Thinking about yandere!angel possessing the body of your husband.
cw/tags: yandere, gn reader, gn angel (but amab body possessed), manipulation, mind control, imprisonment, dubious consent, lightly nsfw, 18+ MDNI
Itâs not him. You know itâs not him. Itâs not even human. You know this.
So then why are you letting it fuck you?
Because it looks like him? Because it has all his memories? Because itâs looking at you like that?
Your husband explained it to you, before it took over. He explained it as you begged him not to go through with it. Not to leave you behind.
He smiled at you then. You wonât be alone, he said. Youâll be graced by an angel.
You were doing a lot more than being âgraced.â
You didnât even know angels could be interested in sex, but apparently their human vessels have an effect on them. Memories bleed in until they canât tell whatâs their reality or their hostâs. If they stay long enough, they start to feel the same urges as anyone saddled with a human body: eating, sleeping, fucking.
You hated it at first.
You hated him too. It wasnât fair that your husband was fated to be an angelâs vessel, and it wasnât fair that he gleefully agreed.
The angelâs presence in your home was only salt in the wound: you expected to never have to see your husbandâs possessed body again, but the angel informed you that its role was to survey against evil. It needed to be covert, to blend in with humans. It needed to take over your husbandâs life, his identity.
Far be it from you to question the heavens, but the angel didnât seem to be so busy saving the universe. At least, it wasnât so busy as to not indulge its curiosity about human life.
It will help me blend in, to know about reproduction, it said. You may pretend I am your husband, if you wish.
It isnât your husband. You know that. Thatâs the problem.
Maybe it would be fine if you could convince yourself that you let the angel thrust in and out of you every night because you wanted to imagine it was your husband. But you know it isnât.
It doesnât remember that humans greet each other when one comes into a room. It doesnât know that walking into the bathroom while youâre showering is an invasion of privacy. It doesnât throw its head back and laugh when you make a joke.
It does ask you where youâre going all the time. It does tell you that itâs not safe to be alone, even for a moment. Even as youâre begging for space.
It does watch you every time youâre in the same room. You suspect that it does even when you arenât.
It isnât like your husband at all. It only wears his face.
You felt pity for him, at first. Your husband surely didnât know he was signing up to be a prisoner. When you realized he signed you up to be one as well, it was hard to feel anything but anger.
It helped you feel. First fear, then annoyance, and eventually, lust.
Did you corrupt the angel or did the angel corrupt you?
It was wrong. It was all so wrong.
The angel took bites when all you offered were crumbs.
Whose fault was it, this degeneracy?
You gave it the apple, but it asked first. Was it meant to know better? Were you?
And when your friends began to disappear, was it your fault, still? When the angel became more interested in lechery than liturgy?
Your husband had let him into his body, but you had done the same.
Had it all begun with your husband, then? Had he been the one to shape you and the angel into this?
The angel smiled at you, now.
He had learned to smile from pictures of your husband, you think. He laughed, as though things were perfectly ordinary. As though the doors and the windows were not now missing from your home, the walls unending as though they had never existed.
You and the angel and your husband, in this house.
Where did the door go? And the yard, the sidewalk, the town? Were they gone or were you?
Did it even matter?
Of course not, he said.
His mouth did not move. Neither had yours.
Everything was perfectly ordinary. You thought so too.
Hello Shrike! Just wondering what you have been up to lately and if you are cooking up anything good đ
I binged your entire masterlist in a day and now I have yet to gobble anything as satisfying.
Hey!! Sorry I havenât posted new stuff in a while, Iâve been a bit busy + I keep doing that thing where I complete half a draft and then start a new one instead of finishing the old ones đđ
But I have been cooking up some things đđ Iâm not sure what order they will be finished (pretty much depends on what I feel inspo for), but you can expect some of these concepts in the future. Hopefully they sound interesting to yâall!
(f)yandere!town outcast
(m)yandere!apprentice of your husband
(f)yandere!android
(m)yandere!who loses their memory
(f)yandere!noblewoman x maid!reader
vampire coven stuff + other stuff iâm keeping under wraps for now đđ
INDRA UR THE KING JUST MARRY ME AND KEEP ME LOCKED IN A TOWER LIKE A NORMAL COMITTED PERSON
smh itâs like he doesnât even care
is he even worth it if heâs not willing to sacrifice political alliances for you? amateur hour.
So true. Damn yâall got me feeling bad for reader now lol. They need a knight or smth to fall in love and take them away from there fr. Or another person to steal the throne from Indra so he gets his priorities straight lmao.
He would marry you if he could do it while also keeping the crown. In his defense(ish), if he had to pick between just having you and being the king, he would choose you. If his uncle had won the war of succession, he could have been happy just doing âlaundry and taxesâ with you, as they say. Luckily for him (and unluckily for you), he is the king and thus he can have his cake and eat it too (even if it makes you miserable).
I just imagine if you brought this up to him heâd be like âYouâll always be my spouse in my mind. Isnât that whatâs most important đđ.â (he loves manipulating but heâs also delusional so itâs somehow half genuine đ).
I just read your yandere prince blurb/one-shot/story and it was fricking amazing!
(^3^)/ïœâ
I just want to ask what if reader suddenly found a hidden passageway in their room all while yandere prince is busy (like being in his coronation or a trial of every official who supported his uncle)?
I love your suggestions of where he could be because itâs so accurate to the only times he would be away for extended periods lol.
But if youâre asking what if reader escaped him, then I think they could. If youâre somehow able to escape the castle, flee the city, etc. you might be able to evade him. The continent is large and he is forced to remain mostly at the capital. He will send out his red cloaks to search, but if youâre willing to stay hidden, itâs feasible you could escape. Escaping isnât necessarily the hard part. I think itâs more whether itâs worth it.
Youâll never be able to return to that peaceful life you had before. Youâll never be able to settle in a town, to make friends or find another lover. Youâll always be on the run. Youâll always be looking over your shoulder. Youâll have little money, having to search desperately for shelter, and youâll probably go hungry most nights. You can escape, but you wonât ever be free again.
Is it worth it? The life you remember is gone. Is it worth it to struggle, to suffer, if it means not being near him? Youâre a pet in his castle, but you are taken care of, at least physically. Is that so bad?
Thinking about yandere!injured man that you rescue.
cw/tags: yandere, m!yandere x gn!reader, isolation, codependency, kidnapping, sfw but account is 18+/MDNI
You see him one night on your way home, collapsed in the street. You almost donât notice that his shabby clothes are soaked through with blood because of the rain pouring down on him.
You should keep walking. Everyone else does. You barely have enough coin to feed yourself, and who knows where he came from. He could be a criminal, fled from the kingdom cells. He probably wonât be able to attack you in this state, but who knows.
He looks young. Around your age, a man grown, but still. He looks so downtrodden, so miserable, his light brown curls falling over his face like heâs a poor little kitten.
Itâs stupid to take him in, but itâs evil to leave him to die. Youâre a fool and a bleeding heart, because you drag him halfway across town to your tiny home. The area is even rougher than where youâd found him, but he should be safe inside, as long as he makes it through the night.
Mercifully, he does. The man doesnât wake up, however, but his fever breaks, so the dressings youâve put on his wounds and the concoction you gave him seem to be working.
He sleeps for two days and pulls a kitchen knife on you the first time he wakes. He can barely stand, let alone fight, and he drops it and passes out immediately after. You consider kicking him out. You canât bring yourself to do it.
He looks peaceful while he rests. Gentle, almost, his bangs falling over his smooth, olive brown skin. You find yourself thinking that he looks like a pretty sculpture, lying there in your cot. He is slender but not starved like most in this town, so you figure he must be the son of a merchant or trader.
