#dark thomas hutter

He had not only offered shelter and a warm bed, but also a drink that thawed the chill of your bones and a change of clothes to rid you of the soaked, clinging fabric. His kindness extended beyond what you’d expected from a stranger. His voice, like a balm, whispered, “You seem to have lost your way in the rain, Madam. Might I offer my assistance to see you safely home come morning?”

From that moment on, you found yourself drawn to the man in ways that you couldn’t really describe why. It wasn’t just his kindness or the warmth of his voice. There was a connection between it that felt like it was reaching deeper, as though his presence had quietly begun to fill the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

Yet, as the first light of dawn crept through the window, the reality of the morning settled upon you. The storm had passed, and with it, the fleeting shelter of the night. It was time to return home.

But before you could gather your things, Thomas greeted you once more with a soft, warm smile. His voice was gentle, almost a whisper, as he spoke, "Would you care for something to eat before you head out?"

You glanced down at the modest table a few meters from you, where there prepared some simple provisions from the man. It included bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of warm tea—nothing extravagant, but enough to make you grateful. "I’m sorry it’s nothing grand," he continued, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of sincerity, "but I couldn’t bear the thought of a beautiful woman leaving without something to sustain her."

His words, though simple, sent a flush to your cheeks, his compliment lingering in the quiet space between you.

"I...I also failed to introduce myself properly," he added with a slight chuckle, as if embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. "Where are my manners? My name is Thomas…"

Thomas seemed to choke on his words at first, as if hesitant to let them pass his lips. But after a brief pause, he finally gathered his courage and, in a voice soft yet sincere, murmured, “Pray, allow me the courtesy of knowing your name?”

You gave a smile, appreciating the quiet efforts the young man had made throughout the night and up until this present moment. His kindness, gentle yet unwavering, spoke volumes—he surely knew how to treat a woman, or perhaps it was simply the way he treated every guest. You didn't want to assume anything more, as perhaps his mother had merely raised a kind gentleman who extended his hospitality to all. Still, his attentiveness lingered with you, and you couldn't help but feel a certain warmth in your chest as you spoke your name and offered your thanks.

The day wore on, and soon he helped you return home. He didn't offer to walk you the entire way, yet there was a certain gravity to his steps, as if he could sense the uncertainty in your heart. “I’ll accompany you to the edge of the town,”he’d said softly, his words almost as if he were offering more than a simple escort—he was providing the comfort of knowing someone cared. His pace was measured, slow, as though mindful of the rough cobblestones beneath your feet and the distance between the world you both occupied. When you reached the edge of town, the mist from the river lingering in the air, he nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting yours with something that resembled understanding.

"Take care of yourself, Madam," he had said, his voice quiet yet sure, before retreating back into the shadows of the city.

But that would not be the last you would see of his presence.

From that moment on, you found yourself wandering the old, dim-lit streets more frequently, seeking out the winding alleys, the familiar corners where you might catch another glimpse of him. Perhaps it was the pull of hope, or maybe the loneliness that clung to you like the mist, but you found yourself more drawn to the quiet places of the city. You didn’t have much else—only the promise of those stolen moments with him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to look for him, but more of an instinct, a silent hope that fate would nudge you together once more.

As the days passed, the rhythm of your life returned to its usual pace—slow, almost mechanical. The streets were familiar, yet they seemed to close in on you more each day, as if the world itself had grown narrower with time. There was a quiet repetition to your life now, but the emptiness lingered like the shadows in the alleys you walked. It was in these moments, when the bustling sounds of the town became distant, that your thoughts returned to the past—back to the orphanage, to those early years when you were sheltered from the harshness of the world.

No one ever had to tell you what to do there. You had learned to survive on your own, to blend into ordinary life, to anticipate needs and stay out of the way. You often felt as though you were one step behind, always catching up with the others who seemed so sure of themselves, their places in the world. There was a hint of envy in you towards those people.

