Pairing: Yandere!Preacher x Reader
Description: Victor Marlowe’s devotion feels like worship, but you soon realize it is a gilded cage—your name chanted, your presence paraded, yet your freedom slowly stripped away. His whispered promises of destiny aren’t love; they are control, wrapped in reverence.
Warning/s: Yandere | Manipulation | Religious Themes | Obsession | Stalking | Confinement | Power Imbalance | Cult
Note/s: Apologies for the inactivity! Enjoy reading the first part of the Holy Week Special. Also, I just moved out of our house due to some issues (I've secured a place to stay in, but don't have any bed or anything to sleep on). Will still update here though. Also, there's an upcoming mini-series to be posted soon. Will be posted in advance on my ko-fi. Those who have previously supported me will be able to read it in advanced!
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The city had always been a place of anonymity for you—a labyrinth of faces, voices, and routines that you could slip into without a second glance. After losing your family, grief drove you from your small hometown to this sprawling maze, hoping to drown your pain in its indifference. Three had passed, and though the sting of loss had dulled, it never truly disappeared. Solitude became your sanctuary, and your days blended together in the quiet rhythm of survival.
But then Victor Marlowe entered your life.
You remembered that day with unsettling clarity. It was a warm afternoon, and the city buzzed with its usual energy—street vendors calling out, children darting between pedestrians, the sound of distant construction. Amid the chaos, Victor’s voice rose like a beacon, cutting through the noise with its steady, commanding tone.
“Even in the darkness,” he proclaimed, his arms outstretched, “there is a light waiting to guide you home.”
You hesitated, drawn by the sheer magnetism of his presence. He stood on a makeshift platform in the plaza, his dark suit tailored to perfection, his smile serene but purposeful. People gathered around him, their expressions hopeful, their eyes fixed on his every move.
You hadn’t planned to stop, but you did. You lingered at the edge of the crowd, watching as Victor spoke with the kind of conviction that made you forget your doubts, even if just for a moment.
When the sermon ended, Victor’s gaze swept across the crowd, and his eyes landed on you. His smile softened, and he stepped down from the platform, weaving through the crowd until he stood before you.
“You,” he said, his voice rich and soothing, “carry a heavy burden. I can see it in your eyes.”
You blinked, startled. “What? I—how do you know that?”
Victor chuckled softly, as though amused by your confusion. “The divine has a way of revealing pain to those called to heal it. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
His words planted a seed of curiosity—and perhaps desperation—in your heart. Before you knew it, you were attending his gatherings, sitting quietly in the back as he delivered sermons that seemed to speak directly to your soul. The ministry became your refuge, a place where your grief felt less overwhelming.
At first, Victor was simply the leader of the movement—a charismatic figure who inspire hope in everyone he met. But over time, his attention turned toward you with an intensity that unnerved you. During sermons, his gaze would linger on you longer than necessary, his smile sharpening in ways you couldn’t explain. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. After all, you were just one among many in the ministry.
But today, everything changed.
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The courtyard of the Celestial Ministry thrummed with energy, the chants of thousands rising in unison. You stood at the edge of it all, hidden in the shadows of the stone archways. This was where you belonged—on the periphery, unseen, unnoticed.
Victor Marlowe stood at the center of the courtyard, his arms raised as he addressed the congregation. His voice carried like a hymn, every word precise and calculated to stir the hearts of his followers.
“Love,” Victor declared, his tone imbued with passion, “is the foundation of truth. And truth… is the foundation of peace.”
The crowd erupted in applause, their devotion palpable.
You watched from the sidelines, as you always did. But today, something was different. Victor’s cadence slowed, his words becoming deliberate, almost reverent. The air shifted, heavy with anticipation.
“And truth requires… balance,” he said, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. “The light requires the moon, just as the sun requires the dawn. Today, I must share a revelation—a truth that has guided me since the beginning of this ministry.”
Victor descended the dais, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that rooted you in place. Panic clawed at your chest as he approached, his presence overwhelming.
He extended a hand, his palm upturned. “Take my hand, darling. It’s time.”
You recoiled, your voice barely above a whisper. “Victor… what are you doing?”
His smile widened, impossibly serene. “Trust me. You’ll understand soon.”
Before you could protest, his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you into the light. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a deafening eruption of cheers.
Victor raised your hand above your heads, his voice resonating across the courtyard. “This woman has been chosen—not by me, but by the divine. She is my sacred counterpart, my guiding star. Together, we shall bring healing to the world!”
The crowd surged forward, their chants merging into a singular roar. Strangers reached out to touch your garments, tears streaming down their faces as they whispered your name like a prayer.
“Victor,” you said, your voice shaking. “Stop this. I don’t—”
He leaned close, his whisper brushing your ear. “All of this… was always for you.”
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The procession began soon after.
Victor led you through the streets on foot, his hand never leaving yours. The crowd lined the roads, their chants of adoration weaving a tapestry of madness. Flower petals rained down like a confetti, their scent cloying as it mixed with the heat of the afternoon.
“Victor,” you hissed, your voice swallowed by the noise. “Please, stop this. I can’t do this.”
He glanced at you, his expression softening into something almost tender. “They love you,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.
“They don’t even know me,” you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. “And I don’t want this. I didn’t choose this!”
Victor’s grip tightened, his smile fading. “You don’t need to choose, darling. The divine has already chosen for you.”
The procession slowed as you reached the towering gates of the Ministry’s private compound, the iron wrought with intricate designs that glinted in the sunlight. The crowd surged, their cheers reaching a fever pitch as Victor raised your hand one final time.
As the gates creaked open, you turned to him, desperation in your eyes. “Please, Victor. Let me go.”
He smiled again, that same serene, unreadable smile. “Soon, you’ll see. This is where you belong.”
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
Inside the compound, the noise of the crowd faded replaced by an oppressive silence. Victor led you to a sunlit room adorned with ornate furnishings—your room, he called it.
“For your safety,” he explained, his tone gentle but unyielding. “The people’s love for you… it is boundless, but it is also overwhelming. You’ll need protection.”
“Protection from what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Victor stepped closer, his presence filling the room. “From those who might harm you… and from yourself. You’re not yet accustomed to your role, but I will guide you.”
“I didn’t want this role,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just want to leave.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll understand in time, my darling. Rest now.”
You turned to the window, your heart sinking as the reality of your situation settled over you. Beyond the compound walls, the crowd’s chants were faint but relentless, their adoration a chain you couldn’t escape.
