#kidnapped Peter

[august-parker]

Can you imagine if Ironman 1 FREAKY Stark met Peter instead of less freaky more "responsible" tony in civil war?? 😭 oh my GOD that kid would be DEAD AS HELL

Tony eating a donut: "sorry- who are you again?"

Peter: "I'm your intern.. I have been for like a month-"

Tony nodding and not listening at all: "yeah yeah whatever- listen I have a job for you."

Peter fully believing it's superhero related: "seriously? What is it-?"

Tony: "pepper banned me from the fridge.. In there you will find a large half full bottle of the best whisky I have ever drank. I need you to use your sticky gross kid fingers and grab it for me kay?"

Peter: "okay.. what if I get caught??"

Tony: "don't. Just hurry up kid."

Tony walking into the room: "pepper says we have to bond I'm taking you to a party"

Peter: "cool!! What kind of party?"

Tony: "the kind where you wait outside and let me gamble like a normal adult, if someone offers you cocaine just don't take it, I don't wanna deal with that"

Peter:

Peter: "can we get food on the way..?"

Tony: "see this is why I like you kid"

Pepper: "Tony I fired Peter. Your a horrible influence and an even worse caretaker!"

Tony: "so you hate me"

Pepper: "no?? You just can't take children to parties!"

Tony: "But he's my emotional support child??? Do you really want me to kill myse-"

Pepper: "Tony! That is not funny!"

Tony: "it is a little bit, what was his name again?"

[queenlucythevaliant]

clean your sword

i. Peter had thought many times about dying for his brother, killing for his sisters, as all oldest children do.

ii. He'd imagined it a hundred times: how if his mother and father were ever killed, he'd get some low-skill job and make sure Lucy's clothes still fit her as she grew. How he'd make fists and fight dirty if Susan was ever threatened. What he'd do if Edmund ever had to flee the country on a dark, windswept night.

iii. Yet when he heard Susan's horn that day, he still froze. Only for an instant, he thought, "this can't be my job, right?"

iv. The blood on his sword shone red when it was all over. When he wiped it on the grass, the stain it left was almost black.

v. They'd put Susan in his arms when he was two years old. Peter didn't remember it, but he knew he'd been waiting for her till then. He wasn't a real person until he was a brother.

vi. And when they walked back to the pavilion, Rhindon bumping Peter's hip, all he could say to his sisters was, "I'm sorry I didn't come faster."

vii. The High King was almost obsessive in the way he cared for Rhindon. When he grew older and required weapons larger than those made for a child, he obsessed over them too.

viii. He told the others, in no uncertain terms, that if it ever came to it in battle, they were to leave him and live. As their brother and high king, he commanded it.

ix. The first time Edmund risked himself for Peter's sake, Peter didn't speak to him for a week.

x. He was oiling his sword when Edmund found him. "See, the thing is, Peter, being brothers goes both ways. If you can love me enough to die for me, than I get to love you just the same."

xi. Peter agreed with him then, to avoid the argument. He was sick of not talking to his brother. Yet privately, he knew that Edmund was wrong. That sacrifice was Peter's special prerogative, as the first-born.

xii. Back in England, his mother noticed that Peter had become more fastidious. She didn't notice that his protective streak has grown - and maybe it hadn't, really.

xiii. It was uncanny, how Peter would always show up just when his siblings needed him. He'd round a corner, and there was Lucy stamping her feet and scowling at a bully. There was Susan, crying, and now his knuckles were bloody.

xiv. He cleaned the blood off in the sink so carefully. The water ran red for a second, and it almost seemed black.

xv. When Caspian asked for the High King's advice, looking so very young, Peter jerked his chin towards the sword a Caspian's hip. "Be ready to use that," he said. "Keep it clean, and close."

xvi. Susan forgot Narnia and she forgot Aslan. Yet selfishly, Peter still hoped that she would never forget how quickly he came when she called.

[hunting-for-sport]

one of my favorite instances of teen wolf throwing in random narrative shit that happens entirely off screen is that scene at the end of season 2 that implies that isaac spent the entire summer between s2 and s3 stuck working to find/keep track of the alpha pack with not only derek, but also with peter, because can you imagine what like 2 months of cooperation between that cataclysmic trio of characters would be like, imagine you're like 16 years old and it's your summer break and you have to spend it getting dragged around by your 20-something de facto guardian and his pathological freak of an uncle looking for some group of ultra powerful supernatural dickheads when you probably have like, summer reading you're supposed to be doing for your english class, i'd leave derek's ass after that too

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I got kidnapped by Peter Griffin and he put me in a room with some stormtroopers and a giant squirrel.

[tofumilkbread]

Jason just being Jason and breaking in the manor thinking he's being all slick and shit but Bruce simply deactivated the sensors when it's Jason. Letting the vigilante do whatever he wants..

Jason thinks he's not welcome, Bruce thinks Jason doesn't want to come home.

[logansgaar]

"'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place" was such a batshit insane line they had Tony say with Peter Parker sitting right there, like I don't know how more people don't see how detached from logic Tony became believing he was right.

He had the audacity to lecture Steve about bringing Wanda, a 27 year old woman under house arrest because someone else's bomb went off who participated in her own rescue because she did in fact want to leave, being there when he'd just committed a war crime by kidnapping Peter, a 14 year old boy who said no, from his safe home in Queens to be a child soldier, and grooming him (which btw does not exclusively mean sexual, it also means "the action of attempting to form a relationship with a child or young person [...] or inducing them to commit an illegal act"...like illegal entry into a foreign country or vigilantism that had literally just been outlawed via the Accords).

To be absolutely clear, I think we're supposed to acknowledge this glaring flaw in Tony's logic here, the point is supposed to be that for as well intentioned as Tony is, the statement "you're wrong, you think you're right, that makes you dangerous" applies to him. And it's honestly sad how many people in the last decade missed that entirely

[spongebob-connoisseur]

One last Peter Lorre fish Christmas

[buildoblivion]

tfw the weird guy who kidnapped/adopted/helped you out that one time turns into some blonde twink

[cogentranting]

There's a direct line from seven-year-old Peter crying and saying "I know I sound crazy, but I'm not" when he talks about being kidnapped from "the other world at the bottom of the lake" and then being subsequently gaslit into repressing all the memories of his childhood, to adult Peter's anger at Walter because-- in his words-- "being crazy was something he did to us" and his bitter sarcasm early in the series in response to every fringe event or theory that sounds weird or crazy.

There's a deep-seated fear of being disbelieved or seen as crazy, and that anger and sarcasm come as a defense mechanism. It's probably also what led to his time as a drifter and (essentially) con-man.

[abi7100]

Tony off handedly mentioning that Peter is "burning up" Peter flinching and crying, begging not to be burned, swearing that he's not sick, he's not a burden, please don't burn him, please don't get the torch, he's sorry, he'll be good, he can take care of himself, he doesn't need the torch, he doesn't want to be burned, he won't be a bother, he'll-

[honestlydarkprincess]

Seven-ish Sentence Sunday!

tagged by @mmoosen thank you 💋

have a lil more of the steter kidnapping fic that's taken over my life!

“Why are you staring at me?” Stiles finally mumbled out through a mouthful of food, glaring at Peter.

“I find you interesting,” Peter replied even as his lip curled in distaste at Stiles talking with his mouth full. “Thought we could talk.”

Stiles swallowed before speaking this time. “Talk? About what?”

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Peter sighed dramatically. “Something. Anything. Tell me about yourself.”

“What, don’t have a whole creepy file on me?” Stiles mocked. “You aren’t a very good kidnapper then. Come on, where’s the effort!”

“I have you here, don’t I?” Peter drawled, grinning when Stiles frowned and huffed.

tagging: @lonelychicago, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @bigfootsmom, @exhuastedpigeon, @monsterrae1

@thiamsalpha, @thiamsxbitch, @myrrhhymns, @johnsotherbastard, @ashyjingles

@ksbbb, @fruchtfliege, @genetic-hellhound, @wolfboy88, @slimeyslimeyballsack

@dear-massacre, @yogi-bogey-box, @seaweed-water, @bucktommybegins, @haeva

@hippolotamus, @sleepywinchesters, @insecuregodcomplex, @anti-homophobia-cheese, @laurenttheninth

[evussy]

Word count: 9k words (smut with plot, TW cult, dub-con, mentions of knife, force intimacy, manipulation, gaslighting, use of bible verses while having sex, fl virgin, unprotected sex, dark & disturbing—it’s literally a Kai Anderson FanFic let’s be fr)

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT READ AT YOUR OWN RISK MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Faith = Reader

Messiah

Laughter echoed through the kitchen, warm and carefree. Faith stood at the counter, her hands buried in dough as she kneaded, her thin white sleep dress brushing her knees. A smudge of flour streaked her cheek, unnoticed in the sunlight streaming through the floral curtains. Across the room, Emma whisked something in a stainless-steel bowl, her messy bun bouncing with every laugh. Her oversized white T-shirt and pajama pants looked as casual as the conversation.

"Remember when I first met you? You couldn't even speak English!" Emma teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Faith groaned, laughing as she rolled the dough beneath her palms. "Oh, come on! Forget that! What did you expect? I'm an immigrant!"

Emma leaned against the counter, catching her breath from laughing. "Your pronunciation was always so funny!"

"Stop it! You're so mean!" Faith threw a small pinch of flour at her, unable to hide her grin.

Emma smirked, wiping her arm. "And that time you told me about your first date—using all those metaphors! I didn't understand a thing, but your confused face—"

The words cut off as the front door slammed open, the sound like a gunshot reverberating through the house. Faith froze, the laughter draining from her face. Emma's whisk stilled mid-air, her expression snapping into alarm.

Four strangers stepped into the kitchen, their presence as oppressive as a stormcloud. Three men and one woman, all in their late twenties, towered over the two young women. The first man, tall with a thick beard, scanned the room with a predatory gaze.

"You look happy. Contented," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm as his eyes landed on Emma.

Emma looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. Her skin turned pale, her shoulders curling inward defensively. Faith glanced at her, confused and uneasy.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Emma," another man chimed in, his bleached-white hair gleaming under the sunlight. Dressed in a sharp red suit, he smirked with condescension. "Our leader is wondering if you're still loyal. You know you can't just walk away, right? Ignoring all your responsibilities?"

Emma swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "I didn't walk away," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not running anywhere."

Faith's frown deepened. "Emma, who are these people?" she asked softly, her unease growing.

Emma stammered, but no words came out.

"What's the matter, Emma? Are you ashamed of your family now?" the woman sneered. She was pale and sharp-featured, her thick eyeliner giving her an almost predatory look.

"You've got work to finish. Did you think we'd forget?" growled a third man, dressed in a blue uniform that looked out of place in the casual home setting.

"Just give me more time—I promise, I'll do it," Emma pleaded, her voice trembling.

"Promises, promises," the woman mocked, her lips curling into a cold smile. "Maybe you should make a pinky promise with him. It's been weeks, Emma. Do you think the world revolves around you? We're starting to wonder if you're useless."

Faith's jaw tightened as she stepped forward. "Excuse me? Don't talk to her like that. And who the hell are you to call yourselves her family? I've met her family—it's definitely not you!"

"Faith, shut up!" Emma hissed, panic flickering across her face.

The bearded man tilted his head, studying Faith with detached curiosity. "Should we kill her?" he asked the woman coldly. "She's a friend. Might know something."

"No! Don't!" Emma stepped forward, her hands raised in desperation. "She has nothing to do with this! Please, don't get her involved! I'll explain everything to Kai—I'll do what he asked, I swear. Just leave her alone."

Faith's panic boiled over. "What the hell, Emma? Who are these people? What's going on?"

The man in the red suit smirked. "Kai hasn't given the order yet. Let her explain. Killing them both here would be messy."

"You're not taking her!" Faith shouted, grabbing Emma's arm protectively. "Emma, these people are insane! Don't go with them!"

But her resistance was futile. The men moved quickly, one grabbing Faith's wrist while another yanked Emma toward the door. Faith struggled, but their strength overpowered hers.

"Take her too," the woman said coldly, pointing at Faith. "She'll be a nuisance otherwise. We'll deal with them both at the house."

The terror on Emma's face mirrored Faith's as the two of them were dragged outside, their protests drowned out by the sound of the van's doors slamming shut. The bright afternoon sun burned against Faith's skin, but the chill in her chest was far colder as the engine roared to life.

They were dragged across a vast living room, their footsteps muffled against the polished wooden floor. The dim, golden glow of ceiling lights struggled to pierce the heavy shadows lingering in the room, leaving much of the dark-paneled space cloaked in an oppressive gloom.

The air felt thick, suffocating, as they were shoved forward. Their captors gripped their arms tightly, forcing them to the center of the room. Faith stumbled, her bare feet sliding on the cold floor, her thin dress doing little to shield her from the chill. Emma, silent and trembling, barely lifted her head.