The orphanage had been a place of warmth in its own way, but it was a transient warmth—flickering, never stable. It was home only because it had to be. Yet now, as you stand and are trying to face the reality of adulthood, the world outside has revealed itself to be much larger, and far less forgiving. The nonexistent structure became worse as no guiding hand to tell you where to go or what to do, it felt like your world came crashing down. You were left with only your own instincts, and sometimes, that felt like too little.

You had walked these streets aimlessly more than once, feeling the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders. It wasn’t a loneliness that could be fixed by simple companionship, but a deeper sense of being untethered. The world seemed vast, stretching endlessly, and yet you had no anchor.

But in the back of your mind, there was one place you kept returning to—the memory of that night with Thomas. His kindness had been a rare warmth, and in a world where you had learned to keep your distance from others or know that everything might be temporary, it had stirred something in you. Something you couldn’t quite explain.

You had never been one to believe in fate or signs, but there was something about him—his demure courteousness, his gentle ways of speaking—that made you wonder if perhaps, for the first time, someone truly saw you. Not as a stranger, visitor, or even as someone passing through, but as someone of their time worth knowing.

And so, each time you walked through the streets now, you found yourself hoping, almost unconsciously, for another encounter with him. Obviously this feeling was something new and so you didn’t know what it meant yet or how to navigate through these emotions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this, whatever it was, was somehow different. And you were liking that feeling for whatever reason it why.

Quick visits to the market or running simple errands were no longer tiresome tasks that you didn’t care of. They had become opportunities—small, fleeting chances for fate to intervene, for your paths to cross again. You found yourself wandering the aisles with a quiet hope, praying, almost, that the universe might favor you today, that you might once again find yourself near him, the man with the striking blue eyes.

There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at your heart whenever you thought of him. The brief exchange that night in the storm had been just that—a fleeting moment. Yet, it had sparked something deeper within you, something that hadn’t been satisfied by the mundane interactions of your daily life. You wanted to know more about him, beyond the kindness he had shown you that rainy night. What did he do with his days? What brought him joy? What dreams did he hold, if any?

Days may pass yet you found yourself, once again, between the swarming townspeople who didn’t pay attention to anything but their own business. Meanwhile for you, it involved pretending to be focused on your task while your mind wandered, imagining the sound of his voice, wondering if you would ever have the chance to speak with him again.

It was a prayer whispered into the busy world, a wish that echoed through the crowds.

And, perhaps, the heavens had finally listened.

A few meters away, you spotted him—Thomas, unmistakable in his simple attire, standing in conversation with a man you did not recognize. The stranger was dressed far more opulently than Thomas—his clothes rich, his appearance polished with a wealth that was immediately apparent. He had a mustache, and his curly hazel locks framed his face with a certain confidence that only money seemed to afford.

You stood there, heart thudding in your chest, waiting, hoping that Thomas would look your way. You didn’t want to be too forward, but a part of you yearned for him to notice you, to recognize you, to remember that night in the rain. You lingered longer than you should have, pretending to be absorbed in your shopping as your eyes never left him.

The minutes stretched on, time slowing as you stood in that sea of people. Your breath caught in your throat each time he turned his head in your direction, only to look past you. He seemed distracted by the conversation, the man beside him far more commanding of his attention. You felt an odd sensation of longing mixed with a pinch of frustration, as if your presence wasn’t enough to pull him away from the company of this wealthy stranger.

It was only when your patience had nearly run out that you saw his eyes finally catch yours. For a moment, he seemed baffled upon seeing the figure in front of him, as though he couldn’t quite place your identity but seemed familiar with it. His eyebrows furrowed.

It was as if he were trying to decide if you were someone he knew—or if, perhaps, you were simply another figure in the crowd. A small thrill of anticipation ran through you as his gaze lingered a moment longer, and then, almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, as though he were about to speak your name but only molded into a small smile.

As Thomas’s eyes met yours, a strange current seemed to pass between you. The moment stretched longer than it should have, the crowded market around you fading into the background. He remained, his expression thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the spark of recognition that flickered in his eyes.

