Sade Olutola
pixel skylines
Cosimo Galluzzi
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d e v o n
izzy's playlists!
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we're not kids anymore.
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roma★
EXPECTATIONS
if i look back, i am lost
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official daine visual archive
shark vs the universe
Product Placement
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
noise dept.
seen from Netherlands
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@woeisbutwoe
Sherlock and Molly - The Closest to Love
Is it very awful that I believe, despite The Final Problem, Sherlock will still only confront his feelings Molly when it's too late?
When he's standing at the foot of his grave, saying goodbye to the woman he came the closest to loving- the way all those other goldfishes do?
And he would not cry or mourn for the time he lost but he would cry that the world is now, once more, bereft of Molly Hooper?
That he is bereft of her?
Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin as Friedrich and Anna Harding in a Deleted Scene | Nosferatu (2024)
Christian Bale as Alfred Borden in The Prestige (2006) dir. Christopher Nolan
How many people’s most beloved childhood stuffed animals are actually teddy bears, like I feel like that’s a thing someone made up. Reblog this and put what your longest owned and/or favorite stuffed animal as a child was in the tags, inquiring minds want to know
Hi guys, i havent seen the movie yet, but you know… Spoilers. And since they only gave us a few miserable seconds of the the tower on screen, so i leave my versión here.
Part 1!!
@fuckyeahrobrae
Teen Titans GO! ↳ Demon Prom
I know most of the fandom robrae is inactive but i felt i should post here I tried to put the entire robrae relationship in this video, from simple interactions to crucial moments and organize them in the best possible way
Scorned
Friedrich Harding x Reader
Summary: With no possibility of a future with your lover, you make the decision to stop letting him break your heart.
warnings: Non-con, mentions of loss of virginity, obsession, forbidden relationship, power imbalance
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
♱
Friedrich Harding was a man who earned many compliments—he was a man of integrity, a man with wealth, and a man greatly respected in society. You personally had a few lesser known compliments for the dark-haired gentleman such as his caring demeanor and gentle touch and prowess in bed. It was something that only you had the pleasure of knowing. At least, that was what you were assured, and you chose to believe him for he was a man of integrity.
Under the cover of darkness when you should have been asleep or even during earlier hours when he should have been using valuable time to find a suitable wife, Friedrich preferred to refresh his memory of what it felt like to touch you and taste you and find solace inside of you. The years-long friendship between Thomas and Friedrich made the former none the wiser to the true cause of the latter’s frequent visits over the past year. Your life was not the only one to be changed the moment you were taken in as a maid for the Hutter family.
Friedrich would spend every waking moment breathing you in and finding relaxation in your warmth if he had the choice, and you knew this because he told you so. He was, after all, an honest man. He told you how beautiful you were every time the thought crossed his mind and he told you about every time he thought of you while he was away and he told you how harder it was becoming to stay away from you. He was very honest…even when you wished that he would not be.
“You had to know that no other answer is possible…”
Those baby blues of his were heavy—with sadness or shame, you did not know, only that you yourself felt a bit of both. It was a silly thing to ask him one day—if he ever thought of marrying you—and truthfully you did not know what answer you were possibly expecting. Of course Herr Harding could not ever marry you. You were a maid, a servant—not much better than property in some places—and the gentleman that you had grown to care for needed a wife of good standing…a wife that many would envy him for.
You were neither of those things.
Asking him such a thing only succeeded in making things tense for you two for a few moments and breaking your own heart, but that was quickly remedied when he told you not to think of such things before pressing his lips to yours. His manor only housed one, and so you were not so cautious in how you responded to him once he got his hands on you.
His lips did not stray from your face once as he slowly and gently curved his hips into yours, pushing his cock into you with a pace that he knew you loved. Nothing drove you crazier more, and you loved the sounds that escaped his lips whenever you grazed your fingers over his skin and pressed your nails into his naked back. The only time that you were not a maid and he was not a man out of reach was during these stolen moments, when he was inside of you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear and telling you that you were his.
Only…
You were not his.
He had made that clear to you. You were not his and he was not yours, and while it was never spoken of again, you moved forward with that in mind no matter how much it broke your heart day after day. You did not take words said in the heat of the moment to heart, and never did you ever think to.
“You did not come to me last night…”
The whispered words were said to you in a dimly lit hallway, Thomas’ family just in the sitting room and oblivious to your coupled absence. The dark-haired man had cornered you, his blue eyes hardly leaving your person from the moment he stepped into the house, so some part of you had expected it. With him so close—his warmth reaching out for you and the scent of him surrounding you—it was hard to remember why you had left his bedside cold the previous night. You took a deep breath before racking your brain for the truth.
“I did not think it was wise.”
Friedrich looked between your eyes for a moment before a light chuckle left him, his perfect teeth winking at you as he clearly found your response comical.
“When has it ever been…?”
He reached for you as he said this, but you were quick to grab his hand and halt his pursuit. The frown that knitted his brow was a rare sight—Friedrich hardly being the kind of man who was faced with a refusal from anyone—and you almost felt bad.
“Perhaps that is reason enough that I should have never warmed your bed to begin with,” you quietly told him, and you did not miss the way his face fell. “You must marry and have sons…and not only will that never be with me, but the longer this continues the longer you put it off.”
The man before you stared at you as if you were speaking another language, and when your words finally sank in, he straightened, staring at you in a way you had never been on the receiving end of before.
“It is not your place to worry about such things,” he said, making you bristle. “You let me worry about my affairs.”
You were not stupid. You could see that Friedrich was thinking and feeling way too many things than he was used to in this moment as the implications behind your words were finally starting to hit him, but it did not make his words sting any less.
“No, it is not my place to worry about your affairs,” you agreed. “...but it is my place to worry about mine.”
He was still as you slid from between him and the wall, his gaze stuck on you as you abandoned him in more ways than one. Refusing to sleep with Friedrich any more was no easy decision to make, even harder to execute. The man had introduced you to a world you wondered if you would ever be privy to, and he had made you feel things that made you shudder to think about even now, but you were tired of breaking your own heart day after day.
“I do not want any letters from you and do not seek me out. I no longer want that…”
Before your former lover could respond, you were rejoining the family who employed you. You ignored his gaze when he returned and throughout dinner and most especially as he was leaving. It was no easy feat because Friedrich had the kind of presence that was hard to ignore, and that was true in more ways than one.
Despite how many times you dreamt of the man in the weeks that followed, you told yourself that bittersweet memories were infinitely better than accepting the affections of someone who could never be yours. One day he would be married—guarantee—and maybe one day you would be too—not so much of a guarantee—and Friedrich was an honest man, yes, but it felt insulting to him to think that he might not possess the kind of strength required to never seek you out once he took a wife. You surely liked to think so, but the man himself had told you many times that he found it difficult to stay away from you.