Then came the sound of measured footsteps, echoing from the staircase at the back of the room. All eyes turned as a man descended the wide, creaking steps.

His buzzed hair gleamed faintly under the dim light, his sharp features carved with calm authority. He wore a simple black shirt tucked neatly into dark jeans, the sleeves rolled just above his elbows, revealing forearms marked by faint scars and veins that spoke of quiet strength.

As he reached the bottom step, their captors released Faith and Emma abruptly, as if their very presence might offend the man. Faith staggered slightly but caught herself, her wide eyes darting toward Emma, who stood frozen, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

The man's gaze swept over them, lingering just a moment longer on Faith. His expression was unreadable—calm, calculating, and unnervingly composed. He stopped a few feet away, his presence filling the room like a sudden drop in temperature.

No one spoke. The silence stretched taut, broken only by the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots as he shifted his weight. Finally, he clasped his hands behind his back, his voice low and steady when he spoke.

"Emma," he said, his tone devoid of warmth but heavy with unspoken expectation.

Emma flinched as if his voice had struck her. "Kai..." she stammered, her voice cracking.

Faith's breath hitched. This is him. This is the man they were talking about.

Kai tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes never leaving Emma. "You've been very busy," he said evenly. "And yet, not busy enough. Do you know how much trouble you've caused me?"

Emma's knees wavered, and she clasped her hands in front of her, her lips trembling. "I was going to—I didn't mean to—I just needed more time."

Kai let the silence stretch for a moment longer before his gaze shifted to Faith. His eyes scanned her slowly, taking in every detail—the flour still faintly dusting her cheek, the tremor in her hands, the way her dress clung to her frame.

"And who," he asked quietly, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air, "is this?"

No one spoke. The silence was suffocating, heavy with unspoken tension. Faith could feel it—the weight of their hesitation—as if uttering her name would seal her fate.

Kai's sharp gaze flickered between the people in the room, his patience thinning. He took a deliberate step toward Faith, the soles of his boots barely making a sound against the floor.

"Cat got your tongue?" he murmured, his voice low but cutting, every syllable sinking into her like a blade. His dark eyes lingered on her trembling form for a moment before he glanced around, his brows lifting in a calm, expectant gesture.

Someone had to speak.

"Her name's Faith," the woman finally said, her voice neutral but clipped. "That's what Emma called her earlier."

Kai tilted his head slightly, his gaze returning to Faith. "And why is she here?" he asked, his tone still calm but laced with an edge that made every word feel like a warning.

The man in the blue uniform shifted uncomfortably before speaking. "She's a friend. Tried to interfere earlier when we came for Emma. She wasn't part of the plan, but we didn't have time to deal with her, so we brought her along. Figured she might know something... or start spilling later."

Kai's eyes didn't leave Faith as the man spoke. The explanation seemed to hang in the air, sinking in slowly.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, his sharp jaw tightening for a brief moment before relaxing. His gaze bore into her, assessing every detail—her posture, the way her bare feet shifted nervously against the cold floor, and the fear radiating off her like heat.

"Faith," he repeated, his voice rolling over the syllables as though tasting them. It wasn't a question. It was an acknowledgment, deliberate and uncomfortably intimate.

Faith's chest tightened as she kept her gaze fixed on the wooden floor. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the oppressive silence. Her instincts screamed at her to look away, to disappear into herself, yet she felt his eyes crawling over her like a physical weight.

What had started as a simple, impulsive defense of her friend had spiraled into something far worse. She could feel it in the way the room seemed to darken around him, in the chill that seeped into her bones.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She was too afraid to meet his gaze.

Kai's lips quirked, not into a smile but something far more unsettling, like he was memorizing her—every quiver, every breath, every ounce of her fear.

"So, tell me, Emma." Kai's voice was smooth, almost gentle, but the undertone was unmistakable. It was a command wrapped in false affection.

Emma's breath hitched audibly, her shoulders tightening. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

"Why haven't you done what I told you to do?" His tone dropped lower, each word deliberate, slow, and weighted.

Faith watched him, her confusion mounting. His voice carried an unsettling mix of reprimand and encouragement, like a parent disappointed yet still coaxing.

"You're holding back our movement," he continued. "You know I need you, right? No one could've done this better than you. You're perfect for this. I trust you enough to know that."

"I know, I'm sorry..." Emma stammered, her voice trembling. "I just... I'm having cold feet... Kai—I—"

Her words trailed off, disjointed and incomplete. Faith listened intently but couldn't make sense of the exchange. Cold feet? Movement? Perfect for what? The vagueness hung heavy in the air, and this time, despite her growing fear, Faith stayed silent.

Kai stepped closer to Emma, his hand rising to cup her face with unsettling tenderness. His thumb brushed against her cheek, a gesture so soft it made Faith flinch.

"I know this is hard for you," he murmured, his voice a mockery of comfort. "But I love you, Emma. You know that, right?"

Emma nodded weakly, her body trembling under his touch. "I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But I'm scared. I'm really, really scared. I don't want to die."

Faith's lips parted as her best friend's words sunk in. Her stomach churned with a mix of shock and disbelief. Die? What the fuck is he asking her to do that involves dying?!

Kai didn't flinch at Emma's tears. If anything, his grip seemed to tighten slightly, though his tone remained soft.

"If you do this," he said, his voice almost hypnotic, "you'll live forever through me."

Emma's red-rimmed eyes flicked toward Faith, her gaze full of something Faith couldn't immediately place—regret, guilt, or maybe resignation. It felt like a silent goodbye, a final acknowledgment of something Faith wasn't ready to understand.

Faith's body tensed as her heart pounded. A sickening realization clawed at the edges of her mind, but the words still wouldn't come. She could only watch as Kai's hand lingered on Emma's tear-streaked face, his presence suffocating them both.

Kai's eyes followed Emma's gaze, his curiosity sharpening as both their eyes landed on Faith. Emma quickly averted her gaze, but Kai's lingered. His stare held an intensity that made Faith's skin crawl.

Then, as if deciding something in his mind, Kai looked back at Emma, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, almost playful smirk.

"Do you want to do it together?" he asked casually, as if proposing something mundane. "Your friend isn't leaving here anyway. That way, you won't be alone, and it'll be less scary."

Faith's heart dropped. Her head snapped toward Emma, searching her friend's face for any semblance of an explanation, but all she found was panic.

"No!" Emma shook her head vehemently, her voice rising in desperation. "No, please, let her go. She has nothing to do with this, Kai. It's not fair for my best friend—"

"Best friend?" Kai interrupted, his tone dripping with amusement.

He turned back to Faith, taking a slow step toward her. She stiffened as his gaze swept over her, not in a leering way, but like he was studying a new piece of art. His eyes held an unnerving mix of interest and calculation, like he was fitting her into some grander scheme.

Faith's lips parted to speak, but the words died in her throat. She didn't trust her voice.

"She's your best friend?" Kai asked again, his tone softer, almost teasing. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to Emma. "And you thought it was fair to bring her here? Into this?"

Emma's breathing quickened, and her eyes darted back and forth between Faith and Kai. "I didn't bring her—she just happened to be at my house. Please, she doesn't know anything!"

Kai smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Interesting," he murmured. His gaze slid back to Faith, his expression unreadable.

Faith's pulse raced as she struggled to comprehend the exchange. Every word between Kai and Emma felt like a puzzle piece, but none of it fit together. All she knew was that whatever Kai was suggesting, it was bad—very bad.

"Well," Kai continued, his voice light but laced with menace, "since she's already here, maybe she can stay a little longer. You said she's your best friend, right? Wouldn't you want her by your side for something so important?"

Faith's stomach dropped, and she clenched her fists. Her instincts screamed to run, but she couldn't move.

Emma shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "No! No, Kai, please! I'll do whatever you want, but let her go. She doesn't deserve this."

"You know I can't let her leave," Kai said, his voice eerily calm, addressing Emma as though Faith wasn't even there. "She already has an idea of what's going on. Unless..." He trailed off, turning his head toward Faith with a slow, deliberate gaze. "...she wants to be a part of us? Of course, I'd never insist or force anyone to join," he added smoothly, a false warmth lacing his tone. "I didn't force you, remember?"

Emma stood frozen, her face pale, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"But if she doesn't..." Kai sighed, a theatrical display of weariness. "She can't go on another day, Emma. You know I have to be fair. No one gets exceptions here—not even your best friend." He emphasized the last two words, his voice hardening. "I have rules, Emma. Rules that protect all of us."

"She's got to stay alive, please," Emma pleaded, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her cheeks. "This is my fault—"

"Your fault?" Kai interrupted sharply, his tone deceptively soft. "Is being here a mistake for you?" His brow furrowed as if her words had wounded him, his eyes narrowing in mock sadness.

Emma's mouth opened, but no words came. She choked on her reply, her fear tangible.

Faith, on the floor, tried to muster every ounce of courage she had. "Can't you just let Emma go? We won't say a thing to anyone. We'll pretend this never happened—"

Her plea was cut short as Kai's hand struck her across the face with brutal force. The impact sent her sprawling to the ground, her cheek stinging with a searing heat.

Kai exhaled heavily, looking down at her with disdain. His hand slid down his face, rubbing his mouth before falling limply to his side. His stress seemed genuine, but it only made him more menacing.

Emma flinched at the sound of the slap, her sobs stifled as her body froze in place. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to move, unwilling to draw Kai's attention again.

"You don't get to talk back," Kai hissed, his voice dangerously low as he loomed over Faith. He pointed a finger down at her, his expression cold and unrelenting. "You don't even have the right to speak when I'm not talking to you. Do you understand?"

Faith pressed her trembling hands to the floor, her face throbbing as she avoided his piercing gaze. She didn't answer, her fear locking the words in her throat.

Kai waited, his silence heavy and oppressive, before stepping back toward Emma. "Fix this, Emma," he said simply, his tone soft but loaded with a threat that didn't need to be spoken.

Kai gestured to the man in the blue uniform, who immediately stepped forward and handed him a knife. The blade glinted coldly under the dim light as Kai tapped it rhythmically against his palm, the sound sharp and deliberate, like a clock ticking down.

He turned to Emma, his expression softening into a mockery of concern. "Are you still loyal to me, Emma?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned worry, though his eyes betrayed his predatory intent.

Emma's breath hitched, her body trembling. She didn't respond.

"C'mon," Kai urged, stepping closer and holding the knife out to her. "Take it."

Hesitantly, Emma extended her shaking hand and grasped the knife. It felt heavier than it should, her palm slick with sweat as her fingers closed around the handle.

Kai's gaze bore into her, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Now prove it to me," he said, his tone gentle yet commanding. "Prove to me that you're still loyal. That you're still my girl, Emma."

Emma's knees buckled, but she stayed standing, clutching the knife tightly.

"Kill this b*tch," Kai said nonchalantly, gesturing toward Faith with a lazy flick of his hand, as if her life were a minor inconvenience to be discarded.

Faith froze in place, her heart hammering in her chest. Her body moved before her mind caught up, stumbling back a step as if to distance herself from the growing horror.

"Emma," Faith whispered, her voice barely audible. Her wide, tear-filled eyes met her best friend's. She shook her head slowly, her lips trembling. "Please. Don't do this."

Kai watched the exchange with an air of amusement, his arms crossing as he leaned casually against the back of a chair. "Go ahead," he said, his voice light, as if they were discussing the weather.

"Show me your loyalty, Emma. I'm waiting."

Emma's hands shook violently, the blade quivering as her grip faltered. Tears streamed down her face, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Faith's back hit the wall, her hands raised in a quiet, desperate plea. "Emma, look at me," she whispered. "Don't let him do this to you. You don't have to do this."

Kai's expression darkened, his patience thinning. "Emma," he barked sharply, causing both women to flinch. "You don't make me doubt you, do you?"

The room fell silent, save for Emma's ragged breathing.

"Kai... I—I'll do what you ask me," Emma stammered, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation. "Sooner. Immediately. Tomorrow! Just... just spare Faith! Please!" Her tear-filled eyes darted toward Faith. "Faith, you'll be a part of us, right? You'll help us, right?" she cried, her tone pleading, almost frantic, as though trying to convince herself as much as her friend.

Faith's chest heaved with sobs, her back pressed firmly against the wall. "I don't even know what this is, Emma!" she cried out, her voice raw and trembling. "What the hell are you in? What's happening?"

"You just have to be loyal to Kai," Emma said, trembling, her grip on the knife tightening as though holding onto it might anchor her. "Like me—like everyone else. Help us—" Her voice cracked, and she broke into another sob.

Kai scoffed, the sound low and condescending. He stepped forward, his hands shoved into his pockets as his shadow loomed over both women. "And in what way," he said slowly, his tone dripping with disdain, "will she be useful to me?"

Emma froze, her breath hitching as Kai's cold gaze burned into her.