Victor’s voice broke the silence, soft and commanding. “All of this… was always for you.”
a/n. day 2 of kinktober ♡♡♡ this was another rough one for me hfggsfyg so i really hope you guys like it and that it does kinda hopefully come across a little like how i hoped it'd come across. i did enjoy getting to write mattsun as like,,, a more dark type of person because i never really got to do that before and i really enjoyed it and i hOPE you DO TOO!!!
matsukawa issei x fem!reader
Your hair’s a mess by the time you get from campus onto the crowded tram, where you and too many wet travelers pack into it with an uncomfortable elbow in your face. It’s late, and the weary groan of the metal carriage feels a little too accurate to your current mood. The ugly, off-white lights cast harsh shadows. And a taller individual bumps you twice, making the metal bar dig into your thigh when you try to lean on it. Winter. You hate winter, you sadly have to confirm again, as the thick droplets turn into a drizzle. With a slight frown you catch your reflection.
The unflattering light makes you look so much older than you actually are, highlighting precisely everything you wish to ignore today. You’re tired enough to lean your head against the cold metal and pull out your phone, checking tomorrow’s notifications with a sudden unguarded sadness.
Mouth corners dropped, you tuck the device away again, and try your best to ignore the fact that you’re about to break. And you are — about to snap under the pressure. There’s days where the tasks keep you busy enough not to feel it, more focused on just going, going, going that you don’t really have the time to stop and think about how tired you are, how unfulfilled.
But there’s also days like these, dreary, miserable days where every stacked up mishap leaves you a few seconds from breaking out into a sob. You bite your bottom lip to will yourself, to suck it up, to ignore it. You’re a floundering college student; you’re used to ignoring it.
As you’re having a mental battle against your own emotions, the tram stops, people get off, people get on— and move and squeeze into the small area until you see him. Pressed in between two rows of seats, he seems to tower over everyone else. But it’s not his height that strikes you first. It’s his silhouette, his aura, from top to bottom standing in vast contrast with the groups of tired students and employees in a way that takes you aback. His presence overtakes the entire carriage, so much so that it surprises you all at once that you didn’t notice him before. His tall, wide shouldered frame suits the dark, curly hair and and even darker eyes.
You find yourself staring for a few seconds, before automatically trying to fix your hair a little in response. You’re captivated, however embarrassing it is to admit it. But you’ve seen people rock confidence, the pretty girls with shiny hair and kind smiles, or funny guys with foundations that are sturdy and durable. This man’s nothing like them, and yet, there’s something compared to it that makes them all fall short. It’s a larger-than-life sort of smackdown that takes your breath away. He’s truly imposing. And that’s fascinating and terrifying all at once.
Until he catches you staring.
Instantly the fascination turns to hot-cheeked embarrassment, before you avert your eyes as far away from him as you can. Not only are you teary eyed, sucking on your lip like it’s your safeguard, and is your face starting to glow from the mortification— you’re stood slouched and half pressed under a stranger’s armpit. You count the seconds with a longing for time to hurry until the tram slows at the next stop, lets people off, people on, and jerks you around a few steps as it unceremoniously speeds back up. The man stays on your mind though, those satisfied, lazy eyes seeming to stay with you. You can’t force yourself to look up into the cart again, resorting to watching the downcast streets instead.
But the reflection is too bright, and before you’re aware of it, you meet dark irises too— in the flickers of the window this time.
He lets out a low, warm chuckle at your wide-eyed expression; and smiles. A wide smile that turns his lips up at the corners in a cheshire-like grin and makes your stomach erupt with flutters. The rest of the ride has the hairs on your arms on end, standing up with the feeling of eyes on your skin; and not just because he’s handsome. He evidently is though. The few more minutes on the tram pass in a soft, spellbound silence that has you catching his eyes every so often, smiling beside yourself. Your stop comes up. And as you begrudge the full cart at not being able to say something, making your way with soft apologies towards the doors, you notice in a slight surprise that the man moves too.
A shiver crawls up your back, one you can’t pin good or bad.
You slip off the vehicle with a little breath, getting out of the way of some other passengers, before a soft tap comes to your shoulder. You turn with a startle, having to throw your head all the way back to look up at the towering young man. His lashes are extra long from this angle, and eyes so rich and deep and all-consuming it takes you a moment to find your voice. “Yes?”
“Hey. I uh-” He rubs his large palm along the back of his neck, before running his fingers through his dark, chocolate brown curls. “I’m Matsukawa. And you're really pretty. At the risk of making myself look like a total idiot,” he grins down at you then, with the most handsome smile you’ve ever seen anyone slip onto their face, “could I get your name, and possibly your number?”
“Possibly my number, huh?”
He chuckles, and fishes out his phone from his back pocket to hand it to you. “Well, if you’re feeling charitable.”
+
You notice too quickly that Issei has a pull to him that is hard to shake. Charisma oozes out of him with each step, each glance your way, each smile. He’s got every waitress wound around his ring-clad fingers, and is deceptively good at getting his own way, even if he has to talk his way around a point. It’s endlessly amusing, with the way he casts you glances during dinner, over drinks, while talking to your friends who’re instantly smitten with him. It’s almost magical. Your friend tells you she’s jealous of you after only twenty minutes of meeting him, with a gentle smile on her face- and you can’t even blame her. Only agree, trying to keep down the grin that pulls at your lips.
And that’s why —maybe a little naïvely— you somehow expected the people he associates with, calls his friends, to be the same. Young, charismatic, smart with a tongue to match; this evidently isn’t what you get. The motley group before you is young men, older men, some handsome and others … definitely not. There are a few funny and boisterous, some deathly quiet— all of them already gathered in the dim bar before you and Issei arrive. All of them with eyes zeroed in on you from the second the brunet says ‘hi’.
You swallow. It’s not like you’re this shy recluse. You’re often able to match your boyfriend’s tone with just as much bite as he dares give you; and enjoy it. But something about being stuck like glue to his strong arm as the door falls shut behind you, takes all the joy out of it. This feels less like a friendly gathering, and more like a courtroom. You avoid most of the eyes as you choose instead to scan the bar, and you lean into Issei’s arm a little more. He’s oblivious of your thoughts, clearly, because he only smiles down at you to wave around. “These are the guys- well, some of them, at least.” He brushes his hands over your shoulders, and nods. “I’ll introduce you, everyone’s very excited to meet you. I have to admit that I maybe, sung your praises a little too loud.” His teasing should make you laugh. It would, under normal circumstances.