…and he was no liar.
Despite your wishes, letters were still slipped beneath your door, waiting for you at the end of the day when he had long left and you were retiring for the night. Each one went unopened, too afraid of what you might do should you read what he had to say all the while imagining that smooth voice of his. In fact, none of your wishes were met, cornered by the blue-eyed man again and again.
“Friedrich…”
You nervously looked past his broad shoulders, your inability to hold his gaze bringing him great frustration.
“Forgive me for I believed that this was merely some tantrum, some lapse in thought brought on by fear or inadequacy or…”
He trailed off, seemingly unable to gather his thoughts as his eyes roamed your face.
“Friedrich, I have made my feelings clear to you,” you spoke before he could gather himself to do so again. “Leave me be.”
Your attempt to get away was stopped, and your wide eyes rested on his face. There was a deep frown on it, and the facial hair above his lip twitched as his fingers pressed into your arms.
“Have I not told you time and time again that you are mine? That I cannot be without you?”
“Words said while I was warming your bed,” you pointed out, the attitude in your tone clear. “Now it is you who will have to forgive me for not taking them seriously.”
You tried to slip away again.
“So, you thought I said them in jest? That they were not meant to be believed?”
He sounded incredulous, and you took that moment to finally break free.
“It is irrelevant,” you hissed. “Please, leave me be!”
Your voice slightly echoed, and you were quick to stride away from him lest someone come looking for you.
As it turns out, the only person who you ever had to worry about looking for you was your spurned lover. You did not know if his shameless behavior was scarier than if he had preferred to remain discreet. Gathering groceries for the Hutters was a shadowed task and every room you cleaned turned into a hiding place every time he came over.
Your dreams about the man who you had once thought you loved turned into nightmares.
…and those nightmares turned into reality.
“So, this is where you hide whenever you so much as hear my voice…”
His hands were on your face, and your lower back was pressed against a side table as he finally found you one day. Friedrich looked as distinguished as always, but his eyes…something about those eyes gave way to the disarray within him. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, and there was a pout on his own lips as he ran his eyes along your face.
“I have written to you,” he forced out.
“...and I have asked you not to.”
The man before you swallowed at that, and his fingers pressed harder into your skin.
“Have you read them?” he finally asked, and your resolute silence must have been answer enough because you did not miss the way his eyes dimmed and his face fell.
Friedrich was normally so composed and dignified, so to see him in such a way was not only fascinating…but also terrifying. A once predictable man had become anything but, and you did not know what to expect from him.
“Has your heart truly grown so cold towards me?” he murmured, a plea in his gaze, and you felt compelled to be truthful in your answer.
“No,” you whispered. “...but I know what I want, and you cannot give it to me, so why go on pretending otherwise?”
You wrestled yourself from his grip with difficulty, and when Friedrich reached out to you, you stepped away, his fingers grazing the fabric of your dress as you did so.
“If you ignore my wishes again…” you took a deep, shuddering breath. “...I fear that you might never find me should you seek me out.”
You did not miss his stricken gaze as you left him, and despite what you wanted, it still hurt to see. You loved working for the Hutters, and perhaps you shared some blame in getting involved with a man who was so closely intertwined with them, but Friedrich had become an overbearing presence that would force you to find employment elsewhere if need be. He did not respect any boundary you attempted to put in place, and that made you feel terrified in a place you once felt so safe in.
He consumed your every waking thought—and not in a way that was pleasing—and perhaps that was why you found yourself touching the pile of letters you swore you would never open. But open them you did, one by one, and each letter grew more worrying than the last. The first was mild in comparison, mostly filled with declarations of desire to be near you and the odd jest here and there about what he had wrongly assumed was some temporary break.
Each one after talked less and less about love and any other gentle feelings and more about the need to never be without you and the ramblings of a man whose thoughts were far from coherent. Words like ‘consume’ and ‘torture’ and ‘despair’ stood out the most, and as you read every one, you had not even realized that you had begun to tremble. The parchment in your hands was shaking, and the cold that gripped you had nothing to do with the weather outside.
So much of what he had written was not all that different from the things Friedrich would whisper in your ear in the dead of night when he was pinning you beneath him and gently biting your flesh and parting your legs to make room for him. So many things that he would say in passionate moments were not at all anything you ever thought to take to heart. After all, how could you possibly expect to believe that he would never want to be away from you when he told you in no uncertain terms that he would never marry you?
For days those letters haunted you, and you struggled with how best to proceed. You did not relish the thought of leaving, but Friedrich—while a well respected gentleman—was a man who often and almost always got what he wanted. You did not know if the hold he wanted to have over you was because he truly loved you or because he felt that being your first meant something more or because…you were simply denying him something he wanted.
All scenarios scared you, and while you were fretting over the unnerving words that never left your thoughts, a storm ravaged your coastal town.
A storm that stranded Herr Harding under the same roof where you laid your head.
Some part of you expected him to give into his temptations.
“I do not know if you think me fickle or you just do not take anything I say seriously…”
You quietly trailed off, shaking your head and moving away from him as the heavy rain pelted against your window. The bad weather kept the rest of the house unaware of the argument going on beneath their very roof.
“...but I told you-.”
“Where do you think you can go that I will not follow?”
His words stumped you, and a flash of lightning brightened the room for a moment before it was bathed in the warm glow from your candles once again. His bright eyes stood out in the low lighting, but you swore that the more you stared into them, the darker they grew. The silence between you was thick with tension, and you felt your throat tighten at the predicament you found yourself in.
“Friedrich,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Please…”
“You break my heart, and you are the one begging?”
When he moved closer, you stood your ground despite your fear.
“Your heart?” you gasped. “You tell me that you will never marry me, and you do not think that broke mine? That day after day of being with you while knowing that did not continue to do so?”
You watched as he pressed his lips together, jaw clenching at your words.
“Friedrich…you must marry…and you have no intention of making me your bride. Are you telling me that the respectable and honorable Herr Harding had it in mind to keep me on as some shameful mistress? Hardly more than some whore?”
Your tone was thick with incredulity, and the dark-haired man had no response, only looking away with a huff.
“Or did you simply never think that far?”
“That day is nowhere along the horizon-.”
“Of course, you did not think that far,” you sighed, interrupting. “You are a man. There is no such thing as ‘ruin’ for you. Of course, you do not care.”
“Never speak such things,” he spat, cornering you. “Of course, I care.”
“You care, and yet you have never concerned yourself with what will become of me after you have taken a wife. You care, but you ignore my every wish to be free of you, to move on from you…”
“...because I cannot-.”
