’t make me any happier. Tell me what’s wrong instead. The quicker I can make you happy, the quicker our date can be good.”

“There’s no particular reason … that’s why I’m feeling bad.”

“Come here.”

You stand up and make your way over to him. He pulls you down in his lap, hands holding you firmly. His hands always finding the most sensitive parts of your body, as if to mess with you. 

“Does my pretty baby want to eat something else instead?” he smirked. 

“Don’t get any stupid thoughts”, you scoff quietly, but couldn’t help but smile slightly. 

“Stupid thoughts? We are married—fucking thankfully—and you think I don’t fantasize about my heavenly spouse going down on me at every waking hour?”

“You’re not a poet, that’s for damn sure.”

Silas chuckles and looks up at you. “Oh, really? Have you heard me recite poetry?”

“No, and I don’t want to either.”

His grin widens at your smile. He pulls you down by the back of your neck and captures your lips in a kiss. His hands wander, wrapping you closer, digging into you. He needs this. Needs this more than you could ever understand. His hands press you close to him. You can feel his heart through his clothes. 

Hurried footsteps run into the room. 

“Sorry to interrupt, boss-”

“Oh, come on”, Silas breathes out in frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He glares towards the door. SIC stands by the table, looking stressed. 

“I’m busy”, Silas says, giving him a gaze full of annoyance and tightening the grip on you. “Do you mind?”

“There’s cops outside.”

You feel how Silas’s arms around you stiffen. His black eyes seem to shift twice as dark. 

“Who lead them here?” he asks, not sounding as sweet as he had been towards you just a minute earlier.

“No idea, boss”, SIC replies. 

“We need to leave.” Silas grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

He walks too quick for you to keep up and you almost stumble behind him. Silas drags you with him out of the dining room. SIC walks close behind you, as if to protect you in case something jumps out from behind. 

“They want to take what’s in the attic, Silas”, SIC says. “And if they get a hold of you too, I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic. You need to be taken away from here.”

Silas knows that there are three people the police want—him, SIC and you. The three in the most inner circle. The goldmine. 

SIC leads you to the back door. The front door bursts open and Silas’s other men try to stall the intruders. Silas pulls you with him as SIC stays behind to deal with the cops. He’s a master talker. 

Silas realises that he doesn’t have any weapons. He’ll have to use his fist, like he used to do when he was a teenager, if anyone decides to attack him. 

“Silas, what’s in the attic?” you ask as you walk out into the backyard.

“Nothing”, he says and looks around. “Come, we have to get to the car.”

He moves you in front of him. Someone in an uniform jumps out behind and Silas is quick to act. He attacks him. The cop falls over but is quick to start fighting back. They roll around on the ground and you watch on in horror, unable to do anything. You can’t join in, it wouldn’t be wise and Silas would be angry. 

The car … I need to get to the car. 

You decide to sneak towards the front side of the house, keeping close to the housewall to not blend into the darkness. Your heart hammers in your chest, but you make your way along the wall. Silas will be fine, he always gets out of these things with only a few scratches.

Someone grabs your arm. You gasp out a scream and meet a police’s eyes. 

“Let me go!” you shout and try to rip your arm back. 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you”, the cop says and tries to pull you with him. “I’m here to help you.”

You throw a glance behind your back. You can’t see Silas. 

“No, let me go”, you breathe out. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

The cop doesn’t listen. You feel your chest move heavily, head spin. A few months ago you’d done anything to be rescued by the police, but now? Now you want noting more than to be left alone. You can’t help but mourn the person who wanted out, who still believed in a hope of returning to a normal life. That person is gone. Forced away by Silas’s harsh punishment methods. You have no idea who this new person who emerged after your brain snapped, but you know that they’re connected to Silas … so if Silas isn’t here … who are you then? The person you were before Silas is gone and this new one is nothing without him. 

The cop pulls you towards a cop car. 

“No!” you scream. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you! Silas!”

Another cop comes running to grab your other arm.

“We’re here to help you”, they both insist. 

But you just shake your head.

The one you should have helped is already gone.

“Silas, help me!” you scream once more.

You’re pushed into the backseat of a police car. You scream again and finally, you see him. He comes running from the backyard, blood on his face, but it’s too late. The car door is already shut. You rip at the handle, press at the window, but the child lock is forcing it closed. Silas eyes widen, but before he can do anything, the car has driven off.