“... Alright,” is all you manage to say though, painting a friendly grin on as he parades you through the room and introduces you. Your heart still sinks a little when you shake hands with a man about twice your age, no matter how friendly he is.
+
Mattsun’s voice is that perfect, low rumble as he calls your name, and stares up at you from his splayed out position on the couch. “Hey, come back over here.” He jutts out his lip in an obnoxious pout, and makes grabby hands towards you like he’s a very oversized toddler. “Baby, come back to me~” You can’t help but smile, and grab your laptop to plop yourself down next to him. Your head rests onto his shoulder with a soft sigh, lazily continuing your work. It’s not easy to focus when your boyfriend blows little puffs of hair onto the crown of your head with a giggle though.
“Issei, please. I have to get this done.” You don’t sound nearly as stern as you wish you did, and he notices. And grabs hold of it easily, to pry his hand between your laptop and your thigh, to squeeze it hard enough to make you squirm. “Ouch,” you giggle, and look up to him, “not so hard, aw, aw.” You might complain, but you’re closing the tab all the same, giving in a little too easily to his poking and prodding. “What do you want?”
You expect a teasing smirk and a kiss maybe, or some thinly veiled comment about taking you here on the couch— but instead he stares for a long few seconds, then brushes his fingertips along your hairline to brush your locks away from your face. It’s awfully tender, as is the way he eyes you down like a prized jewel. Dark eyes exploring your features so intensely it makes you too aware of how close you two are sitting, curled up into his side and nose to nose. He blinks, mouth corners pulling up just a tad bit. “Did you think about what I asked you the other day?”
Fuck.
You go to pull away, sit back on your own pillow and drop the eye contact in favor of staring -now with much more interest- at the computer screen. Not this again. “I don’t know, Issei. I don’t think that I’d like that. It's not that I’m not up to trying things with you— I- I’d be more than happy to- It’s just- th—” You can’t bring yourself to really look at those deep, all-knowing eyes as you talk, but you really want to seem like you mean it. So you stare instead at his mouth. “This would be the first time I’m seeing some of your friends- and I’m not sure I’m even that much to look at—and-”
“I’d really like you to do it.”
It’s quiet in your apartment, apart from the gentle pounding of your heart between your ears. It’s quiet, and tense, and you dare finally look up to your boyfriend for a second to see how he sits so stoic, glacier-like beside you. Icy, and immovable. You can basically feel his displeasure radiate off of him. With a swallow, you lace your hands together on his thigh- you don’t want to upset him. You like Issei a lot, he’s a good boyfriend; even if he is a bit impatient on things he wants, or thinks he needs. “Babe, I’m just saying how it’d probably be better—”
“I don't know why you’re making it out to be something that’s so weird. I wanna see you enjoy yourself. I want other people to see you enjoy yourself because I think you’re beautiful, and you deserve it. But you don’t even wanna consider it, and you look at me like I’m some- some freak, for opening up to you. For even suggesting it.” His low voice is a little too sharp in the quiet of the house, he seems to notice it too, because he deflates a little. “I understand how you feel, I do, but— I don’t want you to think it’s weird…”
“But I don’t-”
“You do though, babe,” he says back, gripping your hands between his large, warmer ones. “I get why you’d say no. Because you feel like it’s weird, right? Like I’m pushing you into something? I’m not. And maybe I’m a bad boyfriend for asking, or a fucking weirdo- I don’t know-” He keeps going so fast you can’t even get a word in, eyes flicking from his face to the way he’s getting up from the couch now. You call his name, softly. But he’s not paying attention right now, letting go of you to pace around the room and staring resolutely down at the carpet. “Fuck, I’m… I messed it up, didn’t I? You think I’m a fucking weirdo now. I’ll leave. I’ll leave, that’s-”
“No, Issei—”
“I’m sorry, baby. I love you, I really do, but you don’t wanna do this and I shouldn’t even have brought it up. I know I shouldn’t have. I don’t mean to-”
“Issei!” You say now, biting your bottom lip as he finally, finally stops pacing the room to allow his eyes to rest on your slumped shape. Your eyes water up to have them all blurry by the time you look at him properly, wrapping your arms around yourself. It’s the first time he’s said he loves you. And though you don’t really believe in that being such a big deal, it is still enough to have your voice wobbly. “I don’t think it’s weird, I-” Your heart pounds a little too hard between your ears. But your tree of a boyfriend stands still to hear you out, so you bite through it. “W-we… I can try it.”
“No, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’ll leave for tonight and we don’t have to talk about it again.”
“I want to try it, okay?! I want to—” you end up snapping now, bottom lip shaking and your arms like a protective cocoon around your waist. Everything just happened in the span of a minute and a half, and you have to take a moment to fully process things. But you don’t get that time to think, because Issei’s already back by your side on the couch and grabs your chin to angle it towards his face. Whatever panic he was feeling earlier is completely gone from his face now, as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You can see how he tries to hold it back, but it still shines through a little.
“You promise?” He presses his hands to your shoulders as if to ground you, staring into your soul so intensely it gives you goosebumps all along your arms. Ground you, or keep you in place, you guess.
+
There’s a sudden commotion in the back of the lecture hall that spirals out of control quick. One second you’re listening to the professor and diligently taking notes, the next people are shoving into you. Your pen falls, and you slip off of the chair, before standing up to look at all of the noise that now breaks out. There’s people pushing and trying to slip out of the circle that has formed, and a buzz of hundreds of people breaking out into confused mumbling. The professor all the way at the bottom of the hall can only watch in complete confusion and ask what’s going on, but you’re closer.
Tens of students push past to get out of the way, but you hear a few braver guys stand and hold their ground. “You can’t just storm in, there’s a lecture going on,” you hear one say, and despite knowing better, you can’t help yourself. You raise yourself onto your tippy toes, like most people in your row are doing, and try to catch any movement.
But you wish you hadn’t.
The eyes you meet are familiar, and you instantly feel yourself move past some of the students to get closer. People glare at you as you shove past, the professor still asking everyone to sit back down— but you shove through anyway. When you manage to make it to the double doors people have gathered around at the very top of the auditorium, you’re finally allowed a better idea of what the Hell’s going on, and; your stomach flips.