The rich man beside him continued speaking, but his words seemed distant now, drowned out by the unspoken tension between you and Thomas. The stranger, sensing something in the air, took a step back, as if he had no place in this growing connection. It was as though the space around you and Thomas had become an intimate world of its own.

You didn’t move. You stood your ground, but a strange anticipation coiled inside you, as if you were waiting for something to unfold. And then, as if he could no longer stay apart from you, Thomas took deliberate steps forward, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost private, “I must admit, I did not expect to see you again so soon. But I find myself quite pleased by the coincidence.”

Your lips curved slightly, a smile playing at the edges of your mouth as you responded, “Strange how the world seems to align when least expected.”

Thomas’s smile grew, but it was more than just polite. You felt his expressions were genuine as though he might also have been thinking of you. “Indeed. And I must confess,” he said, his voice growing quieter, “I’ve found it difficult to focus on anything else since that night. It’s not every day that one meets someone with such... presence.”

Your breath caught at his words, and a warm flush spread through you. His words were straightforward and was unlike what you were accustomed to. But you couldn’t deny that you were even the least bit enjoying it as if the weight of his words matched the gravity of the connection you both started to share.

For a moment, there was a pause between you two as your eyes simply looked at each other. His eyes tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory. His hands awkward at his sides as though he were gathering the courage to say something more.

“I’m not one for... grand gestures,” he continued, his tone still warm but now with a hint of earnestness, “but I would be honored, if you would allow me, to take you to a place where the noise of the world does not drown out the simplicity of two people’s conversation.”

The invitation hung in the air between you, his words heavy with meaning. He was no longer just offering you a dinner; he was offering you an escape—an invitation into a quieter, more intimate world, one where only the two of you existed for a while.

“You needn’t say yes right away,” he added softly, almost as an afterthought, as though he didn’t want to pressure you.

His sincerity was undeniable and charming. You could see it in the way he held himself, how his posture seemed to lean toward you, as though everything in him was drawn to you without hesitation.

You were no longer just an image to him—he was seeing you in this moment, this very real moment, and the warmth between you was undeniable.

And so, the days passed in a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered words, the connection between you deepening with each encounter. It seemed as though fate had woven a perfect tapestry for the two of you—one of shared glances, tender conversations, and the slow, inevitable pull toward each other. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant, as you found comfort in his presence.

You could almost believe that the rest was history—that the love you had found was destined, unshakeable, eternal. But reality has a way of revealing itself when least expected. Just as the two of you neared the edge of something more—a promise of forever—the world outside your little bubble began to break through, and the weight of the unspoken truths could no longer be ignored.

It was then that you understood—love, no matter how deeply it had taken root, was never quite as simple as it seemed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The candlelight swayed as though it, too, felt the weight of the silence. The air in the room was thick with unspoken thoughts, the walls seeming to feel like they are closing or locking you in with every passing second. It was a silence that made your body quiver while your heart had thumped faster in your chest. The silence between you two that signaled something far darker than mere disagreement.

The evening in the town always seemed long, but tonight it felt dragged-out as with it, the shadows had deepened into dark pools at the corners of the room. The once tender warmth between you and Thomas had begun to feel like something colder, more dangerous. There was no longer the soft caress of his presence—no longer the calm of his hand reaching out to yours. The man standing before you now was a stranger, a creature of need, of desire, his once-gentle tone now edged with impatience.

“You speak of time,” Thomas said, his voice low, measured—almost like a growl. “You think that choice is a luxury, don’t you? As if we can buy or have all the time in the world. But time… time is fleeting. And you squander it, as if it will wait for us.” His gaze narrowed, his lips curling in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

You could feel the sting through his words that fell out of his mouth, all the while darkness from outside inching over more into the room like a fog. He took a step toward you, slow, deliberate, as though the very air was thick with the tension between you. The once warm, kind man was slipping away, replaced by something more urgent, something almost desperate.

“Why do you fear it so?” His words were almost a whisper now, though they hit you harder than any shout.