Heâs calmer, the next time he wakes. Youâre in the middle of cooking some stew when he does, and it takes a few minutes before you feel the eyes on your back.
âHello,â he says. His voice is smoother than you imagined.
You turn to face him, hands against the counter. Youâre close enough to grab a knife if you need it. You hope you wonât. âHi. Know what happened to you?â
He pauses for a moment, looking around. Your home isnât very big, so there isnât much to look at. The cot is practically in the kitchen, which is also next to the door. âI was running. How did I end upâŠhere?â
He motions at your raggedy place.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. âRunning, huhâŠI found you, across town. People were stepping over you.â
The man tries to stand, but groans and immediately sits back on the cot, gripping the sheets. The next words come out pained. âYou nursed me. Why?â
You almost laugh. âYou looked like a kitten.â
He furrows his brows. âMost men wouldnât enjoy such a comparison.â
âApparently. Would you like something to eat?â
You have to feed him spoonfuls, and he looks spiteful at his own body, but he lets you do it. Heâs quiet, mostly, but not ungrateful. He says his âpleasesâ and his âthank yousâ without fail, although he wonât mention where heâs from or where heâll go.
You notice now, with him staring at you, that he has purple eyes, the kind reserved almost solely for the bloodline of the royal family. Most common people know nothing of the lords and ladies who govern, but everyone knows the royals have purple eyes.
A wayward prince or two has been known to sire bastards in the towns closest to the capital, like your own. You wonder if this man had been housed by his lord father and now cast out at the behest of his lady wife. It would explain him being well-fed with nowhere to turn in his injured state.
Thereâs been turmoil in the capital recently, although not much news gets to you here. You donât much care for the royals or their ongoings, so it doesnât matter if one brat or another sits the throne. You only care if there will be enough grain to feed you for the upcoming winter.
You donât bother asking him. Most bastards are touchy about their parentage. Not like orphans. You never knew your parents, so maybe that was why. Heâd had a taste of a life that was just out of reach. You couldnât even imagine such a thing.
You figure he wouldnât tell you, anyway. You donât know what any of the royals look like, aside from the eyes, but they seem confirmation enough. You wonder if he looks like his father. He is pretty. The bard who sings at the local tavern says all princes and princesses are pretty.
His recovery is slow but steady. You have to leave most days to fish or sell your herbs at the market, but he manages himself.
Some days, you force yourself to stay in. When the red cloaks flood the village, it spells nothing but trouble. You wonder what theyâre here for. Sometimes they look for criminals, but most times it feels like theyâve been sent only to strike fear into your hearts.
The man looks worried when you tell him they come; you desperately hope heâs not the one theyâre searching for. It would be a swift execution for you, harbouring a criminal. Especially one important to the crown.
You donât ask. He doesnât tell you.
He does tell you his name, after the you start calling him âmanâ to his face. He tells you to call him Indra.
He doesnât leave and you donât ask him to.
You and Indra begin a life together, against the odds. You bring home fish and he cooks dinner. When he feels well enough, he comes into the forest to collect herbs with you. The two of you eat every meal together.
ItâsâŠnice.
Youâve been on your own so long, you forgot what it felt like to come home to someone at the end of your day. He listens when you tell him about the rude merchant or kind older woman you encountered. He asks about where youâre from and if youâre happy in this life. He doesnât pry when you shrug. He smiles when you tell him that itâs better now that you have a companion.
His face is even prettier when he smiles.
He sings to you when you canât sleep, his voice pretty and soothing. He tells you stories youâve never heard before, tales from far away lands. He laughs at your jokes, and tells you he enjoys your way of life.
He gets upset when you tell him about the tavern: the drinks, your friends, the men and women who approach you flirtatiously. You suspect heâs envious of your freedom.
You ask him to come. He refuses. You donât pry. Your life together goes on.
It seems natural, the first time he kisses you. You put your hand on his chest and he gasps and you think youâve caused him pain until he pushes himself entirely against your body.
The sex is only another part of your life together, after that. He is gentle, but passionate, when he touches you. His kisses litter your body and his flesh is always hot against your own.
Soon, you spend less nights meeting up with friends at the tavern and more sleeping with him. Some days it feels like all it takes is for his robe to dip from his shoulders, and your plans are abandoned.
Itâs been nearly half a season when you notice his roots begin to grow in. A dark, raven colour.
This time, you ask. He doesnât answer.
You fight and you yell and remind him that you never ask for anything. You share your home and your body and you only want him to be honest with you.
He doesnât yell. He leaves. You donât know where he goes.
You donât sleep that night. You wonder if heâs gone for good. If youâve squandered the only good thing fate has ever given you.
He comes back the next morning, before you plan to leave. Heâs written you a letter, he says.
You tell him you canât read. He reads it for you.
He hugs you. You apologize. You never get your answer.
You let it go.
This life is enough.
Your friends seem to disappear entirely. You havenât spotted even one of them recently, and when you ask around, most have said the same. Your neighbour tells you they probably fled, because of how much the red cloaks have been brutalizing the village. She tells you that you should leave too.
You canât. What if he doesnât follow?
You want to stay here. To stay in this small house, with your companion. You wouldnât trade it for anything.
Even when you know nothing about him.
It starts off small. An irritation like a fly buzzing around your head. It grows. It burns in your brain. You donât know where he was born or who his parents are. You donât know how he became injured or ended up on your doorstep. You donât even know if Indra is his real name.
He is a stranger here and he will remain a stranger until he flees. You know it to be true.
You donât ask him not to leave. He doesnât tell you he wonât.
You donât have anyone else left. Even your neighbour packs up her things and goes. She tells you the town is full of ghosts that she cannot escape.
One day you return, and heâs not there. Itâs a good thing, you tell yourself. He lies. He brings trouble to your doorstep.
You search for him anyway.
You see him out in the sunlight for the first time.
He speaks to a red cloak. When he notices you, he turns and points straight at you.
You have only a moment for the betrayal to sting before you start to run. He will tell them you stole him away at worst, helped him at best. Perhaps he will say that his crimes are your own. It wonât matter. The neighbourâs son had been hanged last year on this very street for less. He may have been a bastard, but he still had royal blood.
You were no one.
It isnât the red cloaks that find you in the forest. Itâs Indra.
He doesnât ask you not to run. You donât tell him you wonât.
âWhere are you going, my dearest?â He asks.
He chases you through the forest, his purple eyes wide and wild. Heâs healed enough for it now. You sprint for a different path toward the edge of town. An armoured hand reaches out and grabs you, leaving you to tumble to the ground.
âHandle them with care,â Indra yells as he catches up to you.
The red cloak pulls you up onto your feet. âYes, my prince,â he says.
You look at Indra. He looks at you.
He is a stranger. A prince, apparently.
You try to run. You should have done it months ago, the first time he lied or hid himself away. The red cloak doesnât let you.
Indra asks you to behave. You donât agree.
He tells the guard to bind your wrists. He apologizes. You ignore him.
Indra doesnât bother to let you take anything from your home. He coos at you and promises that itâs unsafe.
His uncle tried to usurp his throne, he tells you. He had to pretend, to hide away for some time. His uncle is dead now, but his supporters still run amuck. You will return to the castle with him.
He apologizes for deceiving you.
You tell him to let you go. He ignores you.
Indra is different, the next time you see him. He is dressed in lavish purple silks, a hibiscus flower in his hair, now fully dark. He carries a sword at his side.
The man who cooked dinner for you and told you of his favourite fables is a distant dream.
Indra is a stranger.
He wonât let you go.