Mizoguchi, a blond well into his thirties, is the first to spot you. Next to a brunet you also recognize, Kunimi, and a bunch of other men you definitely don’t. “There she is.” The older familiar man has a stern voice, and an equally stern look- as you look around behind yourself. But he stares at you with expecting eyes, and a short temper. “Get over here, what are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” you squeak back, face going hot like a furnace when people around you now angle their confusion and anger towards you as well, and you feel the hostility in the circle rise more as you’re shoved towards the front. “No, I— What is going on?!” All of the intruders stay quiet, and you notice with a mortified glance past the door, there’s at least a dozen of them. “Wh-”
“Matsukawa was expecting you an hour ago,” the quiet brunet you’ve only had two conversations with in the last three months gives you a dark look, before shrugging. But you can tell by the harsh set of his jaw he’s nowhere near as unaffected as he’s making it out to be, and your anxiety only doubles at the sight. “You didn’t show, so he got worried.”
Your cheeks must be steaming up the anxious sweat you’ve worked up from your total embarrassment— the entire hall full of students talking among themselves. It’s horrifying, and you take a few steps towards Kunimi to stare between him and Mizoguchi, the only two of Issei’s ‘friends’ here you know by name. “I told him I still had two hours of class left,” you hiss under your breath, and search your back pocket for your phone; only to freeze.
“Hey, lady, can you leave? We’ll call security,” one of the guys speaks up from behind you, as he glances impatiently at his watch and then back at the group of you.
“No, don’t call security,” you immediately beg, and then hold up your hands. What if you get expelled because of this mess? “I’ll leave, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, it’s a misunderstanding.” You don’t even care about your bag right now, deciding to come back for it after hours or- or something- anything but right here, right now. You’re the first to push past the doors, trying your very best to ignore the cold shivers when Kunimi and Mizoguchi stay right by your side with sharp glares, and the sound of an entire brigade of grown men turn and follow in toe. The murmuring of the lecture hall haunts you as you walk down the hall with wet eyes; until you finally make it outside. “Mattsun knows I still have class,” you breathe out, suddenly with a voice more tears than actual bite— anxiety catching up with you all at once.
“He told you to come back home thirty minutes ago,” Kunimi only says, and doesn’t bother to do more than place a hand on your shoulder before leading you to the parking lot. And though you shrug his hand off with as much vitreal as you can manage, he stays much too close by your side for you to ignore him like how you really want.
You slam the door behind you with so much force you hope it shatters.
Your frown is deep enough to ache your brow muscles, and your voice can barely keep back the fury you feel as you round on your boyfriend. Who’s simply lounging in a chair, as his lazy eyes scan you top to bottom. “I see you made it home in one piece,” he has the audacity to chuckle, and you— lose it.
“Are you joking, Issei?! You get upset at me for being in class- and instead of calling me, or- or anything else? Y-then- you send your knockoff knights of the round table after me?!” Your thoughts come tumbling out before you can breathe, let alone think. “And not even— not even one or two of them either, but a whole brigade of people I don’t even know? Do you know how embarrassed I am?!”
“Raise your voice at me again,” he stands from the chair in one fell swoop, and is before you in all his height and intimidating glory in two steps, “I dare you.”
Your hands ball into fists, but your tongue seems to melt to the bottom of your mouth. As he picks you apart in one look, as he brushes your now-unruly hair out of your face and appraises you like he likes to do. But for the first time, it feels less like he’s cherishing a rare diamond, and more like he’s staring down the hollow eyes of some prized cattle. He lets the tension dissipate with a soft chuckle though, and wraps his large hand around your head to pull you into his chest, forcing you into a hug. You’re not really sure if you want to be mad, or cry. Or maybe both. “You were embarrassed?” Despite his seeming glee at the sound, you sniffle as you lean into him, sadly nodding your head up and down against the coarse fabric of his sweater. And letting your tears dampen it.
“‘C-course I was, why’d you send people I don’t know to come get me?”
“I was embarrassed to show up, dummy.” He whispers it into your crown, dead toned. You can’t even tell if he’s being serious. “You’re such an idiot, y’know that? Getting mad at me, at the guys, even though you were late.” You let him wrap his long arms around you, and you don’t even really know why. Maybe because his flat feels a lot colder than yours, and because you really want comfort. You’re not sure. But your face is hot and your cheeks are thick as they race down and find Mattsun, who squeezes you tight. “Aw, baby. My baby. It’s okay, it’s fine. So what if people talk, hm? You don’t need ‘em anyway.”
He pulls up your face to meet his, those dark eyes glittering in the low light of the room, and leans his forehead against yours. Irises full of undying devotion. “You have me, and I’d never judge you for something so silly.”
+
He’s hot against your neck as you breathe through it, and your body is ragdolled around by the man above you. Issei’s hair is a fluffy mess, his voice and his groans making your brain all fuzzy as he ruts into you. He takes a sharp breath, then kisses you long and hard as he drives his cock into the soft, warm pouch of your pussy. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” The panting and the heat between you both is so hot, your chest and neck and back all coated in a thin layer of sweat as he brings you down onto his cock again.
You can only nod, and bob your head up and down a little dizzily. Issei’s grin is sharp in the darkness, but so pretty. He makes you feel pretty. Your nails are dug into his shoulders and though he hisses at it when he moves, it only makes him want to go harder— you can tell by the way his eyes flick all over your body and his one hand grabs one of your tits to squeeze. “You’re not gonna disappoint me. I know you won’t.” Another kiss, another breath into it that turns everything messy. You’re basically shaking with how close you are to coming on his cock again, and the low tremble of his voice isn’t helping.
“Right?”
“Yes, daddy! Yes, yes, yes! I’ll be good for you~”
But Issei grips your chin and forces your face back to his, and you can tell he means it when he speaks next. “You’ll be good for everyone tomorrow.”
+
Your hands are shaking despite yourself, blindfolded as you wait in the middle of them room on your knees. Your skin is electric, and the cami and panties you’re wearing do nothing to keep you warm in the otherwise cold room. A few mumbles and giggles catch your attention every once in a while, but you do your very best not to pay attention. If you pay attention, you’ll start overthinking, and if you start overthinking— you’ll freak out. Issei wouldn’t like it if you freaked out.
Your deeper, more rapid breathing doesn’t go unnoticed, because a large hand comes to the top of your head to gently play with your hair. “Hey, calm down.” It’s Makki; the strawberry blond who spent the better of an hour getting you pretty for the ceremony. He’s your boyfriend’s oldest friend, apparently- but you know he mainly served as a guard of sorts. You’re glad to have him nevertheless.
Makki sinks to your level on his heels, before slowly sliding his hand along your neck and rubbing slow circles there. “Take a breath, pretty girl, you’re all tensed up. Mattsun will be here soon, ‘kay?”