"You can barely manage to be useful yourself, Emma," he continued, shaking his head, disappointment laced in his words. "Why would I waste my time on someone weaker than you?"

Emma's knees buckled, but she remained standing, her head bowed in shame and fear. Faith, meanwhile, stood frozen, her mind racing for an escape that didn't exist.

Kai clicked his tongue, pacing slowly between them. "You disappoint me, Emma. Again," he muttered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. "Now tell me—why exactly should I listen to your pathetic begging?"

"She can cook for you and clean," Emma said hurriedly, almost stumbling over her words. "She's good at it! Isn't that what women are for?" The last phrase escaped her lips involuntarily, something she'd heard Kai say countless times.

Kai's lips twisted into a sneer, his eyes narrowing with contempt. "That's all?" He scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "She can't even kill? Does she even have anything to fight for? Like we do?" He took a step closer to Faith, his gaze intense and piercing.

"I can't kill," Faith said quickly, her voice shaking with fear. "I can't go to jail. I don't want to go to jail," she added, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't risk everything—her life, her sick sister, the fragile sense of stability she had left.

Kai's gaze shifted back to Emma, a silent agreement passing between them. He shrugged with a bored expression. "See?" he said simply, as though the answer was obvious. "She's not worth it."

"Faith, please!" Emma's voice cracked with frustration. Her hands trembled at her sides, desperate to find some way to fix this—to save her friend from whatever fate Kai had in store for her.

"Aren't you looking for the right woman to bear your successor? Why not her?" The man with white hair and a red suit spoke, his voice daring, cutting through the tense silence.

Kai stopped dead in his tracks, his lips slightly parted as the suggestion hung in the air. The idea seemed to sink in slowly, his gaze shifting between Emma, Faith, and the man who had spoken. His expression darkened, considering the proposition.

Faith's face drained of color, her eyes wide with terror. The weight of the suggestion settled over her like a suffocating fog. She felt as though her life was being toyed with, threatened by the very thought of what they might be suggesting.

"Emma! Speak! They can't do that to me!" Faith shouted, her voice cracking with shock and panic, eyes pleading with her best friend for help.

For a moment, the room fell into a suffocating silence. Kai's gaze never left Faith, slowly tracing her form from head to toe, as if he were sizing her up. She was fragile, all fire and defiance on the outside, but he could see it—the fear in her eyes, the trembling in her stance. It was clear. He could break her, reshape her into what he wanted, force her into submission.

The white, thin dress she wore—innocent and delicate—suddenly made perfect sense. She looked like a sacrificial lamb, untouched, pure... like the Virgin Mary, offering herself for something much darker.

"Faith..." Kai's voice was soft, almost reverent, as if speaking her name brought something sacred to the moment. She stood before him, trembling, untouched, like she had stepped out of a storybook. "Maybe this is fate?" he murmured, a strange, chilling satisfaction in his words.

"You're insane! All of you are insane!" Faith lashed out, her voice sharp with defiance. "I'm never going to have sex with you, you disgusting piece of shi-"

Before she could finish, the bearded man stepped forward, pressing the cold barrel of a gun against her neck. The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out. Her heart raced as everyone held their breath, waiting for something to happen. But Kai-he was calm, his eyes never leaving Faith, a twisted admiration flickering across his face. He wasn't offended.

No, he was in awe.

The gun's cold metal dug into her skin, and Faith refused to flinch. "I'd rather be killed today than let you have me," she spat, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her throat. "At least I can keep my dignity! You're not going to be my first. Just thinking about it makes me sick! A baby? A crazy child like you?" She glared at Kai, the anger surging through her. She was ready for death now.

Anything was better than being a vessel for his madness.

Kai didn't respond immediately. Instead, he looked at her, eyes narrowing, lips curling into a dark smile. "So, you're a virgin?" His voice was quiet, but every word felt deliberate, like he was savoring it.

Faith's chest tightened, but she didn't answer. It was as if cold water had been poured over her, freezing her in place. His look-satisfied, pleased-sent a shiver through her, and she couldn't tear her gaze away.

"You're clean. Untouched..." Kai mused, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. The way he said it-like it was something he owned now-sent a wave of unease crashing through her.

"Get that gun out of her face," Kai ordered. He motioned to two of his men. The one with the white hair and the bearded one. They moved quickly, grabbing her arms and pulling her toward a room. Faith screamed, struggling against their hold, her fists beating uselessly against their grip. But it was no use. They dragged her away, her cries echoing in the empty hallway.

The room was stark and cold, its simplicity amplifying the fear that clung to the air. A queen-sized bed sat in the center, its white pillows and sheets marred by the faintest signs of old stains. Wooden furniture—nothing fancy—lined the walls, a small cabinet, and a bathroom tucked off to the side. Hours had passed since she was brought in here, the weight of time pressing heavily on her chest. She had searched the room meticulously, rifling through every cabinet and corner, hoping for a weapon -anything. But there was nothing. Every attempt to open the door was met with cold, mocking voices from outside, telling her it was useless.

She paced, anxiously, her thoughts racing.

Then, the door creaked open.

Kai stepped inside, his presence as imposing as ever. But this time, his gaze was different. It wasn't filled with the usual disdain, but rather something unsettling -something that made her feel like her existence meant more to him now, like she had some kind of purpose to him.

"Do you want to pray first, Faith?" he asked, holding a Bible in his hands, his voice deceptively calm.

"F*ck you!" she spat, trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

In a fluid motion, Kai stepped forward, slamming the Bible across her face. The sting exploded across her skin. "The mother of my child won't speak like that," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing. "You need to understand your place here, hm?"

"I'm not a mother," she spat again, her lip split and bleeding.

His eyes darkened, his patience visibly thinning. He exhaled sharply. "Get on the bed," he ordered, his tone firm and unyielding. Every word felt like a weight, pressing her further down.

She shook her head violently. "K*Il me instead," she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

Without saying a word, Kai motioned for two men to enter. The sight of them only made her heart race faster, her fear spiking.

"F*cking tie her to the bed," Kai instructed, his voice void of any mercy.

The men moved quickly, grabbing her as she screamed, her hands struggling to free themselves. The man in the blue uniform reached behind his back, pulling out a set of handcuffs. Faith thrashed, kicking and shouting, but it was no use. They were too strong, too many. They forced her down onto the bed, pinning her in place before cuffing her hands to the metal headboard.

Her body went rigid, her screams echoing in the room. She thrashed with every ounce of strength she had, but the steel cuffs bit into her wrists, and she was trapped.

And there stood Kai, towering over her feet. His presence alone was enough to make her stomach churn. The Bible he clutched in his hands felt like a twisted contradiction against the cruelty in his eyes.

Kai's gaze burned into her, his dark eyes alight with a fervor that bordered on madness. Slowly, he began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements deliberate as if to savor the moment. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of his intentions suffocating.

Faith's breathing hitched as the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his chest. His skin was marred only by the inked symbol that dominated the center—a blazing sun with rays curling outward, and at its core, a single, unblinking eye. It stared out like a sentinel, its design intricate and foreboding, as if it were alive and watching her every move.

Below the tattoo, his chest was chiseled, every muscle defined, the sharp lines of his abs dipping into a taut V-shape. A faint trail of dark hair ran from his navel downward, disappearing beneath the waistband of his dark jeans. The sight was unnerving, a twisted contrast to the raw, male beauty he exuded.

Kai noticed her stare, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached up, running a hand over the tattoo as if to emphasize it, his fingers brushing against the inked eye. "This," he said, his voice low, reverent, "is the mark of the divine. The proof of my purpose."

He leaned over her, the heat of his body oppressive as his words dripped with fervor. "You will worship me, Faith. And together, we will bring forth the light."

She broke into a silent sobs once again, the weight of his presence pressing down on her, as his lips curled into a twisted smile. The ritual, it seemed, was only just beginning.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound her ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed beneath her. The sheets clung to her skin, their texture rough against the thin fabric of her sleeping dress. The wooden walls surrounding her felt oppressive, closing in like a cage.

She flinched as he crawled onto the mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. He moved slowly, deliberately. His hands moved with slow precision, trailing down her arms, his touch almost gentle. His fingertips brushed her collarbone, lingering at the base of her throat. She stiffened, the conflicting mix of fear and something she couldn't name tightening in her chest. "Your body," he said, his voice dropping lower, "is a vessel for divinity."

He let his palm flatten against her stomach, moving in languid strokes, as though savoring the feel of her skin. "But first, it must be sanctified." His hands dipped lower, his touch skimming the hem of her dress

The way his eyes never left her face made her want to squirm, but the cuffs held her firm, trapped beneath his scrutiny.

Kai shifted, his weight pressing the mattress down beside her. His mouth hovered at her ear, the warmth of his breath making her shiver as he whispered, "Your flesh is not your own. It belongs to a greater purpose." His lips grazed the edge of her jaw, his tongue flicking out to taste the flour on her cheek. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her dress, brushing along her thighs with a deliberate slowness that made her squirm.

"Don't fight it," he murmured, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Submission is salvation."

His free hand slid up to cup her face, turning her gaze back to his. Her eyes burned, tears threatening to spill, but the raw intensity in his expression rooted her in place. "Don't look away," he commanded, his tone suddenly sharper. "This moment is sacred."

His fingers lingered at the edge of her underwear, his movements slow, savoring the power he held. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "This is not just for me," he murmured, his tone reverent yet cold. "It's for the world. This is for the next messiah."

Her breath hitched, and she finally found her voice, though it trembled. "Y-you don't have to do this," she stammered, trying to push her knees together, but his hands held her thighs firmly apart. "Please... I don't want this."

Kai paused, tilting his head as if her words intrigued him. "Your desires are irrelevant," he replied softly, his grip tightening. "You were chosen, not because you wanted it, but because you were destined."

She shook her head, panic bubbling to the surface. "I'm not... I'm not who you think I am! This is a mistake!"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "There are no mistakes in my plan," he said, his two hands pushed the fabric of her dress higher, baring her completely. The humiliation burned through her, making her squirm beneath him, but his weight pinned her in place. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Please, don't."

Kai ignored her, his lips grazing her neck as he muttered, "And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God." His voice was soft, almost tender, as though he were comforting her. But his actions were anything but.

His hands moved with more purpose now, exploring her body with invasive familiarity. Every touch felt like a violation, his palms rough against her soft breast . She twisted beneath him, her wrists straining against the cuffs that held her. "Get off me!" she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.

Kai's hand shot to her throat, tightened slightly around her throat, enough to still her struggles without cutting off her breath. His thumb stroked her jawline, almost gently, as his other hand moved with unhurried precision. He slid his fingers lower, his touch grazing the sensitive skin of her clothed center before pressing firmly against the thin fabric still shielding her.

A soft gasp escaping her lips as his finger began pressing slowly and circling over her most vulnerable spot. "You will carry the child of God," he murmured, watching her face as her hips involuntarily shifted. His thumb alternating between soft, teasing motions and firmer pressure, watching her carefully. His lips returned to her skin, marking her with open- mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder.

"No," she whimpered, her voice cracking as her hips jerked instinctively. "Stop- please-"

He cut her off with a sharp press of his thumb, dragging them firmly along her through the fabric. "Your words mean nothing," he said, his tone calm, dismissive. "This is your purpose. It's written into your flesh."

Her thighs trembled against his hand, the sensation overwhelming despite her desperate attempts to resist it. She bit her lip hard, trying to stifle the sounds rising in her throat, but Kai was relentless. He shifted his weight, settling lower as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her bare entrance.

The first touch was a deliberate stroke, dragging through her folds with maddening slowness, spreading the dampness he found there. "Your body already prepares itself," he said, his voice a mixture of reverence and control. "You cannot fight His design."

Her head thrashed against the pillow, tears spilling freely now. "I-I don't want this," she choked out, her voice thick with desperation.

"But you need this," he countered smoothly, his fingers finding her most sensitive spot and circling it with excruciating precision. His movements were slow and controlled, alternating between feather-light teasing and firmer, more insistent strokes. Her back arched involuntarily as a jolt of pleasure coursed through her, and her face burned with shame.

"Stop," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper now. Her body trembled beneath him, every nerve alive with sensations she didn't want to feel.

Kai's lips quirked into a faint smile. "You'll thank me later," he said, his voice disturbingly calm. His fingers pressed deeper, exploring her with invasive confidence, stroking and teasing until her hips moved involuntarily against his hand.

"No, no-" she whimpered, trying to twist away, but the cuffs held her firmly in place. Despite herself, she felt the heat building low in her stomach. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and her thighs quivered against his hand. "No," she sobbed, shaking her head as if to deny what her body was feeling.

Kai's smile, dimples deepened, his movements unrelenting. "Your body doesn't lie," he murmured. "Let it guide you to the truth."