He cut himself off, hands placed on your cheeks as he stared at you.
“...because I cannot bear the thought,” he eventually said, pushing the words out through his teeth. “The mere thought of you with another tempts me to do unspeakable things.”
Those words caused a shudder to crawl down your spine, not unfamiliar with them as you recalled reading those exact words on a piece of parchment. His thumbs brushed along your skin, and when he moved closer, your stomach twisted into knots.
“Do you even grasp the insanity that would send me into?”
“Does that seem fair to you? That you must move on one day while I remain here right where you would prefer me?”
“I will never be able to move on from you, what about that do you not understand?”
You looked away from him, and Friedrich touched the tip of his nose to your temple, breathing you in.
“You speak of things that simply make no sense, Friedrich. It seems that I am the one who has to be reasonable yet again…”
“...and how do you plan on doing that? By leaving?”
The silence was loud, and you stumbled out from between him and the wall the moment his hands trailed further down to your shoulder and arm. He softly called your name as you turned your back to him, twice, then a bit louder on the third time.
“I will not allow it,” he harshly whispered, a hand circling your wrist. “Surely, you know that.”
His other hand dug into your waist, pulling you against him.
“I saw the letters on your bed table,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I know you read them. I know that you know what you mean to me.”
“Let go of me,” you breathed.
“That will only happen if you manage to make me,” was his mocking response, and your heart skipped a beat at his words. “If I leave you tonight, I worry that I shall never hold you again.”
His soft lips swallowed whatever you were going to say, and as you went to push him away, he pinned your arm between you.
“I refuse to be without you,” he murmured into the kiss, one hand firm on the small of your back and preventing you from getting away.
Wind whipped rain and leaves against the window, and the thunder carefully hid your fearful yelp as his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck. His facial hair brushed against your skin, and you shuddered from the familiarity of it. Every attempt to break free from him was thwarted, and you had half a mind to wake the entire house, but you feared the consequences for you should the discovery of such a scene get out.
The man before you would go on fine as if nothing happened.
You, on the other hand, would be lucky to find another decent place of employment…let alone a husband.
Friedrich was unlike anything you had ever experienced, acting so unlike himself as he forced you to go and move in whatever direction he wished. Your panic only began to set in when you found yourself on your bed, a place that had seen your coupling numerous times, but tonight would be different.
Nothing about tonight would be loving.
The sound of ripping fabric made your heart jump, and when Friedrich’s lips wrapped around one of your breasts, you could not hold in your gasp. His other hand slid between your thighs as it had a hundred times, and every push against his chest was useless. You were focused on too much at once—trying to get his lips off of you and his fingers out of you.
When he curved them into you and circled his tongue on your skin, you faltered.
What followed played out just as you expected it to.
The strong man—whose strength you had once admired—was not deterred at all by any hit or scratch or punch you gave him. He murmured many things against your skin as he released himself, pinning your writing frame between him and your bed. Some of it was loving words that you were not at all unfamiliar with, and some of it was reminiscent of the more unnerving things he had put into his writing to you.
“I told you that I cannot resist you,” he whispered, slowly thrusting into you in the way he knew you liked.
It made your stomach churn, now.
“Every time I am inside of you, you bear witness to every confession I make…”
His fingers threaded through your own against your will, pinning your hand to the bed as he held it. His lips pressed opened mouthed kisses against the expanse of your neck, your tearful gaze on the ceiling as your lashes fluttered. Every time he sank into you, your stomach tightened.
He kissed you again, forcing you to move your mouth against his as he tasted the inside of yours. Your free hand unconsciously trailed along his arm, forgetting for a brief moment that this was not like all the other times you snuck away or was lowered onto his bed. Friedrich kisses you intensely, his hips moving against yours with the same intensity, and it made your toes curl.
“Tell me that you shall never leave me,” he gently demanded.
When you could not give him the answer he wanted, his gaze met your tearful one. If there was any guilt within him for his actions then it was not present in his eyes at all. Those blue eyes of his shone like you suspected yours did, the candlelight reflecting in his tearful gaze.
“Must I make it so that you never can…?”
The ominous nature of his words were not lost on you, and a million different scenarios filled your mind.
“You speak of ruin, now…but I imagine that whisperings of the true nature of our relationship would really ruin you…”
Your wide eyes did not look away from his, and you wondered if he was even capable of what he was saying. Friedrich would not—he was a good and honorable man—and even he did not look like he believed himself capable of what he was threatening. However, you remembered your current position and that a good and honorable man would never put you in such a place. His train of thought seemed to be on the same track as yours, and you watched as he mentally resolved himself to whatever he had to in order to keep you.
“Perhaps a delicate condition…”
You dug your nails into his skin, a few tears spilling over, and for the first time in months, you saw uncertainty in his gaze.
“Friedrich…you wouldn’t…”
He swallowed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your still lips.
“Then do not make me…”
Your lips trembled as he lifted his head and brushed his fingers over your mouth, a deep frown on his handsome face.
“I refuse to be without you,” he choked out. “You have already driven me to the lowest of moral character.”
You flinched as if he had slapped you, and he wiped a few tears away.
“Do not make me sink so low again, I beg you,” he breathed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.
He remained there and circled his arms around you as he continued to gently sink his cock into you, and too afraid to say anything but what he wanted to hear, you hesitantly nodded.
“Okay,” you shakily whispered. “I shall never leave you.”
The only response you got was a passionate kiss.
The Ghost of Harding Manor
Friedrich Harding x Reader
Summary: Your marriage is haunted by the ghost of the wife who came before you, and the walls of Harding Manor bear witness to your husband's descent into madness.
warnings: Dub-Con, loss of virginity, obsession, unsure if stalking counts if it takes place in your own home, implied chronically ill!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
♱
You were not Anna.
You were reminded every day from the moment you wed Friedrich Harding and became his missus that you were not Anna. Anna who was perfect and said the right things and walked the right way and was a walking temptation to the man she called her husband. Anna who—even in death—called to Friedrich from beyond and was nearly successful if it were not for strong hands and strong voices keeping the dark-haired man from throwing himself into her coffin with her. Anna who was well on her way to giving your husband a third child.
Anna whose touch still lingered in this home and along these walls and in the long dead flowers that Friedrich refused to throw out.
Anna who haunted you much more than she haunted your new husband.
Illness had not just taken the angelic beauty, but her three children with her, one never even getting the chance to take his first breath. In your solitude, you sometimes thought that you did not know what was worse—their two daughters remaining and forcing you to fill the void the other woman left in multiple lives…or your life as it were as you were forced to give Friedrich a whole new family and reason for existing.
You knew from the moment you became betrothed that you had a heavy vacancy to fill…but it seemed that Friedrich had no intention of you filling it.