“Do we have to have the blindfold?” you slowly squeak out, and a few soft giggles come from the back of the room. Though they’ve been laughing for the past five minutes, this one feels particularly cruel. But Makki hums, his voice warm and soft as he leans in to hover over your ear.
“I think you’ll be glad for it.” You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean, only that it doesn’t exactly calm your nerves. You did promise Issei you’d do it, and it’d make him really happy. Or- would save you from further embarrassment maybe, because god knows his group of friends would jump at the opportunity to. You can basically feel them move around the room like hungry animals. You suppose Makki’s right. His hands are sweet when running down your arms, your thighs, putting you in a more comfortable position sitting back. He’s more quiet than normal when getting to your back, and slowly dips down to kiss the top of your spine with a deep breath. Then he lets out a noise of what you think is… excitement, and you stay totally unmoving under his touches.
You want to be good. You do, you really are trying your best— but why-
“Kunimi, come over here. You ready the things.”
There’s shuffling and walking, heavy steps that make your poor deprived brain even more on edge, before finally, Issei comes back. You can tell even by the way he walks, how the gravity in the room seems to shift all towards him. And he coos, walking up to you and allowing you to wrap your arms around his leg and nose at his knee. “Baby~ you look so pretty like this for us. So fucking soft.” He kneels before you, and though you can’t see him, you let yourself be led into a kiss, melting into the soft of his tongue, warm and familiar and tasting faintly of tobacco.
“Makki made you look so proper for us. It’s cute.” Then he gives you another kiss, and settles before you to move you up from the floor and into his lap, patiently situating you between his thighs. “Say ‘thank you, Makki’.”
“Thank you, Makki,” you mumble, starting to glow from the inside when the hands of your boyfriend start roaming along the edge of your panties to slide up into your shirt, drawing circles there. Somewhere in the room, Makki laughs, and hums softly.
“You’re very welcome, pet.”
The low voice then comes back, kissed over your ear as Mattsun’s hands move and slide the straps of your cami aside to let the fabric fall. “Now say ‘thank you, daddy’,” his growl doesn’t go unnoticed, hips rolled against you to give you shivers. His body is warm and solid against yours, muscular things, strong chest, hardening cock also being pressed to your body. His lips come down along your pulse to kiss there, and bite. You again parrot the words, and Issei chuckles softly against you. “That’s a good pet. Now baby, here’s what’ll happen.” There’s people that move again, at the instruction of Issei or Makki you assume, because there’s people everywhere. Behind you, surrounding the two of you on the mat, farther away too; it’s nerve wracking.
And a little exciting too, letting your boyfriend roll his hips into your puffy, covered pussy with a solid rhythm. “I’ll start you off, and I’ll finish you off too.” Another roll of his hips, and the thick length you still have barely gotten used to taking pushing into you as well. He squeezes your tits, before rubbing your perky nipples a few times and taking one of your tits into his mouth to suck and kiss. People around you makes noises, groans, grunts, belts unbuckling and the slow, familiar sound of fists wrapping around cocks that’s entirely distracting you, but it also makes you feel wet. You shuffle closer into Issei to get more of his touch, and to hopefully entice him to more touch. “But you will point, and whoever you pick will take care of you too, you understand?”
He laughs under his breath when you whisper his name and wrap your arms around his neck, quickly bringing them back down. “Who gets to fuck you is up to you, baby. All up to you.”
“Want daddy to.”
“Mhm, and I will, of course.” Suddenly there’s more hands on your body than just two, one wrapping around your wrists behind your back, one around your thigh, around your other thigh, one settling in your hair. Hands are everywhere, touching you all over. One even slips between your legs to peel the panties you’ve gotten all sticky aside, and you can only hope it’s Issei who chuckles and slides a finger between your lips, rubbing the wetness around your clit. “But before I’ll fuck you again, there’s just one little thing we need to fix. You see, because— some of the guys are… still a little upset with you.”
“I—”
Mattsun’s voice is amused as he leans in and shuts you up with a kiss, someone brushing your cheeks, someone slowly peeling the cami further down your body. A mouth comes to one of your tits and someone’s hands push further into your pussy and the loud, wet squelch of it spreading for the stretch of two thick fingers is almost too much to bear. There’s a heavy smell of aftershave, and all kinds of colognes you don’t recognize, and pants, and whispers— everything is so much. But Issei’s still kissing you slow and steady, and you force yourself to focus on that as your cunt’s stretched out with sloppy, scissoring motions.
“It’s an easy process, pretty thing,” you recognize Makki’s voice behind you as he trails a hand down your exposed spine and hooks his finger on the panties to slowly tear the lace apart. “Just a few little cuts… to prove that you belong to us now.” He laughs when you try to turn over your shoulder to look at him, pulling at your arms to break free. It obviously doesn’t budge, wrists only being gripped together tighter as you struggle a little. “Kunimi’s really good at doing a clean mark.”
“Wait, no— Issei, please.”
He, or someone else, shoves two fingers into your throat before you can say more, making you choke as another hand pulls at your head to expose more of your throat. Your clit is rubbed in circles and your head fuzzy as you’re lifted up and you can only hear Mattsun breathe before you, then head rustling of clothes being removed. There’s hands pawing at your tits as you’re hoisted up onto your legs and they’re spread wide apart, and your choked whimpers are discarded with all the spit and mess your body is creating. You try to cry out, but it’s of no use.
“Shhhh, play nice.” Issei presses a kiss to your nose, before the fingers are pulled out of your mouth and your head is pushed down more. And the heavy smell of Issei’s cock leaking precum is pressed to your lips, as people rub your clit, and suck your tits, and circle your asshole. “Be good for me, you promised, remember? Don’t make me upset now, baby.”
So I re-read Ava's Demon with my GF, Who is now my headcanon voice for Ava, and I remembered the interaction between Ava and Odin after she goes berserk at the Titan HQ, and I thought of an AU where instead of Ava drinking the vial, it's Gil!
Realistically I think if this were to happen in the comic, I think Ava would have to split up with Gil, and would probably be the one to find him in this form, but Ava x Gil is a ship I don't even wanna entertain the thought of existing...
Also, the description of Vial Gil here is based on a drawing I posted on my art account, @nauseous-narcissist
Rating:: 13+ // Teen
Fandom:: Ava's Demon
Themes/Kinks:: None
This Fic contains and Implies themes of::
Religion//Cults
Noncon//Kissing
If any of these themes trigger or offend you, you probably shouldn’t read this!
Please take care of ya self!
Odin's body ached and shivered.
There was a sickly smell in the air, a fusion of salt water and the coppery scent of blood.