“Why do you fear the future we could have? The family we could build? Why do you fear something so... so natural?” He moved another step closer, his gaze locking with yours, unyielding, unblinking. “Is it the money that binds you? The lack of it, the chains of our circumstances? Or is it that you fear me? Fear what I could become? What we could become?”

You recoiled, not from him, but from the weight of his questions. You had known this moment would come. You had known it was inevitable—there could be no peace between two souls that might be different, so driven by separate desires.

“I fear nothing of you, Thomas,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I fear us. I fear the madness of rushing into things before the time is right. I fear bringing a child into a world we can’t even provide for. What would we offer them?” Your words trembled in the air, hanging between you like fragile glass. “What will we give them when we have so little?”

He moved again, his presence now engulfing you, suffocating the space between you. “We have everything,” he spat, his voice now sharper, more biting.

He adds, “We have the strength to build. The love to nurture. I have the strength to provide. To protect. And yet you look at me as though I were weak—as though my love, my intentions, are not enough for you. You will wait forever for the perfect moment. But there is no perfect moment. There is only now.”

He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, or that it was maybe the tension between the two of you that was obviously seen also in his posture with raw hunger in his eyes. “I will not wait,” he said, his words like a command. “I will not stand idle while time slips through my fingers. I will not be a man who regrets. You will be mine, and we will have a future. Even if I must drag you there.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, not from love but from a deep, creeping fear that now gripped you. You had not expected this side of him. Not like this.

“Thomas, this is madness,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. “We are not ready. Do you not see how foolish it is? How dangerous? I—”

“Dangerous?” His laugh was grating and dark. It was not a laugh based on amusement, but of something more terrible, something lowly foreshadowing like an omen. “You call love dangerous? You call life dangerous? I am offering you everything, and you call it madness? You wish to deny it all? You wish to deny me?”

He stepped closer again, until there was barely any space between you, his breath warm on your skin, the weight of his presence unbearable.

“You will have a child, and you will have it now or anytime soon… with me. I will not be refused,” he hissed, his tone low and chilling. “You will see, in time, how right I am. You will understand.”

A shudder ran all over and down to your body, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his words— more so threats— from the promise that lingered in the air between you. It was no longer a matter of love. It was a matter of control.

At first, rather the earliest of times that you were bonding with Thomas, seemed nothing wrong.

You convinced yourself that the house was warm, the bed was soft, and Thomas was well, you could say… attentive. Protective. Maybe too much so. But after everything, you tried to ease your thoughts and assure it by thinking it was just his way of caring. He provided for you, ensured you wanted for nothing.

You could say that it wasn’t really a prison if the doors were open, if the windows weren’t locked. It wasn’t control if he only wanted to keep you safe. Right?

But then, little by little things began to shift. The small, obvious details that eventually build up into something bigger than it was, or should be. Truthfully, time really has its way of revealing the truth.

The evident shift with his actions started with the way his grip lingered too long around your wrists. The fingers of his hand tightening just enough to remind you who had more of the strength between the two of you. Who had more power. The way his gaze, once filled with a captivating tone of longing, became something else—darker, heavier, like shackles you could not see but could feel tightening around your throat, wrists, and even ankles.

And don’t get started about the nights. The nights were the worst.

There were moments, just before sleep, when you felt his breath against your skin. But it was not with a hint of candied affection, rather it was like a reminder of possession. Moments when you awoke to find him watching you, unmoving. His eyes creepily gleaming under the dim candlelight of your shared room, his expression hard to decipher what might be filling in his thoughts.

And then came the threats amongst other nights. The first threat of the many more you didn’t know were coming.

Both of you were laying in bed. The quietness of the room contrasted to the endless thoughts that were spinning negatively around your mind. You tried to force yourself into complacency in the situation right now, acknowledging that making a scene wouldn’t help if you didn’t have any concrete plans. Yet as if Thomas had the power to read your thoughts, he simply interjects while you were close to zoning out,

"If you ever think about leaving this place… our place," he murmured. You could feel the mattress of the bed sink with his weight shifting, with him moving from laying on his back to the side facing where you slept. A finger of his trailed cooly and idly along your arm, "Just know… I would find you. No matter where you ran."