You scream and claw at the window as the car drives away, eyes glued onto Silas until he disappears. Your panic directs towards the cops in the front seat. You scream, kick hit and plead, but the bars separating the front and back seat leaves them unharmed. 

“We just want to help you”, the driver says. 

“No!” you scream. “I want to go back! Let me go back! You don’t understand!”

“Whatever you’re scared of, you don’t have to worry. We will protect you.”

You give up trying to talk to them. It’s no use. They won’t understand. 

When the car stops, you refuse to get out. You’ve curled up in the corner of the backseat, hugging yourself tightly. The two cops have to pull you out. You fight them, but whatever you do, they’re stronger. 

“Let me go!” you scream. 

They must have an ability to turn off their ears, because your cries fall on deafened ears, as they pull you into the police station. 

“Sir”, one of them said. “We got them!”

An older man looks up from a couple of papers. His eyes glow as they fall on you. You glare at him. 

“Great job”, he said. “Put them in the interrogation room and I will be there soon.”

The two cops drag you through the police station. They’re not rough, but they’re not gentle either. It’s a silent promise, you will come with them. The interrogation room is small and sterile, grey and dead. You get to sit down by a table and then, you’re left alone. With nothing more than a constant ticking from the clock on the wall.

What do I do? Oh, no, what do I do? 

You rest your heavy head in your hands. You want to claw out your eyes, rip your hair. This can’t be happening. He’s going to put you into the basement for months for this. You have done everything to not end up there again. You’ve acted so well to avoid ending up in there … and now all of that was for nothing. And it hadn’t even been your fault. 

The door creaks open and you look up to see the man come in. He closes the door behind him and sit down. In his hands, he holds a yellow file. 

“I’m sorry to have to keep you up so late at night”, he apologizes. “But we have to talk to you.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice weak. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N, I just—”

“How do you know my name?”

The older man opened the file and gave you a paper. 

“Your family filed you missing a few years ago”, the man says. This is you, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. It was you on the photo, but you don’t recognise yourself. It was you, but it isn't you.

My family … I haven’t seen them in years. Not since Silas …

“We’ve been searching for you”, he continues. “And after the rumour that you were kidnapped by Silas Achilleos, we doubled the search for you. He has been very good at keeping your whereabouts hidden. If we weren’t looking for you day and night we wouldn’t even know if you were in his care. It took us years only to confirm that you were, indeed, in his hold.”

“How are they?” you find yourself whisper.

“Your family misses you.”

Your heart breaks. You’d give the world to hold them in your arms again. 

“Don’t let them come here”, you mumble. “I don’t want to see them.”

The man seems surprised. 

“I thought, after so many years in captivity, you’d want to reunite”, he says. 

Yes, yes, I do, so badly. 

“I don’t.”

The man doesn’t say anything. 

“Can’t you tell me what Silas did to you?” he asks instead. “We just want to help you and make sure he can get what he deserves—”

“Why?” you whisper. “You won’t be able to catch him anyway.”

“You seem to know how hard he is to get … which brings me onto my next point. The ring on your finger, you’re married. To him, am I right?”

You look down at the golden ring on your finger, stomach dropping. 

“I think you know why we need to talk to you”, the man says. “You are the closest we can get to Silas, except for Silas himself.”

SIC, then? Don’t they know about SIC?

“I don’t know anything”, you say shortly.

“You don’t have to be worried”, the cop says. “You can speak freely with me.”

You give him a look. 

“Listen, Y/N”, he says. “We know that you’ve been through some horrible things, and we want to help you, but to do that you need to work with us. You need to tell me what happened, what he did to you.”

You don’t want to think about it. The man waits for you to say something, but sighs. 

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about that yet”, he says. “Can’t you tell me something else?”

“What?” 

“Has Silas ever told you something about his enemies or shown you where he hides his things?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

You sight back a heavy sigh. “No.”

“Nothing at all? Are you sure?’

“Yes, I'm fucking sure.”

“No need to become defensive, I just want to help you.”

Help. Help. Help. Help. When did that word lose meaning?

“I know nothing”, you sigh. “Absolutely nothing and the further you press me on information I don't have, the dumber you look.”

“You must know something, with the amount of time you spend with him.”

You hide your face in your hands. “I know that he's Silas, but you do too, so that won't bring you anywhere.”

The cop doesn't seem too pleased with you. He had hoped to pull something out of you. 