As he began to wake up, he heard the sounds of waves crashing. He opened his eyes, he saw nothing but blue. He was surrounded by water.
He sprang up in shock, looking around.
The whole Titan HQ was flooded.
Foamy blue waves crashed against buildings and other structures. The few buildings that were left were covered in a strange pink coral, that had weaved its way into every crack and crevice.
Odin looked on in a mix of awe and horror.
What happened?
The only thing he could remember was a panic breaking out and water starting to flood into the room his sisters had taken him. He quickly looked down at his hands and saw they were freed from the cuffs they'd put on him.
That was a relief, but he was still stranded on top of a building. He was also concerned about the others.
Did they make it out alive?
Maggie had those weird vine powers, so she could've easily escaped or protected herself.
But Ava and Gil?
As Odin got lost in thought he heard a noise from behind him.
He quickly turned to see a giant coral structure, it was built like an old tree, each jagged pink branch weaving into the other. Odin looked up to see a figure sitting on one of the branches.
A survivor?
He walked closer to the edge of the building to get a better look.
He looked up again noticing the figure's blue skin and white hair.
"Gi-Gil?" Odin said aloud.
Despite speaking fairly quietly, the figure turned to face him, clearly hearing him.
That's when Odin saw it.
It was clearly Gil's face but...he looked different.
His irises were a glossy green, with pink pupils.
He had a pair of coral-shaped horns growing out of his head. Dark blue scales scattered on his face and body.
Swiftly Gil jumped down from his pink throne, landing gently in front of Odin.
This gave the purple-eyed boy a good view of his new attire.
Gil was shirtless, with golden armbands and a pearl necklace around his scaled neck. His pants were wide and poofy with golden anklets at the bottoms. He resembled a sea goddess Odin had heard of in his youth.
"Hello, Odin."
The blue-skinned boy said, with a broad, almost childish, grin.
"D-did you do a-all this?"
Odin asked clearly concerned.
"Yes..."
Gil replied bluntly.
"They all deserved to drown, sinners in followers' clothing need to be snuffed out."
His tone was weirdly cold.
His chipper and sweet demeanor was replaced with a silent almost gloomy persona.
"W-what are yo-you even talking ab-about?"
"All those people, none of them were worthy of Paradise, they were doomed to a life of sin and suffering. I did them a favor…I set them free."
He closed his eyes and smiled at his final words.
Odin stepped back a bit, Gil's green eyes staring right through him.
"...I know you're not a follower, I know I've never met you before now,"
He stepped closer causing Odin to back into a wall.
"But something about you feels so... Familiar."
Odin flinched as Gil rested his now-clawed hand on his cheek. Running his hand down his face and neck, then stopping at his chest.
Suddenly Odin's mouth met with a salty-sweet taste, as Gil leaned in to kiss him.
Odin couldn't move, Gil had trapped him in place.
His mind and heart were racing as he felt his face blush.
After a couple of seconds, Gil pulled away and smiled.
He then rested his head against Odin's shoulder.
"I know you feel the same about me. So tell me Odin, who am I to you?"
He whispered into Odin's ear before going silent.
Odin was about to respond when he heard a small snore. he looked over at the boy resting on his shoulder.
Did he really just fall asleep!?
Gil's snoring became more audible confirming this.
Odin sighed as he took the scaled boy into his arms, carrying him bridal style, as he went hunting for the others.
You came seeking peace. But Father Caelestis has been waiting—ready to crown you his divine bride in a paradise that was never meant to let you go.
[ PROGRESS ] Uploading Status: Completed | Story Status: Completed
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✧ Chapter One | The Pilgrim’s Arrival
You agree to the retreat just to quiet your friend, but the moment you pass through Eden’s Refuge, something shifts—too perfect, too serene, too wrong. And when Father Caelestis meets your eyes, you know this place isn’t about healing… it’s about control.
✧ Chapter Two | The Vessel Must Be Cleansed
You're stripped of your identity, handed a robe, and called “Mother” as rituals unfold around you—devout, invasive, and terrifying. While the others see salvation, you see captivity… and you begin to wonder how far they’ll go to make you believe.
✧ Chapter Three | A Garden Without Serpents
Trapped within an idyllic yet suffocating maze of devotion, you begin to question your reality—until a secret note shatters the illusion and sparks a desperate search for the truth. But as the garden closes in and your pleas are met with denial, doubt takes root in soil meant to sanctify.
✧ Chapter Four | The Trial in the Wilderness
You are stripped of time, self, and memory, tested in silence as Father Caelestis reshapes your mind with gentle cruelty. When the door finally opens, it is not freedom that awaits—but devotion masked as triumph, and a home you never chose.
✧ Chapter Five | The Bridal Offering
You are paraded like a sacred relic, laid bare beneath silk and scripture as Father Caelestis claims your body in the name of divine union. But in the hush that follows consummation, a hidden voice whispers the first truth: he is not who he says he is—and you are not alone.
✧ Chapter Six | The Breaking of Bread and Will
You breathe in the rose-thick air, the gate within reach—freedom close enough to touch—until Father Caelestis’s voice cuts through the silence, warm and terrible, pulling you back into the lie.
✧ Chapter Seven | Sanctified
You said yes to Father Caelestis, knowing he’d believe you—knowing it was the only way to run. But monsters who call their obsession love don’t let their brides go quietly. The veil is gone. The gate is breached. And now, his voice is chasing you through the dark.
Pairing: Yandere Preacher x Reader
Description: You came because your friend said it would help—just a quiet retreat, a place to clear your head. But from the moment you stepped through the gate, you felt it: the way Father Caelestis looked at you, not like a stranger, but like someone he'd been waiting for… someone he'd already claimed long before you ever arrived.
Warning/s: Yandere | Religious themes | Cult-ish | Brainwashing | Manipulation
Note/s: Here's the second part! Enjoy reading! I'll post something different tomorrow. Still working on it at the moment ^^
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Chapter Two | The Vessel Must Be Cleansed
“No holy fire burns without shedding ash.”
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The morning comes too quickly, dragging you into the present before you’ve had a chance to process anything about your first night. The chanting outside your window has stopped, but the silence that replaces it is worse—it’s thick and expectant, like the whole compound is holding its breath.
You sit at the edge of the bed, your fingers digging into the soft linen as you try to ground yourself in something tangible. But even the sheets feel foreign, their pristine white mocking the mess of thoughts tangled in your head. You’re not meant to be here. You don’t belong here.