“He does not touch me, mother.”
The words were whispered in the quiet home one day, and you looked around, ignoring the feel of the older woman’s gaze in favor of imagining what this house must have been like before the tragedy. You imagined how loud it must have been with two animated little girls running around. You imagined how good Friedrich must have been with them, and thoughts of Anna welcoming him home with a kiss and her arms full made your heart sink.
You were not her.
The advice of your mother went into one ear and out the other. You had long accepted that you were a poor replacement that Friedrich could hardly stand to look at. You were alone on your wedding night and again the night after that and the night after that. You were always alone, and the few glimpses that you got of your husband since the wedding day only proved fruitful in your gazes meeting for a stolen moment…and then he was gone again.
You were always alone, and he was always gone…
Until the morning you would not rise from your bed.
The fever struck you in the night, and by the time morning came you felt weighed down by sand. Any strength you had was used to keep your breathing as even as possible, unable to even muster an attempt to open your eyes and tell your cold husband that you were well. Conversations swirled around your head for what felt like days, and in between the feverish dreams, you caught diagnoses and assurances here and there.
“It is merely a cold,” the doctor told Friedrich. “Her body is fighting it quite well, and she will be like new in a matter of days.”
You recalled agreeing with the assessment, feeling more fatigued than anything else—you’d always been rather sickly—but your peace had been broken for the first time in months. The voice of your husband had reached your ears—so broken and angry and unlike anything you had experienced with him.
“...and how exactly did this come about? She never even leaves the house, for God’s sake.”
You heard the rustle of fabric and heavy steps and an even heavier sigh.
“In a matter of a night, my wife has taken ill, and I am assured that she will recover in no time, but I have heard that before…” his voice shook. “I will not bury another wife—I cannot!”
It all seemed so unlike him, and so you convinced yourself that you merely dreamt it up. The fever was clouding your mind and making you conjure up your innermost desires, namely Friedrich caring for you for more than just a societal duty to bear sons that would carry on his name. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness and dream some more.
A masculine hand in yours, a finger tracing patterns into your stomach through the fabric of the bedding, soft lips brushing along your fingers and facial hair tickling your flesh. Your mind conjured up all sorts of things that simply could not be true, and yet when you fully opened your eyes for the first time in days, you were not alone.
It was not easy to place the look upon Friedrich’s face as he stared down at you, towering over your bed with a smoke in hand and dark circles beneath his eyes. He did not look well himself, and you could not help running your eyes over him, wondering just how much sleep he had gotten this past week. The room was quiet as you two just stared at each other, and just as you parted your lips to inquire about his own health, he was abruptly turning away from you. His voice rang throughout the house as he demanded someone send for the doctor.
It was only hours later that it was professionally confirmed that you were almost as good as new and would probably only have to put up with a light cough for the next day or two. Hearing those words relieved you, and when you looked up at your husband, you could not tell if he shared your relief. You frowned up at him as the doctor poked and prodded at you, wondering, for the first time, just what the dark-haired young man was thinking.
He only stared back.
In fact, he only ever stared these days.
When you were walking through the silent house much like the ghost that haunted your marriage, you could feel the heavy weight of his stare pressing down on you. It was not easy to ignore—nor did you want to—but whenever you turned, no husband was there to meet your gaze. The only sign of his presence was the flutter of a broad shadow passing along the walls. He was much bolder when you found your nose buried in a book, and oftentimes when you lifted your gaze to catch him, he did not shy away.
“Yes?” you would wonder, voice quiet as both uncertainty and unease filled you.
Sometimes he did not answer, merely content to gaze at you, and other times he took his time in responding. He would exhale smoke and it would billow between you, briefly obscuring his features before he swiped his tongue between his lips.
“Supper will be ready within the hour.”
You would nod, and he would make no move to leave, and you would be forced to turn your eyes back to the pages before you…resolving to ignore the silent presence in the doorway that was your husband. You found yourself doing that a lot—resolving to ignore his presence. Otherwise, you would never get anything done.
His gaze clung to you when you ate, the dinner table silent outside of the sound of food and utensils hitting dishes. When your eyes would meet, you would send him a small smile, thinking to yourself that your marriage was just progressing slower than most, but he never returned it. He never smiled at you, only preferring to stare. When you ate, when you read, when you found yourself outside amongst the flowers…even when you slept.
You had never once shared a bed, so it was startling to answer a knock on your door one night, coming face to face with your other half. Your nightdress kissed your feet, and the sleeves tickled your hand, and despite that, Friedrich gazed at you as if you were standing naked before him.
“I only wish to make sure you are well throughout the night.”
You did not know how you felt both relief and disappointment, but you managed.
It took you some time to respond, nodding with a small ‘of course’. You still let out a cough here and there, and you did not miss the way Friedrich’s head would abruptly turn with every heave of your chest. Your marriage may have been cold and strange, but it was obvious that your husband had grown paranoid with the fear of burying a wife for a second time. You imagined that it would not reflect well on him.
…and so you laid beside him and closed your eyes and even in the cover of darkness…
You could feel his gaze.
It unsettled you, and you had half a mind to seek the advice of your mother the next time your parents came for a visit, but she—ever zestful and bold—completely took hold of your train of thought.
“...and when might I expect a grandchild?”
There was a teasing smile on her lips as she regarded you, and you merely sighed before taking a sip of your tea.
“You know my situation, mother,” you murmured, setting your cup aside.
Father was with Friedrich, and you hoped that he was enjoying his company much more than he seemed to his daughter.
“Yes, but that was months ago, and I can tell that things have shifted.”
At that, you frowned, turning to face her.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Your marriage was just as cold as it was in the beginning, only now a strange voyeuristic atmosphere had descended over it. Your husband had gone from ignoring your very presence to shadowing your every footstep in the house. Her light chuckle made you flinch, and she gazed at you as if you were playing some joke on her.
“Darling,” she took a sip of the warm drink. “I saw the way he was looking at you when you welcomed us through those doors.”
Your frown deepened.
“That is the gaze of a man fighting with all of his might to resist his beloved wife.”
Now it was your turn to think she was playing a jest with you, but you had no more time to linger on that for the voices of your father and husband soon filled the house as they made their way inside. You could only swallow as mother stood to welcome father back, slowly rising as your own husband neared you. When you traced his face with your eyes, you noticed the ease upon it, and you felt relieved to see that he and your father got on well. He looked like any normal man alight with the mirth that came from being in the company of other like minded men, and so you disregarded your mother’s words.
As you stepped past him to approach your father, your back felt aflame with the heat of a familiar gaze.