You are given a room that you cannot leave. Food at every meal. Nothing but time to stare out the window and look over the city.
You feel your muscles atrophy.
You want to fish. You want to walk the forest and gather your herbs. You want to sell them at the market, to speak with your neighbours and visit friends at the tavern. You suspect most of them are dead, now. How long has he been ordering his red cloaks around?
You want Indra to cook dinner for you. You want to eat it in your small, ramshackle home.
He doesnât eat with you now.
A member of the royal family takes his meals at court. A peasant isnât allowed anywhere near there, even someone favoured by the crown prince.
Indra visits you as much as he can.
He talks to you. You ignore him.
He wonât let you leave.
He sings you to sleep. Watches you as you do. Presses kisses to your head that feel like burns.
He keeps you here. His own pet, caged in his castle.
He goes free. He is a prince. He is not your Indra. He is a stranger.
I loved your writing about the two lords of rival houses!
I had a question: is it a oneshot or will there be a part 2? Because I loved it and would honestly love to read more about them đ„č
Hey and thanks!!
Tbh odds are it will remain as a oneshot because Iâm bad at writing beyond my original plans for stories, but thatâs not to say Iâll never write for them again, just that it will likely not be a direct continuation. I might write snippets of specific situations if I get inspiration for it.
I absolutely love your works!!! I am curious tho the yandere lords do they ever really understand what the reader had to go through for survival? Will they ever understand how upset she is that she could be casually tossed aside? ( even if they know she wonât)
what about any future children ? Or if the yandere lords get married?
On a completely separate note I think it would be funny if they both just married her to end the fued and join their houses.
Anyway sorry for making this so long I just love your writing style and think youâre great! Have a good night!
They know what she has to go through in a literal sense, but they donât actually understand or empathize with her emotional struggles much. They arenât the richest lords in the world, but theyâve never lived without knowing food security and safety. They pretty much get anything they want.
I think the most grace they give her is understanding that she felt that she had to do those things in the past, but not why she would even worry about that in the future when she has them. In their minds, itâs completely obvious that they wouldnât abandon her, and they even take offence if she keeps repeating her worries, even though they know realistically itâs something common.
As for marriage and children, depends on which lord. Neither would be allowed to officially marry her, but Basil would start referring to her as his wife at some point and perhaps even insist on having a small ceremony of sorts even if the two of them are the only ones in attendance. Basil would resist marriage as hard as possible, and possibly even agree to allow his younger brother to become the ruling lord of their house in order to justify it. Heâs much more of a romantic and canât stand the idea of marrying some random person when he knows he already has the one he loves.
Callahan cares about that a lot less. For him, marriage was always going to be a political and financial institution. He knows he will eventually have to marry if he wants to keep his ruling title, so he will go through with it but treat it impersonally, even if he has children.
Basil would insist that reader be kept away from court, because he knows the scrutiny and even danger that mistresses usually face. Itâs not as big a deal for him, but if Callahan is married it would be seen as a huge disgrace for him to bring his mistress around.
Basil would also be the happiest to have children with reader, whereas itâs not such a big deal for Callahan either way. Their kids would have to be raised away from the castles, so they would live more of a commoner life than that of a highborn person, but they would still be well taken care of financially and Basil would be happy to dote on the children.
Unfortunately no marriage to unite the houses, although I can imagine a world where it does happen and it actually just makes the conflict worse for having to share so openly lol. These people do not want to get over it.
cw/tags: m!yandere, f!reader, imprisonment, medieval era misogyny, classism, reader is a sugar baby before sugar babies existed, smut, 18+ MDNI
Since as long as anyone could remember, the Drewetts and the Drests had been feuding. Perhaps the grudge began when land was stolen from the Drewetts or when a public insult was made to the Drests. The origin no longer mattered, for the conflict was now inherited without question or concern as to a resolution: it was simply accepted that the two houses were natural enemies.
You took no concern of the petty squabbles of highborn lords: if one was willing to share his bread and bed, you were happy to indulge in the warmth of it for the night. It just happened that you had taken a liking to the town nearby to the Drewetts and the Drests, and thus found that the easiest way to sustain your livelihood would be to ingratiate yourself to the future lords of the nearest castles.
It was young Lord Basil of House Drest that you met first. He was accompanying his lord father into the local village to hear the petitions of the common folk, for it would soon be his turn to give them counsel. You had gone on behalf of the old woman who ran the inn that you had been staying at, to petition the local lords to resolve a dispute between her and a man who had stolen from her inn the previous week.
It was Lord Basil who accompanied you back to the older womanâs inn to hear the testimonies, and it soon became clear that he was to be easy prey. He had come of age a few years ago but still blushed like a young boy with his first crush as you spoke with him.
You hadnât been intending on seducing him, but you were running short on coin and, despite your discounted fee at the inn for your help with the petition, it wouldnât be long before youâd be without food or shelter.
Thus, when Lord Basil invited you to visit the Drest castle, you were all too happy to oblige. He had been too shy to invite you to his bedchambers once the two of you had wandered away from prying eyes, but with an inviting kiss from you, Basil was all too eager to claim your body.
You usually found it easy to let the men do as they wished while you ignored them, but Basilâs hesitancy pushed you to take the lead. He was eager to learn to pleasure you, to feel your warmth and taste you on his tongue. Basil had surprised you, for not many men, let alone highborn men, were so interested in such things, and against your own wishes, you found yourself enjoying your lustful nights with him.
It was often that you were on top, with his hips thrusting desperately to meet your own, but soon he gained confidence and enjoyed being the one bending your legs toward your chest and taking you like that. You enjoyed these nights for what they were, and accepted the gifts of coin and jewelry from Basil, allowing you to leave the castle of House Drest for periods of time.
You met Lord Callahan of House Drewett only a few weeks later, in one of your many short departures from the Drest castle. You learned it was best not to keep the attention of young men for too long: they soon got ideas about futures that could not exist.
You knew better than to expect a highborn lord to provide security for his lowborn mistress. They would practically imprison you there with whispers and promises and pregnancy, only to have you thrown out in the cold once their lord fathers forced them to marry some highborn lady from court. More than likely, theyâd find another mistress, younger and prettier, and cast you out even sooner than their marriages.
It was for that reason that Lord Callahanâs presence delighted you. It was difficult to keep the attention of one young lord, but if you had another who favoured you, it would be easier in case you were suddenly ignored and left penniless by the other.
Callahan was similarly eager to invite you to the castle of House Drewett, and much less shy than Basil, although you suspected neither had much experience before you. Callahan liked to have you rough and fast, sometimes against his wall and sometimes in the bushes and, more rarely, in his bed. It was nice to have a little variety, you had to admit, for as much as you enjoyed Basilâs slow, tender lovemaking, Callahanâs eagerness was a unique thrill.
Callahan spoke to you less than Basil, who often liked to tell you about the newest troubles at court or his fatherâs pressures for him to marry or win a tourney. He did ask about you, sometimes, as did Basil, inquiring as to where you had come from and where you went when not at the Drewett castle.
You were certainly more forthcoming with the former than the latter, for you had often heard Basilâs grumbling about the Drewetts. He even mentioned once that Callahan had bested him in a joust, although Basil claimed that he had cheated and that Basil was certainly the better scholar and poet of the two. He was oblivious to his words when he spoke of Callahan being practically illiterate, forgetting that most lowborn like you were as well.
Callahanâs words could be equally callous with regard to his views on the intelligence and beauty of the common people, but with both you simply gritted your teeth and took their coin. It was easier sometimes with Callahan, for Basil admittedly made you feel special to him, although you knew better to believe a manâs words when he was drunk on your body.