"Your existence belongs to me even if we may have not wed yet." The tone of his voice was soft past his lips but his words stung like venom. He says such phrases like he was cursing upon you,. "Where would you go? There is nothing for you beyond these walls—only cold, only hunger, only ruin."

"Why would you even say something like that, my love?" you asked, but in a tone that didn’t intend on fighting back. Your response leaned more towards trying to lighten up the atmosphere and tension. As if the very notion was absurd. As if your hands weren’t trembling nor as if you sucked in to bite down on the insides of your cheek to prevent your jaw from showing evident signs of agitation.

Thomas exhaled. The sound of it being like it was half amusement and half of whatever something else. But you assumed it was cold. His head tilted, eyes drinking you in with the slow indulgence of a predator toying with its prey.

"Do not insult me with such fragile deceptions, my dove,” he whispered. His fingers escalated past the skin of your arm and ghosted along your jaw, a caress at war with the iron beneath his touch. "I have seen the way your gaze lingers at the door, the windows. I know the weight of a mind that plots in secret. A bird does not glance at the sky unless it yearns to fly."

With the same hand toying around your skin, his thumb pressed down onto one side of your cheek while the other fingers on another side. It was just enough to remind you of his strength, that he could break you if he wished. Like a porcelain doll in the hands of something ancient and unmerciful.

"You think yourself devious, but your thoughts are glass to me. Every flicker of hesitation, every pause before you speak… I can see them all…"

It was honestly talented of him to have his words remain subtle, yet his intentions behind each word were far more sinister.. "And yet, you persist in this little charade."

"Tell me, dearest… do you truly believe you can outwit me?" Again, his voice, low and chilling that was filled with ridicule towards you.

You froze where you lay on your side of the bed. The weight of his words sank into your bones. Even with barely any hint of light in the dim room, his indistinct gaze bore into your skin, reading every flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. His fingers were lingering near your throat, playing with both your own body and thoughts almost as if he could feel your pulse rapidly increasing with each beat.

You could not tear your gaze away from his, though every part of you screamed to look away. This was a small yet defining moment where you almost and completely realized that he had you. And you knew it.

"No," you whispered, voice trembling, barely audible in the suffocating silence that stretched between you. The words felt foreign on your tongue, soaked with fear and submission. "I... I would never think or do such a thing like that."

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the air in the room seep past your body and straight into your very soul. There was no escape.

You tugged on the edge of the blankets tightly up and around your body as if to shield yourself from the fictitious dark energy that loomed in the room. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it felt restless. Your dreams for that night were wildly taken over by some haunting nightmares. It was filled with wickedness and gloom that flashed within the corners of your mind waiting to terrify you like a figure creeping from behind.

Eventually the sun had to finally rise again and you woke up to the sound of the faint ticking of the clock, along with the light peeking through the small cracks in the curtains. You forced yourself from the bed, body feeling heavy alongside your very soul unwilling to rise. You went through the motions. You prepared food. You cleaned. You tried to speak to Thomas as if nothing had changed, as if his cruel words hadn’t dug into your mind and left their mark there, invisible to anyone but you.

You were still trapped within these walls. Wrapped around his grasp. And you wore a mask portraying an illusion of nonchalance, just to survive another day. But it honestly didn’t fool anyone other than yourself

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, a crushing weight settled upon your chest. Thomas was preparing to leave, his work for tonight had him assigned for the night shift. His presence began to fade from the house, but your heart ached with the hollowness of your own captivity.

Once he had gone, you found yourself retreating into the room that you shared with him, the one where you just had an argument from the night before. You closed the door behind to seal yourself away from the world. The emptiness echoed through the walls as the silence deafening, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside of you. It felt like your insides had twisted and left a bad feeling in your gut, a constant reminder that you were apparently being locked in a cage and could not escape.