Her tears blurred her vision as she twisted beneath him, desperation igniting a brief surge of defiance. Her bound wrists strained against the handcuffs, and her legs kicked, trying to shove him away. "Get off me!" she screamed, the rawness in her voice matching the fury in her chest.

Kai's eyes darkened, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of impatience. He caught her flailing leg with one hand, pinning it firmly against the bed as his other hand didn't waver from its sinful exploration. "You fight like a lamb struggling against the altar," he muttered, his tone sharp but still composed. "But you will submit."

"Let me go!" she spat, her voice shaking with anger and humiliation. She twisted her hips violently, desperate to break free, but it only seemed to amuse him.

"Such spirit," he murmured, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "But it's wasted on defiance." Without warning, he plunged a middle finger inside her, the sudden invasion stealing the breath from her lungs.

Her body froze, every muscle locking up as an unbidden moan escaped her lips. She hated the sound the moment it left her, but the sensation was undeniable-sharp, intrusive, and achingly slow as he pushed in deeper, curling his finger just so.

Kai's smirk widened. "There it is," he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "The moment the anger fades, and the truth begins to seep in."

She bit down on her lip hard, the coppery taste of blood grounding her. Her walls clenched around his finger involuntarily, a shameful heat blooming in her core. "No," she whimpered, her voice trembling as her hips instinctively shifted, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.

But he didn't let up. Instead, he added a torturous twist to his movements, his finger pressing against a spot that made her vision blur. His pace was maddeningly slow, dragging out every unwilling reaction of her.

Her head shook violently, her hair sticking to her damp cheeks. "I- I hate you," she managed to choke out, but the words lacked conviction. Her body, traitorous and weak, was responding in ways she couldn't control.

Kai laughed softly, the sound low and chilling. "Hate me all you like," he said, his finger withdrawing agonizingly slowly before thrusting back in with a firm motion that made her back arch despite herself. "Your hatred only fuels the fire. It will burn away everything else, leaving nothing but your truth."

Her legs quivered against the mattress, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. She clung desperately to her anger, but it was slipping through her fingers like sand. Every calculated curl of his finger, every deep, probing thrust unraveled her, piece by piece.

"No," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face as her hips moved involuntarily, tilting upward into his hand.

"Stop, please..."

Kai leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. "You say stop, but your body begs for more," he murmured, his voice soft, almost mocking. His finger twisted inside her, pressing deeper, eliciting a strangled moan from her lips.

Her anger, once blazing, was now flickering, replaced by a growing, shameful ache that she couldn't suppress. Her wrists fell limp against the cuffs as her body trembled beneath him, caught between resistance and reluctant surrender.

Kai's hand stilled, his finger remaining buried within her as if savoring her trembling silence. His gaze swept over her tear-streaked face, the faintest trace of amusement lingering in his dark eyes. "Faith," he said softly, as if her name were a prayer. "Do you understand now? This is not cruelty-it is creation."

Her lips quivered, but she refused to meet his gaze, her cheeks burning with humiliation. "You're insane," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Perhaps," he replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "But even the prophets were called mad."

He withdrew his soaked finger slowly, purposefully, drawing a choked gasp from her as the sensation left her aching and empty. She thought he might stop-give her a moment to breathe-but the weight of him shifted, and she felt the rough scrape of his jeans against her thighs as he knelt between her legs.

Her panic reignited as she realized his intent. "Wait, no -no!" she cried, thrashing beneath him. "You can't- I've never—"

Kai tilted his head, his expression softening in a way that only made him seem more unhinged. "I know," he murmured, running a hand down the length of her trembling thigh. "That's what makes this pure."

Her struggles grew frantic, but he was immovable, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. His touch returned to the apex of her thighs, spreading her gently despite her resistance.

"Shhh," he cooed, his voice eerily tender. "The first time is always a revelation."

She shook her head violently, her tears falling faster. "Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't do this. You don't have to do this."

His response was a low hum, his hands tugging at his belt with practiced ease. The sound of the buckle clinking sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through her, and she kicked out, desperate to put any distance between them.

Kai caught her ankles effortlessly, pressing them back down to the mattress. "Be still," he commanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that sent a shiver down her spine. "You'll only make this harder on yourself."

She whimpered, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought against the inevitable. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, the fabric of her thin dress offering no protection as he pressed closer.

He positioned himself with deliberate care, his hand guiding himself to her entrance. The blunt pressure against her sent a jolt of terror through her, and she shook her head furiously.

"No, no, no-"

Kai exhaled sharply, his grip on her hips was unyielding, his fingers digging into her flesh as he moved slowly, inch by inch, forcing her body to accommodate him.

The pressure increased, the stretch burning as he began to push forward. Her nails dug into her palms, her breath hitching in her throat as pain shot through her. "It hurts," she gasped, her voice trembling. "Stop, please—"

"Pain is part of the sacrifice," Kai muttered, his jaw tightening as he pressed deeper. "But it is fleeting, I promise you. What comes after... is divine."

The stretch was relentless, the burn sharp and undeniable, but he pressed forward without hesitation, his breath hitching as he sank deeper.

"There," he muttered, his voice heavy with satisfaction as he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. His head tipped back briefly, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

Faith's head turned to the side, her cheek pressing into the damp pillow as she bit down on her lip to muffle her cries. Her body trembled, unused to the intrusion, every nerve alight with a confusing mix of pain and an unbearable fullness.

Kai shifted his hips, pulling back slowly, the drag of his length against her walls both invasive and maddeningly deliberate. The motion made her gasp, her body clenching instinctively around him as if to resist his retreat. He chuckled darkly at her reaction, his movements unhurried as he pushed back in, grinding against her with a pressure that stole the breath from her lungs.

Each thrust was deep, filling her completely, the friction making her toes curl involuntarily. His hips rolled with calculated control, his every motion designed to draw out her reactions, no matter how much she tried to suppress them.

She whimpered as his pace quickened slightly, his movements becoming more fluid. The mattress creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with the labored breaths and muted cries that filled the room. His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to press against her lower stomach, holding her in place as he drove into her.

"Feel that?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. His hand applied just enough pressure to make her hyperaware of the depth of his thrusts, the way he seemed to fill every inch of her. "That's me claiming you. Body and soul."

Her hands grasped in the metal headrest as she writhed beneath him, her resistance faltering with every calculated movement. He whispered into her ear, "For He has made you fearfully and wonderfully... and mine."

Kai's thrusts grew more purposeful, his hips snapping forward with a force that made her body jolt with each impact. The wet sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, amplifying her humiliation. Her breaths came in short, broken gasps, her body unable to ignore the growing heat building low in her stomach.

"No," she whimpered, shaking her head weakly, her voice barely audible.

"Yes," he countered, his teeth grazing her earlobe as his pace quickened.

Faith let out a choked sob, her body arching against him despite her protests. The pleasure was unwanted, overwhelming, and it consumed her completely, her resistance melting under the relentless onslaught of his touch and movements.

Kai's thrusts slowed for a moment, his hips rolling in a careful, torturous grind that made her gasp sharply beneath him. He seemed to savor the sensation, his head tilting back as his eyes fluttered shut. "You're so tight," he murmured, his voice rasping with unrestrained pleasure. His hands slid to her thighs, spreading her further to feel every inch of her. "Like a vessel waiting to be filled."

Faith shuddered at his words, her walls spasming involuntarily around him as his deliberate pace left her breathless. She could feel everything-the heat of him, every pulsating veins of his within her walls, the way he stretched her, the slick friction that sent unbearable jolts of sensation through her core.

Kai's breath hitched, a guttural groan escaping his lips as her body clamped down on him. "Yes," he muttered, his hands gripping her hips harder, pulling her back to meet his slow, deep thrusts.

His hips drawing back until only the tip of him remained inside her, teasing her with a maddening pause before driving forward again. The force made her body jolt, her thighs trembling as the fullness overwhelmed her senses.

"You'll bear my seed," he said, his voice deepening, laced with something almost reverent. He leaned over her, his lips brushing against her ear. "As it is written, 'Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it.' " His tone was steady, like he was reciting holy scripture while sinking into her again.

Faith whimpered as she clung to the metal frame on top of her head. The pain had dulled, replaced by an unwelcome heat that coiled tighter with every thrust. She hated how her body responded, the slickness between her thighs betraying her as he moved.

Kai's breath came faster now, his control fraying as her warmth surrounded him. He muttered under his breath, his words fragmented and fervent. "Though I walk through the valley... oh, the way you f*cking cling to me," he groaned, his hips snapping forward with more urgency. "You resist, but your body welcomes me, doesn't it?"

She shook her head weakly, her voice breaking. "No... I—I don't want this..."

"Your lips lie," he growled, his pace quickening, the sound of their bodies meeting growing louder. His hand slid between them, his fingers brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, drawing a sharp gasp from her. "But this... this tells the truth."

The new sensation made her cry out, her body arching involuntarily as his touch sent shockwaves through her. He applied just enough pressure to keep her on edge, his thrusts steady and relentless, building a rhythm that left her unable to think of anything but the way he filled her.

"'The two shall become one flesh,'" he murmured, his voice low and almost gentle, as though he were comforting her. His fingers moved in sync with his thrusts, his hips rolling with practiced ease.

Her mind spinning. The pleasure was undeniable now, crashing over her in waves, leaving her gasping and trembling beneath him.

Kai's movements became desperate, his breath ragged as he pulled back slightly, positioning himself in a way that deepened their connection. With a swift motion, he pushed Faith's legs up onto his shoulders, forcing her hips higher, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him. The angle made every inch of him feel more intense—too much. It felt as though he were trying to imprint himself inside of her, claiming her in the most physical way possible.

Faith gasped, the shift in position pushing her closer to the edge. The new angle made every motion of him feel even more invasive, more powerful. Her legs trembled as they rested on his shoulders.

"And the Lord said," Kai muttered, his voice low and intense, almost feverish. "Let there be light..." His thrusts quickened, each one dragging a sharp gasp from Faith as his body pressed harder into hers. "Let there be life..." He slammed into her again, the force making her breath catch in her throat.

Faith's mind was spinning, her whole body was on fire, every part of her reacting against her will, trembling with the force of it.

"Please... no more," she gasped, her voice breaking as she tugged against the cuffs. Eyes in a daze. But the words were meaningless to him. He only smiled, the Bible verse slipping from his lips like a command. "I am the way, the truth, and the life..."

Faith's body bucked beneath him as the pressure inside her built, the unbearable tension in her belly threatening to snap.

Kai's thrusts were now erratic, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, holding her in place with a primal need. His groans were louder now, his movements frantic as he neared the edge. "You will bear my seed," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "And you will be mine... forever."

With a final, brutal push, Kai buried himself deep inside her, the force of his hot release crashing over her in a moment of complete surrender. Faith's body spasmed beneath him, the shock of his release causing her to climax violently, her walls tightening around him as she shook uncontrollably.

For a long moment, they were locked in place, her legs still resting on his shoulders as he trembled above her. Kai muttered one last verse, his voice barely a whisper, "It is finished..."

The room was still, save for their heavy breathing, as he slowly collapsed against her, his body heavy with the aftermath of their intense union.

[reinanova]

when neal immediately dropped the con and the lies the second he learned el was kidnapped…

the man is in love your honor

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #154

CW: this one's pretty gruesome. read at your own risk 

Peter is a young child who's been kidnapped. His parents and/or his aunt and uncle were killed and he was taken. Along with a bunch of other little kids, he's been held captive and experimented on.

When the Avengers suddenly bust the kidnapping operation, the kidnappers try at the last second to destroy their research. They gas the small room where the kids are being held.

It's Iron Man who ends up blasting through. What he finds is horrifying. All but one of the children are dead.

The one who's left is just sitting among the bodies, crying, shocked, terrified. Iron Man carries him out of there, then once they're safe from the gas Tony steps out of the suit to comfort the kid while he's given oxygen.

Little 5-year-old Peter Parker imprints on his savior hard.

He just went through an unimaginable amount of trauma, then Iron Man burst through like an avenging angel. This is the first time he's ever felt protected in his memory. Tony holds the crying kid, and the kid can tolerate no one else near him.

This becomes a slight problem when they get back to base. But Tony can't find it in him to let SHIELD take the kid away, let them strip him of this one tiny bit of comfort. He keeps seeing all those other kids when he closes his eyes.

This one needs him right now. And if "right now" eventually becomes "this is my son," well. Who could've predicted that.

[mintyys-blog]

dark! peter parker x fem! reader: caught in his web

WARNINGS: stalking, swearing, murder, kidnapping, smut, DUB-CON (kinda), mention of death, isolation.

The streets of New York were eerily quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that carried a weight. No bustling chatter, no honking horns, not even the faint echo of distant sirens. The city felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone. The sensation crept up your spine, subtle at first, then undeniable. It wasn’t the usual paranoia of a city dweller walking home late at night. You quickly walked, boarder line running at this point. Something was making goosebumps raise on your arms and you weren’t planning to find out what was the cause.