The nobles at the Drest castle were, however, certainly more unforgiving with their judgemental stares and whispers about Basilâs whore being a shameful sight. The court at House Drewett seemed apathetic at worst, as they likely knew that Lord Callahan was not the type to be so infatuated with simple whores as to try and keep one as a real mistress.
You flittered between them, for you knew the nature of men was to try to keep what was meant to be free, only for it to perish in their care. The castles of the two houses were only across the river from each other, so it was easy to make your visits whenever you needed some coin or the nights in the village became unbearably cold.
The cold was the same reason these lords accepted you into their beds, you figured. You were trapped by the need for coin and they by the orders of their families, but both felt cold at times and sought out something to bring them warmth, even if only a mirage of the real thing.
All knew they must return to reality at some time. For you, returning from the luxury of silk sheets and a full stomach to the scratchy sheets of the inn and uncertainty about your next meal. For them, giving up on the follies and games of their youths, on passion, and devoting themselves to a marriage of politics more than of choice.
You were careful, at first, to keep your trysts with one a secret to the other, knowing that each would be offended at the thought and likely cast you out of their beds. Soon, though, you became sloppy with your attempts to hide your misdeeds.
You hadnât visited either Basil or Callahan in two weeks, but the highborn never visited the village unless to hear petitions, so it was a surprise to you when you ran into Callahan on your way back from visiting a friend. It was even more surprising for you to hear that he had come looking for you.
He was calm, at first, and questioned as to why he hadnât seen you in some time. Callahan made no mentions of missing you, but insisted that you come back to the castle with him upon finishing your errands for the day. You offered him a quick romp in your room at the inn, for you still felt antsy with how Basil had been pressing you to stay permanently at his castle despite the already harsh rumours around the two of you.
Callahan hadnât put such pressures on you, but that wasnât necessarily a good sign either, as you didnât know how long it would be before he grew tired of you. You preferred to let the heart grow fonder with distance or, if that did not succeed, to simply begone before you were humiliated by being cast out.
It was on your way back to the inn with Callahan that you ran into Basil, waiting inside for you. He smiled when he saw you, but it quickly faded when he saw who trailed behind you. Both were quick to draw their swords, despite your protest, but were forced to put them away by the innkeeper, who chastised them for their recklessness like they were her own sons. Thus, you came to a compromise, both coming into your room and leaving their weapons by the door, but not their frowns and silent anger.
You made both tea as you apologized for the unfortunate encounter. Callahan chuckled sardonically at your words, but Basil instead turned his angry gaze on you, asking how you could betray him, let alone for the likes of a Drewett. Callahan scoffed, and suggested that it was Basil who was surely inadequate after youâd had his cock.
It was perhaps the most difficult task of your life to convince them not to murder each other, which would surely lead to your execution as well if two lords were found dead in your room. They seemed willing to not be violent to the other after hearing your words, but had not so quickly forgotten your wrongdoings, and soon, both turned to you in their anger, to which you could only plead that you had no formal attachment to either of them.
It was not as though you were a wife, you told them. You were merely a lover, one of many they would surely have in their lives, just as they were two of many you would have.
Your honestly had not won you them over, and you were loathe to realize that soothing the anger of a highborn was simply a foolâs errand. Both hated the other long before you had come along, now more, and perhaps even now hated you. There was only one idea you had to salvage this entanglement, and that was to end it the same way it begun.
Callahan was fuming when he watched you press your lips against Basilâs, but his anger was given an outlet when you turned and pressed your lips against his as well. The two quickly shed their clothes and tore your own from your body, their rage and betrayal fuelling their lustful acts. They were only satisfied so long as you gave both attention, so you found yourself laying kisses on Basilâs cock as Callahan fucked you harshly from behind.
The two seemed insatiable this night, for as soon as Callahan had spilled inside you, Basil was eager to take his place and claim your cunt as his own. When Callahan occupied your mouth and Basil your cunt, Callahan had reached his fingers down to rub at the flesh between your legs, claiming when you came that it was due to his touch and not Basilâs pathetic cock. Both taunted the other about how they pleased you and who was your favourite, leading to each fucking you harder and faster.
You were exhausted by the time they were finished with you, and it seemed a miracle that both were gone by morning, with no signs of bloodshed anywhere in your home or the village, although someone had left a pouch of coins for you to find.
It was clear to you that this arrangement had come to an end, for better or for worse. You would miss this village and the inn that had become your home, perhaps even Basil and Callahan, but your livelihood insisted you move on, as you had done many times before.
With the pouch of coin and the gold jewelry you had been gifted by your highborn paramours, it wouldnât be difficult for you to travel and find a new place to settle, perhaps even in time to find a new highborn to take pity on you.
It would take a few days for the man to whom you usually traded your jewelry to return, so your plan was to leave in one week, giving you plenty of time to say goodbye to friends and pack away your meager belongings. Neither Basil nor Callahan returned to visit you in this time, a fate in which you had long anticipated, but which stung nonetheless. You chastised yourself for such feelings, and swore that the next lord with whom you found yourself in bed would draw no such feelings from you.
The night before you were set to depart, you received a letter from Basil, brought to your door by a messenger who worked for House Drest. It asked you to meet him on the outskirts of town, somewhere you had hardly been to. You could not even remember if there was a building of some kind, a tavern perhaps, that he wished to meet at, but you decided to meet him regardless.
In truth, you felt sorry for Basil, and he had endeared himself to you enough that you felt obligated to say goodbye to him as repentance for sleeping with his mortal enemy. You heard nothing from Callahan but, of the two, that was to be expected. You felt that Callahan had always maintained a certain distance from you, that the intimacy that perhaps came too easy with Basil was withheld by Callahan. You were certain that his anger triumphed over any meager affection he may or may not have held for you, which would inevitably have faded regardless.
That night as you sought out Basil, you saw nothing but trees as you searched for him on the outskirts of town. In the low light of your lantern, you cautiously ventured further into the forest, until you came across a small cabin you had never seen before but which bore the Drest sigil: a sheep.
When you knocked on the door, it opened a few seconds later, and you were quickly ushered it by Basil.
âIâve heard things, my love. Things about you,â he said. Basilâs hair had been cut short since you last saw him, the dark curls trim on his head. He seemed older now, less boyish than you had always thought him. You stepped back from him when he got too close, only to run into a strong chest and arms that encircled your waist.
Callahanâs wispy blond hair fell over his face, nearly looking brown in the light. You had never noticed his height much, but his imposing form became clear as he stood over you. âI should have expected that it would be impossible for a whore to be loyal, but to think of leaving me behind? You should know better. And to have to hear it from my guards stationed in the village is unforgivable, sweetheart.â
âCallahanâŠplease release me. You said yourselves, I am only a commonerâŠyou will have to let me go soon enough even if I do not leave. How long do you think your courts, your fathers will allow this to go on? You must think of me, if you cherish the times we have spent together. If I do not go now, I will not survive when I am forced to leave.â
Basil approached you, cupping your cheeks softly in his hands, and sighing. âI knew you did not wish to leave me, my love. You were only being foolish, but you are only a common born woman. I should have known better than to trust your words, when you do not even know yourself what is best for you. But itâs alright, darling. I will take care of you, now. You will not need to worry, only to remain here in my grasp.â
Callahan glared at him and tightened his arms painfully around you. âOur grasp. If you will not honour our pact, I will simply kill you, as Drest scum deserve. Then I would have her to myself.â
Basil returned his heated stare. âFine. Our grasp. I honour it only for the sake of our darling, here. It is better to have pieces than nothing at all, I suppose.â
âPleaseâŠyou must know it is both of you who are being foolish! How will you keep me here? You have castles to return to, duties at court! You must let me leave eventually, and Iâd prefer it sooner before any affection you may have had for me fades away and I am left in squalor.â
Basil laughed. âYouâre so silly, my love. So silly and so stupid. I have told you: we will not tire of you and leave you without our care. Why, Iâve had this house refurbished just for your use! It was an old Drest hunting house, but now it is all for you to stay, safe and sound.â
âMy father thinks Iâm on a hunting trip right now,â Callahan said. âHe wonât be expecting my return for some time. Plenty of time for us to become settled with you. Perhaps we wonât be able to stay all the time, but our guards will remain happily stationed outside to ensure no one has any accidents or escapes.â He pinched your cheek. âUnderstand?â
You remained silent, contemplating when you would be able to make a break for the door. Surely they were faster than you, but perhaps if you shouted for help, those who knew you would come.