Your body fell to your knees by the side of the bed. Your hands clutched the edge of the sheets, the fabric crumpled under your fist. Your breath hitched as you fought a sob clawing its way from your throat. You held it back for a moment, just long enough to whisper, as if there were anyone left to hear.

You intertwined both of your hands together, forming a prayer, “Please.”

Your voice started to tear down as it was filled with desperation. “Please, hear my plea. I can’t take this anymore. Save me… Please, save me…”

But it was impossible to expect something while knowing that your cries will be thrown into nothingness, into the void. Consequently, you weren’t entirely aware of the dangers that you were inviting, especially at these times of the night, with whatever wandering spirit there was. There was a faint whisper, like a cold breeze passing through. Something ancient and hungry seemed to respond to your plea, its presence barely noticeable at first, but growing.

Eventually you continued to weep harder, without a care that no one was there for you at your side to comfort you. They were for something else entirely—something that would come to claim you, whether you realized it or not. You had unwittingly opened a door that should have remained sealed.

But for now everything that centered around you was your utter desperation. You felt as if your chest was about to burst under the heavy weight of your own torment. It felt as though the world had sloped and you were falling into it, unable to grasp anything solid, not even your own faith. As you knelt there, hands trembling, your voice still calling out for help, the very walls around you seemed to pulse with something far darker—something that could never save you, only draw you further into the shadows.

You wouldn’t know it then, but this was the moment that would begin your unraveling. And as your tears fell.

The call had been answered. But not by the heavens you were so despairingly pleading to. Not by anything you could have ever imagined.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The darkness of the sky eventually became your only refuge

During the daylight, you tried to play the part of being the obedient wife. Merely drifting through the halls of the house that you didn’t feel you belong in anymore. Then you carried out the necessary duties as if there were no invisible shackles forcing you in.

But when nightfall came, you looked forward to your usual routine of salvation. When the house and the bedroom was filled with nothingness and your lover, Thomas, lay sleeping, you would slip from out and under the covers. Your feet fell flat and bare against the cold wooden floor first, and then you kneel before the window which was your only source of dim lighting. The moonlight shines through it. It became a ritual. A sacred act of defiance wrapped in the guise of prayer.

Your voice would waver, no more than something softer than a whisper. “Please…”

Between other nights, it was nothing more than that plea. It consisted of a single word that got lost within the beauty of the gloomy moonlight. But other nights, you weep to the heavens as if confident that someone, or something, might take pity on you. The more you prayed, the more fervent you became.

Of course to your foolishness, you never noticed the way the air in the room thickened. How the shadows crept deeper in the corners. You never noticed the way the walls enclosed further, as if it was breathing, as if something was listening. Something patient, something waiting.

And you never noticed the way a pair of blue eyes began to watch you. Thomas began to watch you.

At first, he said nothing. He would wake to find you on your knees, speaking softly to the heavens, and merely observe from the bed, his eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight. He was always watching, always waiting.

Then eventually one night, the bed was cold when you returned. The side of his bed was as empty as when you left yours.

A sharp chill ran down your spine. The room felt too wrong. Too silent, too still. Then a whisper, a shift in the atmosphere.

“You pray so sweetly, little one.”

Your breath caught. You turned, slowly, to find him standing in the doorway, barely visible in the darkness.

His gaze was unreadable, still dressed in the clothes he used for sleeping. There was something in the way he stood. Something rigid, something restrained and it all felt too terrible, leaving a wrench in your gut.

"Tell me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who is it you call for so desperately?"

Your lips parted instinctively, but no words came out.

His fingers trailed along the edge of the table. Slow, deliberate, as he took another step forward. "Tell me, my dearest… What answer are you expecting? Who are you expecting?”

You swallowed hard. Your hands tremble at your sides as it falls on either side of your body. “I—”

"You do it every night.” His voice remained soft, yet there was an edge beneath it. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t hear?”

He was standing in front of you now near the edge of the bed. So close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He lifted one hand, brushing away a strand of hair from your face. It should have been a loving gesture. It was not.