You saw them out and wished them safe travels and your father placed his hand on your cheek before he went, speaking good health over you. While he may have been used to your sickly nature, any instance that required bed confinement for his daughter always worried him. He wanted to leave with the trust that you would be well looked after…and well looked after you were.
“Your father was very transparent with me about your health.”
Friedrich towered over you as you sat at the table, having been unsure where this conversation was heading when he interrupted supper. A small container was in his large hand, and when your gaze lifted from the bottle to his eyes, you swore that you saw him falter, his words momentarily stuck in his throat.
He placed the bottle down before you, his hand remaining on the table, and the scent of him filled your nose.
“I have gotten the doctor to make a tonic for you. You are to take a few drops with your meal once a week… It will keep your strength and health up.”
He only moved again to open it, and despite the fact that you felt it was hardly necessary—having survived so long without it—one look into the eyes of your husband told you that not only could it not hurt, but for his peace of mind, you needed to do this. You two gazed at one another as he held it in his hand, and after some time, you realized what he wanted. Parting your lips for him, you swallowed down the few drops he administered to you, but even after you swallowed the herbal mixture down…Friedrich continued to stand over you.
It was in this moment that you finally started to voice your thoughts, asking him why he stared at you so when his movements completely stumped you.
His thumb found the corner of your mouth, startling you, and it remained there for some time before he brought it to his lips, tasting whatever had been lingering there. His blue eyes—normally so cold and unreadable in your presence—suddenly glinted with a look you could not place. It happened so fast that you would have missed it, but you did not, and the intensity there was enough to make your heart skip a beat.
Friedrich parted from you as if nothing had happened, and you watched him round the table to take his place across from you once again. It took you some time to pick up your utensils again, rejoining him in eating your supper, and now it was your turn to stare at him…unable to forget that shadowy something that passed through those blue eyes.
He was staring again.
The wind howled outside of the window with the storm and flashes of lightning lit up the otherwise dark room from time to time and your chest and shoulders moved evenly as you feigned sleep. You stared at the wall before you, and Friedrich stared at you. If at all possible, he grew more shameless with it, and if you were a normal loving couple just so wrapped up in each other—as you were sure he was with Anna—then some part of you might have found it romantic.
Tantalizing even.
As it were, you were not, and as silly as it seemed…you felt hunted in your own house.
You constantly felt like prey under his ever watchful eye no matter how justified he made it seem. Concern for your health, making sure no food disagreed with you, seeing how fair you slept. The paranoia of losing another wife suffocated you both for different reasons and in different ways, and you felt as if you were moments away from choking. Your mother’s voice crawled through your mind, and words that you had once dismissed now rang through your thoughts like a melody.
The room glowed with another flash of lightning…and you felt the gentle feel of fingers on the side of your face. You sharply inhaled, startled from both the sudden touch and the foreignness of it. His hand rested on your hair, ensuring that he could gaze upon your face no doubt, and when you felt the bed jostle, you closed your eyes. His lips found your tresses, and his hand found your shoulder, and you both heard and felt him breathe you in.
Friedrich’s nose traced the curve of your ear and he descended until his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Despite all of this, your heart remained steady, and you remained still as he gently pressed his lips to your skin and traced patterns through your sleeve. You felt his larger frame shifting closer, and at that—at the feel of him pressed so closely to you to where you could feel every curve and ridge of him—you shuddered.
Yet you still feigned sleep.
“You will never be her,” the words he murmured into your skin had your brows furrowing. “...and I will never let you.”
Contradictory to the words that left his lips, the hand on your arm found its way to your waist, his arm completely circling you and holding you to him. That was how he remained throughout the night, and only when you accepted the permanence of his position, did you finally allow yourself to find sleep.
It was dreamless, and when you woke up, you woke up alone.
You chose to ignore the relief that filled you at that discovery, telling yourself that Friedrich was still grieving. It was an easy answer to his behavior and treatment of you, and yet, you wondered how much longer you had to endure it. You wondered how much longer you would feel watched and shadowed in your own house.
At breakfast, you parted your lips for Friedrich as he gave you a few drops of the tonic, and he watched you eat, and you pretended not to notice. For some time that is. Finally, after a while, you placed your utensils down, and you lifted your gaze to meet his head on. Ever bold, he did not look away, those blue eyes momentarily making you lose your train of thought.
“Why do you stare at me so?”
You finally voiced your concerns with him, and you watched the mustache twitch from the movements of his mouth at your sudden and brazen question. Friedrich looked as if he had never anticipated you asking that of him, but eventually he straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he studied your face.
“I am afraid you will slip away.”
His answer made you blink, eyes widening slightly.
“I fear…” he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “...like my Anna, you will slip from my grasp.”
Your lips parted at the unexpected answer, and you were unsure of how to respond. Friedrich took a deep breath before digging into his own breakfast, those blue eyes finally refusing to meet yours.
“I will not allow you to become her…lost to me too.”
It was in that moment that you realized you completely misconstrued his words from the previous night, and you stared at the man before you who was so desperate and driven to uncomfortable lengths to ensure he did not bury another wife. Some part of you felt awful for feeling so put off by his uncanny behavior…but some other part of you recognized that your husband was slowly being pushed to madness.
If he were not so already.
“She vexes me so…”
Those were the words you overheard a week later, your house hosting a small handful of people that Friedrich knew. The wives took to you well despite your quiet disposition, and when they proposed an evening walk along the beach, you went in search of your husband to inform him. When you found him, he was in the company of three other men, the smell of tobacco reached you first and then his words followed.
You froze the moment you realized it was you he was referring to.
“She is so quiet and frail…like a mouse” there were a few chuckles. “...and I so desire to hear her squeak.”
You felt yourself take a step back.
“...but it is because she is so fragile that I cannot bring myself to touch her…” you heard Friedrich inhale. “I fear I would ravage her.”
How was it possible for his words to both terrify and entice you? It was a relief to know that your husband did not balk at the sight of you as you once thought, but you did not hold the same sentiment in confirming you were indeed being hunted in your own house. Friedrich had made no moves to warm you to him and progress this marriage in a way that a normal man would. After all these months, he was still little more than a stranger to you.
A stranger that was increasingly losing himself more and more at the thought of ever losing you.
“...but Friedrich we only just got here.”
You looked to him with a slight frown, the ocean breeze a soothing feeling against your skin. So turned around by his words from the other night, you had completely forgotten all about the beach, returning to the other wives in a bit of a daze, something they happily sat you down and fetched some water for.
With one look at you surrounded and feverish with some water in your hand, Friedrich had cleared the house out immediately, saddening you. You were at the beach, now to make up for it, but you were sure that you had only been here all of ten minutes.
“It is a bit airish out,” he said to you, keeping your hand in place on his arm. “I do not wish to see you fall ill again.”