Callahan seemed to read your mind.
âYour friends were so helpful, letting us know that you were planning to leave us behind. All we had to do was toss them some coin and they spilled all your ecrets. Amazing what some gold can do, isnât it? It can open these legs, after all.â He nudged your thighs apart with his knee.
âYouâre being mean, Drewett.â Basil turned to you. âI forgive you, my love. I knew you were too dumb to know what to do, but still. I think you must need to be taught a lesson. By your lords.â
Callahan chuckled at his words. âFor once, we agree.â
cw: multi yanderes (2 male and 1 fem), horror imagery and spookiness (at least i tried), gore and descriptions of injury (not to reader), murder/sacrifice, victorian-ish setting for gothic vibes but no attempts at historical accuracy, my bad french, smut, mildly dubious consent, 18+ MDNI
Blackwood manor was caressed in its entirety by fog, the haze obscuring the number of rooms from view. The terrain that surrounded it seemed at war with itself, for half the grass was dead and muddy while the other remained perfectly long and greenâuncut for a few weeks, if you had to guess. The trees were deprived of their leaves, a fact which seemed innocuous in of itself, but which inevitably contributed to the feeling that the manor was dying alongside its residents.
The inside hadnât fared much better. You tried your best not to stare too much as Aurore led you and Raoul through the halls, but it was hard to ignore the feeling that the manor had been abandoned in haste. Half-full tea cups and lemon cakes with small nibbles taken from them, now spotted with dark infection, sat untouched in the living room. Dust and webs made their home in each corner, as did a strange orange substance which seemed to ooze from the baseboard and dropped down, slowly, toward the floor.
Aurore walked as though she floated across the ground, her limbs meeting no resistance and moving in a soft, fluid motion, unlike the jarring, harsh steps of you and Raoul. She was tall and slender, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair which dipped below her elbows yet seemed in perfect order. Her lips naturally bent in a such a way that expressed a perpetual disappointment, and her piercing dark eyes did little to dissuade one of that judgement.
Neither Emile nor Armand had stood from the table when you entered, and Aurore quickly left for the kitchen without directing you to your own. Raoul sat at the end of the table, so you took the last set place beside Emile. You greeted them as you sat down, the wooden chair creaking beneath you, but you were met only with faint nods, one man who ignored your presence in the room, and another who watched you without blinking.
Emile and Armand resembled their half-sister only in stature and lankiness, but reminded you much more of Raoul with their golden curls and fair skin. Armand, you recalled from what little Raoul had shared, was the youngest, although he still seemed to be a few years into adulthood, perhaps a few years younger than you, but many younger than Aurore. His eyes were a deep brown, which seemed only to reflect rather than open as he stared lazily at you from across the table.
Emile, despite residing the closest to you, looked only off to the side with an expression between a pout and a sneer. He flexed his fingers in his lap and began to tap them silently on his thigh, until his sister finally reentered the room, setting down covered plates in front of you and Raoul. When she grabbed the loop of the silverware and pulled off the cover, you suddenly realized why Armand had been watching you so intently.
On the plate sat half the head of a rabbit, sliced down between the eyes and ears, with the other half residing on Raoulâs, who sputtered at the sight. Neither the eyeballs nor the innards had been scooped out or cooked, and the flesh that did seem edible was a raw, bleeding red, which left a puddle all around it like a moat. Had you had anything to eat during the trip, you might have thrown up right at the table.
Armand could barely hide the curve of his lip as his cousin rushed from his seat to the nearest bathroom, and you were left alone with his family.
Aurore watched him leave as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. âRaoul has been away for many years. He has forgotten our funeral customs, I suppose?â
You looked the empty eye of the bunny, staring right back at you. ââŠI believe he hasâŠI-I wish he had informed me,â you paused as the brothers stood from their seats. âYou wonât be joining us?â
âNo,â said Aurore, dispassionately. âWe still have much to do for the funeral. But please, make yourselves at home.â
The minutes it took for Raoul to return, you looked around the room and behind your back at each and every creak in the floorboards, but your heart hadnât ceased itâs incessant rhythm once he returned.
He shrugged at your questioning looks, and said that he had warned you his family could be strangeâhe hadnât, but it was impossible to argue with someone like Raoul.
Aurore stopped so suddenly that you nearly ran into her back, and strangely, you felt a cold aura near her that caused you to scramble back, as though you had been stung. She turned to you with lidded eyes and spoke in the same monotone voice she had used all day. âSome of the rooms are gone. There are not many left that you should like to stay in. You will be in my room, and I will reside elsewhere.â
You nearly stuttered as you replied, her eyes trapping you beneath her gaze. âThereâs really no need! Please, I will simply tell Raoul that he must have me.â
Aurore continued to stare, examining you, as if knowing you would bend under her presence and begin to run your foolish mouth.
Aurore did not. She merely stared at you, and as if you had not spent the last minute desperately protesting, dismissed your argument in a single breath and continued forward. âItâs no trouble. Come.â
And so you followed, catching up to her shadow and drifting behind her in these thin halls. Her words confused you, for there seemed to be many rooms along each hallway, but the same orange substance lined some of the doorways, so perhaps they really were unusable. Perhaps she simply hadnât wanted you to stay in one of the rooms where her siblings had died.
The door which she finally stopped at was just as ordinary as the rest, with the same white trim and brass doorknob and decaying wood. The knob squeaked as she turned it and pushed open the door, her eyes motioning for you to enter.
You hesitated, eye dropping down to your hands where you fiddled with your golden ring. âMay I ask you a question, Aurore?â
She twitched at the use of her name, as though it was a desperate secret and she was surprised that you knew it. She nodded for you to continue.
You spoke softly, now, whether due to the nature of the question or the silence of the hall, you could not say. âForgive me once again, but Raoul refuses to share anythingâŠI deeply apologize for having to ask you instead of him, butâŠwhat happened to your siblingsâŠI mean, rather, and apologies, but how did they pass?â
Aurore answered as if you had asked her about the weather. âThere was a terrible infestation. You must have seen the remnants of it in our homeâŠThe weakest among us could not survive the infection that was brought about.â
The two of you watched each other for a moment before you gathered the courage to speak. âIâm very sorry for you.â
It had been nearly impossible to fall asleep even as you laid in Auroreâs bed. It carried with it a delightful scent you hadnât smelled on herâa tart cranberry ladled with pink peony. You hadnât seen a garden amidst the dead and dawning grass, but surely there had been one at some time, and the memory of it resided in this bedroom alone.
The scent carried with it no denial of dreams and it was instead the sounds from the room next door which kept startling you from sleep. They were coming from Emileâs room, quiet moans at first then loud gasps of pain, as though he were nearly on the verge of death. You were drawn between your fear and concern, but when one cry sounded after another, you shot up from bed, unlocked the door, and went to Emileâs room.