A knock comes at the door, soft but insistent. Before you can respond, it swings open, and Grace steps inside with her ever-present smile, bowing her head in a gesture that feels more ritualistic than polite.
“Mother,” she says, her voice gentle yet carrying a weight that makes your stomach turn. “It is time.”
“Time for what?” you ask, your voice coming out sharper than intended.
She doesn’t flinch or even react to your tone. Instead, she sets down the bundle of white fabric in her arms—a robe, simple but pristine, its softness almost unnatural.
“For you cleansing,” she says simply, as though that explains everything.
Grace moves with practiced efficiency, collecting your belongings one by one without hesitation. Your phone, your wallet, the chain around your neck—everything disappears into her hands as if it never belonged to you.
“Wait,” you say, panic rising as she reaches for the chain.
“You won’t need this anymore,” she replies, her tone patient but unyielding.
“It’s mine,” you protest, though the words feel weak even to your own ears.
Grace’s smile softens, and she places a hand lightly on your arm—a gesture meant to comfort, but only amplifies your discomfort. “It was yours,” she says, correcting you gently. “But you are Mother now. You are ours.”
The robe feels heavy in your hands when she passes it to you, its fabric cool against your skin. You hesitate, staring at it as if touching it might burn you.
“Wear this,” Grace instructs, her tone carrying an edge that makes it clear refusal is not an option.
When she finally leaves, you sit motionless for what feels like an eternity, the robe pooling in your lap. Every part of you wants to resist—to push back against whatever this is—but your will feels fractured, the weight of their expectations pressing down on you from all sides.
You put it on.
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
At breakfast, the silence is suffocating. The congregation sits in neat rows, their hands folded in their laps and their head bowed. The air is thick with expectation, and every pair of eyes in the room is fixed on you.
You hesitate at the center table, staring down at the untouched plate in front of you. Bread, fruit, and water—simple enough, yet the act of eating feels monumental under their gaze.
“You must eat,” Mia whispers from beside you, her tone firm but filled with reverence. “The Vessel must sustain herself before she can sustain others.”
The title—Vessel—makes your stomach churn. It feels wrong, like it doesn’t belong to you.
“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, your voice barely audible.
Mia’s hand rests lightly on your arm, her touch steady and grounding. “You don’t understand now,” she says softly, “but you will. Trust me.”
You take a small bite, and a ripple of movement sweeps through the room. The congregation begins eating in unison, their movements precise, almost ritualistic. The silence persists, broken only by the faint sound of chewing.
“They adore you,” Mia murmurs, her voice trembling slightly. “You are their hope, their salvation. You are what we’ve all been waiting for.”
You clench your fists under the table, the pressure grounding you in the only reality you can hold onto—that this is wrong, all of it.
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The summons comes shortly after breakfast. Grace leads you to Father Caelestis’s chambers, her hands clasped tightly as she walks ahead. Mia is at your side, her touch light but ever-present, as though she fears you might bold.
His chambers are larger than you expected, lined with scripture and flickering candles that cast distorted shadows across the walls. The scent of incense hangs heavy in the air, making it hard to breathe. At the center of the room sits Father Caelestis, his robe flowing around him like a liquid light.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the low stool before him.
You hesitate, but Mia’s hand nudges you forward. Reluctantly, you obey, your movements stiff and defiant.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with authority.
“Because my best friend won’t take no for an answer,” you reply flatly.
His lips twitch into a faint smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your friend merely guided you. The true call came from within, whether you realize it or not.”
You scoff, the sound brittle in the quiet. “I don’t feel called. I feel trapped.”
His gaze sharpens briefly, a flicker of steel beneath his calm exterior. “The world blinds us with false freedoms,” he says. “It tells us lies about what it means to be whole, to be fulfilled. But here—here you can listen. Here you can heal.”
“Heal according to you?” you retort, your voice sharper now.
“Not according to me,” he murmurs, “but according to the divine truth. The truth you’ve always known but were too afraid to embrace.”
You stare at the flickering candlelight, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t feel destined for anything,” you mutter.
He rises then, his movements slow and deliberate, his presence growing heavier with each step. He circles you like a predator sizing up its prey.
“That’s the poison of the world still clinging to you,” he says. “But even the most soiled souls can be cleansed. Even the most broken vessels can be repaired.”
You flinch as his hand brushes your shoulder, his touch light but intrusive.
“Stop,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.
He withdraws, but the intensity of his presence remains. He crouches in front of you, his piercing gaze locking onto yours.
“You are afraid,” he says softly. “But fear is the final barrier to enlightenment. Let me help you break through it.”
Your jaw tightens, your fists clenching in your lap. “I don’t need your help,” you say firmly.
For a moment, his composure falters, a flicker of frustration breaking through his serenity. But then it’s gone, replaced by an almost paternal patience.
“You will see,” he says, rising to his full height. “The Vessel always resists at first. But the Light is patient. I am patient.”
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The rituals intensify as the days pass. Holy baths, hand-fed communion, whispered prayers muttered at your feet—each act feels like a theft, stripping away pieces of yourself bit by bit.
The baths are the worst. Grace’s hands move over your skin with practiced precision, her touch mechanical and devoid of humanity. The warm water feels suffocating, the fragrant oils clinging to your skin as she murmurs soft prayers.
“The world left its mark on you,” she says, her tone steady. “But we will wash it away. Slowly, lovingly.”
You want to scream, to push her away, but the weight of her reverence makes you feel powerless.
And then comes the prophecy.
Father Caelestis stands at the center of the candlelit hall, his voice rising and falling like a hymn as he speaks of purity, of salvation, of you.
“The Vessel must be cleansed before she can carry the Light made flesh,” he says, his gaze burning with a fervor that chills you to your core. “She will bring us salvation. She will deliver us from the corruption of the world. Through her, we will be reborn.”
The congregation erupts into chanting, their voices swelling into a cacophony of devotion that reverberates through the room.
“Mother, guide us!”
“Mother, cleanse us!”
“Mother, save us!”
You stand frozen at the center of it all, their faith crashing over you like waves. Mia is at your side, her grip firm, her expression alight with zeal.
“Trust him,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “He knows what’s best for you.”
But you don’t trust him. You don’t trust any of them.
You take a deep breath, your nails digging into your palms as you anchor yourself in the only truth you know:
You are not their ‘Mother’. You are not his Vessel. You are not broken.