"You kneel there by the window,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, "and you beg. You plead. For what? For mercy?" His fingers trailed down your jaw, pausing at your throat. "For deliverance?"

You shuddered beneath his touch, your breath shaky. "I—"

He lets out a low simulated chuckle. "You pray to something that does not answer you, and yet you ignore the only thing that holds you in its hands."

His grip tightened. But terrifyingly it was not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you. Enough to make your heart thump faster and pulse around that area pound beneath his touch.

"Enough of this, my love,” he spat. “You insult me. After all I have given you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips softly grazing against the skin of your ear. "If you run, I will find you. I will drag you back by your pretty little throat and remind you why you should never have tried."

Slowly he pulls back a little with a cruel smile, one that did not reach his eyes. The tone of his voice remains the same, "You could throw yourself into the ocean, and I would still retrieve you from its depths. You could beg the wind to carry you far away, and I would tear it apart with my bare hands."

Your knees nearly quivered.

"I would burn this house to the ground before I let you walk away. You, and everything in it…” Again, his fingers found a way and tightened ever so slightly around your throat, not enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength, his control.

His eyes filled with darkness were unfathomable. He held you captive, drinking in the flickers of fear you could not hide. He tilted his head, studying you with a cruel, measured patience, as if savoring the weight of his next words before letting them fall like a death knell.

"...If I can’t have you, then no one will. Not even the earth to bury you in."

There was a pause that stretched between the two of you. The silence weaved with it had suffocated you aside from the weight of his hands. Then, Thomas sighed with a slow, measured breath. One that sent an unspoken warning through the stale air. His grip on you slackened, just slightly enough for you to breathe again. But you knew better than to think it was mercy.

“You still don’t understand it. Why don’t you?” His voice was quieter. The sharp edge of rage tempered into something even worse—certainty. “I don’t make threats, dove. I tell you what is.”

His hands were rough as they cupped your face. The calloused palms scraped against your skin and the way he held you was almost… gentle. Like a man admiring something fragile. Something he had no intention of breaking—not yet.

“You’re mine,” he said, as if the words alone could bind you in chains. “You always have been. And soon, there won’t be any question left of it.”

The pit in your stomach churned violently. The dread crawling up your throat like bile that you want to vomit out. You knew what was coming before he even spoke of it. He had already spoken about it before. But now… now it wasn’t just a suggestion.

His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, down to your lips, pressing there for a moment before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You will carry my child," he murmured in between kisses. His voice as sure as the walls around you, as unyielding as the locked door you knew you had no key for. He pulls back with a breath, "And then, maybe… maybe you’ll finally stop pretending there’s a way out of this."

Your breath hitched as one of his hands drifted lower past your nightgown. It stops to settle over your stomach. The tips of his fingers pressed there, not cruelly, not harshly, but with intent. Possessive. As if there already was life he spoke of existing beneath his the area of where he touched.

"There will be no running," he continued, his voice still calm. Terrifying in its conviction. "No more foolish prayers to a god who’s long since stopped listening. No more pretending you have a choice."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, to imbibe in the terror you couldn’t hide. And then he smiled, a small, almost satisfied smile before leaning forward and securing to pin you down to the bed. “Shh,” he hushes against your soft skin.

Your arms at first try to push him away, palms pushing against his chest. However, your size was considerably in contrast with Thomas. His figure was huge and you were no match with his mass alone. And so you tried to stretch out your arms in hopes of reaching for anything, any object that you could use in defense.

The weight in the bed shifts as Thomas tries to position himself better above you. So that he could pin you down better to his advantage. With one hand, he flawlessly gets to put weight around both your wrists, successfully further trapping you underneath him as he continues to indulge between your kisses.

“Don’t be so obstinate, my love,” he says while using his other hand to scrunch up a segment of your nightgown under his fist so that he could steadily lift it up while still forcing you down. “You will be alright. I’ll take good care of you. I- I won’t hurt you.”