At the very first knock, there was instant silence. You thought of returning to your room, of forgetting these nightmarish sounds altogether, but you forced yourself to knock again. âEmile? Are you alright? Itâs,â you gave your name, although you werenât sure he had learned it in the first place.
Ten long, dreadful seconds later, the door creaked open, until you spotted one of Emileâs eyes peeking out at you. You swore that for a moment they had seemed green, but now they remained the same darkened brown as his siblings.
âYes?â His voice was deeper than you imagined, but just as irritated at your disturbance as he had been at dinner.
âOh, I just! I wanted to see that you were alright, that was all.â You suddenly felt quite silly, like a child who had awoken their parents in the middle of the night for some awfully trivial reason.
His eyes dragged lazily across you from head to toe and back to your eyes again. âIâm alright. Heâs gone now. Es-tu? You seem rather frightened.â
Your cheeks burst with heat at his words, and you found yourself close to stuttering once again that night. âNo, well, I justâgone? I thought I heardâbut itâs nothing, Iâm sure being away from Raoul is putting me on edge is all, I fear I havenât been used to sleeping alone in some time.â
His lip curled upward at your words. âHe really shouldnât have left you alone.â
You sighed. âHe has his reasons.â
âPerhaps,â he said. âRun along to bed, now.â
âAlright. Good night, Emile.â
He watched you, door ajar, as you walked back to Auroreâs room, speaking only once you turned the doorknob. âBe sure to lock the door. I can resist les petits lapins who scurry around at night, but my little brother isnât quite so disciplined.â
You shut the door without replying, and locked it as quickly as you could, sliding down on the other side as your heart was near explosion.
The rest of the night there had only been silence, and you had drifted off into a deep sleep, exhausted from your previous journey and suddenly thankful you had space away from Raoul who would steal the blankets from you all night.
In the morning, there was a gentle knocking on the door, the sound carrying into your dreams and yet not quite stirring you from sleep. You heard not the rattling of the door, nor the turn of the lock, nor any footsteps approaching your bed, although undoubtedly you would not have heard the latter even if you had been entirely awake.
A bony hand grazed over the side of your cheek, light and almost ticklish, but still, you did no more than groan at the sensation, remaining tangled in the sheets and curled around the pillow tucked neatly into your arms. You were used to waking up alone, for Raoul never bothered to say goodbye in the mornings, so it was the calling of your name which finally jerked you from sleep and reminded you that it was not indeed your bed that you slept in.
Aurore stood above you, her face nearly hidden by the shadows of the room, as no one had bothered to draw the curtains yet. You tried to conjure a recollection of her face to fill the void produced by the darkness, but your mind began to play tricks on you, and the space morphed into a series of uncanny illusions which caused you to jump from bed and draw sunlight into the room, only to reveal, of course, that her face really was only the same as it was the previous day.
âGood morning,â you said, trying to breathe some normalcy into this otherwise strange picture.
Aurore replied the same in turn, her own greeting lacking remarkableness, and asked if you would be so kind as to assist Armand today with packing away some of their familyâs things. You agreed, and asked if Raoul would be joining you, but Aurore noted that she had sent him into the nearest town, to speak to a mortician, and that he would be away until the day of the funeral, three days from now, because of the length of the journey.
Aurore said Raoul had gone without protest, which hardly sounded like him, but he had also abandoned you in your lonesome without so much as a word of warning, which sounded all too awfully like him. Still, you wondered if he would be alright travelling alone: he always did feel sick on long journeys if the roads were too bumpy or the carriage too small.
There was naught for you to do but assist his family while you awaited his return, no matter how strange they seemed. You decided that you had simply gotten off on the wrong foot with them; this morning they had served you a breakfast absent of any rabbit heads. At least, none that had been visible in the stew, which you found delightful despite its strange grey appearance.
That a mortician hadnât yet been to the house explained it all away, you believed, for the strange smell and the leftover food was certainly in order to further prevent the spread of the infection.
A morbid curiosity arose in you about the current place of the bodies, but you found enough sense within yourself to avoid discussing the topic further with either Aurore, or Armand, who now lifted picture frames from walls and shoved trinkets into boxes alongside you. There were no corpses in the two rooms he had led you to, but an awful smell had begun to infest the hallways, far enough away from Auroreâs room that it did not disturb you except for now as you journeyed through the manor.
You observed Armand from the corner of your eye, for he seemed to take a great offence to any further contact between the two of you. You noticed now in the daylight what you hadnât yesterday evening: namely, the assorted patches of skin which seemed to have peeled from his face. There werenât many spots, but certainly too many not to draw notice, and in strange places which drew to mind a curiosity about their origin, for it seemed no simple slip of the hand with a razor. He also seemed recently deprived of strength and moved with a carefulness that suggested fragility. Still, you bit your tongue and thanked yourself for it.
Aside from his wounds, Armand looked entirely handsome, fitted in his white tunic and black trousers. Heâd taken his frock coat off earlier, as you both began to sweat in the process. You were tempted to remove your own layers, but the thought of even an inch more of your bare skin being laid out on display under the scornful eye of Armand, once again, forced you to withhold your desires, although you did loosen some strings near your chest to allow you some relief once Armand sent you to another room.
There were only two items left in the previous room when you returned, and both of them were more remarkable than anything thus far, for both were familial portraits. The first, which was yellowed, held a dark-haired man, his wife, and their three children, one of which was evidently Aurore, although she barely resembled the young girl in the image. There were two dark-haired boys beside her, who must have been very young at the time of the image, and all three held the same brown eyes.
In the next portrait, the same man stood with a new woman, this one blonde of hair and green eyes, and two different sons, Emile and Armand. Aurore and the two boys from the previous picture, now grown men, stood beside their younger half-brothers.
Armand returned to the room just as you finished examining the portraits, and for once, you decided to press your luck.
âIs this your mother?â You pointed to the blonde woman in the latter portrait, her hand grazing the manâs shoulder.
Armand stared at you, blinking. It was hard to know if it was out of a dreadful anger which would soon explode onto you or a tearful sadness for which you would also be to blame.
âIt must have been hard, losing your mother.â You said. âYouâre still young, Iââ
Armand interrupted you, his anger finally revealing itself. âSave your melancholic pleasantries.â
âNo, I justâŠI wanted to say that I was sorry for your loss. I know thereâs nothing I can say, my own mother, well, she passed last year andâŠâ And Raoul hadnât been one ounce of comfort. ââand no one could say anything to make me feel better. I think I just wanted them to say that they were sorry.â
Armand considered you for a moment, and dismissed you from your task just as quickly, generously allowing your boredom to overcome your fear as you spent the rest of the day aimlessly in Auroreâs room.
It was a staunch relief when sleep took you, although the fear you had discarded caught up soon enough.
You were floating, dazed and limbs drawn out as if by strings, nearly knowing where you were but not quite, for it was just out of reach. Hands reached out and touched you, but you could not turn your head even an inch to see them. They grabbed but released, every second seemingly attempting to take you and then deciding against it.
Then, you were given something you could see, for Aurore appeared in front of you suddenly, crawling between your legs, spreading them further, and drawing a stripe up your bare thigh with her tongue. You squirmed, out of fear or anticipation, you did not know. Her head dipped under your nightgown where you could not see, and suddenly pleasure burst deep within you and spread through your body.
The sensation continued, something wet and warm exploring you in a way no one had before. You were close, so close to the edge you longed to tumble off of, but then you turned your head only to find Raoul staring at you, his face covered in swollen wounds that dripped blood.
You awoke with a scream in the otherwise silent manor, no hands groping or tongues bathing you, and no Raoul anywhere to be seen.