Pairing: Yandere Preacher x Reader
Description: You are stripped of time, self, and memory, tested in silence as Father Caelestis reshapes your mind with gentle cruelty. When the door finally opens, it is not freedom that awaits—but devotion masked as triumph, and a home you never chose. Warning/s: Yandere | Dubcon | Sexual Coercion | Power Imbalance | Psychological Manipulation | Grooming | Emotional Distress | Gaslighting | Implied Past Abuse | Implied Past Disappearances.
Note/s: Enjoy reading! Chapters 6 and 7 are available on my ko-fi (it's currently locked and only accessible to supporters ^^).
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Chapter Five | The Bridal Offering
“The vessel must open to receive divine will.”
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The hush in the ceremonial hall is absolute, the kind of silence that listens back. Even the candle flames seem reverent, flickering low as you are led between rows of kneeling worshippers.
Grace whispers prayers under her breath, her fingers brushing against yours now and then—not as comfort, but as control. Every step you take echoes faintly off the chamber’s stone floor, a slow procession beneath archways veiled in incense smoke and woven gold.
At the far end of the hall, under an altar canopy drenched in candlelight, he waits.
Father Caelestis is radiant.
Gone are the plain robes, the soft linen tunics. Tonight, he wears divinity like armor—golden silk clinging to his body with reverent precision, a mantle of embroidered fur cast over his shoulders, a circlet resting like a halo on his brow. His eyes find you across the distance, and for a moment, the fervent hush in the hall collapses into stillness, like ever breath has been suspended for this moment.
He reaches for you as you are presented to him, his fingers lifting the sheer veil from your head. “Look at you,” he murmurs, and his voice is lower than usual—hoarse, intimate, like he’s seeing something he’s longed for in a thousand dreams. “Ordained by heaven. You are anointed, beloved. Every inch of you was written before time began.”
You want to flinch, to pull back, but his touch lingers at your cheek and all you manage is a shallow breath. He cups your face and leans close enough for your noses to nearly brush. “You don’t yet understand what you are to me,” he whispers, reverent and feverish all at once. “But you will.”
He turns to you to face the congregation, placing both hands on your shoulders.
“This is the hour,” he proclaims. “The divine vessel has endured purification and emerged worthy. She shall receive the light in its fullness. We—we—shall witness the first union of the New Covenant.”
The congregation erupts. Chants rise like a wave, voices breaking in ecstatic fervor. You feel your body tremble, not from the cold—but from the suffocating pressure of belief, the weight of a hundred eyes weeping in joy over something they were never allowed to choose.
You aren’t led away. You are given.
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
The inner sanctum glows like the womb of a temple.
The walls are curved, womb-like. Golden silk hangs from the ceiling in soft layers, and oil lamps cast a honeyed glow that shimmers over the stone. In the center of the room, beneath a canopy of trailing light, is a bed—low to the floor, covered in sheets the color of ash and fire. It is not a marriage bed. It is a shrine.
Caelestis steps behind you, his hands easing over your shoulders, down the length of your arms.
“I’ve waited long enough,” he says against your ear, his voice stripped of the sermon’s pomp, lowered to something rawer. “They told me to be patient. They said you’d resist. But I knew. I always knew.”
He turns you in his arms and kisses your forehead, then your temple, then the hollow beneath your jaw. The softness of it undoes something in you. Not because you want it—but because it’s so practiced. So… rehearsed. Like he’s performed this moment in his mind a thousand times, and every kiss is hitting its mark.
“I have loved you long before you ever looked at me,” he breathes, tugging the golden gauze from your shoulders with agonizing slowness. “Before you were even born, I carried the shape of your soul inside mine. Don’t you feel it?”
Your breath shudders as the fabric slips past your breasts. You try to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently and lifts them over your head.
“Do not hide from me,” he whispers. “You are holy in my sight. Every part of you is a prayer made flesh.”
He lays you on the bed like an offering.
The gauze is stripped away completely now, your skin bare to the air, to his eyes, to his hands. He kneels at the edge of the mattress and runs his palms up your thighs, slow and firm, then parts them without asking.
His eyes devour you.
His lips find the inside of your knee first, then the soft skin of your inner thigh, and then higher. “This,” he murmurs, “is where the Divine enters the world. Through you. Through this.” His mouth presses reverently between your legs, and your whole bloody jolts at the sensation.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not chaste.
It’s worship.
Tongue and lips, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips lift from the mattress. He groans against you like he’s hungry, like feeding from your pleasure is the final rite.
And when you moan—when your fingers tangle in his hair—he pulls back, breathless eyes glazed.
“I need you open to me,” he says, crawling up your body, kissing each rib, each curve, until he’s between your legs again, now upright, poised. His robe falls away. You glimpse his body for the first time—starved, scarred, hard. A body forged inn control and tempered by obsession.
When he pushes inside you, it’s with one slow thrust that stretches you around him. Your gasp is met with a low groan as he sinks deeper.
“Yes,” he whispers, like the word has been burning on his tongue for years.
He doesn’t move at first. Just breathes. Buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, he holds you like you’re both drowning and you’re the only air that exists.
Then he begins to thrust.
Not gently. Not harshly. But with purpose. Each motion controlled, intentional, his hips rolling into you with a rhythm that feels ancient, ritualistic.
“Take me,” he groans. “Take all of me. Let me fill you with light.”
You try to look away, but he grabs your chin and holds your gaze. “No more hiding,” he pants. “You belong to me. Body, soul, eternity.”
His pace quickens. You feel him everywhere—hands on your hips, mouth at your throat, teeth catching at your shoulder as he breathes your name like a benediction.
You come undone before he does.
The climax rips through you with a cry that’s half pleasure, half grief. He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, holding you down, chasing his own peak as you tremble beneath him.
When he finally spills into you, his body jerks once, hard, and he clutches you to his chest.
A breathless whisper at your ear: “Now we are one.”
• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •
Much later, he sleeps beside you.
He’s curled around your body, one arm heavy across your waist, the other tangled in your hair. His face is peaceful. Boyish.
You slip from the bed on shaky legs and pad across the room, your body aching in too many places to name. The candlelight is low now. A faint hum still lingers in your ears, like the ghost of a hymn.
And that’s when you see it.
A small flash of silver beneath the bedframe.
You kneel, fingers closing around it—a voice recorder, dusty but still warm from the faint heat of machinery.
You press play.
A trembling voice crackles to life.
“If you hear this… please… get out. It’s not what it seems. He lied. He lied to all of us. He made me disappear. I—I think I’m next. You don’t understand. He’s not—he’s not who he says he is—”
The tape cuts off.
You stare at the recorder, your heartbeat deafening in your chest.