Rounding a corner into an alley—a mistake you’d regret later—you froze as a figure descended from above. The faint hiss of webbing broke the silence, and there he was. Spider-Man.

But this wasn’t the hero you’d grown up hearing about. His suit was darker, the once-bright red now muted like dried blood. His mask was torn just enough to reveal the edge of his jaw, clenched tight, and his eyes—those lenses glowed faintly in the dim light, casting a cold, predatory aura.

Behind him, a man hung suspended in webbing, struggling and begging for mercy. His voice cracked, desperate. “Please! I swear I’ll stop—I won’t do it again!” He tried to move but the webs had him stuck in place.

Spider-Man didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, his body unnervingly still, as if considering the man’s fate. His steps were delicate, silent as he crept closer.

“No,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You won’t.”

You didn’t think; you just acted. “Stop!” you shouted, stepping forward before fear could take hold. Your body froze, what did you just do? You should have just walked away. You gulped.

Both the criminal and Spider-Man turned their attention to you. The man in the web looked hopeful. Spider-Man, however, looked… curious. He cocked his head to the side, “Who are you to tell me what to do?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He took a step closer, and though his movements were slow, deliberate, they carried an undeniable sense of danger. Based on the stories you heard, he was friendly right? So why didn’t it feel that way?

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, but you didn’t back down. “You’re supposed to be better than this.” You looked around with your eyes, slowly backing away.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at you. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—a low, humorless sound that sent a chill through you. The sudden sound made you jump.

“Better?” he echoed, taking another step forward. “Better doesn’t keep this city safe. Better doesn’t stop people like him.”

“But you’re a hero…” it sounded like a whisper coming from you. A mere prayer, hopelessly uttered. You felt trapped, but not by the alley walls. It was the way his glowing lenses locked onto you, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, leaving no room for escape. He flicked his wrist and his webs dropped the man from the great height. His body hit the ground hard and you could hear his bones crack upon impact. Blood was seeping from the man’s head. Your eyes widen, like a deer in headlights you stood still. Did that just happen? Did Spider-Man… kill someone? Even if they were a criminal- that wasn’t what he was known for.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, the question catching you off guard.

“Why does it matter?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady. Your hands were shaking, you needed to make a run for it, but even if you did he would catch you.

“It matters,” he said simply. “Because now, I want to remember you.”

And that was how it began. You didn’t know it then, but from the moment you spoke, Spider-Man had spun his web around you—and he had no intention of letting go.

You tried to forget that night. You told yourself Spider-Man had bigger things to worry about than some stranger who crossed his path. But the unease lingered, creeping into your thoughts every time you were alone.

At first, you dismissed the signs: the shadow that seemed to flicker in your peripheral vision or the faint, almost imperceptible sound of movement outside your window. But then, it became impossible to ignore.

One morning, you found a package waiting on your doorstep. A sleek black box with no name or return address, just a small red spider emblem pressed into the lid. Inside was a pair of gloves—luxurious and perfectly fitted.

You froze. You’d mentioned needing gloves weeks ago, but only to a coworker during a passing conversation. There was no way anyone else could’ve known.

You tried to shrug it off. Maybe it was a coincidence. But the next day, a bouquet of lilies appeared in your apartment. Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t bought them. And you never told anyone lilies were your favorite.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Every light in your apartment was on, and you sat on your couch, your phone clutched in your hands, debating whether to call the police. But what would you even say? Spider-Man was stalking you? They’d laugh you off—or worse, accuse you of making it up. He was the city’s hero, after all. The savior. You saw posts and news articles praising him, everyone loved him. How could they not? They don’t know him.. and in a way you don’t either. The friendly neighbour hood Spider-Man saves a family in distress.

Still, you couldn’t shake the memory of him in the alley. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t just anger or menace. It was something else, something darker and more complicated. And when he killed that man without so much as a hesitation.

You tried to move on, tried to act like everything was normal. But deep down, you knew he hadn’t forgotten you. And then, one cold night as you walked home, he proved you right.

It was late, the streets eerily quiet, when you heard the familiar thwip of webbing. Your heart jumped into your throat, and before you could react, he was there—dropping from above with a grace that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

“Are you following me?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound firm.

He tilted his head, the glowing lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. “Following? That sounds… malicious,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something that made your skin crawl. “I prefer to think of it as watching over you.”

“That’s not comforting,” you shot back, taking a step back. “You’re Spider-Man. Aren’t you supposed to be saving people, not stalking them?”

“Saving people,” he repeated, his voice tinged with bitterness. He crossed his arms, the motion fluid yet deliberate, like he was trying to keep himself calm. “Do you know how many people I’ve saved? How many of them I’ve pulled back from the edge, only to watch them destroy themselves—or someone else? I save them, and they still fail.”

You froze, his words catching you off guard. There was anger in his voice, but beneath it, you heard something else. Pain. “In the end people are really… disappointing.”

“But you…” His voice softened as he stepped closer. “You’re different. You don’t look at me like the others do. You don’t look away.”

“I’m not different,” you said carefully, forcing yourself to stand your ground. “I’m just a person trying to live their life.”

He studied you for a long moment, his head tilted, his lenses reflecting the faint streetlights. Then he took another step forward, his tone quieter now. “You remind me of something. Someone I lost.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “Who.. are you? Really?” He stays silent, “Peter.” He removed his mask.

“Peter,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his figure towering over you now, and you felt the cold brick wall press against your back. He was too close, his presence suffocating.

The face beneath was younger than you expected, but worn with exhaustion. His dark eyes bored into yours, scanning your expression as if searching for something. He looked so human, so vulnerable—and yet so dangerous.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle. “Why aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Because I don’t think you’re a monster. Not yet.”

Something flickered in his eyes at your words—something that might have been regret. But then it was gone, replaced by a grim smile. “Yet..” he scoffs, “you should go home, it’s dangerous around at this time.” He took a few steps back, putting back on his mask. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone just as fast as he came.

When you got home, you had to tell someone, a someone you could trust.

“Come on, come on, pick up!” You grew frustrated, finally right when you were about to give up, your friend, Levy answered. “Bitch what do you want? I was just in the middle of some hot se-“

“Levy! I need to talk to you, it’s important okay?”

She paused, “y/n? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You took a breath, you could tell Levy anything, even if it was as crazy as this. “Spider man is stalking me.”

Levy went silent, then she bursted out laughing. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I- I think the main character syndrome is getting to you, girl” you groan, “no, listen! Please okay! His name is Peter and I think he.. I saw him kill someone okay!”

Levy stopped laughing, “what? Are you sure?” You knew how it sounded, it sounded insane, YOU sounded insane. But it was the truth.

“Yes! Look I think he is after me..!” You replied, your voice was uneven and shaky, thinking back to everything you’ve been experiencing the past few weeks. The gifts, the feeling of being watched, everything. “I’m coming over right now,” there was some noise on her end, “I’ll be there in like 15 minutes? Also lock your doors and windows. I’ll be there soon”

True to her word, she came as soon as possible. Levy locked the door behind her, hugging you. “I would ask how you’re doing but..” she trailed off, letting go. “Also, here” she hands you a mini can of pepper spray. “Now, please explain everything.”

Levy ended up staying for a few more nights and the gifts and feeling of being watched went away. It was sad to see her leave but she convinced you to go down to the police station and write a report. They may not do much but at least it will on file.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t do much, you left out the part of him being Spider-Man obviously, but without the evidence of actually being stalked they couldn’t do much. This was disappointing but they didn’t have much to go off.

The house felt off tonight. You couldn’t explain why, but there was a heaviness in the air, a subtle shift that had you glancing over your shoulder with every step. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards sounded louder than usual, amplifying the silence that surrounded you.

You tightened the grip on the kitchen knife in your hand as you moved from room to room. It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Paranoid. But the feeling of being watched clung to you like a second skin.

“Calm down,” you muttered under your breath, trying to reason with yourself. “No one’s here. You checked the locks.” You attempted to reassure yourself.

And you had. Twice. But the pit in your stomach wouldn’t settle.

Your bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor as you made your way back to the living room. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, pooling in the corners where the dim light from the lamp didn’t reach. You froze mid-step when you thought you heard something—a faint rustling, like fabric brushing against wood.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice trembling.

No response. It would be worse if you actually got a response.

The knife felt small and useless in your hand, but you clutched it tighter, moving cautiously toward the noise. Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as you peeked around the corner into the hallway.

Empty.

You let out a shaky breath and turned back—only to come face-to-face with Peter.

He was there, impossibly close, his dark eyes glinting with something unsettling. You gasped and stumbled backward, raising the knife instinctively.

“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands as if to placate you, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Easy there. You might hurt yourself.”

“Get out of my house!” you yelled, your voice stronger than you felt.

Peter tilted his head, his smirk widening. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

You didn’t hesitate. You lunged, aiming the knife at him, but he was faster—so much faster. He caught your wrist with ease, twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I like that.”

You screamed and lashed out with your free hand, landing a solid hit on his cheek. The impact surprised him, and for a moment, you thought you might have a chance. But then his expression darkened.

“Bad move,” his eyes narrowed and the pitch perfect ‘boy next store’ look cracked, revealing the sinister look underneath.

Before you could react, he spun you around, pinning your arms behind your back. The feel of his breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in close.

“I was going to take it easy on you,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But if you want to make this difficult…”

You thrashed in his grip, but it was like fighting against steel. He was too strong, too quick. You kicked back, your heel connecting with his shin, but it barely phased him.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking.

“Stop fighting me,” Peter snapped, his tone losing its calm edge. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making it really hard not to.”

You felt the sticky sensation of webbing wrapping around your wrists, binding them together. Panic set in as you realized he wasn’t just stronger than you—he was something else entirely.

“Let me go!” you cried, struggling against the restraints.

Peter sighed, almost sounding disappointed. He turned you to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “I’ve been watching you for weeks,” he admitted, his tone softening. “Keeping you safe, protecting you from all the dangers you don’t even see. And this is how you repay me?”

“Watching me?” Your voice wavered. “That’s not protecting me—that’s stalking!”

He tilted his head, studying you like you were the one who didn’t understand. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “You’re everything to me. I couldn’t just sit back and let someone else take you away.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you realized how hopeless the situation was. “You’re insane,” you whispered.

Peter’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he smiled—a chilling, empty smile. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine now.”

He scooped you up effortlessly, your struggles meaningless against his strength. The webbing held your wrists tightly as he carried you toward the window, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Peter, please,” you begged, desperation seeping into your voice.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stepping out onto the roof. The cool night air hit your face as he glanced back at you, his smirk returning. “You’ll see. This is for the best.”

As he leaped into the darkness, the last thing you saw was the world below fading into shadow.

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the cold. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of a lamp in the corner. Your wrists ached, still bound by the unyielding webbing, and your head throbbed from where you must have hit it during the struggle.

Panic surged as the events of the night came rushing back. Peter. The fight. The way he carried you off into the night like a predator dragging its prey.

You were lying on a mattress—not your bed, not even a proper bed. Just a thin, worn piece of padding in the middle of a room that looked abandoned. The walls were cracked, the paint peeling, and the windows were boarded up, leaving no way to see outside.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and your breath caught in your throat.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands. Peter Parker looked almost normal—if you ignored the darkness in his eyes and the faint bruise on his cheek from where you’d hit him.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm and almost… pleased.

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice shaky but edged with anger.

Peter stepped inside, setting the tray down on a rickety table. He didn’t answer right away, instead pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you.

“You’re safe,” he finally said.

“This isn’t safe,” you shot back, tugging at the webbing on your wrists. “This is kidnapping!”

Peter frowned, as if the word offended him. “Kidnapping is such an ugly term. I prefer to think of it as… keeping you out of harm’s way.”

“Harm’s way?” You let out a bitter laugh. “The only person putting me in danger is you!”

His expression darkened for a moment, and you braced yourself for the worst. But then he took a deep breath, his lips curling into a small, unsettling smile.

“You don’t understand yet,” he said softly. “But you will. The world out there is cruel, full of people who would hurt you, use you. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. But I’m different. I’m the one person who will never let anything happen to you.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” you said through gritted teeth, yanking at the restraints again.

Peter sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched as he crouched down beside you, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “But you keep fighting me, and that’s not going to work. You need to trust me, even if it’s hard right now.”

“Trust you?” you spat. “You’re insane!”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. But he didn’t lash out. Instead, he stood and began pacing the room, his hands flexing at his sides.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I thought you’d understand, that you’d see I’m doing this for you. But I guess I need to show you.”

“Show me what?” you asked, your voice dripping with defiance.

Peter stopped pacing and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “That you belong to me,” he said simply. “And that no one else can have you. Trust me, compared to the others I’m your Prince Charming!” He laughed a little.