A knock sounded on your door a few moments later, and you shivered at the cold of the floor against your bare feet as you padded across the room to the door, only to find Emile staring back at you. He seemed about to speak, only for his eyes to trail down your body, your nightgown capturing his attention. He stared shamelessly, even as you cleared your throat and apologized for the noise.
âI had a nightmare of sorts.â
âThis wouldnât have happened if he hadnât left you alone.â
You shifted nervously. âEven when Raoulâs beside me, I never seem to find peace in my dreams.â
You held Emileâs full attention, his eyes not withdrawing from your own even when you glanced away. âI can make it better. Better than him.â
ââŠWhat do you mean?â
You watched Emile step forward, uncertainty rooting you to the spot as he placed his hand on the back of your neck and pressed his soft, cold lips against your own. Your eyes remained open, staring at the bruising on his cheek, yet you did nothing to pull away. It was only when Emile did that you finally spoke.
As you laid in bed, the soft sheets did nothing to calm your mind and pull you away from the feelings that stirred in your mind and body. You thought of Raoul, and wondered when the last time he had kissed you was. It was his fault, certainty, that you couldnât escape the softness of Emileâs caress against your bare neck.
He deprived you of such gentleness, such intimacy that your body and your heart sought out a shadow of what you longed for from the person who seemed the closest to him. In the dark of night, you could nearly mistake Emile and Raoul as one, and when you closed your eyes and finally settled on a nice thought to dream of, you could not say whether it was Emile or Raoulâs pretty blond hair that you tangled your hands into.
The third and final day before Raoulâs return, Aurore invited you to spend the day with her, surprising you entirely. Her face and voice were still littered with scorn, but Aurore had softened marginally toward you, and no longer did you feel that her words were insincere.
The two of you were tasked with gathering flowers from their garden for the funeral arrangements, the scents of roses, peonies, violets, lilies, lavender, carnations, neroli, and lilac all wafting in and around you. You were thankful for the reprieve, for the manor was now filled with a heavy smell like rotting meat and overripe melon. The smells lulled you into a gentle dullness, the barrier between dream and reality weakening as you retrieved the white lilies and carnations for Aurore.
When you turned your head to speak to her, the words caught in your throat, for in this light, underneath a wisteria tree, she seemed half a ghost and half a deity. You flushed when she caught you looking, but it only served to soften her features more.
âDo you need something, ma chĂšrie?â
âNo, I justâŠmay I ask you a personal question? I saw a portrait, two really, and I asked Armand but he seemed upsetâŠâ
âYou may ask.â
âThose dark-haired boys in the portraits, those are your brothers?â
âYes,â she said. âThey passed from the infection.â
âAnd your mother?â
Her eyes hardened though her slight smile did not waver. âShe passed many years ago. Armand hardly remembers her.â
âIâm sorryâŠyour father, he remarried? Emile and Armand are only your half-brothers, then?â
She paused for a moment, but soon nodded and continued to put together lilies and carnations into a bouquet.
âThis infectionâŠIâve noticed that Emilie and Armand have theseâŠwounds. Are those symptoms?â
âYes,â she said. âIt has left them alive, but survival is not always a kindness.â
The rest of the afternoon passed under the hot sun, and soon you were ready to retire to Auroreâs room to bathe and rest. It was only then that you remembered that your soaps and creams had been left in Raoulâs bag, leaving you to make your way to his previously occupied room to seek them out.
You saw none of the Blackwoods around as you walked down the hall, and figured they must have been busy with the funeral preparations for the following day. The smell became increasing more nauseating as you walked toward Raoulâs room, but you quickly dismissed your concerns as Aurore had let you know that the rooms surrounding his own were not able to be occupied.
When you reached Raoulâs door, you nearly could not stand to open it, especially as the orange substance now infested it as well, but you gathered your courage and pushed it open.
You screamed, Aurore had told you. You could not recall what had happened before she had arrived, aside from the sight of Raoulâs rotting body laying in his bed, gashes and orange covering him as flies swarmed and maggots crawled from his eyelids.
You shook, your knees on the floor, as you cried and cried.
âHe never left,â Aurore said, simply, pulling you up from the floor and into her arms. âThe infestation got to him first.â
Emile had come now, and Armand too. The Blackwoods looked on with nothing stirring in their deep brown eyes.
âWhy?âŠNone of youâŠI donâtâHe is your blood! Why do you not cry for him?â
Aurore stared. âThe infection takes and it gives. We have two brothers to mourn for. You may mourn him here as well, tomorrow.â
She ushered you back to her room after that, and had you not been sobbing into the sheets, you might have noticed the locking of the door, though it hardly mattered when you did not move from your spot for the rest of the night.
The next morning, you watched from the window as Armand dug a third grave in the yard, as though he were merely creating another gardening plot. Sweat dripped down from his forehead and caressed his newly unblemished skin, allowing him a certain glow in the sunlight not afforded to him in the dim lighting of the manor. He dug with a rejuvenated strength, the man who had needed your aid to move a few frames and trinkets mere days ago now seemed absent of frailty.
It was impossible not to study Emile at the funeral and notice the flush return to his cheeks, his skin healed of any bruising that had previously plagued him. His hair gained a certain shine, the curls sitting like a crown on his head instead of dying willows.
It was with an emptiness that you turned your attention to Aurore, who looked much the same, save for the rigidity which had fled from her.
You heard them speak, pretty words and pleasantries for their brothers and cousin, but you could say none yourself when they turned to you. Time floated by without you, and you found yourself awaking in the strangest moments without having realized where you had been.
One moment, you were tossing Raoulâs things in the yard and settling fire to them, for if he had truly left you as he had done so many times, then he no longer needed them, or needed you, but soon you were frantically smothering the fire, even as it scorched your hands, and crying into charred and tattered bits of clothing and his books that he loved so much, much more than you.
Aurore had come to bring you inside, you think, as you could only recall waking up in her bed, with her sleeping beside you. It was then that you realized that you needed her there, needed someone to fill what Raoul had carved out of you, long before he had gone and even more when he did. When she awoke, you protested her leaving, until she finally brought you to Emileâs room, so she would be able to see to what she needed to do without you trailing along like a puppy behind her, exhausting her as you tended to do to all you encountered. Perhaps it was exhaustion that killed Raoul, you had tired him out, taken everything he had to give so that his body could not fight against the infection which took him.
Emileâs bed sheets smelled of lavender, and you rolled yourself in them as he watched you curiously from his desk. When the scent wasnât enough to fill your head, you turned and met his eyes, holding his stare.
The two of you observed each other for a few moments before he spoke. âI can make it better.â
You only hesitated for a moment, for all you wanted was for it to stop. âPlease.â
Emile was rolling on top of you a moment later, both of you feverishly removing the clothing in your way, and he laid kisses on each bit of flesh that he exposed. He was quick but thorough, drawing circles on your skin with his tongue and making you arch beneath his touch, the sensations emptying your mind. It was even better when he entered you, for in that moment, you felt the aching inside of you was finally filled, the agony fed so that it stopped gnawing on you, but lasting only until he pulled away.
Not a moment later, a sharp knock rung on Emileâs door. He looked back at you as he dressed, but you could do nothing but lounge on his bed, contenting yourself to the softness and sweetness of his lavender sheets.
He cracked it open enough that you could see Armand staring behind Emile at your exposed form tangled in his brotherâs bed sheets. When Armand began to speak, Emile went out and shut the door behind him. They argued from the hall, but the words had no meaning as you contemplated only the delightful concoction of lavender and peony and agony swirling together within you.