“Well, I suppose we're all tired”, he says. “How about you sleep on it and we'll meet again tomorrow?”

You don't answer. Instead, you're led to a small cell and left there with nothing more than a bed. If you are innocent, why are you kept like a criminal?

You sink down on the bed. Why did Silas have to take you? Why did he have to ruin your life? All for selfish reasons? 

No one bothers you for the rest of the night, but you’re not sure if the silence is better. 

“Boss—”

His head is missed by centimeters. SIC looks tot he side, seeing the whiskey drop down the wall, the glass shards on the floor. 

“Not a single word from you”, Silas mutters from the desk he hasn’t left all night, voice enough to kill. 

SIC stands quiet, embarrassed. He watches Silas hover over a newspaper, drunker than a sailor. 

“Look how quick they are”, he mutters. “Already writing about what’s mine as if they were some kind of charity event. Look.” He sends the newspaper over the table. “Look at what bullshit they’re writing about them!”

SIC glances down. In bold, black letters, he sees the headline “Infamous mob boss’s spouse in police custody”.

“Writing about them like they’re some kind of criminal”, Silas spits. “Disgusting creatures, I should kill all of them.”

“For the moment, I don’t think you should be doing anything at all”, SIC says. “Not until you’ve sobered up—”

Another glass is launched at him, and if he didn’t duck it’d hit. 

“Do not fucking tell me what I should and should not do!” he shouts. “You can boss me around when your spouse is on the national news for everyone to see! Everyone can see this! Everyone will be interested! My enemies will go to kidnap them right away!”

“Then we do it before them.”

Silas groans and lifts his head. “That might be the best thing you’ve said all morning.”

“Do you think they’ve said anything?” SIC asks. 

“About what? They don’t know anything.”

“Of what happens … down there, I mean.”

Silas seems to sober up.

“They wouldn’t dare.”

"Let's try this again", the cop says.

You want to smash your head into the table under you until you bleed out. Four days have gone by. You hate the little room they’ve spent hours interrogating you in, but you hate the cell even more. The almost unnoticeable flickering light makes your head pound in pain. You've cried more than you've done in a long time, and funnily enough because of the same man—only opposite reasons. You haven’t been away from Silas this long before, and you know that the longer you’re away from him, the worse it’ll be when you return. You have accepted the person you’ve become in Silas’s hold, and now that you're not wit him, you don’t know who you are … or who you will be once Silas finds you again. Because he will, you know that. He will find you again.

You look at the cops again and groan. They’ve been asking you the same questions—what does Silas do? Who is in his most inner circle? Why did he take you? What do you have that could be beneficial to the police?—and still refuse to listen when you say that you don’t know, still refuse to listen to you. Because who wouldn’t think that you were lying? Someone married to someone like Silas should know information, shouldn’t they? You find yourself thinking if this was the plan all along, to deprive you of information to make sure that you wouldn’t be able to tattletail if you got caught?

"Let me go back to him", you beg, for what feels like the hundredth time, with your head in your hands. "This is a waste of time!”

"You don't have to be afraid anymore, you're safe", the other cop says—the idiot still without a clue. "We will keep you safe. You can tell us what happened now."

They really don’t understand, do they?

"I want Silas. I don't want to talk to you!"

To your surprise, being away from him for the first time has given you the time to miss him. When you were with him, he was always there, always around, always messing with your head to the point that you didn’t know what you thought about him. But now that you’re away from him, and actually think of him from an outside perspective, you miss him unbelievably much. You’ve been spending too long with him now not to miss him. You frown. That can’t be good, but what is good anymore? Who is good? Who is not? Who are you?

They tell you to trust them, that they’re here to save you, and yet treat you like a criminal. How can they ever believe that you’ll trust them? If you had the information, why would you ever tell it to someone that treats you like an accomplice? What if you wanted to escape from Silas? What if you had wanted the help? Would you have felt safe here?

You suppose that they hope that the gray room will be enough to break you enough to tell them. But you’ve already broken and they still don’t let you be, because you don’t have the information. 

You're placed into the "bedroom" for a break where you succumb to your tears. You want nothing more than for Silas to come get you and get you away from these people. If these people are supposed to be “good”, you wanted to go back to the bad side. 

The door was unlocked. You flinched back as an officer came into the room, the same as from the first night.

“What do you want?” you asked quickly. 

“Let’s talk a little, just you and me”, he says and crouches down in front of you. 