You struggled to argue with him about your health, understanding both the sensitive nature of the topic and the determination in his eyes to see you back inside the house. Despite what you wanted, you allowed him to guide you away from the water and sand. His hand remained on yours the whole way, and the closer you got to your home, the more your unease grew.
“Perhaps we can try again if the weather is better tomorrow,” you proposed the moment you were inside the warm walls of the house.
Your husband did not answer right away as he removed his coat, and for a moment you feared he never would, but his eyes met yours as he turned to you. He was gentle and meticulous in unbuttoning your own coat, his chest so close to yours as he slowly peeled it off of you. The words that he did not know you heard were on your mind as he looked down his nose at you, and he only answered when your arms were finally free.
“We shall see.”
His tone and his words did not seem to be in agreement, and you were unsurprised when tomorrow came and went and you did not leave the walls of your home. You found enjoyment in your books instead, and like always, you eventually felt goosebumps crawl over your arms as you became the subject of his scrutiny yet again.
Only this time, you were surprised to hear him approach.
“Read to me,” he quietly asked—demanded—of you, and you felt his hand in your hair as he sat down on the couch behind you.
It was an unexpected request, and you were silent for a few moments more as he made himself comfortable behind you. His legs were on either side of you as you relaxed on the floor, the fabric of your dresses and undergarments cushioning your bottom. It took you some time to do as he asked, but once you did, you started to forget that he was even there.
Until his fingers started to move over your scalp and he drew himself closer, his knees in your line of vision now, and his gentle breathing started to accompany the sound of your own voice. You read to him for what felt like hours, both of you only pulled from the moment when the cook informed you that dinner would be ready soon.
Much of your time was spent reading to Friedrich these days, and you wondered if he thought it a sufficient enough distraction to ensure you hardly noticed he never let you out of the house anymore. Your requests to go to the beach grew less and less with every denial and every ‘maybe’ that would just turn into a denial. The day you asked to accompany one of the staff to the market, he visibly blanched, his head shaking as he snarked at you how completely out of the question that was.
You finally spoke up when the monthly visit from your parents did not come to pass.
“I did not think it wise for them to be here,” was his only defense, and you gaped at him.
“...and why not? Why am I the last to know this?”
His hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you away from the curious eyes and ears of the kitchen staff, guiding you through the house with that long stride of his that almost made it hard to keep up. When he noticed, he slowed down, eventually halting his movements just outside of his study, and when you hesitantly reached for your arm, Friedrich loosened his hold.
You watched him use his free hand to gently brush his fingers over the appendage, looking down at it with a frown before meeting your gaze with a more even stare.
“...because they are always trotting off to God knows where around God knows who, and I will not allow them to bring even so much as a shallow cough into this household.”
You blinked at your husband, understanding dawning on you, and you struggled with a response. You realized now that appeasing his paranoia—not fighting it and letting him have his way—was doing more harm than good. Friedrich was so good at hiding his emotions from you—even the ones you wanted to know about—but in the dimly lit hallway, you could see it clear as day in his eyes.
He was consumed with the fear that you would wind up just like Anna and his children.
Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly reached for his hand, removing it from your arm. You did not break your gaze, wanting him to listen to you loud and clear, and you swallowed down the unease that filled you as you stood under his unwavering gaze.
“Friedrich…” you whispered to him, so unused to the feel of his name on your tongue. “That is no way for me to live a life.”
He pushed his shoulders back at that, and you knew that he was going to argue with you, so you continued.
“You have gotten me a tonic from the doctor…I am the healthiest I have ever been…and I would very much like to see my mother and father.”
His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth curved upwards at your attempt to put your foot down. The both of you stood there for a lengthy amount of time, just staring at one another, and for the briefest of moments, you thought that Friedrich would see reason. Your hand was still on his, and your husband maneuvered them so that your hand was now in his, and when he stopped closer, you knew then that you were not getting your way.
“Perhaps some other time.”
You knew what that meant as you watched him walk away, and dread began to fill you as the reality of your predicament was truly setting in. Your eyes roamed along the walls, no longer feeling haunted by Anna, but her husband instead. He was haunting you, and she was haunting him, and in his desperation to keep you from suffering the same fate as his previous wife, Friedrich seemed content to keep you behind a gilded cage, a manicured box.
Like a porcelain doll.
Your days were consumed with only him and the house—reading to him, tending to the flowers, picking out patterns for some new drapes or a new rug to be made. It was enough to ignore the obvious for a while, enough to keep your mind off of the prolonged absence of your parents and the unmet desires to see the water and the way Friedrich stared at you like he expected you to crumble at the drop of a hat.
He was driving you nearly mad as he, and perhaps that was why you did it.
The caretaker was new and had not yet learned that Friedrich Harding preferred to keep his new wife locked up like some sickly child. Why would she? You were sure that you would be back home before he returned, but when you entered your home—the sun still at its peak outside—you did not miss the way some of the servants avoided your gaze. Only one approached you, quietly taking your coat as her gaze found the floor.
“Mr. Harding is waiting for you both…”
Your heart sank at her words, and you looked to the caretaker, knowing that you just cost her employment. That had never been your intention, and you walked ahead of her, prepared to plead her case to your husband, but he let her go on the spot before you could get a word in. Everything you said went ignored, every plea and every excuse, and it was only when the staff made themselves conveniently scarce did your proper and mighty well-to-do husband finally…
Break.
“Do you wish to ruin me? Is that it?”
His voice bounced off of the walls, and your lips parted as he stared you down. His eyes were alight with every emotion known to man, and his shoulders heaved with every breath he took. You only just started to shake your head when he spoke again.
“For surely it will be the end of me if I have to say goodbye to another wife,” he angrily whispered, and you took a step back. “I do not ask much of you.”
“I know-.”
“I have not forced you to my bed, I have not demanded any sons or daughters,” he let out a tearful chuckle. “I do not even demand you greet your husband with a kiss when he returns home.”
All of this was true, and yet…
“All I ask is that you remain here.”
He said it so casually, as if he were not asking the world of you to remain prettily seated in a cage. You had never known how to gently broach this subject, understanding the sensitive nature of it, but as you stared into the face of your husband—driven mad with trauma and paranoia—you accepted that there would be no gentle way to do it.
“I am not Anna,” you breathed.
The man before you froze in place as you said her name, and you swallowed.
“I am in good health now,” you licked your lips. “You saw to that…”
You slowly reached for him, and you did not miss the sharp look in his gaze as he followed the movement with his eyes.
“I am not going anywhere, and I implore you to have faith…”
Your words trailed off as the sound of his bitter chuckle reached your ears. Friedrich moved closer to you with no intention of stopping it seemed, and your back hit the wall.
