Husband

Ch.1: Old Memories Locked Away (part 1)

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[WARNING]: This book will contain mature themes such as: Violence, Disturbing Imagery, Sexual content, extremely unacceptable behavior expressed by the antagonist, kidnapping, Dark, uncomfortable and disgusting topics, etcetera. Not suitable for readers under 18. A 'Yandere' should never be sought out in real life as they are incredibly toxic, dangerous and abusive. I do not condone the actions and/or the ideals of 'yanderes', this is purely fictional and should never be emulated in reality.

The antagonist (the 'yandere') is supposed to be unsettling and immoral (abusive), I do not condone his ways.

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"Thank you." Says you as the mysterious blond gently sets down a plate filled with steaming mashed potatoes, steak, a side of salad all topped with delicious gravy.

He gave you an acknowledging nod before going back to the stove to fix himself a portion too.

You picked up your utensils and began eating.

You don't know this man.

You don't exactly know the role you play here. All you knew is that you woke up one day in a cozy bedroom with the windows boarded off.

As for the man? You don't know who he is, no introduction, he gave you no name to call him by. Though, he calls you '(y/n)' and expects you to respond to it.

You, wanting to be polite, called him 'Sir'. He doesn't seem to mind that much, it does seem to make him slightly uncomfortable.

Well, if he's not giving any suggestions or protests, you're not stopping.

You find him beautiful, but something about him is a little... off. Actually, very off. One would automatically assume him as their kidnapper after waking up to your situation.

His blue eyes always seem so distant, so clouded with thoughts. But they're hauntingly beautiful especially with his long eyelashes embellishing them.

His thick, blond eyebrows are somehow pulled into a constant furrow. Nose as sharp as his wit, you've seen his impressive library filled with books you would never touch.

The man has thin lips, but a wide mouth. The corners of his lips would always be pulled down into a frown. You wonder if he's unhappy or if that's just the way his face is created.

The man returned to the dining table with a full plate. He tuck his golden strands behind his ear before bringing a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his lips.

You wonder, why doesn't he go for a haircut? His hair is reaching the base of his neck and his bangs are constantly obscuring his vision. Is he trying to grow them out?

You then brought your attention to something else. The boarded windows.

It's depressing to know that the only source of light in this two story house is the light fixtures. Why does he have to board the windows up?

You're afraid to ask him. The last time you did, it earned a silent, scolding glare from him. You felt ashamed and mortified, he hadn't even need to use his words to get the threat across.

"(Y/n)." His quiet yet deep voice brought you back to the present. You

"Oh! Sorry. I was... thinking of something. It's um. Delicious as usual, sir." You saw his shoulders quickly tense up and relaxed at the pronoun. Why doesn't he like you calling him that? Why doesn't he want to tell you his name?