An impatient hand of his slips under your clothing that makes you pull your knees back and try to use your feet to kick against him. But you are further pushed down onto the bed in opposition to you trying to get away.

You feel one of his fingers tug against the fabric underneath, slipping past in order to access the skin of your cunt. He brazenly toys with each layer, indulging and acknowledging the growing wetness that made the cheeks of your face flush in embarrassment. Embarrassed that your body was reacting this way so which for sure Thomas would impose on.

Your lower back slightly arches at his cold touch. The tips of his finger finding its way inside, slowly and teasingly which as essentially a torture. But he doesn’t continue all the way, which you would rather prefer as it could just end already.

No. He makes sure to do it in a devious way. He plays with you so gently, making sure to soak the entire face of your cunt covered in your own wetness. Dragging along the fingers that he used to push inside and outside, he glazes over your clit as well which sends shivers across your body.

As he continues to be curious about exploring your lower body, you try to push your thighs together with the goal to cease his attempt on making events escalate into something more. But you were unsuccessful and this measure that you did had honestly provoked Thomas into advancing more.

He continues. Your strength was no match against him. You couldn’t prevent him from doing what he wants. He was so certain of what he wanted.

“T-Thomas,” you trembled underneath his touch. You look up directly to meet his eyes, “Please, no.”

It was no use and you weren’t sure if the man feeds onto everything in contradiction of what you’re crying out. As you were too distracted from all the worries that you were giving out to him, you had not realized how fast he had undone your clothes and that your flesh was left nothing but your thin gown.

Your skin was bare and completely naked underneath, and it didn’t help that it was scrunched up to reveal and expose your entirety for Thomas. Your body shakes intensely due to the coldness of the night and the darkness that came from him. It was not the same man you fell in love with at first. How did such completely change over the course of time?

Or were you just foolish enough to not see it from the start?

“I’ll make love to you all night, my dove,” he moans as he tries to undo his own clothes. His grip loosened for a short moment but you were so shocked that it left you paralyzed. He continues, “Let me carve my claim into your very blood...”

"...You will swell with my child.” He says but for you it comes off more as an intimidation. “Proof of what we are, what you cannot run from. I will make certain of it. You will carry me within you, bound by flesh and fate alike."

While you try to deny everything and shake, enough to show contest but not enough to force him away, he continues. And within the next moment Thomas gets in between the insides of your thighs, positioning himself before sinking deep and slowly into you. He lets out a deep groan, almost animalistic.

Then he continues to thrust, heavily jerking his hips while your mind fights to stay focused on what you were really feeling. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a moment like this, like any other couple would. But this time was different. There was a strong desire and immorality behind the intent.

As he spreads your legs apart to welcome himself in between your cunt, Thomas leans his body further forward. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. His weight further trapping you down as he drinks in the pleasure of fucking you senseless. “Need not resist, my love,” he murmurs, "I-I won’t harm you. I’ll… tend to you, cherish you, as only I know how."

The moment was an act of deep intimacy, entangled deep within the darkness of the room and night. It screamed and whispered both salvation and ruin. The warmth of his words was suffocating with promises that should have been comforting but instead invoked fear.

The closeness was only something you have seen and gotten from Thomas. He was right for that as you have never known it from anywhere in the cruel world.

Eventually his movements became unkempt and his rhythm was nowhere near steady. He threw his head back, the skin of his face covered in sweat as his hand trembled and lost within the sheets of the bed. He lets out a louder groan, and you knew from then how your fate would be sealed.

The intimacy shared was both tether and binding, suffocating and consuming. You couldn’t help but think this was another level of closeness shared with Thomas, the closest your souls have ever been.

Then his hands hurriedly find a way to snake and pin you down from your stomach. He grips on your body firmly with each thrust he does deliberately. With each of his last few thrusts, his moans were loud as the pleasure mixed with greed while steadily filling your bare cunt with his own seed.

He breathes our raggedly, "I won’t hurt you, darling. But I will care for you, in ways that will bind you to me forever."

“I adore you.”