“Faith,” the dark-haired man sneered. “Why would I trust faith to keep you with me when that very same faith failed me before?”
You had no answer for him.
His fingers touched your face, and you looked between his eyes. His chest heaved, and his heavy breathing was the loudest sound in the room. His fingers trailed down the expanse of your neck before his hand moved to rest on the back of it, moving closer.
“You are so frail,” he murmured. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”
He forced your face closer, and you pressed your hands to his chest. The conflict was evident on his features, a furrow between his brows as he drank you in with those sad blue eyes of his.
“I fear that a change in the wind would rip you from my very arms.”
“Friedrich…” he gave no indication that he was listening to you. “I have not seen my mother and father in months. I know they must worry and… All I ever see are these walls and the staff and my books and you. Do you wish for me to be unhappy?”
He tilted his head.
“Do you wish for me to be alone again?”
“Friedrich, please,” you begged, and he was shaking his head as soon as you said his name.
“I cannot do what you ask of me,” he forced out, eyes becoming glassy.
You pulled at his arm and pushed at his chest, but your husband was a mountain of a man, and it did you no good. The room was filled with both of your voices at once, both of you pleading with the other—you for freedom and he for understanding.
“You do not understand the lengths I go to…”
“I will be driven to madness!”
“...the nights I refuse my own desires,” he tearfully spat.
“So you would have me be your doll then? Placed on a shelf where only you and the staff can see me? To only be looked at like a trinket until the end of my days?”
Your poor choice of words had him freezing, his voice dying in the air as he gazed at you with a stricken look in his eyes. He did not move for a concerning amount of time, and as he stared into your eyes, tears kissing his own, you wondered who he saw, right now.
You or Anna?
The wife he had lost or the one he was scared of losing?
“I cannot bear it,” he choked out, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. “It is an impossible thing to ask of me.”
You said his name, but he felt lost to you, mumbling to himself and kneading at you through the fabric of your dress. When his soft lips pressed against the skin just above your bosom, you tensed. You could feel the wetness from his tears on your flesh, and you said his name again.
In this moment, you were wholly aware of your disadvantage.
“All I do is try to protect you, and all I ask is that you help me…”
“Friedrich.”
He was on his knees, now, burly arms circled around your waist, and blue eyes wide and bright and tearful as he looked up at you.
“Yet you fight me every step of the way.”
“I am not Anna,” you said to him, trying to get him to see reason.
…but he knew exactly who he was talking to.
“...and you will never become her if I can help it.”
You felt his hand slide to your backside, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirts.
“Night after night…day after day…I fight with myself for fear of hurting you, of doing irreparable damage.”
His arm tightened painfully around you, and you gasped, reaching down to pull at his sleeve.
“...and for what? For a wife who still leaves these walls and puts herself in harm’s way even after her husband begs her not to.”
“I cannot…”
You struggled to breathe, and you no longer just wanted him to let you go…you wished to get away. You both heard and felt him press a lingering kiss to your stomach, his tears wetting the fabric of your dress.
“If I am to risk you in any capacity…then surely it should be for the betterment of us both.”
So focused on trying to take in air, you did not fully register his words and the implication behind them. Your chest was tightening and your stomach was hurting, and your husband was losing his mind, and you did not know how to convince him that he would not lose you too. You pushed further back against the wall in an effort to relieve some of the painful pressure when you could suddenly breathe again.
You sharply inhaled…and the sound of tearing fabric reached your ears.
The pressure around your abdomen was loosening in more ways than one, and when you looked down, Friedrich had his hands quite literally inside of your dress. It was one that your mother had commissioned for you, but you could not find it in yourself to mourn the loss of the beautiful gown. You were more focused on your husband’s sudden animalistic nature.
You said his name, pushing at his hands, but you were no match for his strength.
“I cannot stop,” you heard him murmur, making your blood run cold. “Do not dare ask me to stop.”
With his hand at your back under the fabric, it was not long before you quite literally felt the fabric and strings of your corset being pulled taut against your flesh before ripping and popping completely. A panic seized you as you fought to get away from Friedrich, and he fought to rid you of the mountain of layers that covered you.
“Friedrich,” you gasped, pushing at his face and head, but with his arms around you in a vice-like grip, you had nowhere to go.
You pushed one foot forward, a difficult feat with a grown man attached to you, and your husband did not like that. He pulled at your dress some more—pulling down—and the action had you careening forward as you attempted to get away from him at the same time. With the floor fast approaching, you were prepared to crawl away from him, but Friedrich was much quicker on his feet than you.
Arms that were now increasingly familiar to you wrapped around your waist, catching you midfall, and Friedrich’s chest was to your back as he stood and brought you with him. You could feel his facial hair tickling your skin as he leaned in, deeply inhaling and kneading his fingers just under your chest.
“I cannot…”
His words trailed off as he forced you to face him, pink lips parted and blue eyes glazed over. Every step back from him was followed, and his nose touched yours while one hand found a home on your cheek. His lips touched yours for half a second before you pulled away, and he let you, frowning at you as if you confounded him.
She vexes me so.
You recalled those words that were not meant for your ears.
“I cannot…” his frown deepened. “I cannot resist you any longer.”
He finally stole a kiss from you, his lips covering yours in a way that no one ever had before. The kiss at your wedding was sweet—chaste even—but this was nothing of the sort. Friedrich deeply inhaled your every breath and pawed at you and pulled you closer if at all possible. The kiss made your head spin, and every time you attempted to move your head back, he followed. It was hard to breathe with his lips on yours.
You realized that what you felt against the back of your thighs was the bed, but only too late and when Friedrich’s hands tightened on the neckline of your dress. His lips sought out the flesh of your throat as he pulled and ripped it open completely. His blunt nails softly dragged against your skin as he yanked it down, moving closer, and with nowhere else to go, you felt yourself backed into a corner.
Your resistance was clear, and your husband wrapped an arm around your waist, briefly lifting you before dropping you on the soft surface. His large frame found solace between your legs, and you felt irreversibly trapped. He towered over you and his mouth held yours captive and his arms did not allow you anywhere to go.
You gasped his name into his mouth, a protest in your tone.
“I no longer have the strength to keep myself from you,” he murmured into the kiss. “Do not ask me to for I cannot do it.”
His hand slithered between your legs like a serpent, and you squirmed in a way you never had before. You had never even touched yourself there on lonely nights, recalling how unclean and unchaste it was said to be, but Friedrich was your husband. Surely that made it okay…but then why did it not feel okay in your chest? Perhaps it was because he scared you and isolated you and kept you locked away like some prized possession.