A chill ran down your spine at the weight of his words.

“Please,” you said, trying a different approach. “You don’t have to do this. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I can’t do that. I’ve seen what happens when I let people go. They forget. They leave. And I can’t… I won’t let that happen with you.”

His voice cracked slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw the person he used to be, the one that saved people. But that hero was gone, consumed by whatever darkness had taken root in him.

Peter knelt down in front of you again, his face inches from yours. “You’ll understand,” he whispered. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you will. And when you do, you’ll see that this is where you’re meant to be.”

He stood and walked to the door, glancing back at you one last time before leaving. “Rest,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some time to think.”

The door closed with a heavy thud, and you were left alone in the suffocating silence.

You stared at the boarded-up windows, at the walls that felt like they were closing in around you. Peter might think he had control, but you weren’t going to give up. Not yet.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for anything—anything—you could use to escape. The reality of what was happening- what happened set in. You were kidnapped by a hero, and no one could save you. Would he kill you? He isn’t above killing.. you’ve seen that first hand. Your breathing quickened, and you felt like you were dying. Sobs and battered breaths came from you, you rolled over on your side curling up and closing your eyes. Hoping that when you wake up this will be a bad dream.

Peter sat in the small, decrepit room across from yours, staring at the door separating you from him. His head was in his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, as if trying to quiet the voices that whispered relentlessly in his mind.

He wasn’t crazy. He knew he wasn’t. Everything he’d done—everything he was doing—was for you. But that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room. He’d spent so many nights like this, torn between doing what he thought was right and the weight of what it cost him. You didn’t understand yet, and maybe you never would. But how could he explain to you what it felt like to lose everything and still keep going? How could he explain that you were the only light left in his dark, crumbling world?

Peter closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the night he lost May.

Her frail, bloodied hand had trembled in his grip as she whispered her final words. “You’re a good boy, Peter,” she’d said, her voice barely audible. “Always trying to do the right thing.”

But the right thing hadn’t saved her. The right thing hadn’t stopped the people he loved from being ripped away from him over and over again.

He had tried to move on, tried to let the pain drive him to do better, to be better. But when he saw you for the first time, it was as if the world shifted. The way you stood up to him, most people would have run the other way or ignored it. But you, your sense of morality and kind heart. Your smile was soft, kind. It reminded him of the way May used to look at him—like he mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He hadn’t meant to fall for you. At first, it was just a glance here, a quiet admiration from afar. He was curious after all. You have interested him the night you met. But then you smiled and he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could breathe again.

But the world wasn’t kind. It never had been. He saw the way others looked at you, the way they surrounded you like vultures circling something pure and good. They didn’t love you the way he did. They couldn’t.

Peter’s hands clenched into fists as he thought of them—the coworker who “accidentally” brushed against you too often, the friend who lingered too long when they hugged you. They didn’t care about your safety. They didn’t lie awake at night worrying if you got home okay.

He did.

Peter reached for his phone, scrolling through the photos he’d taken of you over the weeks. They were his lifeline. Proof that you were real, that you existed outside the constant storm in his mind.

“You don’t get it yet,” he muttered under his breath. “But you will. You’ll see that they don’t deserve you. None of them do.”

He stopped on a photo of you laughing, your head tilted back, pure joy radiating from your face. His hand trembled as he stared at it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

But it wasn’t just your beauty that drew him to you. It was the way you treated people, the way you never hesitated to stand up for others, even when it wasn’t easy. You reminded him of who he used to be, of the boy who once believed he could save everyone.

And maybe, in a way, saving you was saving himself.

Peter exhaled shakily, his thoughts returning to earlier that night. When he had watched you walking through your house, the knife in your hand trembling as you tried to appear brave. He had almost stepped out then, almost revealed himself just to comfort you. But he knew you wouldn’t understand yet.

And then there was the call.

His jaw tightened as he thought of the man from your work. He had already warned him once—made it clear that he needed to stay away from you. But the man hadn’t listened. None of them ever did.

Peter remembered the fear in the man’s eyes when he cornered him in the parking lot after work. “She’s not yours,” Peter had said, his voice cold and steady. “She never will be. Stay away from her.”

He hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t a monster. He was innocent after all. The only crime being he tried to charm his way into your life. But the broken hand and the bruises had sent the message clearly enough. And if it hadn’t, the man waking up in the middle of the night to find Peter crouched over him had sealed the deal.

“Stay away,” Peter had whispered, his webbing silencing the man’s panicked cries.

They always stayed away after that.

Peter shook his head, clearing the memory. He didn’t want to think about them anymore. They didn’t matter. Only you mattered.

He glanced at the door to your room again, his heart aching with the desire to be near you. He hated himself for the way he’d scared you, for the way he’d taken you from your home. But what choice did he have?

Peter walked to the door, resting his hand against it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “I just want to keep you safe.”

He pressed his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. “You’re all I have left.”

For a moment, he thought of walking away—of letting you go. But then he thought of the world outside, of all the dangers that could tear you away from him. And he knew he couldn’t risk it.

He couldn’t lose you too.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the old lamp in the corner. You sat on the edge of the thin mattress, your wrists raw from pulling against the webbing that bound them. Sleep was impossible, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and the memory of Peter’s dark, unwavering gaze.

You’d called him insane. A monster. And yet, in the briefest moments, you had seen something else in his eyes—something that didn’t fit the terrifying image of the man who had ripped you from your life.

Fear.

It had been there, lingering beneath the surface of his control. You didn’t understand it, but it had made him feel almost… human.

The door creaked open, and you tensed, your breath catching in your throat as Peter stepped inside. He was holding a tray with what looked like soup, a bottle of water, and a folded napkin.

You expected him to smirk, to taunt you with the power he held over you. Instead, he looked… hesitant. His shoulders were tense, and his lips pressed into a thin line as if he was bracing himself for rejection.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of the edge you’d heard before.

You didn’t respond, your eyes narrowing as you watched his every move. He stepped closer, carefully placing the tray on the table near you.

“I know you’re angry,” he said, his voice softening. “You have every right to be. But you need to take care of yourself.”

“Take care of myself?” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You tied me up, dragged me to some—some prison, and now you’re acting like you care about my well-being?”

Peter flinched, and for a moment.

“I do care,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

You stared at him, searching his face for a hint of the cold, calculated predator who had brought you here. But he wasn’t meeting your gaze. Instead, he was staring at the ground, his jaw tight, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said after a long pause. “Losing everyone. Watching the people you care about disappear because you couldn’t protect them.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, though your voice lacked the venom it had before. “I didn’t ask to be part of whatever… twisted thing this is.”

Peter’s head snapped up, and for the first time, you saw his humanity glistening in his eyes.

“I know,” he said, his voice uneven. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But I—” He stopped, taking a shaky breath. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch something happen to you.”

“Nothing was happening to me,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I was fine.”

“No, you weren’t,” Peter said, his tone firm but not harsh. “You just don’t see it. The way people look at you, the way they use you. They don’t care about you the way I do.”

He stepped closer, and instinctively, you leaned back. He stopped, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I would never hurt you. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t respond, your chest tight with a mix of fear and confusion.

Peter hesitated, then sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged a few feet away from you. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands threading through his messy hair.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

You watched him, unsure what to say. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed as if the weight of his own choices was crushing him.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said after a moment. “You don’t have to keep me here.”

Peter laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for scaring you, for—” He stopped, shaking his head. “But if I let you go, I lose you. And I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

The raw vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache despite yourself. This wasn’t the confident, terrifying figure who had tied you up and dragged you here. This was someone broken, someone desperate.

For a moment, you didn’t see a kidnapper. You saw a boy who had lost too much, who was clinging to the only thing he thought he could still save.

“Peter,” you said, your voice softer now.

He looked up at you, his eyes red, his expression open and raw.

“I don’t hate you,” you said carefully, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. “But this isn’t the way to keep me safe. This isn’t how you help someone.”

Peter stared at you, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, his voice barely audible.

“Then let me go,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Please.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Peter’s hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, his face a mask of conflict. He tilted your chin up to look at him, he brushed some hair out of your face.

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Not yet.”

He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet, your mind reeling. For the first time, you felt the cracks in Peter’s armor, the pain that drove his obsession. And while it didn’t make you forgive him, it made you wonder just how far he had fallen—and whether he could ever be pulled back.

A month had passed.

You counted the days by the faint rays of sunlight that seeped through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. At first, time had blurred into one long nightmare, but slowly, things began to change.

Peter began to trust you—or at least, he wanted you to think he did. The tight confines of your room had become less suffocating; the webbing on your wrists was no longer a constant restraint. He started letting you use the bathroom on your own, though he would always wait just outside the door, his shadow visible beneath the gap.

Then came the short walks around the house, his presence always hovering close. The house wasn’t much to look at—an abandoned wreck that seemed more like a tomb than a home—but the moments of freedom, as small as they were, felt monumental.

You knew he was watching your every move, analyzing your every expression. You couldn’t make a wrong step, couldn’t let him see the flicker of defiance that still burned within you.

And yet, something else had shifted too.

Peter had grown… softer, in his own way. The mask of control and certainty he wore when he first took you had begun to crack, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath.

He wanted you to talk to him. He craved it. And while you hated yourself for it, there were moments when you gave in—because in those moments, you saw the boy behind the monster.

It was one of those days when the silence between you felt heavier than usual. Peter had let you sit in the small living room, the faded couch creaking beneath you as you stared out at the boarded-up windows. He sat on the floor a few feet away, his knees drawn up, watching you like a hawk.

“You don’t hate me as much anymore,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady.

You stiffened, your gaze still fixed on the sliver of light peeking through the wood. “What makes you think that?”

Peter tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint, almost shy smile. “You don’t flinch as much when I get close. You don’t fight me when I touch your shoulder or—” He paused, his smile faltering. “You don’t look at me like I’m a monster all the time.”

You didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Fear still coursed through your veins every time he got too close, but there was something else too—a strange understanding of his brokenness.

“I still want to leave,” you said, your voice measured.

Peter’s expression darkened, but he nodded slowly, as if he expected the answer. “I know.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Why are you like this, Peter?” you asked suddenly, your voice softer than you intended.

He looked up at you, his brown eyes wide, vulnerable. “Like what?”

“Like… this.” You gestured vaguely around the room. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Why did you think this was the only way?”

Peter’s hands fidgeted in his lap, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because talking wouldn’t have been enough,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “You would’ve smiled at me, been polite, and then walked away. Just like everyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you said, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Peter let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “You say that now, but I know how it works. People like me… we’re invisible until we’re not. Until we do something that makes people notice.”

You watched him, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just talking about you—he was talking about his whole life, about the isolation and pain that had shaped him.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” you said quietly.

Peter looked up at you, his eyes shining with something raw, something desperate. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he whispered.

The vulnerability in his voice, in his expression, was almost too much to bear. You wanted to hate him, to scream at him for everything he had taken from you. But in that moment, he looked more like a scared, broken boy than the man who had torn your life apart.

“You’re not a bad person, Peter,” you said carefully. “You just… you’ve lost your way.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on your lap. You flinched instinctively, but you didn’t pull away.

Peter’s breath hitched, and he looked up at you with an expression that was equal parts of stoicism and shame. “You really think that?”

“I think you need help,” you said honestly. “Real help. Not this.”

Peter swallowed hard, his grip tightening on your hand as if you might disappear if he let go. “You’re the only help I need,” he said, his voice stern.

His words sent a chill through you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him hold your hand, let him believe for just a moment that this was enough. What surprised you was the kiss that came afterward, you let him, fearing that if you broke his fantasy he would get angry.

Because maybe, just maybe, if you could reach the boy inside the monster, you might find a way out.

The air between you and Peter had changed.

Over the past weeks, the walls that had once kept you both separated—physically and emotionally—had started to thin. It wasn’t that you had forgiven him; you weren’t sure you ever could. But the boy who sat across from you now wasn’t the same as the shadowy figure who had stolen you away.

Peter was still obsessive, still relentless in his belief that he was doing the right thing. But he was also… human. And that humanity, as flawed and broken as it was, had begun to show in small, quiet moments.

Like now.

The two of you sat on the worn couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs. Peter had insisted on it when he noticed you shivering earlier. He was close, closer than he used to be, but you hadn’t moved away.

“I used to come here with May,” Peter said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him, surprised. He rarely spoke about his past unless prompted.

“She used to say this place was a waste of time,” he continued, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “But it was ours. We’d come here to escape everything. The world, the city… everything that felt too heavy.”

His voice softened, and he glanced down at his hands. “After she died, I didn’t come back for a long time. It felt… wrong. Like I didn’t deserve it anymore.”

You stayed quiet, letting his words hang in the air. He was opening up to you, and for reasons you couldn’t fully explain, you felt compelled to listen.