You watch him cautiously. The door is closed behind him. 

“I know that you are scared”, he says, but doesn’t say it in a comforting or reassuring manner, almost like he wants you to drop the act and stop being difficult. “It’s perfectly understandable. You’ve probably been through more than anyone here can ever imagine.”

“What do you want from me?” you mumble. “Why don’t you let me go?”

“You are a golden opportunity. You might not understand it, but you are the closest we can come to Silas Achilleos without taking him. You are, from what we’ve been told, the most valuable thing in his life, and also the most important to him. He does everything in his power to erase any traces of you, to make sure that no one knows where—or who—you are. And that’s why you’re a golden opportunity. Someone in a position like you should know things that no one else does. You know Silas better than anyone.”

“You’re wrong”, you say. 

He raises his eyebrows. “How come?”

“He has another”, you say. “Someone that has known him longer than I have.”

“Oh, yes, that one. I have heard about him. There’s next to none information about him. Some don’t even believe that he exists, but we saw him at Silas house.”

“I don’t know anything”, you try, yet again. 

“You’ve said that—”

“Why don’t you believe me?!”

“Don’t yell. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“You’re trying to pressure me for information I don’t have! I’m useless to you, you took the wrong fucking person! If you wanted to know things, you should have taken SIC!”

“SIC?”

Fuck!

You sigh out and lean your head back against the wall. Maybe this is why Silas didn’t want to tell you anything—you can’t even keep the little information you know. 

“Is SIC the ‘mystery man’?” the officer asks. 

You don’t answer. 

“Y/N, who is SIC?” he pressures you. 

“Guess”, you hiss. “You’ve already talked about him, why do you need me to confirm anything?”

“What does SIC know?”

You groan and hit your hands against your head. 

“Where can I find this ‘SIC’? Where does he usually roam?”

“Why the fuck are you asking me?!” you shout. “I don’t know anything!”

Finally, he stops asking. 

“Everyone here just wants to help you”, he says. “If only you decide to accept the help and work with us, we’ll make sure that you’re safe from Silas. You don’t have to be afraid of saying anything, he won’t be able to reach you for it.”

You scoff. 

“You don’t know him”, you mutter and feel your voice die out. “He has—and always will—find me whenever I’m gone. I’ve tried before. Multiple times. I’ve run away, I’ve hid, I’ve prayed and begged. I tried to go under another name and move away. He always finds me. I’ve given up, don’t you understand that? I know that the more I fight against him, the worse it’ll be for me in the end, because word will get back to him—and so will I. I don’t have the energy to it anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

The officer listens closely. 

“Don’t you get that you could have your life back?” he asks. “With our help?”

“You’re so stupid—all of you. You don’t understand. I can’t get rid of him. I never will.”

You hug your knees close to your chest and refuse to answer anymore questions. The officer leaves a few minutes later, understanding that you’re not going to talk to him anymore.

You think of Silas, thinking of everything he’s done to you, and everything he’s done for you. It’s a storm of messy memories that sends waves of unexplainable emotions over you. You find yourself missing your bed. 

You must have zoned out, because you're suddenly brought back to life by gunshots. Your heart skips a beat. You know only one man that gives an entrance like that. You run over to the door and bang on it with your fists, shouting for him, hoping that he's going to hear you.

“Silas!” you shout at the top of your lunges and slam your fists against the hard surface. “I’m in here!”

Your hands will bruise from the force, but you can’t be left here, can’t stand to be in this room a second longer. You hear a gunshot closer to you, and see the door swing open, its lock smoking. SIC stands out in the corridor with a gun in his hand. He gives you a quick look, as if to check that it is you before turning his head. 

“Silas!” he shouts. “Here!”

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before he comes running down the corridor. He threw himself into the room and embraced you in his arms. 

“Oh, my god, my Y/N”, he breathes out and hugs you tightly, feeling his hands over your body, as if to reassure himself that you are real. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You try to open your mouth and form an answer, but you're unable to. Your voice isn’t there, and only a choking sound comes out of you. He cups your cheeks. 

“You can just nod or shake your head”, he reminds you. 

You nod. You have no physical wounds, but you're undoubtedly hurt. Silas sighs and kisses your forehead.

“I didn't kill them for nothing then”, he mutters and studies your face. “Little thing, oh fuck, what have they done to you?”

“I didn't say anything”, you reassure him with a strained voice. “Nothing, I-I promise.”