You felt yourself growing wet beneath his touch, and a low hum climbed from his throat as you laid your hand on his arm. When a finger slid into you, you dug your nails into his arm. The feel had you blinking, and when he added another, your eyes widened. A third had you gasping and him cursing—something you rarely heard. You felt stretched, and when he moved closer, forcing your legs to part more to accommodate him, you hissed.
“Lie back, my love,” he murmured to you. “It will feel much better.”
You refused to, one hand on the bed behind you in some weak hope that you could stop this before it went any further. You simply wanted freedom, and pleading with Friedrich for something so simple had ended in him seeking out his own pleasures instead. You could feel yourself dripping around his hand with every thrust of his fingers, and shame filled you.
When you were unable to swallow down a moan, you hid your face.
“There she is,” he slowly whispered, and when his thumb brushed over you in a way that had your arm weakening, he took advantage.
In one fell swoop, you found yourself on your back, your husband on top of you and his fingers still pushing into you. Your ruined dress hung off of you in tatters, and Friedrich tasted whatever visible skin there was. His large frame kept you pinned to the bed, and your eyes rolled and lashes fluttered from the way he moved his fingers and his hand between your thighs. You weakly murmured his name, and beyond that, in the quiet room, you could hear his movements. You could hear the wet sound of it, and more shame filled you, but you were not given time to linger on it.
He sat up on his knees, reaching down with his other hand so that he played you with both. You felt your back arching, and your breathing grew more shallow, and one hand gently massaged your mound while the other continued to push his fingers into your slick walls. He curled them into you over and over, massaging your insides and pressing the pads of his fingers against you.
It was unlike anything you ever felt, and when your stomach tightened—a rope or a coil or something deep within your gut—you let it until it could not any further, and you were suddenly gasping and whimpering in a way that made you sound possessed. You could feel Friedrich’s gaze on you, and when you managed to focus your own on him despite the difficulty, he wore an expression that you were sure you had never seen before.
It made you want to cover yourself and shy away, and when he pulled his fingers out of you—a tinge of red on them—that was exactly what you set out to do.
Feeling hot and confused and unsettled by the man before you, you reached for the covers in an attempt to hide your nakedness, but your husband would not have it. He climbed over you, keeping you pinned between his thighs as he peeled off his light jacket, his tie and shirt and undershirt quick to follow.
You imagined that your wedding night would have been something akin to this, but only without this level of unease and fear and confusion. As it were, your wedding night was nothing like this. You had been alone, convinced of your husband’s lack of care for you, and now almost a year later, you were squirming beneath him and wanting to be as far away as possible from the man who metaphorically locked you in the tower and tossed the key.
“Friedrich,” you choked out, pushing at his chest.
He leaned in and kissed you again, and you felt every bit of him as he forced you out of your garments completely.
The tip of him brushed against your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered beneath him. He would not stop kissing you, tasting the inside of your mouth and inhaling every gasp that escaped. His normally perfect hair was in disarray, and when he reached down between you, his other arm was proactive in holding you tight and in place for him.
The feel of his cock pushing into you almost made you wish for his fingers instead. You thought that you felt stretched before, but it was nothing in comparison to the slow way in which he sheathed himself inside of you. You felt unnaturally full, and it took your breath away. Friedrich groaned from above you, and you felt a shudder crawl up his back as he rested inside of you.
“I tried,” you heard him whisper. “I tried so very hard…but I cannot go another day without having you.”
He slowly pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained before sinking into you completely. You could not stop the movements of your body, your hips lifting with his as if being carried by a wave, a breathless sigh escaping with every thrust. His bare chest was pressed to yours, and his burly arms kept you right where he wanted you, and you felt yourself slowly forgetting why you had ever resisted him.
“Endless nights of lying awake and knowing you were a mere room away,” Friedrich breathed against your skin. “So close…and so forbidden to me.”
The speed of his hips grew, and your nails dug into his skin, dragging over it as he plunged his cock into you with a vigor you did not know he had. He was always so cold with you, keeping you at arm’s length even when he was touching you. You recalled the feel of his hand on your hair and his fingers on your mouth and a brush against your waist. Always giving in just a little bit more until he no longer had the desire to hold himself back. Always staring and watching and craving.
It was so clear to you, now, and all you could think was that your mother was right…
…and you were a fool.
“I feared I would break you,” he panted, thrusting into you so strongly that the bed beneath you shook. “I still fear that I just might.”
He pushed himself up onto his hands so that he could look down at you, and the dull tender ache had started to subside, replaced by something that far exceeded the pleasure his fingers had given you. Your back arched, and Friedrich wasted no time in dipping his head to wrap his lips around a heaving breast. His tongue swirling around a hardened bud had you reaching up to thread your fingers through his dark locks.
He groaned at the action, and when he lifted his head again, his intense blue gaze sought out yours. You softly moaned every time his hips curved into yours, his cock smoothly sliding between your folds, now and stroking you in a way that momentarily convinced you your freedom was not all that desirable. Your husband did not look away from your eyes again, and it felt overwhelming to be beneath him and staring into his eyes and feel him within you.
One of his hands reached up to touch your cheek, and a frown formed between his brows.
“So fragile… It would take nothing for me to break you, to snuff you right out,” his words made your heart skip a beat. “You test my self control in ways that terrify me.”
His hand traveled to your neck.
“I was right to fear the monster that I would unleash if I ever got my hands on you…”
His fingers danced to the back of your neck, and he gripped the hair at the nape there, slowly and gently forcing your head back. His hips did not relent once, meeting yours again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin reaching your ears among other things that filled you with shame. So much shame.
“For I will never be able to resist you again.”
He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the expanse of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the damp skin, humming at the salty nature the thin sheen of sweat gave it. You whimpered when he reached down with his free hand, fingers brushing against you and circling you as you greedily clenched around his cock.
“If anything happened to you,” he whispered into your neck. “It would be my undoing.”
I know I must have posted something about this back in the day when it was first broadcast, but it really strikes me, always, the way this exit scene was shot. Particularly the way the inside of the house is lit when Sherlock leaves. The way the light is inside the building, how warm it is, seems very purposeful, compared to the cold, blueish colour grading of the outside.
Especially considering how NOT yellow and warm the actual inside of the house was.
Very light snow, Sherlock's breath in the cold, tightening his coat around himself to fight off the chill. He's leaving behind the potential of a warm and welcoming place to stay (namely Molly, perfectly framed within this rectangle of golden light) to face the cold, hard concrete streets alone.
And she follows closely, watching him go, knowing she can't have him. With wistful music in the background.
This set up and the scene preceding it screaaaams missed chances. I love it. I love this show. I love these two. I miss them.
Take care of yourselves everyone 💚🏳️🌈
I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory
please be patient with me im from the 1900s