ââŠforgotten what sheâs here forâŠâ
ââŠplay with her, wonât changeâŠâ
ââŠdraining herâŠtake it awayâŠâ
ââŠhelping herâŠwill be betterâŠâ
ââŠthe honours, later, Emile?â
ââŠas much as it would deprive you, ArmandâŠâ
ââŠplay, as well?â
ââŠmine first, findâŠâ
ââŠshare orâŠâ
ââŠyes, Aurore.â
It seemed natural enough when your hedonism spread to Armand and Aurore, for none could stay with you all the time, nor could you bear the emptiness when without one of them.
Aurore feasted on your core only a fortnight later, her tongue bringing more pleasure than it had even in your dreams. Armand was more resistant, but even he fell into debauchery with you, allowing you to become acquainted with the smell of neroli as he pressed your face into his sheets and took you from behind. He often eyed you disdainfully, but if you pressed against him, he was as eager to have you as any of them.
It was in this haze that you fell into a strange rhythm with them, trading one bedfellow for another, and not knowing or caring how long it had been since you had come to Blackwood manor. Raoul had been the only one waiting for you back home, and now there was no home. You wondered if one day they would grow tired and be rid of you, but then Aurore would sink her long fingers into you, and you wouldnât think much about anything.
It was one of these days that Auroreâs voice sounded within your mind, as though she spoke without speaking, her words natural, as if part of you. Your arms clung around her desperately, your head tucked into the crook of her chest, hiding away, from what you did not know. You only had the unflinching sense that if the two of you were not intertwined in every sense, something terrible would occur.
It filled you with dread that she held you more loosely than you did her, distracted by her brothers, the fingers between your thighs becoming more frustrating than soothing as her rhythm slowed. You hardly heard the words she said, for they all blended together into a calming melody that you used as your lifeline.
If you focused too hard on any particular word or meaning, you would already be close to drowning, so the voices of Aurore, Emile, and Armand faded in and out like waves, as you focused only on clinging to what was warm and present.
ââŠwill the bodies retainâŠ?â
ââŠsacrifice will ensureâŠâ
ââŠbrought here for itâŠâ
ââŠfind another oneâŠâ
ââŠdifficultâŠcannot leaveâŠâ
ââŠi want this oneâŠâ
ââŠmy brideâŠyou denied me my lifeâ
ââŠsaved your lifeâŠâ
ââŠas we mustâŠâ
ââŠdeceive yourselfâŠâ
Armand had stormed out of the room, but you hardly noticed with Auroreâs touch.
It was only when you were bouncing on Emileâs cock, one day, that the truth finally spilled from his lips at the same time he spilled inside of you. âIf only I had my body, mon angeâŠYou must endure this one, instead.â
You were nearly already asleep as he laid you down on his chest, your flesh uncomfortably hot against his own, and yet you could not bear to pull away. âWhat do you mean?â
Armand had you face down in his bed one day, his hips roughly meeting your own, when you suddenly heard a new voice for the first time since youâd arrived at Blackwood manor. His demeanour as you left his room reminded you much of the first day youâd arrived, of that quiet interest with which he watched you, like you were a simple bunny he was excited to see get devoured.
They didnât bother to hide it from you, their wickedness and sorcery laid plain for all to see, although you were the only witness to this manorâs ways. You could only presume that the man who laid dead in the room with the open door was the owner of the voice youâd heard before, for youâd have no way of confirming now, with the gashes running down his sides.
You could not enter the room either, for fear of slipping on the blood that oozed from the centre, intertwining with the orange substance you had seen before, now smeared across the floor. The sight from which you would have recoiled months ago no longer moved your heart.
Aurore and Emile stared at you from inside the room, then flickered to Armand who came behind you. You tried to turn away but he caught your shoulders, took your chin in his hand and forced you to look.
âThis was Raoulâs fate?â You asked weakly.
âYes.â
âAnd you detested him?â
âNo. We only needed him,â said Aurore.
Your eyes drifted between the brothers. âAnd you are not Emile, and you not Armand?â
A scowl twisted Emileâs face at your words, but he still spoke with a gentleness, as if not to frighten you. As though you had not already seen what they were capable of. âI am Emile. This bodyâŠIâve already told you.â
âYour brotherâs then.â
âHalf-brotherâs,â Armand corrected.
âBut not Aurore. She is Aurore.â
âI was not as foolish as my brothers as to allow my own body to be destroyed.â
âBut it was you who placed them into these bodies, wasnât it?â
She nodded.
âAnd Raoul, and thisâŠman. They are neededâŠfor Emile and Armand to be contained in their half-brothers bodies?â
Armand pressed his palm against your cheek and squeezed it playfully and painfully. âTrĂšs bon.â
âI see. Is this to be my fate?â
Armand snickered, but Emile cooed at you. âNon, ma chĂšre. Well, perhapsâŠbut no matter, that was long ago.â
Emile frowned. âDo not tease her, brother.â He turned to you, taking your hands into his own. He made careful use of his wide eyes, brown and warm as they pulled you in. âI do not think I can be without you anymore, ma chĂšre. Even if I wished to let you go.â
âNor I,â said Aurore. âNor Armand, though he will not say so.â
It was Armandâs turn to scowl. âI would miss the warm flesh. Nothing more. There are plenty of little bunnies around. One is as good as another.â
Aurore ignored him, facing you, and spoke in such a way that informed you the decision had already been made. âYou will be happy here, I think. I have promised my brothers they may only keep such a pet if they intend to take care of it. I will take responsibility, as well, of course.â
Emile stepped forward, pushing Armand from you and taking you into his own embrace, paying no attention to the blood his hands smeared onto you. âNothing will keep you from us, mon ange. Not the grasp of our cousin nor the death of our bodies.â
Blackwood manor had been half-dying when you arrived, but it mustered all its strength to swallow you whole and keep you trapped in its belly, a fate from which you would never be free.
I was wondering if Cato would actually let reader go, like in the end they chose to stay with Cato in order to stay alive but what if the reader chose the opposite?
Would he actually go through with it orrr????
I assume you mean would he let them jump to their death(?).
I think he would let them jump (or more accurately, heâd probably push them if they gave any answer that wasnât a firm yes).
Would he let them die? If it was anyone else, definitely, but reader he would catch before they could hit the ground. Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart, either. Faced with rejection, he does want to punish them, but not enough to risk them being taken away from him forever.
So, no, thereâs really no âchoice,â and he never intended there to be one. He wants them to choose him, but in the end it doesnât really matter.
Since I decided I kinda actually wanted the Yandere Vampire Coven world to have a plot, I realized that I want to change the characterization of one of the characters that hasnât been featured too prominently yet (minus me answering some questions about them). Would it bother yâall if I slightly changed up their portrayal compared to how I answered those previous questions?
cato is so fucked up i love that for us, i do have a question though, does he ever make reader cum cause i feel bad for them đ 14 months of being bored, lonely, and ur only source of touch is getting rawdogged by a dude who doesnât care abt the clit. cato pls buy them a dildo !!!
I actually mentioned this a little while ago in this post, but TLDR is that yes, he would care a lot more about their pleasure after the events of the story. Also, unfortunately for reader, his ego is so crazy that he would be the type to get offended by the use of sex toys, so no dildos for reader đđ
Hey, would you ever be willing to write something gay?đđ Like a religious "straight" guy x an openly gay emo kid he's definitely NOT jealous of for having the freedom to express himself.I don't know, something with denial and lots of yearning hehe (Doesn't have to similar to your other bully x victim story lol. Like they could be friends, no?)
I want to say yes but honestly Iâm a bit nervous to write something so out of my experience lol. I am intrigued by the concept, though, so let me think on it and see if I can come up with anything đ«Ą