“That’s my good baby, I know you haven't”, he reassured quickly, caressing your face. “What could you possibly have said? I made sure you wouldn't know anything I did.”

“Not about that, either …”

He clenches his jaw and nods shortly. “I see. We'll talk more about it later, we have to get away before other police patrols arrive I can't bear to see you in jail.”

I can't bear to be in jail. What the fuck did I do?

He removes his coat and hangs it around your shoulders, wrapping it shut to make sure that you're warm enough. He gives SIC a look, nodding at him to move out of the way. You're not sure what you're going to see once you exit the room, but knowing Silas, it won't be pretty. He walks beside you, keeping an arm wrapped around your neck, the same hand held over your eyes. The smell of blood is still there, grotesque and strong.

“Fucking idiots”, you hear SIC mutter behind you. “They’ve written my name on the white board!”

Silas chuckles breathlessly, but there’s too much stress in his voice to be fully genuine. 

“They’ve spelled it wrong”, SIC says and you hear him popping open a marker. “S-I-C. Not a fucking ‘K’. I’m not sick.”

“Was it you who told them about SIC, little thing?” you hear Silas ask closely to your ear, his hot breath fanning your ear. 

“I-I’m sorry, I accidentally mentioned him”, you mumble embarrassedly, visions of the basement flashing before you. “I didn’t say anything about him.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, I promise, Silas. I promise, please—”

“Okay, I believe you. Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of looking at these disgusting creatures. I want to go home and be with my baby who I haven’t seen for four days,”

“I hate them”, you whisper. “I hate them all.”

“They hurt you and I will never forgive them for that, but don’t worry I’ve already made sure they’ve paid for it. But you won’t see that.”

“I can smell it.”

“That’s enough.”

He removes his hands as soon as you get out into the open air. Your knees buckle and he’s quick to catch you. 

“These fucking people, eh”, he grits out. “Hurting such an innocent thing. They should be ashamed of themselves.”

“Can’t trust anyone, nowadays”, SIC says and opens the car door, allowing Silas to help you in the backseat. 

Silas sits down beside you. He wraps his arms around you, bringing you close. His normally suffocating presence a big contrast to the coldness you’ve felt the past four days.

“Your pretty hands …”, he pouts and caresses the hands that had been banging at the door with all their might. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt yourself again. Even if you did it to catch my attention. Never again, you hear?”

You nod. 

“What did they do to you?” he asks worriedly. 

“They tried to pressure me eon information I didn’t have …”, you whisper. “I couldn’t answer them. I didn’t know, btu they … didn’t care. They kept pressuring me. I thought my head was going to explode. A-And when I accidentally relieved something—a little—they were on me like snakes, forcing me to say more. I thought that they would think I was involved. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Silas clenches his jaw. He wishes that he could go back and kill them again, this time do it even worse. 

“I’m so tired, Silas”, you mumble. 

“I know, baby, I know”, he coos sweetly. “I hate to see you like this. Seems like the only time you’re safe is when I’m with you. Sleep on my shoulder, little thing. I will take care of you, and when you wake up you will be safe and sound in the bed where you belong.”

The thought warms, for once. You shut your eyes and allow yourself to fall asleep, waking up in a bed softer than the one in the police station. You don’t have to open your eyes to know that you’ve been carried up to your shared bedroom. You open your eyes slightly. Silas is lying beside you, dressed in lounge wear. He looks straight at you with his dark eyes. His hand caresses your cheek. 

“Slept well?” he asks softly. 

You nod. Better than the last four days.

“I’m so relieved to have you back in my arms”, he says and pulls you back into his embrace. “And the fucker that dares to steal you away from me next time will have their eyes pulled out of their sockets. You belong to me, and me only. And no fucking cop, or criminal, or anyone else, will ever get to put their greasy hands on my baby.”

He cups your cheeks. 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he scoffs. “All I wanted that night they took you from me was to have you to myself, but the only time I get to have you all for myself is after you’ve been kidnapped and we've both been through Hell. If only I could get to have you without that happening as well, huh? All to myself.”

His words have always been frightening you, given you a stone in your stomach … but for the first time, they don't. You're not sure what it is, and you're not sure if you're afraid of not being afraid of it. If the cops did that to you, then you’re unsure you ever want to go back. 

Those cops had no idea that they’d do more harm than good. You’re deeper in his claws than ever.