“What made you come back?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Peter hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours before quickly looking away. “You.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t have anything else,” he admitted. “I kept telling myself I was doing fine, that I didn’t need anyone. But when I saw you…” He shook his head, his voice trailing off. “You made me feel like maybe I wasn’t completely alone anymore.”

“Peter,” you began, your tone cautious, but he cut you off.

“I know what I did was wrong,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I know that. But you have to understand—I didn’t know how else to keep you safe. You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense.”

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering near yours. You stared at it for a moment before slowly, cautiously, letting him take your hand.

His grip was warm, trembling slightly, as if he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you.

“You’re not alone, Peter,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “But this isn’t the way to hold on to someone. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to you.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he shifted closer, his eyes searching yours with a mix of desperation and hope.

“I don’t know how to let go,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every time I try, it feels like the world is falling apart all over again.”

The creak of the old front door echoed in the house as Peter pulled his hood over his head. He was dressed in his suit, though the mask dangled from his hand as he glanced back at you.

“You’ll be okay here,” he said softly, his voice laced with hesitation.

You nodded, feigning a calmness that didn’t match the pounding of your heart. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter studied you for a moment longer, his brown eyes searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe doubt. Then he stepped closer, his gloved hand brushing against yours.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “Don’t worry.”

Before you could respond, he slipped the mask over his face and disappeared into the night.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, you sat still, waiting. Your heart raced, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. This was your chance—your first real opportunity in weeks.

Peter trusted you now. He’d grown comfortable, letting you walk freely around the house, leaving the door unlocked when he left. He thought you were resigned to your new life, thought you were beginning to understand him.

He was wrong.

You moved quickly, but quietly, scanning the small house for anything useful. Most of the windows were boarded up, but one in the kitchen had been left partially uncovered. It was high, but with some effort, you could squeeze through.

You grabbed a chair, dragging it toward the counter beneath the window. Your hands shook as you climbed up, your pulse hammering in your ears. The window was old, the glass smudged and streaked with dirt, but you could see the faint glow of streetlights in the distance. Freedom.

The latch was stiff, and you gritted your teeth as you pushed and pulled, trying to pry it open without making too much noise. After what felt like an eternity, it gave way with a soft click.

You pushed the window open, the cool night air rushing in, and pulled yourself up, your legs dangling awkwardly as you tried to maneuver through the small space.

The cool night air kissed your skin as you pulled yourself halfway through the window, the thrill of freedom igniting a spark in your chest. The streetlights in the distance seemed so close, so tangible, as if you could reach out and grasp the life you’d been ripped from.

Then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your entire body froze.

Slowly, you turned your head, dread pooling in your stomach as Peter stepped into the room, his silhouette framed by the faint glow from the hallway. He’d pulled off his mask, his face pale, his expression unreadable.

“You weren’t supposed to do this,” he said, his voice low and eerily calm.

“Peter—” you began, your voice trembling, but he moved faster than you could react.

In an instant, he was at the window, his hand wrapping around your ankle like a steel vice. He yanked you back inside with one sharp pull, and you landed hard on the floor, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You scrambled backward, trying to put distance between you and him, but he didn’t give you the chance. He loomed over you, his gaze dark and unreadable as he stared down at you.

“I trusted you,” he said, his voice chillingly calm, but his hands were trembling at his sides.

“Peter, I had to try—”

“Had to try what?” he snapped, his tone rising as he cut you off. “To leave me? To run away like I’m some kind of monster?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the fury in his eyes silenced you.

“I gave you freedom,” he continued, his voice shaking with barely-contained anger. “I let you walk around the house. I let you breathe, and this is how you repay me?”

“Peter, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. And you’ve taken advantage of that.”

He crouched down in front of you, his face inches from yours. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made you shiver. “I thought we were making progress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I thought you were starting to see things my way. I-I really thought that you were starting to love me too.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t stay here, Peter. I can’t live like this.”

His jaw tightened, and his hand shot out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You don’t have a choice,” he said coldly.

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t keep me here forever,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant.

Peter’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Can’t I?”

He stood abruptly, towering over you as you stayed on the floor, too afraid to move. He paced the room, his hands raking through his hair as he muttered to himself.

“You think you can just leave me?” he said, his voice growing darker with each word. “You think I’d just let you go after everything I’ve done for you?”

He stopped suddenly, turning to face you. The anger on his face was matched only by the cold determination in his eyes.

“No more privileges,” he said firmly. “No more freedom. You’re going back to your room, and you’re staying there until I decide you’ve earned my trust again.”

“Peter, please—”

“Quiet!” he snapped, his voice echoing through the room. “You lost the right to argue when you tried to betray me.”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, your chest tightening with a mix of fear and anger.

Without another word, he grabbed your arm and hauled you to your feet. His grip was firm but not painful, though you could feel the tension radiating from him.

He dragged you back toward your room, ignoring your protests and pleas. When he pushed you inside, he stepped back, his expression hard as stone.

“You think I’m the bad guy,” he said, his voice low and cold. “But you’ll see. You’ll see that I’m the only one who cares enough to do this.”

With that, he slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the walls.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of what had just happened settled over you.

On the other side of the door, Peter leaned against the wall, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to control the storm of emotions inside him.

He wasn’t angry because you tried to leave.

He was angry because the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything else.

The silence in the house was deafening.

Days blended together as you sat in your room, staring at the same four walls, the same peeling wallpaper that had grown all too familiar. You couldn’t even remember the last time Peter had spoken to you—he just brought food, delivered it silently, then left again without a word.

He’d cut you off completely, like you were nothing more than an inconvenience. The door to your room was locked at all times, the once-muted sounds of him moving around the house now replaced by an unnerving stillness.

And then, there was the bathroom.

Once a freedom you were allowed, it had become a rare gift, granted only when Peter thought you needed it. He stood just outside the door, always too close, but never speaking, his presence a silent reminder of your captivity.

At first, you raged against the isolation. You screamed at the walls, demanded that he speak to you, ask you questions, anything to break the suffocating silence. But as the days stretched into weeks, you stopped.

Now, there was only quiet.

You sat by the window, watching the shadows of the night grow long, thinking about nothing and everything at once. The house had grown colder, both literally and emotionally. Peter had stopped being a presence in your life, and in turn, you had stopped fighting against it.

Except you hadn’t stopped needing him.

It was a quiet hunger, this longing for connection. The loneliness gnawed at you like an empty pit in your stomach. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter—that he was a monster, a kidnapper, someone you could never trust again. But the more time passed, the more you found yourself craving any bit of human interaction, even if it was from him.

Even if it was him coming into your room and just standing there, doing nothing but existing in the same space as you.

You hated yourself for it.

At night, when the house was silent, you would lay on the cold, hard floor and cry. You cried for the life you had lost, for the days that seemed to stretch on forever. But mostly, you cried because you felt as if your very soul was withering away in that room, and there was no one to see it.

There were no more demands. No more pleas. You knew better than to ask for anything now.

But that didn’t stop you from trying.

The door to your room creaked open one morning, and there he was. Peter.

He didn’t look at you as he stepped inside, his eyes fixed firmly on the tray of food he was carrying. He set it down on the small table by the bed and didn’t say a word. His face was unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might leave again without a glance in your direction.

But then, without looking up, he spoke in a low, almost hushed voice.

“You can eat, then go to the bathroom if you need to.”

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest as you picked up the spoon, your hands trembling slightly. You wanted to speak to him, to ask why he was even saying anything at all, but you stayed silent. He wasn’t ready to talk, not yet.

As you ate, Peter stood at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t leave, but he didn’t move closer either. He just… watched.

You finished your meal in silence, the tension hanging thick in the air. When you were done, you glanced up at him, your mouth dry.

“Peter,” you whispered. The word felt strange on your tongue after weeks of silence.

His eyes flicked to yours, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry I tried to leave. I… I just wanted to be free.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he would turn and walk away. But instead, he stepped forward, his gaze flickering briefly to the door.

“I know,” he said softly. “But freedom is a lie. No one is ever truly free.”

Your heart sank, but you nodded, feeling the weight of his words.

Then, just as quickly as he had spoken, he left, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The days passed, and little by little, something started to change. It was subtle at first—a slight shift in his demeanor when he brought you food, the way he lingered just a little longer by the door. His silence, though still heavy, seemed to be less hostile, less like a punishment and more like… waiting.

You didn’t push him. Instead, you focused on earning back what little trust you had lost.

One evening, when Peter brought you dinner, you didn’t just eat in silence.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Peter didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the hesitation in his posture. Then, after a long pause, he said, “You’re welcome.”

You nodded, even though the words barely felt like a breakthrough. But they were something—something that made your chest tighten with cautious hope.

The days went by, and your interactions, though brief, grew a little more frequent. He allowed you to sit in the living room sometimes, his presence always looming but never quite stifling. When he took you to the bathroom, he didn’t look at you with the same cold detachment he once had. There was something softer in his gaze, something that made you think, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, he wanted you to be okay.

And slowly, you found yourself longing for those small moments of interaction more than anything.

You knew better than to hope for more—knew better than to believe this could ever be anything resembling a normal life. But even in the silence, you couldn’t ignore the subtle change.

Peter wasn’t saying much. He wasn’t apologizing for what he’d done.

But he was present.

And sometimes, that was enough.

You hadn’t realized how touch-deprived you were until the moment Peter’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you your food. It was a brief moment, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver through you, something deep inside you stirring with a longing you hadn’t acknowledged before.

The silence had worn down your defenses, eroded your ability to fight the emptiness that gnawed at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but the isolation had begun to twist you, making even the smallest contact feel like a lifeline. And Peter, despite everything, was still the only person in this prison you called a life.

The evening was colder than usual when Peter came into your room with the bathwater prepared. It had been a long time since he’d bathed you himself, though you could tell by the careful way he avoided meeting your eyes that he was still hesitant, unsure of how much to give or take.

He hadn’t offered any explanation for his strange acts of care. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe he thought that tending to your most basic needs might somehow balance out the pain he had caused you. Or maybe, deep down, he craved something more than just control. Something human.

He helped you undress with a gentleness that almost startled you. His hands trembled slightly as he touched your skin, but it wasn’t the nervousness of a man who feared you. It was a quiet vulnerability, a tenderness that you hadn’t expected from him.

When you were seated in the tub, the warm water washing over your body, Peter knelt beside it, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and for the first time in weeks, you found yourself feeling something other than fear or sadness.

You hadn’t even realized how badly you’d needed this—the simple act of another person caring for you. Of someone seeing you as more than just an object.

“Lean back,” Peter said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You obeyed, letting your head rest against the side of the tub as he began to gently scrub your back. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and every stroke of his hand against your skin felt like it was melting some of the tension that had built up in you. The loneliness, the ache inside you—slowly, it started to ebb away.

As he reached your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your neck, your breath hitched. There was a brief moment when your gazes met, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, you didn’t see the cold, calculating man who had taken you from everything you knew. You saw Peter—the boy who had been shattered, just like you.

You didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was the isolation, or the years of keeping yourself locked away inside your own mind. But when Peter’s gaze softened, when the silence between you felt like the calm before a storm, you leaned forward, your lips barely grazing his.

The kiss was soft���tentative, almost fragile—but the spark it ignited inside you was overwhelming. You didn’t pull away. Neither of you did.

Peter’s hand rested on your cheek, his fingers trembling as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips molded against yours, was the closest thing you’d felt to comfort in a long time. But as much as you craved it, as much as you wanted to lose yourself in that moment, you knew it wasn’t the solution to everything.

Peter pulled away just slightly, his breath ragged, his eyes searching your face for something he hadn’t found in a long time—understanding, acceptance, maybe even trust.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked quietly, his voice rough, almost unsure.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. You knew what he was asking, and you felt the weight of his hesitation pressing down on you.

You didn’t know what to say.

But you nodded.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were trapped in a cage of your own making. Even if Peter hadn’t fully earned your trust back, even if he still held you in his grip, there was something in his actions, in the quiet moments between you, that felt different.

“Okay,” Peter whispered, his hand gently cupping your face. “I’ll let you stay.”

That night, when he led you to his bedroom, you didn’t question it. The room was bigger, more comfortable, more inviting than the small, sterile space you had grown accustomed to. The bed was huge, with soft, dark sheets, and there was a warmth to it that you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Peter didn’t say anything as he gestured for you to lie down. Instead, he climbed in beside you, the weight of his presence pressing against you in a way that was both comforting and suffocating. But you couldn’t pull away.

He didn’t touch you after that. He simply lay there, his back to you as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The bed felt too big for just the two of you, but it also felt like the first step toward something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about—something resembling normalcy, intimacy, even tenderness.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, slow and steady, and Peter’s, a little heavier, a little more erratic.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to fill the silence with words that would break the barrier between you, but you didn’t know how.

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t know how much longer you could live like this, that you didn’t want to be kept, that you needed something real, something more than this twisted version of intimacy. But you stayed quiet.

Because, despite everything, you craved his presence. You craved him.

And for that one night, you let yourself forget everything else. You let yourself rest in his presence, even if it was only temporary, even if it was just for the night.

You closed your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to sleep without the constant fear gnawing at your bones.

The days passed in a quiet blur, each one blurring into the next, but the soft rhythm of Peter’s presence in your life was starting to take hold. Though the isolation of the house was still oppressive, something had shifted between the two of you. It wasn’t trust—not yet—but it was an understanding.

Peter still wasn’t fully open with you. He still kept his distance emotionally, often retreating into himself after the rare moments of intimacy you shared. But there were more of those moments now—small, fleeting acts that spoke louder than anything he’d said. The way he let you sit by his side on the couch, or how he’d give you a small, almost unnoticeable smile when he brought you your meals. There was a vulnerability in him that you hadn’t seen before.

And still, you felt yourself growing dependent on him in ways that both terrified and comforted you. The loneliness that had once consumed you had begun to lessen, replaced by a new kind of ache—a desire for the attention, the care, the touch that he had begun to give you.

That evening, Peter arrived at your door to bring you your dinner, his usual stoic expression in place. He stepped into the room, setting the tray down on the bed, and then paused, his eyes lingering on you. You could see the conflict in his gaze—he wanted to say something, you could feel it—but he remained silent, as he often did.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” you ventured, your voice soft, careful. “I haven’t seen you much.”

Peter stiffened slightly, his hand resting against the doorframe as he avoided looking at you directly. “I’ve been busy.”

It was a vague answer, but you didn’t push. You never pushed anymore.

He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, you spoke again. “Can I… can I sit with you tonight? Just for a little while?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Peter didn’t respond. He stood there, unmoving, as if weighing the request in his mind. Finally, he let out a slow exhale and nodded, his voice barely a whisper.

“Alright.”

The small word seemed to reverberate in your chest. It was a permission, an invitation, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel something that wasn’t fear.

That night, you joined him in the living room, sitting quietly beside him on the couch. The tension between you two was palpable, but there was a comfort in the silence. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting gentle shadows against the walls.

Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His proximity was enough. You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his knee brushed against yours, a subtle connection that made your pulse quicken despite the calmness of the moment.

You didn’t look at him directly, afraid that the vulnerability you were beginning to feel would show too much. Instead, you stared at the floor, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“Do you ever… regret it?” you asked, almost against your will. “Taking me? Keeping me here?”

Peter’s gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his past in his eyes—the pain, the remorse, the lingering darkness. He hesitated before speaking.

“I didn’t… mean for it to be like this.” His voice was low, almost regretful, but there was something else there too—a quiet resignation. “But I’ve made my choices, and I’m not going to back out now.”

You nodded, your heart sinking as his words landed. He didn’t regret it. Not enough to let you go. Not enough to change.

But you could feel the cracks in his walls, the way they were slowly starting to form. His actions had changed, even if his words hadn’t.

And that was enough for now.

The next few days were different. Peter still didn’t speak to you much, but when he did, his voice wasn’t cold or dismissive. He seemed to be watching you more closely, his gaze following your movements with an intensity that was both unsettling and… comforting.

One evening, after you’d eaten and he’d allowed you to have a bath, he surprised you. As you dried off, he appeared in the doorway, his presence suddenly more intense than usual.

“You’re… you’re being good,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your stomach fluttered at the compliment, though you tried to keep your expression neutral.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Peter stepped into the room, his eyes locked on yours. “You haven’t been… difficult. You’ve accepted things. I can see you’re trying.”

“I am,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Peter nodded, a strange, almost unreadable expression passing over his face. He was standing closer now, and for a moment, you could almost feel the tension between you building to a breaking point.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He seemed to hesitate for just a moment before he reached out, his hand hovering just in front of your shoulder.

You didn’t pull away. You allowed him the space, even as your heart raced at the proximity. Slowly, his hand landed gently on your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin with the faintest touch. It wasn’t the rough grip you had grown used to—no, it was soft, almost tender.

His thumb brushed over your skin, sending a shock of warmth through you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The words felt like a promise, one that you were slowly starting to believe, even though you knew the truth. Peter was still unpredictable, still dangerous in his own way. But in that moment, his touch felt like the only thing holding you together.

He stayed there, his hand resting lightly on your arm, the silence stretching between you both. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t alone.

The house had grown quieter in the last few days, the tension between you and Peter almost palpable. There were moments when you would catch him watching you from across the room, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the weight of everything unspoken, the way the air seemed to thrum with things neither of you could say.

Still, something had shifted in the way Peter looked at you. The coldness had faded, replaced by something softer, more uncertain. You couldn’t explain it, but you could feel it—the way he lingered longer when he gave you food, how he would sometimes stand near you and just… be there.

There had been no words. No explanations. But in the silence, you understood.

It was late one evening when you found yourself sitting on the edge of the couch, absentmindedly playing with the edge of the blanket, lost in your thoughts. You hadn’t seen Peter for a while, and though you told yourself you didn’t care, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that gnawed at you when he wasn’t around.

It wasn’t just loneliness, you realized. It was something else, something you weren’t ready to name.

The door to the living room creaked open, and you glanced up to see Peter standing there. His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t sit down immediately; instead, he lingered by the wall, his posture tense, as though he were unsure of what to do next.

“Peter,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. “Yeah?”

There was something about his gaze—something that made your heart race. He was watching you closely, as if waiting for you to make the first move, but you didn’t know what you were supposed to say, what you were supposed to do.

“I—” you started, your words faltering. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Peter’s eyes softened, just slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in him that mirrored your own need for connection, something that made him hesitate before taking a step toward you.

You couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop the way your chest tightened, the way you longed for him to cross that distance, to close the gap between the two of you.

Before you could stop yourself, you stood up, your heart pounding in your chest. You moved closer, your body instinctively drawn toward him, and as you reached him, your hand brushed against his arm. The contact was electric, and you both froze.

He looked down at you, his eyes wide, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to pull away.

Slowly, tentatively, you reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. His breath hitched, and you could feel the way his muscles tensed under your touch. But still, he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not going to push me away?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your words trembling as you spoke.

He swallowed, his eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t want to.”

It was all the permission you needed.

You moved in closer, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow and tentative, as though you were both testing the waters, unsure of where this might lead. Peter’s lips were soft against yours, hesitant, as if he were afraid to go too far, too fast.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

The kiss deepened slightly, and Peter’s hand came up to rest gently on your waist. His touch was light, careful, as if he were afraid that even the smallest movement might break something between you. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver through your body, but there was no harshness, no urgency—only a quiet, desperate tenderness.

You could feel the way his body tensed, holding himself back, as if he were afraid to give in to the desire that was building between you. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and uncertain.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice low, however his eyes held a different story.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for the first time in a long while, you believed him.

You nodded, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I know.”

There was a brief moment of silence between you, both of you standing there, as if the world outside the walls of the house didn’t exist anymore. Neither of you moved—just stood, your hearts racing in sync with each other.

Finally, Peter leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours with more confidence this time. It was gentle, soft, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something raw and desperate that neither of you could deny. The kiss was electrifying, full of passion and warmth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he picked you up, holding your legs around his hips as he lead you to the bedroom.

You feel on your back, gasping for air, “Peter” he kisses your neck, leaving love bites. “That’s right, baby, say my name” the cockiness in his tone; followed by him undressing you. You shivered, not because of the cold— because his gaze on your body. He looked like he was drinking you in, like how one would stare at a huge feast. He looked starved.

“You’re so beautiful..” he removes his own clothes, dipping his fingers in your warmth. You were wet, embarrassing so. He was slow and delicate, it was apparent that he was holding back— almost scared of hurting you. Almost. Your moans egged him on, adding a third finger while his other hand rubbed circles on your clit. You closed your eyes throwing your head back. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart” when you look at him his dark eyes were clouded with lust and admiration.

The way he made you feel was heavenly, you tried to shallow your moans but failed to do so. He leaned down to kiss your neck, breast, anywhere that he could reach. Soon you came undone, your body shaking after. Peter removed his hands, sucking his fingers clean. “You taste so addicting” he muttered, it was quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

He pushed back some of your hair, “are you ready?” He asked, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “Yes” you whispered back. You wanted this, craved this. As messed up as it was, you wanted him. You shouldn’t have, you should have hated him, cursed him out, hit him to your hearts content. But you didn’t want to. Your feels for Peter were confusing but you knew that you weren’t opposed to his actions.

He trusted in, slowly, and you felt the burn and stretch instantly. You tried to close your legs but with Peter in between them it was pointless. Noticing your pain he kissed your tears away, pumping slowly. After a while it started to feel good. “Harder..” you panted out. He obliged, quickening his pace and boarder line slamming into your warmth. “Peter! Oh— right there” he angled his hips, touching your g spot. He panted, groaning at how hard you were gripping him. Your nails were raking down his back, leaving red marks on his pale skin.

He picked you up, resting on his knees and you wrapped your arms around his neck while you rode him. He was still trusting to meet your pace. You sunk further onto him due to the new position. You cried out, body shaking as you cum for the second time. “Please— I can’t—“

“You can, and you will” Peter thrusts at an unforgiving pace, overstimulated, tears ran down your face. It was too much, you tried to tell him but all that came out where moans and whimpers. “You can take it, I know you can”

He throws you back on the bed, in missionary, then he threw your legs on his shoulders and thrusted into your warmth. The wet sounds followed by the skin slapping was going to tip you over, again. “Just a little more, baby” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. “Mhm,” one of his hands comes to play with your clit, rubbing in small circles. With a loud moan you cum for the third time. Peter follows soon after, throwing his head back, as he finishes inside you. He pants, staying inside your pussy just a little longer than pulling his cock out. He lays down beside you, panting for a minute then rolling over and kissing you gently. “You did so good, I knew you could take it.” You smile, sleepily. He gets up, going to the washroom to grab a warm cloth, cleaning up the inside of your legs. He continues to praise you, and you feel like you’re about to fall asleep.

Peter notices your closed eyes and lack of response. He smiles to himself. He kisses your head, throwing the cloth somewhere in the room and pulling the covers over you. He climbs in beside you, holding you close.

No one was going to take this from him. No one.

[angelyuji]

the thing abt writing yandere fics for comic book characters is that all of them have totally different personalities in different shows and books. like take batman for example. battinson is a socially awkward, mission obsessed, billionaire who hasnt talked to a woman until selina kyle. other versions of bruce wayne went to college (dropped out), had friends and gfs (even if it was for an image), and is charming and kinda manipulative (bale!batman falls under this). and in some other comics, old man bruce wayne is an asshole who is an asshole and shitty to his kids and in others, he’s kind and forgiving and an amazing dad.

anyway what im getting to is that a lot of my yandere fics for these characters are going to be all over the place in terms of characterization.

also heres a yandere peter parker fic teehee☺️

tw // kidnapping, yandere stuff, nothing too crazy i dont think, also gwen is dead

“(y/n), just listen to me, please.” peter’s eyes water as you stare past him, a shadow of your former self. peter tries to touch you, but you jerk away. your ankle stings as the cuffs keeping you chained to his bed tightens. peter wilts, “please just listen to me. this is for your safety, (y/n).” he tries to move in front of your face, but you turn your face. you keep your eyes trained on the poster on his wall, some stupid old band. you scoff to yourself, you couldn't believe that you used to find him adorable.

peter twitches at the sound before he explodes. “JUST FUCKING LOOK AT ME.” he grabs your face, gripping you tight. you freeze, afraid to anger him further. tears drip down your face and peter softens, lightly petting your cheek.

“im sorry, im sorry.” his voice cracks. “i… i just don’t want to lose you like i lost-” he swallows, “like i lost gwen…” he breaks down, falling to his knees. he rests his head against the bed, sobs wreaking his body.

you stare at him, unsure of how to react. hesitantly, you pet his hair. his voice is muffled as he keeps his head down. “you’re the most important person in my life, (y/n).” he looks up at you: his eyes red and watering, cheeks flushed. “i can’t go through it again. i won’t.”

"please, (y/n), just- just say something. just tell me y-you won't leave me." he takes your hand and presses a kiss on the back of your hand. you feel his warm tears drip onto your skin.

you hesitate, "i..." you remember when gwen died, how grief-stricken your friend was... you couldn't break his heart again, "i won't leave you, peter. i promise." he looks up at you, his eyes watering again. he pulls himself onto the bed, much to your dismay, and pulls you into a tight hug.

"i love you so much. i love you, i love you." he continues to mumble as he buries his head in your shoulder. you sag, feeling all of the fight leave your body, and let him cry. you feel him start to nod off and his weight presses against you. you lay down, making sure not to wake him. peter continues to whisper as his eyes droop closed, "i love you, (y/n). i'll keep you safe no matter what."